hi all 🫶🏻 just a note if you’re here to check for updates:
i promise all my fics will resume soon—nothing’s done quite yet! i’ve had really bad anxiety the past couple weeks and it’s made it hard to focus on writing.
thank you for all the love, i’m glad you’re enjoying them 🥰
“When you go to Hell, I’ll go there with you too.”
Saturday
October 19, 1985
Saturday marks the monthly movie night at Steve’s house.
It’s become a tradition that started back when he and Dustin first became friends almost a year ago now. You weren’t part of it at first. Not until a few months in, after you and Steve had officially met, no longer just passersby in the school hallways to each other. After whatever this is between you began to take shape.
To be completely honest—it was weird as fuck in the beginning. Dustin? Hanging out with King Steve? Why would Steve Harrington want anything to do with your nerdy little brother? And more importantly, why would Dustin want anything to do with him?
You still don’t quite get it. But somehow, they clicked.
Now, once a month—always a Saturday, always when his parents are gone—Steve brings home three VHS tapes to choose from. You, Robin, Dustin, Lucas, Max, and even Mike all pile into his living room. He orders pizza without fail. Makes sure to get a plain extra cheese just for you, even though he never misses an opportunity to tease you for being a topping hater. He stocks up on everyone’s favorite snacks, even the weird sour candy Mike likes that no one else will touch.
None of it makes sense when you really stop and think about it. How the town’s former residential douchebag became a weird, protective older brother to a bunch of freshmen and Robin Buckley’s best friend. How you—once the background character in this group—are suddenly the girl he always saves a seat for.
But you don’t let yourself worry about it. Not today. Not when everything still feels so goddamn fragile.
It’s been hard enough just looking at Steve after what he said to you at work. Since he pressed too close and spoke like he meant every word. The memory alone has your knees weak and your stomach doing backflips. You haven’t figured out how to be normal around him again, how to breathe in the same room without imagining the feeling of his hand on your skin.
And as if that wasn’t enough, you also had to sit through a whole awkward conversation with Dustin about Eddie. He claimed he believed you, but his eyes still narrowed as he said, “I’m serious when I’m telling you to stay away from him, Nat.”
Still, if there’s a silver lining to any of it, it’s this:
Dustin’s so laser-focused on being pissed about the Eddie situation, he hasn’t looked twice at you and Steve. He doesn’t even bat an eye when Steve pats the seat beside him on the couch and says, “Saved you a spot,” cocking his head with that familiar smirk.
You hesitate for a split second. You’re unsure if it would cause a bigger scene to decline the offer than it would to just sit down.
Sitting next to Steve has never been a problem before. You’ve done it a hundred times. But now it feels like a trap, like he’s daring you to pretend things haven’t fully shifted. It’s no longer subtle flirting and shared looks—it’s falling right into the danger zone.
If you say no, you risk tipping Dustin off. If you say yes, you risk doing something stupid. Like remembering the way Steve’s voice sounded when he said those filthy, possessive things to you.
“You good?” Robin asks, walking by with her third slice of pizza and flopping into the recliner she claims every time she’s here.
“Uh, yeah,” you say, giving a slight shake of your head. “I was just… thinking about getting a drink.”
Smooth.
“I’ll get it,” Steve says, already standing like it’s no big deal. “Just sit down.”
He says it so casually, but his eyes flick down to your mouth as he walks past you. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Bring me a drink too!” Dustin yells after him.
“Got it,” Steve calls back.
Against your better judgment, you finally drop onto the cushion. You bring your knees up to your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible.
Steve comes back a moment later, tossing Dustin a can of Coke before reclaiming the space beside you. Only he doesn’t just sit. He settles in, thigh to thigh, arm brushing yours, like the entire left side of your body belongs to him.
He holds out your drink like this is just another movie night. You don’t take it. You just… blink at him. Frozen. He knew you didn’t actually want a damn drink. He pulls it away, leans forward, and sets it on the coffee table before getting comfortable beside you again.
“You cold?” he asks.
You shake your head, but your arms are still curled around your legs.
Steve doesn’t argue. He just reaches behind the couch and pulls the blanket from where it always is and holds it up.
He’s waiting.
You glance toward Dustin, hoping maybe he’ll notice what’s happening and throw you a lifeline. One of his infamous side-eyes. A snarky comment. Anything.
But his attention is elsewhere. He’s stretched out on his stomach, chin in his hands. Mike’s sitting beside him against the coffee table, and even though they’re not looking at each other, they’re mid-argument.
“No, it’s my turn to pick!” Mike yells.
“Bullshit!” Dustin fires back. “You picked two months ago. It’s my turn now.”
None of them are paying attention. No one’s looking at you. No one’s going to save you.
Fuck it.
You lower your legs, careful not to brush against Steve too much. He says nothing as he drapes the blanket over both of you. His hand lingers at your thigh a second longer than it should.
Max groans like Dustin and Mike arguing is the most inconvenient thing to ever happen to her. “If you two idiots can’t figure it out, then I’m picking.”
“Why can’t we just watch all three?” Robin chimes in. “We all end up crashing here every time anyway.”
“Ooh!” Lucas lights up. “Let’s pull an all nighter!”
“Okay,” Mike agrees, although he seems a bit reluctant. “But which movie do we watch first then?”
The bickering escalates between all four of the tweens again. Robin’s head swings back and forth, watching it unfold like it’s a ping pong match.
You hear it all, but it’s like cotton in your ears. Because Steve leans in closer, voice low enough that it’s barely a breath, “See? Easy.”
You tense.
“No one suspects a thing,” he murmurs. “You’re doing great.”
And then he has the audacity to drape his arm across the back of the couch. His fingers graze your shoulder, just enough to make your heart skip a beat.
Robin glances over, completely oblivious to the way your pulse just spiked. “Alright, democracy is clearly dead. Steve, you pick.”
“Knew that was coming,” he snorts. He turns his head toward you. “Why don’t you pick, Nat?”
It’s a harmless question, but it’s the way he says it—like his voice is dripping with honey, with sin.
Your throat goes dry.
“I—Uh—” You clear it, forcing your eyes away from him for half a second. “What are my options again?”
“Halloween, A Nightmare on Elm Street, or Ghostbusters,” Max says flatly, already bored with the process.
“A Nightmare on Elm Street,” you answer, but you don’t look at her when you say it. Your eyes are locked on Steve.
Max either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She gets up and shoves the tape into the VHS player while Lucas flips the lights off, plunging the living room into darkness.
You try to focus on the movie. You really do.
But Steve is warm, and he smells like that stupidly expensive cologne he only wears on rare occasions. The one you complimented once, offhandedly, months ago. The one he clearly wore tonight on purpose.
And you’re suddenly far too aware of what you’re wearing.
A hoodie, which is fine and innocent. But underneath it? Thin cotton pajama shorts you didn’t think twice about when you threw them on. You hadn’t expected anything except pizza, jokes, and a scary movie. Comfort was the priority.
Now the blanket over your legs feels more exposing than comforting. The heat of his thigh against yours isn’t helping either. And every time you shift to put space between you, he moves closer without even thinking—like his body doesn’t know how not to touch you anymore.
“You can get more comfortable, you know,” he whispers. “We still have two more movies to watch after this one.”
“M’fine,” you mutter, eyes on the screen even though you haven’t registered a single second of the movie.
He hums, unconvinced as he starts playing with the ends of your hair. “Mhm. Sure you are.”
You glance at him from the corner of your eye as you roll your shoulders, trying to get him to stop. He’s not even looking at you. He’s pretending to watch the movie, but the corner of his mouth is lifted, just a little. His fingers don’t move from your hair.
“You’re squirmy tonight,” he says softly. “That hoodie bothering you?”
You shift again, but there’s nowhere to go. Not without drawing attention. Not without making it obvious that he’s affecting you.
“I said I’m fine,” you say, eyes still on the screen.
He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he fully brings his arm down across your shoulders and tucks his other hand under the blanket. He lets the backs of his knuckles graze your thigh, just above where your shorts end.
You clench your jaw. “Steve…”
He finally turns his head toward you, face close enough that his nose almost brushes your cheek. “You keep squirming like that, I’m gonna start thinking you want me to do something about it.”
Your whole body tightens. You don’t move. You don’t even breathe.
His fingers trace a slow, barely-there path up the curve of your thigh, hidden from everyone else under the blanket. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re sure he can hear it.
“You want me to stop?” His voice is soft. Dangerous.
You can’t bring yourself to answer. You’re not sure you could stop him if you tried.
Not when he leans in just enough to press his mouth to your ear and whispers, “Didn’t think so.”
He turns his attention back to the screen like nothing happened. Every nerve ending in your body is lit up like a match. The blanket may as well be on fire. Your skin tingles where his knuckles brushed it, phantom pressure still lingering even though his hand is gone.
And Steve has the nerve to look relaxed, like he didn’t almost touch you under a blanket in a room full of people.
But if he wants to play this game, fine. You’ll play it too.
You slowly slump back, tucking yourself right into his side. Your legs fold up, criss-crossed beneath the blanket, your thigh snug against his again.
If he wants easy access, he can have it.
You feel the change in him instantly. He doesn’t move, but something about the tension in his body shifts. Just enough to let you know he wasn’t expecting that. Good.
He exhales through his nose, barely audible, then tilts his head toward the screen like he’s still watching the movie. But his hand moves again. He places it right on the inside of your upper thigh.
You keep your eyes glued to the screen, even when his fingers start to trace light, idle patterns into your soft skin. His pinky grazes just under the hem of your shorts and your breath catches. You pray to whatever god exists in the universe that no one hears you. Especially not Dustin, who’s still sprawled on the floor but now throwing Milk Duds at Mike’s head.
He’s being careful. Every movement is slow enough to pass as nothing. Every touch is masked by the shadows of the movie flickering against the walls. The room is all soft light and louder sounds and no one is paying attention to the couch. No one except for you and him.
The pads of his fingers trail higher. Not enough to draw attention, but enough to make your stomach twist and flip. You shift your hips instinctively and he chuckles so quietly it barely registers.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, as if he’s rewarding you.
“Steve,” you whisper. It’s meant as a warning. Or maybe a plea. But it comes out shaky, barely more than a breath.
He lets his hand drift again—higher, softer, bolder. “Something wrong?”
Something happens onscreen and Max yelps, spilling her popcorn all over Lucas, who sighs loudly because he knows he’ll be the one to clean it up.
The moment breaks.
Steve’s hand snaps back to his own lap, and you force yourself to breathe again like nothing ever happened.
You manage to keep your hands to yourselves for the rest of the movie. Steve goes still beside you, all restraint and patience now. You can feel it in the way he doesn’t touch you again, doesn’t lean in, doesn’t whisper anything else. He’s letting it simmer. He’s waiting for you to crack first.
Between movies, everyone gets up to stretch and refill snacks. You mumble something about the bathroom, but really you just need to splash cold water on your face and have a minute alone to try to get a damn grip.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, palms braced on the sink. What the fuck are you doing? You’re in Steve Harrington’s bathroom, at Steve Harrington’s house, trying not to implode over Steve Harrington, while your brother, Steve Harrington’s best friend, is ten feet away.
Get it the fuck together.
When you come back, you’re hoping the seating arrangement has changed, but everyone’s exactly where they were before. Dustin is already back on the floor. Robin has reclaimed her spot in the recliner. Max and Lucas are bickering about something. The opening credits for Halloween are already rolling across the screen.
Go fucking figure.
You sit beside Steve again, but this time you don’t pull the blanket back over your lap. You keep your hands visible.
He notices immediately. He reaches up and tugs gently on the drawstring of your hoodie, twisting it between his fingers. “This bothering you yet?”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “Not as much as you are.”
He laughs under his breath. “You know what your problem is?”
“Oh, please,” you mutter. “Enlighten me.”
He tugs the string a little harder, just enough to make you lean toward him a fraction. “You think I won’t keep going just because we’re not alone.”
Your pulse jumps. You try to keep your face blank, but your body betrays you. You shift in place, subtly pressing your thighs together, and he gives you that stupid, smug little grin that says I know.
You lean in, just enough for your shoulder to brush his chest. “And you think I won’t let you just because my brother’s here.”
That wipes the grin right off his face. His expression goes slack for a second, like you knocked the air out of him.
But he recovers just as fast. His smile returns, but this time it’s darker. It’s the kind of smile that warns you have no idea what you’ve just done.
He drops your hoodie string, but his hand doesn’t stay idle. It drifts to your thigh, his fingers skimming just beneath the hem of your shorts under the guise of adjusting the blanket you never asked him to cover you with. There’s barely any pressure or movement, but it’s just enough to make you ache.
“I think you want me to keep going,” he murmurs. “Even if he’s in the next room. Even if he’s right in front of us.”
There’s a wild, shameless thrill that burns deep in your chest—how careful he is, how no one else has a clue what’s happening just feet away. The risk makes everything feel so much sweeter.
He doesn’t hesitate. The moment your arms fold over the blanket, pulling it tighter to your chest, his hand slowly eases upward. His fingers dip just under the waistband of your shorts.
He doesn’t go too far, not yet. You both sit in the quiet, glancing at everyone in the living room. Robin’s half-asleep in the recliner. Mike just said something to Dustin that made him laugh. Max is teasing Lucas about jumping even though she jumped herself not too long ago.
No one is paying attention to either of you.
You swallow, cheeks burning. “Do it.”
His eyes cut to yours, searching your face for even the smallest trace of hesitation. You can’t give him one. Not when your whole body is already thrumming with adrenaline, not when the thrill is half the pleasure and the other half is just him, touching you like this in a room full of people who have no idea.
The movie’s glow flickers across his features as his hand moves, deliberate and unbearably slow. His fingers slip deeper under your waistband, grazing skin you never meant for anyone to touch tonight. Your thighs spread apart just a little, welcoming him in.
You’re drenched, slick and trembling, every inch of you humming with want. The second Steve’s fingers slip between your folds, a low, guttural sound catches in his throat. He tries to cover it with a cough, muffling the sound into his shoulder, but you catch the way his jaw tenses, the way his eyes flick up to yours, dark and hungry.
No one else notices. Not a soul in the room even looks your way.
You’d laugh if you weren’t barely holding it together, body arching into the slow, careful way he strokes you. You bite down on your lip, willing yourself not to make a sound, feeling yourself pulse around his fingers, slick and needy and desperate for more.
Your hand finds his thigh beneath the blanket, fingers curling in silent desperation. Steve turns his head just a fraction, lips brushing your temple. “Keep your eyes on the screen.”
He presses closer, his whole body angled toward you now, one arm casually draped along the back of the couch as if nothing in the world is amiss. But his other hand works you relentlessly under the blanket, each movement perfectly hidden, perfectly filthy.
You stare forward, seeing nothing, lost to everything but the heat of his palm, the friction of his touch. Your whole world narrows to this couch, this blanket, his fingers, the dare and the risk and the dizzying need.
He keeps going, slow and steady, working you closer to the edge until you’re trembling. You feel your body start to unravel—hips rolling into his touch, breath stuttering behind your teeth. He can feel it too. His touch grows firmer, bolder, thumb drawing tight little circles over your clit while his fingers drive in and out of you.
As you feel yourself start to break, he leans in, brushing his lips over your ear. “Look at me.”
Your eyes lock with his, wide and desperate, pupils blown. He’s right there—so close, so careful, so goddamn possessive that it makes you ache in ways you’ve never felt before.
Then, “Good girl. Let go for me.”
And with one last slow, perfect stroke, you do. Your thighs tense beneath the blanket, toes curling, breath catching. But you stay silent. There’s no gasp, no moan, just the sharp hitch of air as your release washes over you.
The hand that had been slung casually behind you is suddenly firm at the nape of your neck, his fingers splayed wide, holding you steady through every aftershock. His thumb presses into your skin while his other hand works you through every wave.
You melt into him as the aftershocks fade, eyes shut, cheek pressed to the spot between his shoulder and chest since his arm is draped over the back of the couch again, casual as can be.
“What the hell?” Dustin blurts, breaking the fragile silence. Your entire body tenses. “Is she asleep?”
Steve doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he says, so smooth it almost sounds bored. “Probably fell asleep, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“Well, push her off,” he scoffs. “She doesn’t need to be laying all up on you like that.”
Steve huffs out a laugh, unbothered. “Yeah, let me just risk waking her up and dealing with that wrath. Do you wanna do it?”
Robin snorts from her spot in the recliner. “Just let her sleep, Henderson. She’s not doing anything wrong.”
“Whatever,” Dustin mutters.
There’s the sound of someone rustling a bag of chips and the quiet hum of Max and Lucas talking, but no one questions it any further. The fragile silence resumes, the group’s attention drifting back to the screen.
Steve’s hand slides into your hair, fingers sifting gently through the strands. You let yourself sink into him, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek and the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing.
What just happened between you can be tomorrow’s problem.
AN: Hey, so, if this is bad… Sorry. 🥹 Also I only tagged Steve in this chapter since Eddie’s only mentioned, but he will be back!
“I’m selfish, I know. But I don’t ever wanna see you with him.”
Tuesday
October 15, 1985
If there’s one thing Claudia Henderson absolutely does not tolerate, it’s weed.
She’s caught you coming home drunk or clearly hungover more than a few times by now. But honestly? There’s rarely been much of a punishment. Not counting that one night Hopper brought you home, of course. But even then, she mostly let it slide. She knew it’d happen again eventually.
Weed, though? That’s a whole different story.
The one time you came home visibly stoned, you genuinely thought it might be the end of your life. She locked you down for weeks—no phone, no TV, no junk food. Who the hell takes junk food away as punishment? And to make things worse, she had the audacity to order pizza one night and made you eat rice and vegetables instead.
Your mom’s always had a weird approach to discipline. Creative, sure. But weird as hell.
All that to say: you fucked up.
Marie had given you a couple joints on Sunday, and apparently one fell out of your bag. The shriek that came out of your mom when she found it was unlike anything you’d ever heard.
You shut the fridge and stepped out of the kitchen, confused. “What’s going on?”
“I cannot believe you brought weed into my house!”
“Mom, what are you talking about?”
She marched over, holding the joint between two fingers like it might bite. “I’m talking about this!”
“That’s not mine,” you said automatically.
“Oh, and I’m supposed to believe it’s whose? Dustin’s?”
“Of course not.” You tried to keep your voice steady. Then, because it wasn’t a total lie, you said, “It’s Marie’s.”
“Then what are you doing with it?”
“She borrowed my jacket.” You threw in a casual shrug, trying to sell it. “Must have left it in there and it fell out when I got home.”
She threw the joint in the trash and turned back to you, arms crossed. “I did not raise a lying drug user.”
You rolled your eyes, and that was all it took to set her off. “How am I supposed to trust you to keep an eye on everything while I visit your Aunt Kathy? Why can’t you just do better? I’m so tired of you being a disappointment!”
That last part hit like a knife to the gut. “Is that how you really feel about me, Mom?”
“At this point in time, yes, it absolutely is.” You shoved past her, storming to your room to grab your bag. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Does it matter?” you snapped. “I’m eighteen.” Her hands were on her hips as she stared you down. “Don’t wait up. I doubt I’ll be back.”
You biked over to Marie’s and told her everything that happened. Her solution, as always, was to drink.
You don’t remember much past getting the alcohol other than drinking way too much way too fast, then getting ditched by Marie after she found a group of guys she wanted to hang out with and you didn’t.
So, here you sit on a random sidewalk in the middle of town because you don’t have the energy to pick yourself up—you also don’t quite know which direction your house is in, either.
“Nat? What the hell are you doing out here?”
Two Eddie’s stand in front of you before you rapidly blink a few times. A singular Eddie comes into focus.
“Mm.” You shrug.
“Are you drunk?” You shrug again. “Yeah, you’re drunk.”
He helps you up and you start wobbling. He grabs one of your hands and puts his other hand on the small of your back to keep you steady. Your heart skips a beat. “Um. Thanks.”
“You can speak.”
“…Yeah.”
“So, again, what the hell are you doing out here?”
“Well, let’s see,” you slur. “Got in a fight with my mom. Drank with Marie. Marie left me. Here I am.”
“She seriously left you drunk and alone?”
“What is this, twenty questions?”
Eddie sighs. “Let me take you home.”
You don’t protest. He helps you into his van and drives you straight to your house. There’s no conversation, just the radio playing softly.
Once you get to your house, it’s clear he has to help you inside. You give him your keys and he unlocks the door, then tries to get you to your room as quietly as possible—which is basically impossible since he doesn’t know where it is and you have to lead the way. You’re knocking things over left and right, with Eddie behind you putting everything back in its place.
At one point, you trip right over Tews, hitting the carpeted floor with a thud. He quickly picks you up and you stand clinging onto each other, expecting your mom or Dustin to fly out and yell at you. That doesn’t happen.
Eventually, you make it there.
Eddie shuts the door behind him and sits you down on your bed before taking in your room. It’s not much. There are clothes scattered on the floor, knick knacks adorning the dresser and bookshelf, and a few pieces of art that Will Byers drew for you back when you still played D&D with the kids. You can’t bring yourself to take them off the walls after all these years, especially after he went missing for an entire week and everyone thought he was dead. You still remember the funeral like it was yesterday.
“No way.” He pulls a book off one of the shelves. “Gormenghast? I love these books.”
“They’re okay,” you lie.
“Admit it, Lady Henderson,” he says, a devilish grin creeping onto his face. “You’re a nerd. You can’t fool me anymore.”
“I’m not admitting anything to you because I have nothing to admit to in the first place.”
You pull your leg up to try to start taking off your shoes, but you fumble with the laces. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or if he’s suddenly made you that nervous.
He sets the book back on its shelf and kneels down in front of you. “Here. Let me help.”
“You’re very sweet,” you note.
“Nah,” he says, slipping one shoe off. “Just doing what’s right.”
Your head lolls to the side as you take him in. You don’t know how you notice them in your drunken state, but his nose is dusted with the cutest little freckles.
“What are you staring at?” he asks, slipping off the other one. It hits the floor with a thud.
“Your freckles.” You lean into him, maybe a little too close for comfort. You bring your hand up and lightly trace them with your finger. “They’re adorable.”
His eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second and then back up. Does he want to kiss you? You think maybe you want to kiss him. You lean in closer and—
You fucking puke. All down the front of him.
Your eyes go wide as you jump back. “Holy shit. I’m so sorry!”
He’s completely unphased, a crooked smile on his face as he looks down at his shirt and back up at you. He lets out a small laugh. “I think this is a first in my life.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” is all you can manage to say.
He shrugs. “Don’t be. I’m not upset.”
“God, Eddie, it’s in your hair.” You cover your face, absolutely mortified. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“Nat, listen to me. I don’t care. But I might need to borrow your shower and a shirt.”
There’s no way you can show him to the bathroom yourself, so you mumble through your hands, “It’s the first room on the left.”
“Can you get yourself tucked in while I take care of this?” he asks.
You peek through your fingers. “I’ll do my best.”
He takes off for the bathroom and you slowly manage to crawl under your covers. The room is spinning and you think you might actually puke again, but there’s no time for worrying about that when your thoughts are racing about Eddie.
There’s absolutely no denying now that you have a stupid crush on him. He might even have a crush on you, which only makes things worse. If you liked him and he didn’t like you back, you’d simply take the rejection and move on—no harm, no foul. But if you do like each other and Dustin is already prepared to murder you if you try to date him… Well.
And, dear god, he’s in your shower. After you just puked on him. He didn’t even blink twice, just took it as it was and made the best of the situation.
But then there’s Steve.
Steve, who confuses the hell out of you in ways Eddie doesn’t. Who flirts with you one minute, then acts like that’s not what he meant the next. Steve, who used to be some untouchable golden boy, but now drives you to and from work and makes you laugh in parking lots and plays with your hair without thinking about it.
He’s not in your shower, no. But he’s still in your head. He always is.
The door creaks open and Eddie comes in. Has that much time passed already? He’s shirtless, allowing you to see all the tattoos he has on his arms and torso. Never really gave tattoos a second thought, but now you will be.
“We might have a problem,” he says. He looks as white as a ghost.
You lean up on your elbow, groaning at how the movement makes your stomach flip. “Why?”
“Dustin ran into me in the hallway.”
“So?”
“I’m shirtless? And I just used your shower in the middle of the night? I’m at your house and I probably shouldn’t be?”
“And?”
“Nat, I know you’re drunk, but use your context clues. How do you think that looks?”
The answer dawns on you and your jaw drops. “Oh. Fuck.”
“What do we do?”
“Don’t ask me! It’s not my fault!”
“But you puked on me.”
“You made the decision to drive me home.”
“He’s your brother.”
“He’s your friend. Which is how we became acquainted in the first place.”
Eddie is silent for a moment. “Maybe I should go.”
“Okay,” you say, head still swimming. “Yeah. That’s—That’s probably for the best.”
“You gonna be okay?” he asks.
You nod. “Been worse than this before, believe it or not.” There’s a small beat where you’re just staring at each other. You realize he’s still shirtless. “Oh, uh, you need a shirt. Middle right is where I keep all my oversized ones.”
“You have a specific drawer for oversized shirts?” he questions, crossing to your dresser.
“What?” you snort. “I sleep in them. Don’t act like it’s weird.”
He slips one over his head. It’s plain black with a pocket on the left side, complete with a bunch of bleach stains. It almost fits him perfectly. He cracks a smile. “Pretty comfy.”
“I want it back,” you say. “That’s my favorite.”
Eddie doesn’t move right away. He just stands there, tugging the hem of the shirt once, then glancing at you again. “I’ll wash it before I give it back.”
You shake your head, trying not to smile. “Don’t bother. Just don’t stretch it out.”
“Noted.” There’s a pause as he reaches for the doorknob. “Sweet dreams, Nat.”
Wednesday
October 16, 1985
You’re dying.
Not literally. But it feels like it.
The inside of your skull is pulsing against your forehead, your mouth is drier than the Sahara, and someone—probably Satan himself—is shining the sun directly through your bedroom window just to spite you.
“Nat.”
A poke to your shoulder. Then again, a little harder. You groan and try to roll over, face first into the pillow.
“Jesus Christ,” Robin mutters. “You smell like a bar.”
You crack one eye open just enough to see her hovering over you like a sleep paralysis demon, wrinkling her nose.
“What time is it?” you croak.
“Time to go to work, genius,” she says, arms crossed. “You better not make me late for school. I have band practice this morning.”
You sit up, bones cracking, head spinning. “Okay, okay. I’m up. Give me, like, fifteen.”
“That’s all you get,” she says, pointing at you. “And if you’re not ready, you’re biking to work.”
She leaves the room, shutting the door for privacy. Fifteen minutes. You can do this.
You pull on the first pair of jeans you find that aren’t inside out and tug a hoodie over your head before shuffling to the bathroom like a zombie. There’s mascara smudged around your eyes and dried drool on the side of your face. Cute.
You brush your teeth with one hand braced against the wall and splash cold water on your face like it’ll fix the war going on inside your skull. It doesn’t.
By the time you make it out of the bathroom, Steve’s standing near the door with his arms crossed, Robin’s leaning against the wall, half-asleep, and Dustin’s sulking at the kitchen table, cereal soggy and forgotten.
You clear your throat. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Robin yawns, checking her watch. “Twelve minutes. Good job.” Then she’s out the door.
Steve glances at Dustin. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”
“Nope,” he says without looking up from the table.
You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should explain, but you leave it alone. You can have a conversation with him later, when you’re not holding anyone up.
“See you later,” you say, walking past Steve as you head out the door.
Dustin doesn’t respond.
And Steve’s no better either.
You don’t say much on the way to Hawkins High—Robin does enough talking for all three of you. She rambles about a weird dream she had and a quiz she forgot to study for. It’s almost as if she feels like she has to fill the silence. But you’re grateful, honestly. It keeps you from having to say anything.
But the moment she hops out at the drop off, her absence hits like a snapped rubber band. The air inside the car tightens.
Steve doesn’t say a word. Just turns the volume up on the radio and merges back into traffic.
He pulls into a gas station a few minutes later, kills the engine, and disappears inside. When he comes back, he’s holding two styrofoam cups filled with coffee.
You accept yours with a quiet, “Thanks,” offering a small, half-hearted smile.
He nods, but his expression doesn’t soften. Just that tight-lipped thing he does when he’s trying to hold back whatever’s going unsaid.
It gets worse at work.
Steve barely looks at you. Barely speaks. When he does, it’s with that clipped tone he uses on rude customers or video returns that are two weeks late. He passes you a stack of tapes without making eye contact. You shelve them in record time, each plastic case thudding harder than the last into place.
He’s doing it on purpose now. You know he is.
Robin won’t be in until her afternoon shift, so there’s no buffer. Just quiet, uncomfortable space between you and Steve, the fluorescent lights humming like static above your heads.
You’re halfway through alphabetizing the new arrivals when he brushes past you to get behind the counter. Doesn’t say “excuse me.” Doesn’t even glance your way. Then he slams the register drawer closed a little too hard for the third time in an hour.
That’s the last straw.
You slam a tape down on the cart and turn to face him. “What the hell is going on with you?”
He freezes, his hand still on the cash register. “What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” you snap. “You’ve been weird all goddamn morning. Tell me what’s going on.”
He leans back against the counter, jaw clenched. He doesn’t answer, and that only pisses you off more.
“Jesus, Steve,” you huff. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”
Silence.
Oh. He is.
You cross your arms. “Okay. Spit it out then.”
Steve scoffs quietly and looks away, like he’s trying to collect his thoughts before he says something stupid. He fails.
“Maybe I just don’t love hearing that you’re hooking up with Munson,” he says flatly. “Sue me.”
“What?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head. “Who the hell said I was hooking up with Eddie? Is this seriously why you’ve been a dick all morning?”
He ignores the second part entirely. “Dustin caught him coming out of the bathroom. Shirtless. Fresh out of the shower. I’m not stupid, Nat.”
Your eyes narrow. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then enlighten me.”
You drag a hand down your face, sighing heavily. “I got in a fight with my mom, okay? I went to Marie’s, we got drunk, she ditched me, and Eddie just so happened to see me when he was driving by. He took me home and I…”
You squeeze your eyes shut. This is about to be humiliating.
“He took you home and you what?” Steve presses. “Fucked him?”
“Oh my god, Steve!” you yell. “I threw up on him!”
He freezes. “You… what?”
“I puked,” you repeat. “On his shirt. In his hair. Probably all over his dignity.”
Steve blinks. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish now. “Dustin made it sound different.”
“Well, maybe Dustin should have asked a damn question first instead of jumping to conclusions,” you mutter, rubbing at your temples. “Maybe you should’ve.”
The sudden drop in adrenaline hits hard. Your stomach turns, the nausea rushing back in waves. There’s a sharp pain behind your eyes. You press your fingers into them like it’ll help. It doesn’t.
Steve shifts toward you instinctively. “Hey—”
“I’m fine,” you say quickly, stepping away from him. “I’m just hungover. Which you would have known sooner if you didn’t ice me out all morning like some jealous boyfriend.”
He frowns. “That’s not fair, Nat.”
And it’s not. You regret the words as soon as they slip out of your mouth.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” you say softly.
There’s a small silence, then Steve suddenly lets out a short, breathy laugh and straightens, that familiar cocky edge sliding back into place like armor.
He steps toward you. Too close. Way too close.
His hand catches your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up. His thumb grazes your lower lip. You don’t move. You can’t. He’s not touching you like a friend. Not even like someone teasing a line. He’s obliterating it.
“Look at me,” he says.
You do.
“If I was your jealous boyfriend?” His voice drops lower. “You’d be coming to work with my fingerprints on your thighs and my cum still dripping down your legs.”
You feel heat creeping up your neck. You suck in a shaky breath as he leans in even closer. Your eyes flutter shut as his nose brushes yours. His lips hover just off your mouth.
“You’d still have my handprint on your ass. My name stuck in your throat. And if Munson so much as looked at you, I’d remind you right here—on this counter—exactly who you fucking belong to.”
An involuntary whimper is pulled out of your throat.
He doesn’t kiss you. He doesn’t have to. He just watches you unravel, chest heaving.
And then he lets go.
“Lucky for you,” he says, stepping back, “I’m not your boyfriend.”
You try to breathe past the pounding in your chest as he goes back to whatever he was doing before. You’re so dizzy with the thought of him that you’re not even sure what it was, just that he’s fiddling with the register now.
Steve fucking Harrington just said that to you. Touched you like that. Looked at you like that. And now he’s acting like it didn’t happen.
You clear your throat, forcing your expression into something unreadable. “You’re such a fucking asshole sometimes.”
He glances back at you and smirks. “So I’ve been told.”
You spin on your heel before you do something really stupid—like kiss him. Or punch him. Or let him take you right there on the counter like he promised.
You make it as far as the back room before your knees nearly give out. You brace yourself on the desk, breathing hard.
Because here’s the problem:
You do want him like that.
You’d let him wreck you like that.
But he’s Steve.
And you’re Dustin’s sister.
And you swore you wouldn’t be the kind of girl who—
“Fucks her brother’s best friend,” you mutter aloud, squeezing your eyes shut, head hanging in shame.
You bite your tongue. Hard. Anything to get your body to calm the hell down. You can’t cross that line.
…But you are going to remember that moment. Probably for the rest of your goddamn life.
AN: I usually don’t write like this, but I think we’re going to take a fun little journey together with this fic. 😅
Pairing: Steve Harrington x female!Henderson!reader x Eddie Munson
Summary: Your thoughts are consumed by two boys you can’t have.
Warnings: n/a
WC: 1.5k
Masterlist
Chapter Four: What He Doesn’t Know Won’t Kill Him
“Can’t you see that you’re on my mind?”
Friday
October 4, 1985
You know it’s stupid, especially after Dustin’s warning, but the second you realize your brother’s not coming out of his room again tonight, you pick up the phone and call Steve.
In your defense, he did tell you to call when you got home so he knew you made it back safe and sound.
He answers on the third ring. “Hello?”
“I made it home,” you say.
He lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. “I’m surprised you called. Wasn’t sure if you actually would.”
“You wanted me to,” you say softly. “So I did.”
There’s a small pause, like he wasn’t expecting that to be your response.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I did.”
You sit on the edge of your bed, twisting the phone cord around your finger. You shouldn’t feel this nervous. You’ve known Steve for years. You’ve worked with him. You’ve flirted with him. You’ve watched him flirt with literally everyone else.
But this feels… different.
“So,” he says, “how was it?”
You groan dramatically. “Don’t make me admit it.”
“Oh my god,” he gasps. “You liked it.”
You fall back against your pillows. “Shut up.”
“Was Eddie as annoying as you thought he was gonna be?” he asks, something a little too hopeful in his voice.
“Uh…” You huff out a laugh. “Actually? He was really fun. Dustin isn’t all that crazy for bragging about his DM skills.”
There’s another pause. You can nearly feel the tension oozing through the phone line.
“Oh.”
You sit up a little. “Oh?”
He clears his throat. “It’s—It’s nothing. I just didn’t think you two would… y’know. Hit it off.”
“We didn’t hit it off,” you say, a bit defensive. “We played a game. Calm down.”
“I am calm,” he insists. “Totally calm.”
“You sound jealous.”
“…No, I don’t.”
You smile into the receiver. “I think you do.”
He exhales sharply, like he’s annoyed with himself more than he is you. “I guess… I didn’t expect you to actually like him, considering our talk at work.”
You swallow thickly. “Why does it matter if I do?”
“It doesn’t,” he lies.
“Good,” you lie right back. “Besides, Dustin made it perfectly clear tonight that I’m not allowed to date any of his friends.”
Steve doesn’t say anything for a minute. You can hear a small scoff, like he can’t believe this is what he’s hearing, and a faint rustling where he’s probably shifting around in his bed.
“Yeah, well… What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”
It’s your turn to go silent for a moment. Your pulse kicks up, drumming in your ears. “You can’t say shit like that, Steve.”
“I know,” he says, voice low. “But I’m not taking it back.” Then, “Goodnight, Nat.”
You aren’t able to respond before the line hums.
Friday
October 11, 1985
“How are things going with Munson?” Marie asks.
You’re sitting at a small table outside the local coffee shop, the kind of place that pretends to be quaint but mostly smells like burnt coffee and stale sugar. Shopping bags sit at your feet. You probably shouldn’t have spent the money—your car’s still dead—but for once, you let yourself feel like a normal teenage girl who deserves a new top and shitty, overpriced coffee.
You pull your cup away from your mouth. “What do you mean?”
Marie raises an eyebrow. “With Dustin? Why’s your face getting so red?”
“Coffee’s hot,” you say flatly.
“Right,” she drags the word out, clearly not buying it.
“Things are fine, I guess. He doesn’t talk about Eddie much anymore.”
It’s a lie. A stupid one. Dustin hasn’t shut up about Eddie in days. But that’s not the real problem.
The real problem is that you can’t stop thinking about him either.
It’s been a week since you subbed for Hellfire, and somehow Eddie Munson has taken up space not only in your brother’s world, but in your head too. You’ve been trying to rationalize it—chalk it up to the novelty of being back in the game, the nostalgia of the dice in your hand. But that’s not it. It’s him.
You didn’t pay much attention to Eddie when you were still in school. Most people didn’t. He was loud, reckless, always climbing onto lunch tables and shouting about campaigns and corruption and whatever else he could spin into a performance. People were terrified of him.
You weren’t. He mostly just annoyed you.
But now? After seeing him up close, hearing the way he tells a story, watching how he treats Dustin like he matters? Now, he’s dangerous.
Because beneath the theatrics and the too long hair and the battle vest, he’s kind. He’s perceptive. He noticed the distance between you and your brother and said something. He called you impressive without sounding like he was flirting. He offered a ride home without hesitation. And yeah, maybe there’s a part of you that’s starting to like him.
But that’s not even the worst of it. Because while Eddie is loud and impossible to ignore, Steve is always just there.
He’s lived in your orbit longer than Eddie has—long enough that his absence would feel like something missing. And now every time he’s near, it’s all subtext. The quiet glances. The unspoken rules. The call you probably shouldn’t have made. The thing he said on the phone that’s been replaying in your head for days:
“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”
And now both of them—Eddie and Steve—won’t leave your brain alone.
“You okay?” Marie asks, pulling you back to reality.
You blink, eyes coming back into focus from where you were zoning out. “Yeah. Sorry.”
She narrows her eyes. “You were a million miles away.”
You shift in your chair, take another sip of your drink to stall. “Just tired.”
“Uh-huh.”
You suddenly notice the sun dipping lower in the sky. “Shit, what time is it?”
Marie glances at the gold watch on her wrist. “Almost five thirty. Why?”
“We have to pick up Dustin from Hellfire, remember?”
“I thought that ran late.”
“It’s only the first and last campaign that run long,” you say a little too fast. She gives you a look. “That’s what Dustin told me, anyway.”
Marie rolls her eyes but grabs her keys. “Alright, let’s go.”
You lean against the front of Marie’s car, arms crossed, waiting for the guys to come out. She stays inside with the engine running, singing way too dramatically to whatever pop song is blaring on the radio.
The front doors of the school swing open, and you spot the Hellfire crew spilling out in a loose pack. You raise a hand in greeting.
Dustin sees you first and waves back, jogging toward you with Mike right behind him.
“How was the campaign?” you ask.
“Bullshit!” Mike shouts. “He killed me.”
“In his defense, you’ve always been kind of easy to kill,” you say with a small shrug.
“Don’t take his side!” Mike scoffs, just as Eddie’s voice rings out across the parking lot, “Henderson!”
He stops mid-step, smacking his forehead. “I mean—Lady Henderson! I swear, I’m working on that.”
You give him a smirk as he approaches. “What do you want this time?”
Eddie scratches the back of his neck, glancing at Dustin and Mike like maybe he shouldn’t be doing this right in front of them. He does it anyway.
“I was thinking,” he says, a little unsure, “maybe you could come see my band play sometime?”
You hesitate. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Dustin’s face twist into something sour. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel the shift.
You keep your tone casual. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Yeah? Cool.” The way his smile flickers tells you he can’t tell if that was a yes or a soft rejection. He backs off with a little salute. “So… see you guys later?”
“Yeah. See you later,” Dustin says quickly, pulling open the back passenger door and climbing in without looking at either of you.
“What’d Munson want?” Marie asks as you climb into the car. She’s looking in the rearview mirror, swiping on lip gloss.
“He wants me to come see his band play,” you say, buckling your seatbelt.
“Which she will not be doing,” Dustin chimes in immediately from the back.
You whip around to glare at him. “And I never said I was.”
Marie sighs dramatically. “God, I’m so glad I’m an only child.”
For the first time in weeks, Mike decides to offer up more conversation than just a few words. “Would Nat dating Eddie really be that bad? I mean… one day he could be your brother-in-law. That’d be pretty cool.”
“Uh, no, Mike, it wouldn’t!” Dustin practically shrieks.
You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “Why does everyone think I want to date Eddie? Who said that? Because it sure as hell wasn’t me!”
“You blush when you talk to him,” Marie says, completely unbothered.
“Yeah, because he’s Eddie,” you say. “Does he seriously not make any of you even a little uncomfortable?”
Three no’s chorus throughout the car.
Okay, sure. So your lie is absolutely unbelievable.
You turn to Dustin again, trying to sound firm. “Listen to me. I don’t like Eddie like that. And even if I did, he’s the one who asked me to come watch him play. Why don’t you get on his case for once instead of jumping down my throat?”
Dustin crosses his arms and slumps against the seat with a hmph. “Maybe I will.”
AN: I hope you guys are enjoying this. 🫶🏻 Next chapter is a bit of a doozy. 🤪
Pairing: Steve Harrington x female!Henderson!reader x Eddie Munson
Summary: Dustin somehow convinces you to sub for Hellfire.
Warnings: n/a
WC: 1.8k
Masterlist
Chapter Three: Fireball Him!
“I have this thing where I get older, but just never wiser.”
Friday
October 4, 1985
You’re eating breakfast when Dustin comes careening into the kitchen.
“We need a sub.”
You stare at him, your spoonful of cereal halfway to your mouth. “Then find one.”
“We tried all afternoon yesterday,” he says. “No one wants to do it.”
“And how is that my problem?”
“Will you please do me this one favor?” he asks, clasping his hands together and dropping to his knees beside you. “Please, Nat. Pleaaaassseee.”
“Dustin,” you groan. You drop your spoon into your bowl and push your hair out of your face, your hand lingering on your head as you lean your elbow on the table. Well… It’s not like you’re in high school anymore, so who would know? Plus, maybe you could start winning back some cool points with your brother. “What do I get out of it?”
“Cool t-shirt?” he offers, gesturing to his own Hellfire Club attire he’s already wearing.
You roll your eyes, but give him a tiny smile. “Fine.”
He jumps up and claps his hands. “You won’t regret this! I promise! Eddie’s such a good DM, even better than you were!”
Your face drops. “Wow. Awesome.”
“What’s your problem with him?” he asks. “Every time I talk about him, you just shut me down.”
“I don’t have a problem with him,” you lie.
“You’re full of shit,” he tells you, but he walks off before the situation escalates—and before you can take back your answer about joining the campaign.
You mention your afternoon plans to Steve while he’s trying to juggle a stack of returns. You don’t bother pretending he doesn’t already know about your past with being a nerd—Dustin has a big mouth, and Steve hears everything eventually.
“I just don’t get his fascination with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson,” Steve says.
You pluck the tapes right out of his arms and head for the horror section. “I don’t either. But, god—he’s all Dustin talks about.”
Steve follows after you, hands shoved into his pockets. “Sounds kind of stupid, but sometimes I feel like I’m being replaced.”
You snort. “Yeah, that does sound stupid considering he’s fourteen.”
He shoots you a look. “Christ. You don’t have to agree.”
“Relax. I’m messing with you, Stevie.” You slide the last tape into place and turn back to him. “Besides, I’m kind of jealous too.”
His brows knit together. “Of who?”
“Eddie.”
That gets his attention. “What the hell would you have to be jealous about?”
You walk back toward the counter and lean forward on your elbows, staring down at the scratched laminate like it might offer answers. “Because that’s my brother. And after Starcourt burned down, it’s like I don’t know how to reach him anymore. He doesn’t tell me things. He doesn’t hang out. It’s not exactly from a lack of trying, either.”
Steve looks at you, eyes soft.
You swallow and keep going. “And Eddie gets all of him. Just shows up and suddenly Dustin’s got this whole new world that doesn’t include me.”
Steve comes to stand beside you, close enough that you feel his arm brush yours.
“Hey,” he says gently. “That’s not fair. You’re still his sister.”
“Tell that to him.” Then, because you hate sitting in feelings too long, you pivot. “Did you know I listen to metal sometimes?”
Steve blinks. “Uh, yeah? What kind of question is that?”
“Dustin didn’t.”
He stares at you. “You’re joking.”
You shake your head. “Nope.”
He lets out a short laugh. “Jesus. That kid.”
You glance sideways at him. “See? Eddie doesn’t just steal his time. He steals his attention span too.”
Steve smiles, but there’s something tight behind it.
“Well,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly, “for what it’s worth… you’re still way cooler.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. High praise coming from Hawkins’ former king.”
He smirks. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Steve drops you off after work again.
Neither of you says much on the drive. The radio hums low between you, some forgettable song playing. He pulls up in front of your house and puts the car in park. You sit there for a second, fingers curled around your seatbelt.
“So,” he says finally. “Hellfire, huh?”
“Yeah,” you answer. “Against my will.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “You’ll be fine.”
You glance over at him. He’s watching you now, elbow hooked over the steering wheel, expression softer than usual.
“Try not to scare the kids,” he adds.
You scoff. “Please. I taught half of them how to play.”
“I know. Dustin’s only mentioned it a thousand times.” There’s a pause, then Steve clears his throat. “Call me when you’re done?”
You raise an eyebrow. That’s new. “Why?”
He shrugs, suddenly very interested in the dashboard. “Just… yeah. Let me know you got home okay.”
Something warm and complicated settles in your chest. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll call.”
For a second, it feels like he might say something else. He looks at you again, like he’s trying to memorize your face. Instead, he just nods. “Have fun, Nat.”
You open the door. “Try not to miss me too much, Harrington.”
He playfully rolls his eyes. “Don’t get cocky on me, Henderson.”
You shut the door and head inside without looking back, even though you can feel his eyes on you until you’re through the front door.
Once in your room, you pull a box out from under your bed, which contains the few D&D things you decided to keep for yourself instead of giving to Dustin. You pick up a pouch, pouring out the contents into your palm to make sure it’s not your purple dice. You’re pleasantly surprised to find that it’s your set that’s pale pink with flecks of gold.
You shove the pouch into your jacket pocket and head out toward the one thing you’ve been dreading all day.
Being back in Hawkins High feels strange, especially like this. You linger by the doors with your hood up, trying to stay invisible, suddenly unsure where you’re supposed to go.
“Nat?” You spin on your heel to find Dustin a few feet away, eyes wide. “Holy shit! You actually came!”
“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask, stuffing your hands into your back pockets.
“Because you act like playing these days would turn you into a freak like me.”
Guilt pinches at your chest. That one lands harder than you expect.
“Well,” you say, softer now, “I’m here. For you. That counts for something, right?”
He smiles. “Yeah. I guess it does.”
“Good,” you say. “Now where’s the stupid t-shirt?”
You walk into the drama room after changing in the bathroom. It’s decorated exactly like a dungeon would be, partially illuminated by so many candles it’s probably a fire hazard. All the boys—besides Eddie—collectively stop what they’re doing to stare at you.
“Henderson, you kind of neglected to mention that your sister is hot,” a floppy-haired kid says. You raise your eyebrows at him in surprise. That’s very bold.
“Ew!” Dustin recoils. “Because she’s my sister, dude!”
“Don’t make our newcomer feel awkward, Gareth the Great,” Eddie tells him, already in DM mode. He’s sitting on a literal throne at the head of the table. His eyes narrow as he looks at you. “You look a little unprepared there, Nat.”
“No.” You pull your pouch out of your jacket pocket. “Got my dice. I can bum anything else I need from Dustin.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asks. He clasps his hands together, his gaudy rings clinking, and rests them in front of him, elbows propped on the arms of the throne. “I might have… overheard somewhere that you didn’t know a thing about this game.”
“Bullshit,” Dustin says, jumping to your defense.
You lift a hand to quiet him, your old DM instincts rushing back like you never took a five year break. He shuts up immediately, but you can see him vibrating in your peripheral, already knowing where this is headed. Your voice drops as your eyes narrow. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Eddie stands a little too aggressively, the throne squeaking against the linoleum as he approaches. He towers over you when he speaks. “Then what’s your class and level?”
“A level fifteen chaotic-neutral tiefling sorcerer,” you answer without missing a beat.
He straightens, plants his hands on his hips, and shoots Dustin a look.
“Yeah, he already knows I’m good,” you add, tone cocky. “Now, are we gonna play, or do I need to go ahead and just fireball your ass?”
The guys erupt into laughter. Eddie tries to keep his hard-ass act, but you catch the corner of his mouth twitch before he turns to glare them all into silence. They obey instantly. He heads back to his throne and gestures toward an empty chair.
“Take a seat, Nat,” he says. “You can show me what you’ve really got.”
The campaign is exhilarating. And as much as you hate to admit it, Eddie really is the best DM you’ve ever encountered. He keeps low music playing in the background for ambience while holding everyone captive with the way he speaks and acts out every scene laid out before you. He’s absolutely enthralling.
As you’re leaving, you stop Dustin by the doors. “You were right, okay? He’s great. This was great.”
“Maybe I could get you a permanent seat at the table,” he offers, jumping the gun.
“Whoa! Slow down,” you snort. “I’m not saying I want to come back full time, but if you ever need a sub…” You shrug. “Don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”
You push open the doors and immediately feel the cold air hit your face. In all the excitement, you forgot that you and Dustin only have your bikes.
“Shit,” he says.
“Shit,” you agree.
“You guys need a ride?” Eddie’s voice rings out behind you.
“Oh, thank god,” Dustin says. “We’re saved.”
“A ride would be wonderful, Eddie the Banished,” you tell him, still half in game mode. “Thank you.”
You load your bikes into the back of his van—which looks like it might fall apart at any second—and take the passenger seat while Dustin climbs in beside the bikes.
“So, where’s your sweet ride?” Eddie asks as he pulls out of the parking lot.
There’s nothing sweet about your ride. It’s a shitty Volkswagen.
“Broken down,” you tell him. “Also the reason I had to get a job.”
“Oh no,” he gasps. “A job? How awful.”
“It is awful. Weekdays at Family Video might as well be purgatory.”
“At least you’re making easy money, right?”
“Mm,” you hum. “Yeah, I guess.”
The conversation dies out and he turns up the radio. Ozzy Osbourne blares through the speakers and you fear for your life for a moment when Eddie starts headbanging while driving—but then you catch Dustin doing the same, and you decide to give in, joining them.
And that’s pretty much the entire ride.
You both thank Eddie again after you get your bikes out of the back, but as you’re walking toward the front door, he calls out, “Henderson.”
Both of you turn, and he laughs. “Sorry. Lady Henderson. Can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure.” You toss your keys to Dustin so he can get inside, then walk back over to Eddie.
“As much as I hate to admit it, you really impressed me tonight,” he says. Something tells you that coming from Eddie, this is one of the highest compliments you could get. “Thought Dustin was full of shit, but you play a good game.”
“Please don’t offer me a permanent seat,” you say, half-joking, half-serious.
He cracks a smile. “No, I wasn’t going to do that. Unless…” He holds his hands out, and you shake your head. “Got it.”
“You impressed me too,” you admit. “I didn’t think anyone could make a better DM than me, but you proved me wrong today.”
“Little full of yourself, aren’t you?” he jokes.
You shrug dramatically. “Just a tiny bit.”
“Your brother’s a good kid,” he says, changing the subject. “Smart as hell. He fixed my amp for me, you know.”
You didn’t know that. “Oh, I know he is. Too smart for his own good sometimes, I think.”
“He looks up to you more than you know.”
You don’t know where any of this is coming from, but you simply nod, letting his words soak in. “Yeah.”
Eddie can tell he’s hit something tender. Instead of pushing, he bows slightly and says, “Well, I guess I will bid you adieu, ma chérie.”
The corners of your mouth twitch. “Yeah, I better get in there before he shocks himself again or burns the house down because of that damn science fair project. I swear he almost roasted Tews the other day.”
He hops up into his van as you start walking away, then stops you again. “I was serious the other day, by the way. Don’t be a stranger, Nat.”
You nod. “I’ll try not to be.”
The second you’re through the door, Dustin steps in front of you, arms crossed.
“What?” you ask.
“Don’t you dare date my friend.”
You blink. “Why not?”
“And don’t even think that means Steve is back on the table,” he adds quickly. “Both of them are off-limits.”
You raise an eyebrow, immediately entertained. “Wow. So I’m just not allowed to date anyone now?”
“Not my friends,” he says.
“Who the hell even said I was interested in Eddie anyway?” you question. “Or Steve, for that matter?”
“No one,” he admits. “But I know flirting when I see it.”
Something tells you he absolutely does not know flirting when he sees it.
You pat the top of his head as you step around him, heading into the kitchen to give Tews her dinner. “You poor thing. That wasn’t flirting. Eddie and I definitely were not flirting.”
Pairing: Steve Harrington x female!Henderson!reader x Eddie Munson
Summary: You have to face your new enemy. Your car also decides to break down, so you get a job.
Warnings: weed
WC: 2.1k
Masterlist
Chapter Two: A Chip in my Windshield
“Welcome to your life, there’s no turning back.”
Saturday
September 7, 1985
Whatever God you prayed to decided not to answer your prayers about Eddie not being home. Of course he would be home on a Saturday night, though. His only friends are underclassmen.
Marie pulls into Forest Hills Trailer Park and you want to shrink into the seat, disappear completely. You told her you weren’t going inside, to which she said, “Too fucking bad.”
Eddie’s place is close to the entrance, so you’re there in seconds. You have no time to think of an escape plan and—hang on. Why are you being so weird about this? He’s just a guy.
“Ready?” Marie asks, shutting off her car.
“No,” you mutter, but you trail behind her to the door anyway.
“One second!” Eddie yells when she knocks.
You bounce up and down on the heels of your feet with your arms behind your back as you awkwardly wait for a solid minute before he opens the door.
“It’s about time,” Marie says.
“Sorry.” He offers no explanation as to what took him so long.
You follow the two of them into the trailer. It’s very small. Mugs adorn the walls along with a collection of hats that would put Dustin’s to shame. It smells like weed, cigarettes, and—is that cologne?
“My uncle is a collector of weird things, if you can’t tell,” Eddie says, noticing you taking everything in.
You shrug. “Dustin has enough hats for the both of us. It’s not that weird.”
He nods in acknowledgment, then turns to Marie. “So, what are you thinking? Ounce? Half ounce?”
“Ounce,” she answers.
“Follow me.”
She doesn’t have to follow him far; practically ten steps to the kitchen which bleeds into the living room you’re already standing in. You look down at the coffee table to see papers spread out across it. At first, you think he’s maybe doing homework, finally trying to graduate, but then you catch a name, Gareth the Great, scribbled in Eddie’s chicken scratch handwriting.
“This is for your campaign, yeah?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. You shove your hands in your pockets as you look over at the two of them, resisting the urge to pick up the papers and dive into what he has planned.
“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. “You can look at any of it if you want.”
You wave him off with your elbow. “Nah.”
“You sure? Dustin said—”
“I’m good.” Then because you realize you sound rude, “I don’t know much about it, anyway.”
Eddie’s eyebrows furrow together, catching you in your lie. Of course Dustin and Mike have already told him all about how you got them into the game. It had to have been before he realized that Eddie is much better than you are. Not just at the game, but all around.
You’re expecting him to call you out, but instead he says, “Okay,” and returns to weighing out Marie’s weed.
The fact is, you want nothing more than to read through his papers, to pick his whole campaign apart and give him better ideas because you were always the end all be all of DM’s at your old school. But that was then, this is now.
“Thanks, Munson,” Marie says, pulling you from your thoughts.
“Anytime,” he says, a cheeky smile on his face.
Part of you wonders if he has a thing for Marie and that’s the reason for the cologne. She is gorgeous. Bouncy blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a body that might as well have been sculpted by the gods themselves. She hit the lottery on looks, that’s for sure. And for some reason, this sends another pang of jealousy surging through your chest.
He glances at you. “Hey, you’re, uh…” He gestures, searching for your name.
“You can call me Nat,” you say.
“Nat.” Your nickname lilts off his tongue in a way that sends a chill down your body. “Well, Nat, don’t be a stranger. You know, now that I have your brother mixed in with my little herd of sheep and all.”
Or maybe he’s just a huge flirt.
“Right,” you say, dragging out the word. “Well, good to see you. We better get going.”
With that, you turn on your heel and make the five steps to the door.
Wednesday
September 11, 1985
Weekdays are lonely for you. Your mom is at work, Dustin is at school, and you decided not to go to college like Marie—or to get a job, for that matter.
You’re sprawled out on your bed, a well-loved copy of Titus Groan in your hands. This is your third re-read of the Gormenghast trilogy just this year alone. You almost laugh out loud at the thought. Guess you can take the girl away from the nerds, but you can’t take the nerd out of the girl.
When you moved to Hawkins, you realized it was your chance to become someone different. Back in Minnesota, you had a lot of friends, sure, but at the same time you were a total nobody. People constantly passed by you, never bothering to give you a second thought.
You were in the middle of eighth grade when you made the move back to your mom’s hometown. You kept your head down for the school year, your only friends being Dustin’s friends that he somehow quickly made—which meant that you got to teach them all about the world of Dungeons and Dragons. You spent many nights cooped up in Mike’s basement, junk food trash and sodas all over the place, yelling with excitement about your thrilling adventures. Even Mike’s sister, Nancy, would sometimes sit and watch, claiming you really knew how to engage an audience.
When you became a freshman, however, you decided that all needed to change. You wanted to be known for once, not just someone in the shadows. It was a relief when you met Marie. She had basically been popular all her life, and she took pity on you the second week of school when she saw you nervously scanning the cafeteria.
Marie wasn’t exactly the best influence on you. You went from eating too many cookies and drinking too much Mountain Dew every weekend to smoking weed and drinking beer. She loved to party, and you loved to feel like you were a normal teenage girl.
The only problem was your mom caught you heading in the wrong direction. She tightened her leash on you the night Chief Hopper brought you home, soaking wet and freezing because you decided to take a swim in the town’s fountain after a few too many drinks. You still went out all the time after that—she just didn’t know.
Now that you’re eighteen, she can’t quite tell you what to do, but considering you’re still living under her roof and not furthering your education, you push your limits within reason. Which leads you to here and now. Bored out of your mind, almost contemplating getting a job.
You did have one over the summer for a month. You worked at Scoops Ahoy with Steve and Robin, but on your day off the mall burned down. Steve and Robin, along with Dustin, just so happened to narrowly escape death that day, which ultimately made you stop and realize that you had pushed your little brother too far away without meaning to. You’ve sort of been trying to make it up to him, but he never seems to want to take the bait, always giving you another excuse.
And now here comes Eddie Munson—a wrench in your plans, a chip in your windshield. There are two things you know to be true; the first being that your old purple dice are cursed because they always have been, and the second being that Eddie is going to be a pain in your ass.
You throw your book down on the bed and get up, stretching for the first time since everyone left this morning. You figure you’ll go to the gas station, buy some more cigarettes and maybe a drink with the money you have from the measly allowance your mom still graciously gives you.
Only, when you go to start your car, it won’t start.
You pop the hood and stare at the engine like you’d even know what the hell you’re looking for, then slam it shut.
“Piece of shit,” you mutter. Then because you have a bit of a temper, you bring your foot back and kick the front of it. You immediately regret your decision as you drop to the ground in pain. “Ow! Fuck.”
You sit there for a few minutes too long, but once you’re positive the pain in your big toe has subsided, you glance toward the garage and sigh. Guess you’ll have to get out your old bike.
Instead of heading to the gas station, you ride straight to Family Video. Luckily, you spot Steve’s BMW sitting out front.
“Give me a job,” you demand as you barrel through the front door, bell jingling loudly.
Steve looks up from behind the counter. “Why are you all sweaty?”
“I biked here, Steve,” you snap. “And that’s why I need a job. My piece of shit car won’t start.”
He leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. His eyes flick over you in a way that’s a little too slow.
His mouth twitches. “I could take a look at it for you.”
“Would you even know what you’re looking for?” You don’t mean to sound rude, but you already know the answer.
He blinks. “Well, no—”
“Then give me a job.”
He grins as he comes around the corner, stepping close to you. “Bossy.”
You smirk. “You like it.”
He doesn’t argue.
There’s a beat where neither of you move. You’re standing too close. You can smell his cologne, something probably expensive, and for half a second you wonder what it would be like to just… not care about Dustin.
“Only I can give you a job,” someone interrupts, which is probably a good thing.
You turn to see pimple-faced Keith standing in the aisle across from you, holding a stack of movies.
“I thought you worked at the arcade?” you ask.
“I moved on to bigger and better things,” he says, and you can tell he genuinely believes that.
“Okay,” you snort. “So, can you give me a job or what?”
“Name your top three movies.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Easy. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, The Exorcist, and Star Wars.”
“Which Star Wars?” he presses.
“The original, obviously,” you fire back. “Everyone knows the original is the best.”
None of those answers are true—well, Star Wars kind of is—but Keith is easy to read when it comes to what will impress him.
He pretends to think about it. “You’re hired. Can you start tomorrow?”
Friday
September 20, 1985
Working at Family Video is boring. You have all weekday shifts, which means you work with Steve three times a week and Keith the other two—bored out of your mind while waiting for the very rare customer to wander in. Most people obviously rent movies in the evenings and on weekends.
Today, luckily, you’re with Steve. At least he gives you a ride when you work together.
“You didn’t tell me this job was such a drag,” you say, hopping up to sit on the counter.
He glances over at you. “You never asked. In fact, you demanded a job here, if I recall correctly.”
“You always looked like you were having fun.”
He snorts. “What gave you that impression? The thousand-yard stare while I stock horror?”
A sly grin spreads across your face. “Oh. I get it. It’s not the job.” He pauses mid-step. “It’s Robin.”
He turns slowly. “What do you mean?”
You tilt your head, studying him like you’re genuinely considering it. “Why don’t you date her? She’s cute. We always had fun at Scoops, too.”
“No, no, no. Absolutely not.” He waves his hands around dramatically. “Robin and I are strictly platonic. Like… aggressively platonic.”
You hum, clearly unconvinced. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
He narrows his eyes. “Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”
You kick your heel lightly against the counter. “I just think it’s funny. You get all… weirdly defensive when someone brings her up in that way.”
“I’m not defensive.”
“You’re absolutely defensive.”
He leans against the counter beside you, close enough that your knees almost brush his arm. “You jealous?” Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Your heart does something stupid in your chest, but you recover fast. You scoff and shove his shoulder with two fingers. “Don’t flatter yourself, Harrington.”
He just smiles, like he knows that’s a lie.
For half a second, neither of you moves. The store feels too quiet. Too small. You’re painfully aware of how close his hand is to your knee—you can nearly feel the warmth of him through your jeans.
The front bell jingles.
Both of you jump apart like you’ve been burned.
Steve straightens instantly, clearing his throat and putting on his customer-service face. You slide off the counter and grab the nearest stack of returns, suddenly very interested in alphabetizing.
A middle-aged guy wanders in, squinting at the shelves like they might attack him.
“Uh,” he says. “You got anything good?”
Steve snaps right into it. “Depends what you’re into.”
You busy yourself, pretending to organize tapes that are already perfectly fine, cheeks warm, pulse still loud in your ears.
The day drags on, and you’ve never been so grateful to clock out. It’s no longer because work was boring, but more so because the tension between you and Steve became so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Steve drops you off, and the silence in the car on the way there says more than either of you want it to. His hand lingers on the steering wheel after he parks, looking like he might say something, then doesn’t.
“See you tomorrow,” he says instead.
“Yeah,” you answer, already opening the door. You hesitate for half a second before closing it. Neither of you looks back.
You head inside and immediately open the fridge, looking for something to eat.
You decide to heat up some leftovers from dinner the night before, so you stick them in the microwave and—the power suddenly goes out.
“Shit!” Dustin yells from his room.
“Dude!” you yell back. “What the hell?!”
Tews, your cat you got after Mews suspiciously went missing, hops onto the counter and meows at you.
“I know, babe,” you mutter, rubbing her head. “He’s so annoying.”
Dustin rushes out of his bedroom and grabs a flashlight to head down into the cellar. “I’m sorry, Nat.”
“What are you even doing?”
“Working on my science fair project.”
“What science fair?”
“The state science fair,” he says, giving you a look like you definitely should’ve already known that.
“Oh.” You try not to frown. “What are you making for it?”
“Eh, I don’t wanna bore you with it.” He waves you off and disappears downstairs to fix the electric before Mom gets home.
Tews meows again, brushing against your hand. You scratch behind her ears.
“I’m trying here, okay?” you tell her quietly. “I can’t help that he’s currently in an I-Hate-My-Big-Sister phase.”
Your mind drifts back to Steve’s unreadable look in the car, the way he almost said something.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x female!Henderson!reader x Eddie Munson
Summary: All you wanted was a fun weekend. Instead, you get Hellfire Club, Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, and jealousy.
Warnings: weed, mentions of alcohol
WC: 1.8k
Masterlist
Chapter One: Jealousy, Jealousy
“Gonna make you wonder why you even try.”
Friday
September 6, 1985
The one thing you did not want to do with your Friday night was pick up your brother from Hellfire Club.
You had plans to drive up to Indianapolis and watch a band with your best friend, Marie. You begged your mom to tell him to hitch a ride with one of his friends, but she told you no dice—she had dinner plans with a friend, and it was your responsibility as his older sister to make sure he got home safe.
Marie and you were never going to make it if you had to pick Dustin up first, which meant your plans were canceled. Honestly, you think your mom didn’t want you to go in the first place. This just handed her a clean excuse. She always finds one.
In a way, you envy your younger brother. She lets him do whatever he wants, but never you. You’re her firstborn, which means you’re her built-in backup plan. Her unpaid babysitter. Her untrustworthy problem child.
“This is so stupid,” you mutter, leaning against your car in the Hawkins High parking lot.
The asphalt is still warm under your sneakers from the day’s sun. The hum of distant traffic bleeds in from the main road, mixing with the faint buzz of the flickering lot lights overhead. A cigarette burns between your fingers, smoke curling into your face as you tip your head back and let out a frustrated groan to the universe.
You could be hammering back beers and smoking weed with Marie right now. You could be halfway to Indy, windows down, music too loud, screaming lyrics until your throat hurt.
Instead, you’re here, waiting to drive your nerdy brother home, and most likely his friends too.
You can’t be too harsh about him being nerdy, though. You are the one who introduced him to Dungeons and Dragons in the first place. The only difference is that you outgrew it, and he dove in headfirst.
You remember spending nights in Mike Wheeler’s basement when you were fourteen, teaching the boys the ins and outs of the game, their eyes wide with wonder and magic. Back then, you were a nobody. You had nothing better to do than hang out with your dorky little brother and his equally dorky friends.
Now you have things. Plans. A life you’re trying to scrape together for yourself. And somehow, you still end up stuck in parking lots.
You hear the doors squeak open and flick your cigarette away, grinding it into the pavement with your shoe before turning on your heel. Five guys spill out, backpacks slung over their shoulders, laughing too loud, talking over each other about the first campaign of the semester like it’s the most important thing in the world.
“Let’s go, loser!” you yell at Dustin, your voice echoing across the empty lot. You really don’t want to have to spend a second longer than you have to here.
Dustin and Mike start running toward you, shouting their goodbyes to their new friends—which means you’ll also have to drop Mike off. You don’t see Lucas, though. That strikes you as odd, but you don’t question it.
“Hey, Nat,” Mike says. “Can you drop me off?”
You resist the urge to tell him not to call you that anymore. Nat. It’s the nickname they gave you for your stupid luck at rolling natural twenties. In their defense, they were nine years old and easily impressed by shiny dice and improbable victories.
But it stuck, and now everyone uses it. Even your mom.
“Get in,” you sigh.
You open your door and you’re about to climb in when you hear someone yelling, “Henderson! Hey, wait up!”
Dustin nearly trips scrambling back out of your car, like he’s nervous about whoever’s calling for him. You pause with one foot still inside, looking up to see it’s Eddie Munson.
That tracks.
He’s been running Hellfire since before you even entered high school, although it’s kind of unfortunate for him that you managed to graduate before he did. Imagine being stuck in high school for six years. You almost shudder at the thought.
At one point, you actually considered joining his club. That was before you noticed the way everyone looked down on its members, treating them like they were in some weird cult instead of just playing a fantasy game. This is around the time you grew out of playing D&D. If you planned on being someone in high school, you couldn’t be caught dead with the likes of them.
“Forgot your dice.” Eddie hands Dustin the tiny bag, stuffed with your old set.
“Thank you, m’lord!” Dustin says, way too enthusiastically, adding a small bow for emphasis.
“No problem, kid,” Eddie chuckles. He turns to leave, but catches you watching the exchange. “This your sister?”
“Yeah,” Dustin answers, suddenly less animated.
You wiggle your fingers at him a little awkwardly. “Hey.”
Eddie cracks a smile. “Hey.”
The streetlight spills over him, washing him in this soft glow that almost makes him look angelic. You hate that your brain immediately supplies the thought that he’s kind of cute these days. Not at all how you remember him from when you were still in school, which was only five months ago.
You don’t know what else to say, so you default to attitude.
“Alright, let’s go, you little dweebs.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Later, Eddie.”
He gives you a single nod. “Later.”
“Nat, you would have loved Hellfire,” Dustin says as you drive toward Mike’s. “You missed out by not joining before you graduated. Tell her, Mike!”
“Uh, yeah,” Mike agrees, clearly not sure what else to add. He’s seemed a little off lately, ever since both Will and his girlfriend moved away. How his girlfriend ended up living with the Byers is something you don’t understand and something you doubt you’ll ever question. It’s not really your business, anyway.
“Eddie is, like, the coolest person I’ve ever met,” Dustin keeps going, completely unfazed by Mike’s lack of enthusiasm. “Did I tell you he gave me a mixtape? It’s got the best stuff on it. He can’t believe I’ve never listened to metal, but he said he couldn’t wish a better musical education on his own child. Oh! And at the campaign—”
“Dustin, you do realize I listen to metal sometimes, right?” you cut in.
“I never noticed.”
You roll your eyes. Of course he never noticed. Ever since you ditched D&D and your nightly hangouts for parties and actual friends, the two of you drifted farther apart than you ever meant to.
You drop Mike off, then turn the music up, proving a point to Dustin that you do, in fact, listen to metal. Holy Diver by Dio blasts through the speakers, but he barely reacts. He’s too busy rambling about how Eddie Munson is the coolest guy alive.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” you ask as you pull into the driveway. “I can make popcorn.”
“Nah, I’ve got homework,” he says.
“But it’s Friday.” Even you know the protest is pointless. Dustin is truly a whole-hearted nerd who gets his homework done on Friday nights and learns other things on his own over the weekends, unless he’s hanging out with his friends.
“Maybe tomorrow night?” he offers.
You blow air out of your mouth. “Sure. Yeah.”
Saturday
September 7, 1985
Unfortunately for both of you, you’re not around on Saturday.
You drive over to Marie’s around noon and end up staying all day, with plans to spend the night, as long as your mom doesn’t call and demand you come home. Since Marie’s parents are gone for the weekend, the two of you spend the afternoon smoking weed, demolishing junk food, and trading mindless gossip.
She’s sitting on the floor, painting her toenails a deep red, while you’re stretched out on her bed, flat on your back with your head hanging over the side, staring at her wall.
“What do you know about Eddie Munson?” you ask.
She freezes mid-swipe. “Why?”
“Because Dustin joined Hellfire Club, and after I picked him up last night, he was literally all he could talk about.” You roll onto your stomach. “Oh, Eddie’s the coolest guy ever. Eddie listens to metal. Actually, Eddie invented metal. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you mock.
“You sound jealous,” she states.
“What?” You scoff. “Why the hell would I be jealous of a guy who’s literally a super-super-senior?”
“Because your baby brother thinks he’s cooler than you are.”
She’s right. You don’t want her to be, but she is.
“Whatever,” you mutter.
Then she completely catches you off guard.
“He’s my dealer, you know.”
You blink. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, Marie. Since when?”
She shrugs. “About six months. Since Reefer Rick went to jail.”
You let the conversation die there. Marie goes back to painting her toenails, and you keep staring blankly at her wall, letting the thought of Eddie Munson sit in your head longer than you mean to.
Once she’s done, you suggest heading to Family Video to rent a movie.
The two of you stumble through the door together, the bell dinging loudly overhead as you laugh a little too hard. You’ve definitely smoked too much—there’s no hiding it. At least Eddie has good weed.
“What the hell do you two want?”
Steve Harrington is standing beside the counter with his hands on his hips.
You never imagined you’d end up on speaking terms with him, considering he was a major douchebag in high school. But somehow, he and Dustin became friends. And the more Steve started showing up around your life, the more you tolerated each other.
Then somewhere along the way, tolerance turned into something else. Not that either of you ever acknowledged it. Dustin made that impossible.
Over the summer, Steve even invited you to hang out when Dustin was off at Camp Know Where. It had been easy. Too easy. Which was exactly why nothing ever happened.
“Movies, Stevie,” you say. “Why else would we be here?”
“Got anything good?” Marie asks.
Robin Buckley pops around the corner with a small laugh. “Steve wouldn’t know a good movie if it smacked him in the face.”
“Oh, come on,” Steve complains at the same time you ask, “Then what do you suggest?”
Robin turns to her left and grabs the first tape she sees, clearly clocking your current state and knowing literally anything she picks will work. “How about… An American Werewolf in London?”
“Sold!” Marie shouts, and the two of you dissolve into giggles.
Steve squints at you. “Jesus. Are you guys high?”
You place your hand over your heart. “I’m so sorry our Saturdays are more interesting than yours.”
That only makes it worse. Even Robin laughs.
“For your information, I actually have a date tonight,” Steve says, unimpressed.
You catch the way his eyes flick to you for half a second before he looks away, and you pretend it doesn’t hurt, because it’s not allowed to hurt.
“What is it,” Marie asks, “your third date this week?”
He opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again before finally snapping, “Take the movie and go.” Then mutters, “Assholes.”
Marie snatches the tape from Robin and heads for the door. “Thanks, guys!”
You hesitate for just a beat, then wink at Steve, trying to lighten the mood without crossing any lines.
“Love ya, Stevie,” you say lightly. Then, to Robin, “See you later!”
“We’re out.”
It’s eight o’clock, and you and Marie have already finished the movie and demolished an entire large pizza by yourselves.
“Out of what?”
“Weed, Nat.”
“You only had enough for two joints this entire weekend?”
“Well, I’m not perfect. And I don’t exactly see you contributing.”
You stare at her for a second. “Okay. That’s fair. So what are we gonna do?”
She stands and walks over to the phone. “We’ll have to get more.”
You immediately realize where this is going. “Can’t we just hang out sober?”
Her hand hovers over the receiver. “Do you actually want to be sober, or do you just not want to see your little brother’s new favorite person?”
You tip your head back and let out a long sigh. “The second one.”
“Get over it, Henderson,” Marie says. “It’s time to face your enemy.”
Heard The Risk Is Drowning—I’m Gonna Take It Masterlist ꩜
Pairing: Steve Harrington x female!Henderson!reader x Eddie Munson
Summary: You find yourself torn between Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson—which would be fine, if it weren’t for the fact you’re Dustin Henderson’s older sister.
Warnings: I will put specific warnings before each chapter if there are any!
Summary: You get hurt during cheer and Steve comes to the rescue. And the biggest secret of your life might just get exposed.
Warnings: weed, bodily injury, mentions of sex
WC: 2.2k
Masterlist
Chapter Seven: Sprains & Spilled Secrets
“Fuck my life. Won’t you let an innocent woman be?”
Thursday
October 4, 1984
By some miracle, Eddie and his Uncle Wayne manage to patch up the gaping hole in the wall. The lamp, however, is beyond saving. Shards of glass had glittered across the floor like diamonds, and now it’s a permanent loss. It wasn’t just any lamp either, it had been imported from Germany. Of course. Figures that the only irreplaceable object in the entire house had to be the one that was broken.
You spend the rest of the week haunted by the thought of it, your stomach twisting every time you glance at the empty corner where the lamp once stood. Eddie notices your guilty looks piling up like storm clouds, and finally, he cracks. He shows up at your door one evening with his usual crooked grin and a joint pinched between his fingers.
Now you’re outside together on the trampoline, twilight settling in, cicadas buzzing in the trees. The springs bounce with every slight movement, and the smoke curls lazily into the warm night air. You’re propped up on your elbows, legs draped across Eddie’s. He doesn’t complain; he just flicks the ash into the grass and takes another drag.
“I know it’s not really your thing,” you murmur, “but… will you come to the football game tomorrow?”
Eddie exhales a slow stream of smoke, his expression unreadable in the dim porch light. “What? To watch you cheer?” His tone has a teasing lilt, but his eyes search yours, waiting for the real reason.
“Yeah,” you admit, heat blooming in your cheeks. It’s ridiculous how nervous you feel. Cheerleading is the one part of your life you never invite anyone into. You’ve never asked a soul to come watch, not even your parents back when they used to forget your games entirely. Saying it out loud makes your throat tighten with vulnerability.
Eddie studies you for a beat longer, then his mouth curves into something softer, something that isn’t just his usual smirk.
“Of course I will,” he promises.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Friday
October 5, 1984
You should have known they weren’t going to catch you. Nicole had been a bitch all week long, claiming that it was her period making her moody, but you knew better. She got it in her head that she should have been cheer captain, not you. And what better way to sabotage the captain than by “accidentally” dropping her during the half time show?
The ground rushes up to meet you, and then—crack. You hit with a bone-jarring thud, the air punched clean out of your lungs. Pain radiates hot and sharp from your ankle, twisting your stomach.
“Bee!” Jenna’s voice shrieks over the noise of the field.
You blink, the world swimming, the shouts of the squad muffled by the roaring in your ears. You expect Jenna’s face when you force your eyes open, but instead, Steve Harrington is crouched over you.
Of course.
Of all people, him.
You can practically feel half of Hawkins watching him worry about you, like he’s some white knight in Nikes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you rasp, more mortified than hurt. Your ankle screams when you try to move it, but the burn of humiliation is worse.
Steve’s face is too close, his eyes sharp with concern like you belong to him, like he has any right to be the one down here instead of your squad.
So maybe it was a little dramatic of Steve to leap over the bleachers like some sort of action hero and sprint straight across the field. But the truth was, his body moved before his brain could. The second he saw you slip through the arms of your teammates and hit the ground, he was already running.
“I’ve got you,” Steve says, sliding his arms under you, effortlessly picking you up from the ground.
Nobody stops him—not your squad, not the football players, not even the coaches. They just step back, wordless, letting Steve carry you off the field like it’s the only outcome that makes sense.
“Harrington, if you don’t get your hands off of me in about five seconds, I’m gonna scream,” you threaten.
“Then scream.”
He bounces you up in his arms to get a better grip and you begrudgingly wrap your arms around his neck for stability. His smug grin tells you he noticed.
“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, practically out of breath from jogging to catch up to you in the parking lot.
“She’ll be fine,” Steve answers before you can. “I’m just gonna take her to the hospital.”
“Oh, you are so not taking me to the hospital,” you scoff. “Don’t act like you’re in charge of me. And put me down!”
He rolls his eyes like you’re being ridiculous, but he obliges, setting you carefully on your feet. You immediately wobble, your ankle screaming in protest, and instinctively grab Eddie’s arm for balance.
“Look around, Bee,” Steve says, gesturing with his arms. “Do you see your parents anywhere? No? Then I’m in charge.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you sigh. “You’re so delusional it’s unreal.”
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
You’re sitting on the edge of the stiff plastic waiting room chair, your injured ankle propped up on Eddie’s knee so it stays elevated. Every few seconds, you shoot Steve another dagger-like glare across the space between you. He sits back with his arms behind his head, leaning against the wall, looking way too comfortable for someone who just manhandled you off a field.
Eddie leans forward with a low laugh. “The tension is so bad between you two, I’d swear you’ve had sex before if I didn’t know any better.”
Both your heads snap toward him, eyes going wide at the same time. Eddie freezes mid-grin. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Please, do not tell me—”
“It was one time,” Steve blurts.
“Steve!” You smack him in the arm with the back of your hand. “We said we’d never talk about it! Shut the fuck up!”
You both start talking over each other, words coming out like rapid fire as Eddie’s head whips back and forth like the two of you are having a tennis match.
“It wasn’t—”
“He kissed me first—”
“No, you kissed me first—”
“God, you’re delusional—”
“You liked it—”
“I’d rather be dead than—”
“Why are you acting like it’s some federal crime?” Steve cuts in, louder. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal!” you snap, heat rising to your cheeks. “We swore—”
“Does it even matter at this point?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“Yes! You’re only saying it now to try and make Eddie jealous!”
“I am not!”
“Oh, really? Because it’s convenient the first guy you think I show an actual interest in is who you decide to spill it to—”
Eddie throws his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, time out! What the hell are you two even talking about? Explain. Now.”
You groan, covering your face. “It was forever ago, okay? The summer before junior year. It didn’t mean anything.”
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
The backyard was loud and chaotic. People were screaming as they threw each other into the above ground pool, music was rattling the neighbors’ windows, the air sticky with chlorine and spilled beer. You stood near the shed in the shadows, away from all the noise, feeling a small bit overwhelmed.
Steve spotted you anyway.
The two of you had been at each other’s throats more than usual that summer. It started when Steve’s dad bragged about his shiny new lifeguard gig and tossed in a jab about you not even having a job. You bet that you could make more money without technically working. One day you told Steve he never shut up, and he bet you couldn’t last a single day without talking. You made it an hour before he sabotaged you by showing up at your house just to drive you insane.
The petty things kept piling up one by one, until the tension finally boiled over on the Fourth of July. At the neighborhood cookout, Steve launched a bottle rocket in your direction, grinning like it was the funniest thing in the world. You retaliated by trying to shove him, fully clothed, into the pool—except he dragged you in with him. The two of you surfaced thrashing, hurling curse words like grenades, each trying to dunk the other under. By the time someone pulled you apart, the entire neighborhood was staring, horrified, as if you’d managed to ruin not just the cookout but the holiday itself.
This was the first time you had seen him since.
“Nice work earlier,” he said, sliding up beside you with that insufferable grin. He smelled like his signature cologne and cheap whiskey.
You frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“At the keg. Watched you bat your eyelashes so Andy would pour for you. Classic Bee.”
Your jaw tightened. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He leaned in a little, smirk cutting deeper. “You act innocent, but you know how to play your cards right when you want something. Everyone sees it but you.”
Your blood boiled. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Coming from King Steve, that’s rich.”
He laughed, taking another step closer. Too close. “There it is. That temper. Always ready to snap. Honestly, it’s kind of predictable.”
“Predictable?” You shoved his chest, hard enough to rock him back a step. “We might have grown up together, but you don’t know shit about me.”
He steadied himself, his smirk never faltering. “I know that you’re a brat.”
The word lit you up like gasoline. You shoved him again, harder this time. “Say it again. See where it gets you.”
“Brat.”
You shoved him into the wall of the shed. He caught your wrist before you could do it again, pinning you there, his face inches from yours.
“You drive me insane,” he muttered, eyes locked on yours.
“Good,” you spat.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. His mouth slammed into yours, hot and demanding, all teeth and frustration. You shoved him back into the wall so hard the siding rattled. Your fists knotted in his shirt, dragging him closer, kissing him like it was another fight you refused to lose.
He groaned into your mouth, rough and low, his breath scorching your skin. His hands buried in your hair, tugging until your scalp tingled, tilting your face to deepen the kiss. His thumb pressed hard against your jaw, holding you in place like he didn’t trust you not to bolt.
The sounds of the party blurred into static as he dragged you into the shadows behind the shed, stumbling in the grass, lips never leaving yours. The ground was damp with summer dew, the air thick and humid, the smell of chlorine still clinging to his skin.
His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down your thighs, yanking you against him. When his fingers slipped beneath your skirt, your knees went weak, a strangled gasp tearing free as your head tipped back against the wall.
You were done for. Every shove, every insult, every time he’d smirked across the dinner table, all of it crashed together in this one reckless rush. Your nails raked down his arms, your leg hooked around his hip, pulling him closer, closer. Every move frantic, messy, desperate. It wasn’t gentle or sweet. Your mouths collided, teeth clashing, breath mixing hot and ragged as his hands mapped every inch of you they could find.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, it ended.
You both broke apart, panting in the dark. Your hair was a tangled mess, clothes rumpled, heat still thrumming through your veins. You tugged your skirt down with shaky hands, cheeks burning, chest heaving like you’d run a mile.
“This never happened,” you said, your voice sharp.
“Obviously,” he snapped, brushing past you so fast his shoulder clipped yours. He didn’t look back.
And that was that. You circled back to the party from opposite sides, faces blank, masks in place, pretending nothing had ever happened, pretending that your mouth still didn’t sting with the taste of him.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Eddie blinks. You obviously spare him the gritty details, but the truth is still out there now, raw and exposed, no longer buried where it was comfortable.
A nurse appears at the doorway, calling your name as she wheels a chair forward.
“As if having to tell the biggest secret of my life wasn’t embarrassing enough,” you mutter, voice heavy with exhaustion.
Eddie is up in a second, careful as he helps you into the chair. You slump down, arms crossed, eyes darting anywhere but Steve as the nurse turns you around to wheel you away for x-rays.
Steve watches, smirk tugging at his mouth like a reflex. It’s stupid, really. Munson playing the doting sidekick, you letting him—it makes Steve want to roll his eyes. He tells himself it’s not jealousy. No way. He’s just… annoyed. That’s it.
When Eddie sits back down, he clears his throat awkwardly. “So, Harrington.”
“Munson,” Steve fires back, letting a sly grin curl across his lips. He leans into it, casual as can be, like he’s just won a prize Eddie doesn’t even know he was competing for. That’s all this is. He’s making Munson squirm a little. A game.
Because why else would he be here? Why else would he care?
But then Eddie’s next words come out like a knife.
Summary: You remember something good that quickly turned sour.
Warnings: angst? kinda?
WC: 1.8k
Masterlist
Chapter Six: Season of Truce
“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it away.”
Popularity didn’t find you until freshman year. Before that, you were sort of branded a nerd.
Your days were a blur of school, cheer practice, piano lessons, endless homework, and the constant pressure of living up to your parents’ expectations. There wasn’t time for much else, so you kept to yourself. You were quiet, friendless, and easy to label.
But high school changed things. Your parents decided you were finally old enough to stay home alone while they traveled, no more babysitters watching your every move. With that freedom, you built a new version of yourself. You started showing up at parties, collecting friends, and building a reputation—equal parts feared and admired. Who else could hand in a flawless ten-page essay, cheer on the sidelines Friday night, and still down ten shots without falling over?
That was when your rivalry with Steve really flared. He’d been popular his whole life, coasting on it, and suddenly he had to compete with you there too. By sophomore year, the two of you were dubbed the King and Queen of Hawkins High.
Everyone knew you hated each other. Once, an English teacher paired you together for a project, and it ended with you having Steve in a headlock less than fifteen minutes later.
But there was one winter break where you thought maybe you could finally leave it all behind…
It was Christmas Eve, 1981. Your parents were supposed to be back that morning from their third trip of the year, but a sudden snowstorm had grounded every plane in and out of Indiana. So, you were alone.
You’d done everything yourself that you and your mom had usually done together. You baked and iced the cookies. You set out the presents. You painted that year’s ornament, the tradition you’d carried on since you were little. You even wore the ridiculous red-and-green flannel pajamas that were meant to match your parents’.
Now you sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tree, elbow propped on your knee, head in your hand. You weren’t sure how long you’d been staring at the lights. You couldn’t tell if you were sad or angry anymore. You just felt… numb.
A knock jolted you upright, and a smile spread across your face before you could think. It had to be your parents. Maybe they needed help dragging in their suitcases through the snow.
But when you opened the door, it was Steve. Your smile vanished.
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh…” He looked like he was scrambling for an excuse, then gave up. “My mom—No. Forget it. I noticed your parents aren’t back.”
You glared at him. “Yeah. Thanks for walking all the way over here to point that out.”
“Doyouwanttocomeovertomyhouse?” Steve blurted the words out so quickly you could barely understand him.
You squinted your eyes in confusion. “What?”
“Do you want to come over to my house?” he repeated, slower this time.
“No.”
You started to shut the door, but he caught it with his hand and shouldered his way inside.
“Smells good in here,” he said casually, as though he hadn’t just forced his way in. “Did you bake cookies?”
“You’re getting snow all over the floor.”
“All the more reason for you to change your mind.”
You sighed, shoulders sagging. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”
Steve’s grin was infuriating. “Not a chance. I’ll drag you out of here myself if I have to.”
Rolling your eyes, you finally gave in. “Please don’t do that. I’ll get my coat.”
You fully expected the night to be excruciating. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington weren’t exactly known for being warm or fun, although they loved to act like they were. So it caught you off guard when you stepped through their front door and found them both a little tipsy on spiked eggnog, grinning at the sight of you.
“Bee!” Mrs. Harrington exclaimed, arms outstretched. “How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m good, Mrs. Harrington,” you answered politely.
“Well, get that coat off and make yourself comfortable,” she said, waving you toward the living room. “I was just about to make some hot chocolate.”
“Bee and I can do it, Mom,” Steve cut in.
You almost snapped back with a smartass remark about him not making all your choices for you tonight, but bit your tongue. Instead, you slipped off your coat and shoes, then trailed him into the kitchen.
“Nice pajamas, by the way,” Steve said, smirking.
“Shut up,” you muttered, though a reluctant smile tugged at your lips.
He was already tearing open packets of hot chocolate mix when you crossed to the counter. “So,” you asked, arching a brow, “why exactly did you volunteer us for this?”
Steve shot you a conspiratorial grin. “So we can spike ours, obviously.”
You snorted. “Right. Obviously.”
The hot chocolate was nearly undrinkable after you and Steve drowned it in liquor, but you forced it down anyway. Anything for a small buzz to get you through the night.
It worked. By the time you drained your cup, you were a giggling mess, and Mr. Harrington was delighted. He claimed he hadn’t heard you laugh at his jokes since you were seven, and that it was refreshing to have his humor finally land again.
Even after his parents went off to bed, you and Steve lingered in the living room, the glow of the Christmas tree flickering against the old TV screen as corny holiday movies played. You laughed at the predictable dialogue, the overdone cheer, the fake snow.
“Hey, Steve?” you said at one point, turning your head toward him.
He shifted fully to face you. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Anytime,” he answered softly, almost surprising himself with the sincerity.
You turned back to the television, but Steve kept watching you. You looked tired—bone-deep tired, like you hadn’t slept well in days. He knew the feeling. Nights stretched longer when your house was too quiet, when your parents were gone, when loneliness pressed in.
As if on cue, you yawned loudly. “I should probably go home.”
You started to rise, but Steve’s hand shot out. “Wait.”
You froze halfway up, then sat back down. “Okay. Why?”
“Stay here. Sleep on the couch,” he offered. “I’m sure my parents won’t mind.”
“I don’t—”
“Seriously.” His voice cut you off, gentler than usual. “You shouldn’t have to be alone tonight.”
You studied him for a moment, then simply nodded. He disappeared down the hall, returning with a blanket and pillow, and set them on the couch before switching off all the lights, leaving only the tree aglow.
“Bee, do you—” He stopped when he realized you were already asleep, curled beneath the blanket.
He stood there for a moment, guilt tugging at him—not pity, but recognition. He knew what it was like to feel forgotten. His parents had skipped his birthday that year, choosing a trip over their son. The sting of it still lingered.
He wasn’t sure what made him move closer, but he found himself standing over you, smiling faintly at how peaceful you looked. Not glaring at him, not arguing, just quiet.
Carefully, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light. “Goodnight, Bumble Bee.”
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
An unspoken friendship blossomed over the rest of that Christmas break. You and Steve spent your days outside, pelting each other with snowballs until your gloves were soaked, sledding down the neighborhood hill until you were breathless with laughter, even building a lopsided snowman together. Evenings were spent camped out in each other’s living rooms, watching movies, playing board games, and raiding every snack in sight. Both sets of parents were stunned. It had been years since the two of you could last a full two hours without bickering, let alone days.
But then school started again.
You walked up to Steve’s lunch table and slid into the seat beside him, a smile on your face.
“Hey,” you greeted. “My mom had leftover brownies, so I—”
“What the hell is she doing here?” Tommy asked, his voice loud enough to turn heads. He sneered, then glanced at Steve. “You friends with her now or something?”
Steve hesitated, glancing between you and Tommy. Then, with an easy chuckle, he arched a brow at you. “Tommy’s right. What are you doing here? Got a crush on me or something?”
The smile slid right off your face. “I thought—”
“Thought what?” Tommy asked. “That Steve would like you back?”
“I don’t have a crush on him,” you shot back, defensive.
“Sure you don’t,” Carol chimed in, smirking.
“I don’t!” Your voice rose, sharp with frustration.
Carol started laughing. “Then why’s your face getting all red?”
“I—” You faltered, turning to Steve for backup. For anything. But he wouldn’t even look at you, eyes glued to the table like he hadn’t just set the whole thing in motion.
Something inside you snapped. “You know what? Fuck this. And fuck you, Steve.”
Tommy snorted as you shoved back from the table. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Bee?”
You stormed out of the cafeteria, fists clenched, heart pounding. That was it. Whatever truce you thought you’d found was gone. You swore then and there you’d never let Steve Harrington back in.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Sunday
September 30, 1984
This is what plays in your head as you lie in bed, staring at the dark ceiling while Steve and Eddie usher the last stragglers out of your house. You don’t know why the memory chose tonight to stick, but it does, looping over and over until the quiet feels too heavy.
It’s close to three in the morning when Eddie finally pushes your door open.
“You awake?” he asks softly, lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress.
Your answer comes muffled beneath the pillow you’ve pulled over your head. He chuckles, tugging it up just enough to see your face. “Can’t hear you, kid.”
“If I’m talking, then I’m obviously awake,” you mutter, dragging the pillow back down.
“Alright, grumpy pants,” Eddie teases. “Have it your way. But I cleaned up the house for you, except for, you know.”
That makes you sit up, hair mussed and eyes bleary. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Eh, just trying to be a decent human being.”
You look at him with more sincerity than you mean to show. “You’re better than decent. You’re wonderful.”
That makes him smile, a little crooked, a little soft. He kicks off his shoes, then climbs onto the bed beside you. Without a word, he wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into him. His warmth seeps into you.
“I’m sorry he wrecked the night,” Eddie murmurs.
“It’s okay,” you tell him, eyes falling shut as you let yourself relax against his chest. “I’m used to him ruining things.”
Eddie doesn’t argue, doesn’t push. He just holds you a little tighter, as if to wordlessly remind you that you’re not alone, that you won’t always be left to pick up the pieces by yourself.
Warnings: mentions of death, ghosts, slight gore, graphic-ish car accident (in a dream) (feel free to let me know if there’s anything I need to add!)
WC: 3.1k
Masterlist ♡
Chapter Four: Ptolemaea
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
You step outside for some fresh air once you’re positive he’s gone. Snow has started to fall at some point in the night, having quickly covered the ground in a thick white blanket. His footprints have already disappeared. Snowflakes swirl down around you. You catch one in your hand, taking in the delicate pattern of it before watching it dissolve against your skin.
“Hello?” a girl’s voice calls out.
You freeze. “Hello?” you echo.
She’s there suddenly, standing on the bottom step of your porch as if she’d always been. The sight of her makes your breath hitch. A Hawkins High cheer uniform clings to her thin frame beneath an even thinner jacket, the name Chrissy stitched across the left chest. Why does that name seem familiar?
She twists her hands around, her gaze cast down to her feet. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Do you—Do you want to come inside for a minute?” You jab a thumb behind you at your house. “It’s freezing out here.”
“No. I just—I need to find Eddie. Do you know him?”
The popcorn you had eaten earlier threatens to come back up. What the fuck? “Uh, no. I don’t—I don’t know an Eddie. Sorry.”
“Okay.” She sounds so defeated. She turns as if to leave, then hesitates. She glances back at you slowly. Snow clings to her hair, melting against her skin. Now illuminated by your porch light, you swear you spot dark streaks running down her cheeks. Whether it’s blood or a shadow, it’s impossible to tell through the thick snowflakes falling.
Her voice is quieter when she speaks again. “Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Y-Yes?” you stammer. You shiver, unsure if it’s from the cold or from being in her presence. “You’re—Yeah, you’re very pretty.”
Chrissy tilts her head just slightly, almost as if you’ve confirmed something for her. “You’re very nice.”
You swallow hard. “T-Thanks. I—Uh—I should probably go back inside.”
You take a step toward the door. When you glance back, she’s gone. You close your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief.
“I don’t like being cold. I’m always cold.”
Your eyes shoot open to find that she’s directly in front of you now, close enough that you can see the wet strands of blonde hair stuck to her cheeks, the snow sticking to her eyelashes. Her eyes are a milky white, blood streaking underneath of them. Her skin doesn’t look pale—no, it looks drained, like something stole all the color from her.
You fumble for the doorknob behind you, your fingers slipping against the metal. It almost seems like it’s locked. “You—You could come i-inside.”
Why are you saying that? Inviting her to come inside? Are you insane?
She shakes her head slowly. “I can’t. I’m looking for—”
“Eddie. I know.” The words come out softly, even as you frantically twist at the doorknob. Whatever she is, she terrifies you. But there’s something about the sorrow etched into her face, something that makes you feel almost maternal. You want to bring her inside, wrap her in a blanket, promise her that she’s safe.
Chrissy sniffles. The blood seems to run down her cheeks in place of tears. “He watched me die. He didn’t do anything to stop it.”
The door finally gives. You stumble backward, crashing to the floor. You’re expecting her to follow you in, to lunge at you, to rip you apart—something, anything. But the porch is empty.
Your heart feels as though it could hammer right out of your chest as you slowly crawl forward on your knees, peering outside. There are no footprints in the snow, no trace that she was ever here.
You stand, your legs shaking. Your hands tremble as you close and lock the door. You sink into the couch, her words replaying in your mind. He watched me die. He didn’t do anything to stop it.
Eddie. The same name the guy who just left had given you. The same Eddie this town blames for everything. The same Eddie who’s supposed to be dead.
It hits you like a freight train. This has to be a prank. Some very cruel, very elaborate prank. Steve—Eddie—whatever the hell he calls himself—said he used to play D&D with Gareth’s son. Maybe he was at the bar the day you asked about the job and decided to set this up, to scare you shitless. A cheerleader with bleeding eyes, a town parriah resurrected, all orchestrated for a laugh.
You feel humiliated. How could you believe someone actually liked you? You wipe at your tears with your sleeve, deciding sleep will have to help.
And even though you tell yourself it was just a joke, you still sleep with the lights on for the first time in years.
You don’t tell Gareth about the prank. For a week straight, you go to work, go home, and sulk. You stay friendly with the customers, but you’re not eager to chat. People are noticing.
“Everything alright?” Gareth asks.
It’s around midnight. He came in to relieve you so that you weren’t stuck at the bar when the snow hit. Hawkins is supposed to get a good bit throughout the night. Besides, no one is here. Not even the regulars.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?” you mutter.
“You seem off tonight.” He pauses. “Actually… You’ve seemed off all week.”
You slump against the bar, chin propped up on your fist. “M’fine.”
“Did that boy break up with you?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t say we were together,” you say, dragging the words out slowly. “But I broke up with him, if you want to get all technical about it.”
He leans against the bar, arms and ankles crossed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“It’s stupid,” you say quickly. “I don’t need to bore you with my drama.”
“No, go ahead and bore me. I want to hear all about it.”
You know he’s only pushing you to talk about it because you have no one else in this town. You chew on your thumbnail, unsure of whether to tell him the truth about what happened, having to accuse his son in the process.
“Well…” You straighten up, covering your face with your hands. “God, this is embarrassing.” You peek at him through your fingers, finding him waiting patiently. With a sigh, you drop your hands and continue. “I tried to kiss him, okay? And he turned me down. Said it’s not me, it’s him, because he’s… dead. I’ve heard a lot of excuses in my life, but that one? That takes the fucking cake.”
You’re waiting for Gareth to laugh, to say that’s ridiculous, maybe even offer some advice. Instead, he nods solemnly, genuinely listening to your every word.
“Do you want to know what the craziest part is?” you ask, pushing your hair out of your face. “He told me his name was Steve when we first met, but last night he said he lied, that it’s actually Eddie Munson—you know, like that guy a lot of people blame for the earthquake happening? And, after he left, he sent some girl in a cheerleading uniform to my door, she looked all ghost-like with bleeding eyes and shit. Like, who the hell does that?”
Gareth breaks his silence. “Can I… ask what he looks like?”
Your mouth opens, then shuts again. After everything you just told him, that’s his question? Shouldn’t he already know what Steve looks like anyway? “Um. Tall. Brown eyes. Curly brown hair. He has a scar on his jaw. Wears a lot of rings—”
He cuts you off, already moving toward the back. “Stay here a second, would you?”
You frown. “Uh. Okay?”
He returns moments later with a picture frame. Inside, a sheet of paper reads HELLFIRE CLUB across the top, with a black and white photo of a bunch of high school boys wearing matching baseball tees beneath it. He points to the taller one. “Does he look familiar to you?”
The bar is so dim you can barely see. You pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight, illuminating it. Even through the grainy photo, you’d recognize those dimples anywhere. “I mean, yeah, that’s him. So?”
He points to the boy beside him. “That’s me.”
You glance between the boy in the photo and the man in front of you. Sure, they share an uncanny resemblance, albeit the one in front of you is just an older looking version, but your brain scrambles for the obvious explanation. “Okay. I get it. Eddie and your son roped you into the prank.” You clap slowly, your smile flat. “Bravo. Where’s the fucking cameras?”
“What?” He lets out a dry laugh. “I don’t—I don’t have a son.”
Your heart stops. “That’s—Yes, you do.”
“No, I—I have a daughter I don’t see very much,” he says, his voice wavering. “You’ve heard me talk about her. Never a son.”
You stare at him. Surely you’ve heard him talk about his son before. “This isn’t funny, Gareth. It’s actually really mean. You can stop with the prank now. I’ve been humiliated enough.”
His face has gone pale. He stumbles back a bit, the back of his legs hitting the cooler. He sinks down on it, dazed. “I’m not pranking you, kid.”
You can feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “Then what the hell are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying that if this is the guy you’ve been seeing… then it is Eddie. He didn’t have any siblings, obviously no kids. No one who would be walking around looking like him.” He licks his lips, his voice unsteady. “I thought—I thought they were just stories, you know? People talked about seeing a lot of them. Chrissy, Jason…”
“Did—Did you say Chrissy?”
He speaks, but you can’t hear him through the sudden ringing in your ears. Your breathing is picking up. Panic is settling into your chest with rapid speed. The pieces slam together all at once. How the only time he’s gone out in public with you was when he could hide his face. That look he had when those women passing by mentioned his name—his real name. The way he never eats, never seems to use the bathroom. That’s why he doesn’t have a phone, or knows any type of media past early 1986.
Your mind reels further. You remember those boys asking about the blonde girl when you first moved in. They were looking for Chrissy, hoping to see what should be an urban legend. And that thing you almost hit on the road, it was a person. If you think hard enough about it, you can see a kid in glasses with gashes on his face that appeared and disappeared into thin air.
You feel like you could collapse. You clutch at your chest. “No. No, this is ridiculous. You’re telling me I’ve been hanging out with a ghost? A fucking ghost?”
Gareth swallows his own shock and catches you by the arms, guiding you into a chair by the bar. He fills up a glass with ice and water and forces it into your shaking hand.
“Take a drink,” he says. “The cold will help your nerves.”
The ice clinks against the sides as you manage to lift the glass to your mouth and take a sip. It doesn’t help much. How could it? It’s not every day you find out you’ve been crushing on—falling for—someone who’s been dead for nearly forty years.
“This can’t be real,” you say, barely above a whisper.
You set the glass down, afraid you’ll drop it. Despite the frigid temperatures outside, the room feels too small, too hot. You dig your nails into your palms, trying to keep yourself together before you completely fall apart.
You stand, beginning to pace the room, your hands running frantically through your hair. “I—No. You’re wrong. You have to be wrong. I’ve seen him. I’ve touched him.”
“Kid, come on,” Gareth says. “Sit back down.”
Your breath stutters. You press the heel of your hand against your chest, hoping that if you add more pressure, the weight inside you will disappear. “I don’t understand,” you choke out. “I don’t understand. I don’t—I don’t—”
He crosses over to you quickly. He grabs your shoulders and forces you to be still. “Breathe. Look at me and breathe.”
Something inside of you finally cracks. Tears blur your vision, sliding down your cheeks before you can stop them. You slump forward, your forehead colliding with Gareth’s chest as you gasp for air. He hesitates, just for a second, before wrapping his arms around you.
He holds you steady in a hug that you have needed for a long time, in a way your own father never did—not as a kid, not even when your boyfriend died. He lets you stay there until your sobs pass, leaving you with shaky breaths and a damp face.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pulling away.
You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand. Gareth doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look away. He reaches for the abandoned glass of water and presses it into your hands.
“Slow sips.”
You do as he says, the half-melted ice tapping softly against your teeth. There’s a heavy silence settled between you, neither of you knowing what to say to make the other feel better. What comfort could you possibly offer him? I’m sorry that your best friend has been a ghost haunting Hawkins for decades and never once came to see you but decided to reveal himself to me? And what could he offer you? I’m sorry the boy you’re falling for is already dead?
You take in a deep breath, finally feeling like you aren’t having to fight for air. Gareth stands close by, within reach if you need him.
Your gaze drifts past the Christmas lights you didn’t have to convince him so hard to put up to the guitar mounted on the wall. Instead of comfort, the sight tears open a fresh wound, a single question screaming through your mind:
Is everything they say about Eddie true?
You’re in the back seat of a car that you don’t remember getting into. The leather is cold against your legs. You’re perched in the middle, staring straight ahead, eyes locked on the windshield. The wipers thrash back and forth, barely able to keep up with the torrential downpour beating down on the car.
“What’s—Where am I?” you ask.
The passenger turns around, a wide smile on their face. It’s Sienna. Your best friend.
“Sienna?” She’s supposed to be dead, buried in a hole in the ground hundreds of miles away from you.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
“You always could sleep like the dead,” the driver says. Charlie. Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend. *Dead* ex-boyfriend.
“You guys—You’re dead,” you say.
“Who stays dead these days?” Charlie laughs. “Speaking of, how’s that new boyfriend of yours? He treat you as well as I did?”
You’re silent. Not that Eddie ever was your boyfriend, but Charlie? He was never what he pretended to be. You realize that now. He made everything about himself. He tried to dictate where you would go to college to the point where you decided not to go at all. You constantly had to have your hair and makeup done. Not to mention, he died while sneaking around with your best friend.
“What’s the matter?” he asks. He twists in his seat, letting go of the wheel entirely. “Cat got your tongue?”
The left side of his face is caved in, rotted away, his skull exposed. Maggots wriggle around in his dirt-filled eye, some crawling out, falling on the center console below him.
A shriek tears from your throat.
Sienna’s hand darts toward you, fingers stretched. The skin on her arm is nothing but ribbons, her bone gleaming through. The tips of her skeletal fingers brush your knee before you fling yourself back, knees curling up into your chest.
“Don’t touch me!” you squall. “Leave me alone!”
The car lurches sideways, the tires screeching. Charlie makes no attempt to grab the wheel. He’s still turned toward you, head thrown back, laughing. “You always were such a baby.”
“Annoying too!” Sienna cackles.
There’s a figure in the middle of the road.
The impact is immediate, brutal. The windshield shatters, glass slicing through the air, and the car flips. Your head cracks against the roof and the world goes dark.
When you come to, you’re sprawled in the middle of the road. Rain beats down on you, cold and hard. Glass is embedded deep into every exposed part of your body. You gurgle as you try to breathe, blood filling your lungs.
A shadow leans over you. You recognize him. His glasses are crushed, blood drips from the deep cuts on his face. It’s the boy that was in the middle of the road the night you met Eddie.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Tears streak down his face, mixing with the blood, creating a pinkish color. “You have to forgive me. I—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Footsteps crunch through the broken glass. You turn your head, using every bit of strength you have left. Eddie crouches beside you, calm, almost gentle. He wipes the blood pooling at the corner of your mouth with his thumb.
He looks at it, seems to study it—the color, the shine. His eyes lift to yours, a smirk twisting across his face. He sticks his thumb in his mouth and sucks it off.
“Mm. Cherry. Your favorite.” His voice is soft, merciless. He leans in closer.
“Ed—” you try to speak, but he shakes his head, quieting you.
“Welcome,” he whispers, “to the land of the dead.”
You jolt upright, clawing at your chest, begging for air that won’t come. It takes a few seconds to realize you’re in the safety of your bed. The sweat-soaked sheets are tangled around your legs, feeling like a weight holding you down. You kick them off, bringing your knees to your chest.
You rest your chin on them, waiting for your breathing to even out. The room slowly comes into focus as you ground yourself back to reality. Through the window, beyond the faint glow of a streetlight, snow falls silently and heavily to the ground.
Your hand fumbles for your phone on the nightstand. 4:22 AM. You’ve barely been asleep for two hours.
With shaky hands, you swipe it open, clicking on your contact list. You scroll down to the G’s, clicking on Gareth’s name. You chew on your nails, legs restless as you pray he answers.
“Hello?” He doesn’t sound like he’s been to sleep yet. He probably hasn’t.
You freeze. You don’t know why you called, especially not to ask the question burning on your tongue. It’s not like it will make a difference in the end.
“You there, kid?” he asks, worry in his voice. “Are you okay?”
You take in a sharp breath. “I need to know where his grave is.”
“Sharp as a tack, but in the sense that you’re not smart, just a prick.”
Friday
September 28, 1984
Steve pulls into the driveway after basketball practice and immediately spots his mom standing over her rose bushes like she’s at a funeral. He groans, dragging a hand down his face before climbing out of the car. He already knows what’s coming—speech number three about the tragic death of her garden.
“Did something happen to them?” Mrs. Harrington asks, baffled. “I just don’t get it.”
“Gee, Mom, I dunno.” Steve sighs, already over it. “Maybe Bee’s mom sabotaged them so she had the prettiest yard on the block.”
She gasps. “Steve, sweetie, I think you’re on to something.”
“No—” He exhales hard. “I’m not being serious, Ma. It’s probably just the weather and where our house is situated or something.”
His mom keeps on going about the goddamn rose bushes, spiraling into soil pH and sun exposure. Steve lets her voice fade into background noise because something else has his attention.
You.
You step out of your house a few doors down, hair catching in the breeze like the world’s decided to give you a movie entrance. The Hawkins High cheer uniform hugs your frame. The pleated skirt sways with each step, sneakers scuffing the sidewalk, and your bow bounces in perfect time. You look… good. Too good.
Steve’s train of thought derails when your car rolls past. You glance over, flipping him off without missing a beat. He grins and returns the gesture, middle finger raised proudly. Fuckin’ Bee.
“It has to be witchcraft—” Mrs. Harrington starts again, but Steve lays a hand on her shoulder, cutting her off.
“It’s not witchcraft,” he says flatly. “I’m gonna go wait on Nancy to get here.”
“Uh-huh,” she hums, already back to glaring at the bushes like they’ve personally wronged her.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
“Well, I think Gatsby was romantic,” Nancy says, her voice light but insistent. “I mean, moving across from the Buchanans in hopes to rekindle his and Daisy’s spark was very bold.”
“Sure, yeah,” Steve mutters. He’s only half-listening, eyes flicking toward the window every time headlights sweep across the street. Each passing car makes his chest tighten. Maybe it’s you. You have to be returning from the game at any minute, right? Why does he care?
Nancy narrows her eyes. “You’re not even paying attention, are you? As if I would ever think Gatsby is romantic.”
Steve forces a breath through his nose. “Then what do you think of him?”
“I think he’s an egotistical asshole,” Nancy snaps, folding her arms. “Kind of like you’re being right now.”
“Whoa!” Steve shouts. “Where is that coming from?!”
“You’ve spent the entire night obsessing over every damn car that drives by instead of talking to me.” Her voice rises, sharp. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, Steve, but I am not going to sit here and be ignored while I’m trying to help you with your homework.”
She starts shoving books into her bag. Steve just sits there, jaw clenched. She’s being ridiculous. Sometimes a guy is allowed to be distracted.
“Are you really not going to stop me?” Nancy asks.
He shrugs. “Leave if you want to leave, Nance. I’m not gonna force you to stay if you don’t want to.”
Her nostrils flare. She glares at him for a beat before spinning on her heel. The slam of the front door rattles the silence, followed by the roar of her car pulling away.
And yet, somehow, he isn’t angry at Nancy. He’s angry at you. You’re not even here, and you’re still screwing with his head, his relationship.
Frustrated, he steps outside and sinks onto the porch. The Harrington house is dark—his parents already asleep, gearing up for another flight out to one of his dad’s endless business ventures.
Hours crawl by. He waits, watches, convinces himself you’ll come home soon. But you don’t. Instead, at four in the morning, he spots your parents loading suitcases into their car. They drive off into the night, probably to the same conference his folks are headed to.
Steve sits forward, a new spark lighting in his chest. A plan begins to take shape, sharp and satisfying. If you’re going to keep haunting his thoughts, then he’s going to make sure he gets under your skin in return.
It’s the least you deserve.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Saturday
September 29, 1984
“I feel like I smell like a damn coconut tree now,” Eddie says, stepping out of your bathroom, towel slung around his shoulders. You’ve just come back into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it like you’re holding the world out.
He frowns. “What’s wrong?”
Before you can answer, a couple of car doors slam outside. You rush to the window. Sure enough groups of classmates are already crossing your yard, bottles of cheap liquor and beer clinking in their hands. You bring your fist down on the windowsill. “Fuck. He wasn’t lying.”
“Who wasn’t lying?” Eddie asks. “What’s going on?”
You shut your eyes, take a deep breath, and force the words out. “Put a shirt on. There’s about to be a rager in my house.”
He freezes mid-step, shirt in hand. “Wait, what?”
You’re already digging through your closet. “Steve thought it would be funny to tell everyone I was throwing a party since my parents are gone.”
“Why the hell would he do that?”
“Because he’s an asshole.” You yank a top off a hanger, hold it against yourself, then fling it to the floor. Nothing feels right. Nothing feels like armor against what’s about to happen.
“We can tell everyone to leave,” Eddie offers quickly. “Half of them are scared shitless of me anyway, so they’ll listen.”
You almost smile at that, but your voice comes out flat. “I appreciate it. But no. I can’t shut it down. That means Steve wins.”
Another shirt hits the carpet, your groan following right after.
Eddie, watching you spiral, steps in. He digs into your closet, pulls out a white-and-black striped tee and a pair of overall shorts, then holds them up like he’s solved the world’s biggest problem.
“Here,” he says simply. “Whole outfit. No need to stress about pants.”
Despite yourself, you huff a tiny laugh, lips tugging into a crooked smile. “Thanks.”
You take the clothes, slipping into the bathroom. The mirror greets you with damp hair, flushed cheeks, and wide, nervous eyes. You braid your hair down your back, tying it with a small white bow, then tug a few strands loose to frame your face. You paste on a smile you don’t quite believe.
Here goes nothing.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
The amount of people already standing in your house is ridiculous considering Steve only showed up less than thirty minutes ago. He’s propped against the kitchen counter like he owns the place, solo cup in hand.
“Ah, there’s the girl of the hour!” he taunts. His eyes narrow when he sees Eddie trailing behind you. “Of course, Munson’s already here.”
“Yeah, thanks for ruining our night,” you grumble.
Steve bounces back, clapping you on the shoulder with a bright smile plastered on his face. “I’d ruin it anytime, Bee.”
You remove his hand from your shoulder like it’s infected with something gross. “I’m honestly resisting the urge to punch you in the teeth right now.”
“Aw, you’re so sweet,” Steve says, leaning into you and wrinkling his nose like he’s looking at a puppy instead of an angry you.
You snatch the cup out of his hand and start walking away. “Let’s go, Eddie.”
“Actually,” Steve says, stopping you in your tracks. “I need Munson’s help with carrying the kegs in.”
Eddie blinks. “Why me?”
“You lug band shit around all the time. Thought you’d be useful.” Steve’s tone is light, but there’s a knife underneath it.
You press your palm to your forehead, the room tilting for a second. “Just go. Please. He won’t drop it if you don’t.”
Eddie looks at you, an exasperated expression on his face. “You’re lucky I like you. I’d probably lay him out otherwise.”
You sit stiffly on the couch, arms crossed, while Steve and Eddie lug the kegs through your front door. The crowd grows with every passing minute. Voices become louder, shoes are scuffing the floor, the smell of cheap booze is already clinging to the air. Rage coils in your stomach, hotter than it’s ever been with Steve. And that’s saying something, considering this is the same boy who once dumped purple dye in your shampoo in eighth grade, even though it didn’t do anything except stain your scalp.
“Turn that frown upside down, Bumble Bee,” Steve croons as if he’s doing you a favor.
“Steve, I swear to God.” You spring to your feet, eyes blazing, patience gone. “You wanna throw this party in my house? Fine, whatever. I don’t care. But could you, for once in your life, leave me the hell alone?”
You shoulder past him, knocking his arm away. Eddie brushes him harder with a deliberate check before trailing you out the back door.
“You okay?” Eddie asks, climbing onto the trampoline after you.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” The lie is too thin to cover your expression. You flop onto your back, staring up at the dark sky. Eddie lowers himself beside you, the springs creaking under his weight. “At least it’s quiet out here.”
He chuckles softly. “You know, I’m not trying to stir the pot, but are we really going to sit out here while King Steve takes over your house and turns it into Castle Harrington 2.0?”
Silence stretches, your jaw tight. Then you sit up, resolve sparking in your eyes. “No. We’re not.”
“Oh, shit,” Eddie mutters under his breath as you launch off the trampoline and storm toward the house, determination blazing in every step.
You are now a girl on a mission.
You shove your way through the crush of bodies until you reach your dad’s office—the one room you swore you wouldn’t touch while he was away. The oak cabinet in the corner is no secret to you; it hides his “special occasion” stash. Tonight qualifies.
You grab a bottle of whiskey, twist the cap off, and take a long, burning pull before heading back out. The crowd parts enough for you to find Eddie, who looks equal parts amused and concerned when he sees what you’re carrying.
“Well, I didn’t mean that crazy,” he says with a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like he already knows this is about to spiral.
You press the bottle firmly into his chest. “Have some.”
“Uh… Sure.” He takes a tentative sip, immediately grimacing. “Jesus. How the hell are you drinking this straight?”
“I’m numb and have no feelings,” you reply flatly, your expression unreadable. Eddie squints, unable to tell if you’re joking or dead serious.
You pluck the bottle from his hands and tip it back again. One swallow, then another, and then one more for good measure. The warmth burns down your throat, spreading fast, feeding the reckless edge in your chest.
If there’s one thing you refuse to do tonight, it’s back down from Steve Harrington. Not now. Not when it matters.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
You’re perched cross-legged on the kitchen island, a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside you, while Eddie stands in front of you, animatedly telling some story. You’re laughing loudly, and that alone makes Steve’s jaw tighten. You shouldn’t be having fun. You should be pissed. Hell, you should’ve kicked everyone out by now and tanked your own reputation. This night is supposed to be his win, but it’s slipping right through his fingers.
“You look a little jealous there, man,” Tommy notes.
“Jealous? Of what?” Steve snorts.
Tommy smirks, rolling his eyes. “Alright, sure, we can both pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Steve glares, but his chest is tight. He doesn’t know why the sight of you and Eddie twists something ugly in his stomach. You’re supposed to be his rival, his foil, the person he’s always one-upped or tried to. He doesn’t have feelings for you. That’d be insane. No—what pisses him off is that you’re not breaking. You’re rolling with the chaos, even enjoying it, when this whole party was meant to throw you off balance.
He’s still trying to wrestle with the thought when a sudden commotion erupts in the living room. Shouts echo over the music, sharp and hostile. Then comes a heavy crash! The mood shifts in an instant, the party teetering on the edge of chaos.
You stand up on the counter, eyes wide and frantic as you scan the room for the source of the sound. Steve watches as Eddie steadies you by the waist, lifting you gently down to the floor. The second your feet hit the tile, you bolt for the living room.
“Fuck!” Your voice cuts sharp over the music. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Steve shoves through the crowd, the partygoers parting slowly, all frozen with anticipation.
You’re crouched over the shattered remains of a lamp, an ornate one Steve remembers your parents bragging about at dinner, the kind they called “irreplaceable.” A jagged piece rests in your hand. Behind you, the drywall gapes open, a fist-sized hole marking the damage.
Eddie kneels, gently cupping your face, his voice low. “Hey, hey. We’ll figure it out, okay?”
You push his hands away the second you spot Steve in the doorway, watching you. Anger flashes hot across your features as you rise to your feet, fists clenched.
“This is your fault!” you shout, your voice breaking.
“Bee, I—” The words die in Steve’s throat when he sees your bottom lip tremble. It’s the same tell you’ve always had, the one that gave you away as a kid seconds before you’d cry. And suddenly, it isn’t the queen of Hawkins High standing in front of him. It’s you in your overalls and that braid, looking six years old again—the kid he bickered with, teased mercilessly, and, in his own backwards way, loved.
The sight stabs something raw inside him. The fight drains from his chest, replaced with a wave of guilt so heavy it nearly knocks him back. His voice falters, softer than he means it to be.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry!” you scream back. “Why do you always have to do this kind of shit to me?! You’re just—You’re just mean!”
Eddie steps up, sliding a hand across your back. The moment he does, you collapse into him, the sobs tearing loose as he wraps his arms around you. His eyes snap to Steve, burning. “You really are kind of a dick, man.”
Steve drags a hand down his face, looking away from the sight of you breaking against someone else’s shoulder. His chest twists painfully. “Take her upstairs,” he mutters hoarsely. “I’ll get everyone out.”
Eddie nods once, murmuring to you as he leads you away.
Steve stays behind, rooted in the mess he caused—the broken lamp, the hole in the wall, the party that was never supposed to be yours. You were right. Eddie was right.
He is mean. He is a dick. And for the first time, he hates himself for it.
Summary: You and Eddie get the house to yourselves. Steve’s a man with a plan.
Warnings: weed
WC: 1.9k
Masterlist
Chapter Four: Pancakes & Polaroids
“We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl.”
Friday
September 28, 1984
You pad downstairs after finishing your homework to find your mom standing at the living room window, laughing so hard she has to wipe at her eyes.
“What’s so funny, Mom?” you ask, wary.
“Oh, nothing,” she manages between giggles. “Just that my rose bushes are thriving while hers are dead as doornails.”
Curious, you glance out the window. Sure enough, Mrs. Harrington is hunched over her garden, pinching at brittle stems like she’s interrogating them. Steve is standing next to her, hands on top of his head like he’s about to scream. You bite your lip. Oops.
“Anyway,” you say carefully, backing away from the window. “I’m gonna head to the game and then hang out with some friends after.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” Your mom waves you off, still snickering at Mrs. Harrington’s misery. “Oh—and don’t forget, your dad and I leave early tomorrow for our trip. We’ll be gone before you wake up.”
You did forget. You’re also not looking forward to being alone for a whole week. You hate when your parents go out of town. You just go to school and wander the house alone. You’re not as bold as Steve, who typically throws a rager when his parents are gone. How the neighbors don’t snitch, you’ll never know.
With a sigh, you grab your keys and head out. You flip Steve off as you drive past, who is still in the middle of listening to his mom throw a fit about the damn rose bushes. He shakes his head and flips you off right back.
Some things never change.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
The Friday night lights blaze against the sky, casting the field in that golden glow that makes everything look sharper, louder. The stands are packed. Parents shouting, kids are waving signs, the marching band is trying to drown out the chatter. You fall into step with the other cheerleaders, voice ringing out with every chant, pom-poms catching the light. It’s not bad, not great either. Just another Hawkins game where everyone knows the boys will either blow their lead or scrape out a win by pure accident.
When the final whistle blows, you don’t linger. You make the rounds, slap on your smile, hug a couple of the girls, but your car heads straight out of the parking lot. The music from the school fades behind you, and the trailer park welcomes you with a quiet hum of TVs behind thin walls and the faint barking of dogs.
Eddie’s door creaks when you push it open, and the smell of weed and old incense greets you. He’s already sprawled across the couch, lighter in hand, a joint half-rolled on the coffee table.
You’d never been in his place before. “Holy mugs,” you say as you take in your surroundings. “And hats.”
“Yeah, sorry, my uncle tends to collect odd stuff.” Eddie scratches the back of his neck. “Anyway. Glad you survived another rah-rah session.”
“Barely,” you mutter, kicking your sneakers off and flopping down on the couch beside him like it’s something you do all the time. You steal the lighter out of his hand to finish the joint yourself. “Think my ears are still ringing from all the screaming.”
A few minutes later, the smoke curls soft around the both of you, and you’ve melted into his side, legs tucked up, his arm stretched lazily behind you. The tiny TV plays some late-night rerun no one’s watching. It’s easy, familiar, maybe too familiar.
Sometimes weed gets you a little too in your head. You shift, biting your lip. “Eddie… What are we doing?”
He hums, pretending not to get it. “Sitting on my busted couch, smoking the world’s worst stash. Why?”
You roll your eyes, nudge his ribs. “Not that. Us. I feel like, I dunno, we got really comfortable really fast, we cuddle, we kissed the night we met and never again. But we’ve never talked about it. So… What are we? Dating?”
Eddie takes the joint back, inhales, exhales slow. He doesn’t answer right away. Finally, his voice comes low, careful, “We’re friends. That’s what we are. That’s what we should be.”
Your chest tightens, though you’re not sure if it’s disappointment or relief. “Just friends.”
He turns his head, meeting your eyes with a softness that makes it sting worse. “That’s not me blowing you off, Bee. You matter. A lot. But trust me… You’ll understand why I think we’re better this way someday.”
The room feels quieter after that, the words hanging thicker than the smoke, leaving you with the uneasy feeling that Eddie knows something you don’t. Maybe something you’re not ready to admit.
You don’t answer him right away. You just sit there, letting the smoke fog up your lungs and his words settle heavier than you want them to. Friends. The label should feel safe. Should feel right. But it doesn’t. Not completely.
Eddie clears his throat, like he wants to break the weight hanging in the room. “You hungry? I got half a bag of Doritos and, uh, I think there’s a Twinkie left somewhere if you don’t mind playing Russian roulette with expiration dates.”
You snort. “You’re disgusting.”
“Yeah, but you’ll eat it anyway.” He grins, and it’s enough to make your chest loosen a little.
The night stretches out in that way it always does with him. Time melts between laughter and silence. You two watch old horror movies until the VHS tapes go fuzzy, raid his kitchen for snacks that barely qualify as food, and sit out on the steps when the trailer gets too smoky. The chill nips at your bare arms, but Eddie shrugs off his flannel and drapes it around you without a word.
“Don’t tell anyone I’m sweet,” he warns, mock serious. “It’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Your reputation as what? Dungeon Master Supreme?”
He clutches his chest like you’ve stabbed him. “That’s Lord Dungeon Master Supreme to you.”
You roll your eyes, but you don’t move when his arm ends up around your shoulders again. As the minutes tick by, you fall silent, lost in your thoughts.
“You okay?” Eddie asks.
You plant your chin in your hand, elbow on your knee. You shift your head to look at him. “Can I tell you something?”
“You can tell me anything.”
“You know how it’s, like, common knowledge that mine and Steve’s families have always been at each other’s throats?” Eddie nods. “I think a part of me has always felt like I had to compete with him just to prove I’m not only just the smart one or the cheer captain or whatever. It’s like… I can’t let him win, you know?” You let out a half-hearted laugh. “I mean, it’s ridiculous. I get that we’ve been pitted against each other since we were kids, but sometimes I wonder if I even care about winning anymore or if it’s just become this… game we can’t escape.”
Eddie reaches up, his finger gently tracing down your face as he moves a stray piece of hair that’s fallen. “Then quit the game.”
“Quit the game?” you scoff. “And let him win? Just like that?”
“Oh, so she’s stubborn as hell,” Eddie acknowledges, playfully rolling his eyes.
You nudge him with your arm, smirking, but you continue on. “The worst part is I’m pretty sure Steve likes me. I think he has since we were, like, fourteen and he accidentally saw my boobs.” You hold up your hand to pause Eddie’s inevitable reaction. “Not relevant to the story, Munson. Anyway, I figured it was a stupid tween crush and it would pass. But lately, I feel like he’s kind of trying to cross these lines and it’s just… really pissing me off.”
“So, what’s your game plan?” he asks. “You’re not going to let Harrington waltz in and try to change the rules, are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Before you know it, the sky is paling. The trailer park is quiet, save for a few dogs barking in the distance. You’re still curled into Eddie on the couch, empty chip bags scattered across the table, your head heavy against his shoulder.
“You should probably head home,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t make any move to let you go.
You hum, half-asleep. “Don’t wanna.”
“Bee.” His voice is soft, resigned. But his arm stays where it is, steady and warm.
And then it clicks. Your parents. They’d said they were leaving early for their trip. By now, they’re probably already at the airport. Which means the house is empty.
You sit up suddenly, startling Eddie. “Wait. My parents are gone.”
He blinks at you, bleary-eyed. “Cool? Should I, uh, send them a postcard or…”
You swat his arm, grinning. “No, idiot. I mean the house is empty. We can go there before your uncle gets home.”
That earns a spark in his eyes, one of those crooked Eddie Munson smiles that makes you feel like you’re in on some secret. “What, so I don’t get caught with a stray cheerleader on my couch?”
“Exactly.” You grab your sneakers, tugging them on as you talk. “C’mon. I’ll make pancakes.”
“Pancakes?” He drags himself up from the couch, hair sticking out in every direction. “You’re telling me I get breakfast and a safe hideout? There better be chocolate chips.”
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Saturday
September 29, 1984
The kitchen fills with the smell of butter and batter, the sizzle of pancakes hitting the pan. Eddie props himself against the counter, hair a tangled mess.
“You actually weren’t kidding,” he says as you flip the first golden pancake onto a plate. “This is domestic as hell. You sure you didn’t secretly marry me when I wasn’t paying attention?”
“Shut up and get the syrup,” you shoot back, but you’re smiling.
You end up having the best day you’ve had in ages. You and Eddie tear through the house like kids left unsupervised—dancing wildly to old records, making prank calls until you’re doubled over with laughter, battling through board games Eddie shamelessly cheats at, and even staging an impromptu photoshoot with your dad’s old Polaroid camera. By the time the sun goes down, the house feels alive in a way it never does when your parents are gone.
You’re upstairs, towel-drying your hair in your bedroom while Eddie hogs the en suite. You’re just considering whether to throw on a sweatshirt when a knock rattles the front door.
Confused, you pad downstairs, peeking through the peephole. Steve Harrington stands on your porch, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too smug.
You crack the door open, brows furrowed. “Can I help you, Harrington?”
Steve’s grin widens as he pushes the door open without waiting for permission, brushing past you like he owns the place. You stumble back, glaring. His eyes flick down to your pajama shorts and tank top.
“You might want to change,” he says, amusement curling in his voice.
You narrow your eyes. “Why?”
He spreads his arms wide, as if unveiling something grand. “Because you’re having a party!”
“Um, no. I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” Steve folds his arms across his chest, smirk firmly in place. “Consider it a gift.”
“What makes you think I even want to have a party?” you retort.
“Does it matter if you do?” He steps closer, voice dropping into that cocky drawl he knows gets under your skin. “I already put the word out. And everyone wants to see Hawkins High’s golden girl throw a rager.”
He’s right. The perfect daughter, the perfect student, throwing a party while her parents are out of town? It’s bait no one at school could possibly resist.
“I can’t stand you,” you spit, wrapping your arms around yourself.
“You better go upstairs and get ready, princess,” he says, shooting you a wink. “Everyone is already on their way.”
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
AN: I’m hoping to actually come back and finish this. Winter blues got me good.
Summary: Rose bushes are dead, you make an unlikely friend, and you and Steve nearly brawl in the street.
Warnings: alcohol, mentions of throwing up
WC: 3.4k
Masterlist
Chapter Three: Nothing to See Here
“If I go there will be trouble, and if I stay it will be double.”
Wednesday
September 19, 1984
You’re halfway to your car for school when you spot Mrs. Harrington standing in your yard, arms crossed, glaring at your mom’s rose bushes like they’ve personally offended her.
“Uh. Can I help you, Mrs. Harrington?” you ask, forcing a polite smile as you walk over to her.
She doesn’t return it. “My rose bushes have died.”
“Right. Well, the night’s are getting colder—”
She cuts you off. “Your mother’s are just fine. Isn’t that strange?”
You blink. “Sure, Mrs. Harrington. Super strange.” You inch backward toward your car. “I… have to go to school now.”
She murmurs something unintelligible as you walk away and slide into the driver’s seat of your car.
It doesn’t dawn on you until you’re pulling into the school parking lot. Her bushes aren’t dying from the weather. They’re dying because you and Steve hurled all over them.
You slap a hand over your mouth, a loud giggle breaking free anyway. “Oh, shit.”
It isn’t often that you and Steve manage a civil conversation these days, but you can’t hold this newly found information back from him.
You catch him at his locker between classes, deliberately waiting until the hallway has thinned out.
“Your mom’s rose bushes are dead,” you say quietly, leaning just close enough to be heard.
Steve glances up from shoving a book into his locker, brows furrowing. “Okay… And?”
You roll your eyes. “Steve. We killed them. Remember?”
For a second, confusion lingers in his expression. Then it hits him. His eyes go wide, his mouth forming a perfect ‘O.’ “Shit. We definitely killed them.”
“She was staring at my mom’s when I was leaving this morning. She was kind of creeping me out.”
He lets out a short laugh. “Sounds like her.”
The bell rings, warning you both that class is starting. The hallway buzzes with stragglers rushing by, and you scratch the back of your neck, suddenly unsure of how to end this. Civil moments with Steve always feel like standing on thin ice. You never know when it’ll crack.
“Uh. Anyway. See ya,” you say, already stepping back.
“Yeah,” Steve says, softer this time. “See ya.”
You walk away, bow bobbling slightly with your steps. He watches you go, jaw tight, a sigh slipping past his lips. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the disaster of waking up on his lawn together. Three days without your relentless banter weirdly felt like torture, even though speaking to you is torture in itself, too.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Saturday
September 22, 1984
If there’s one thing Hawkins is good for, it’s parties. What else are the teenagers supposed to do in this stupid town besides drink warm beer and make bad decisions?
Tonight, the party’s at Skull Rock. Nobody seems sure who started it, but word spread fast. The clearing is crammed with cars, music blasting from someone’s boombox perched on a hood, headlights cutting through the trees in stuttering beams. The air smells like smoke, cheap beer, and pine needles.
You cradle a red solo cup, sipping the watery keg beer like it’s medicine instead of booze. You promised yourself you’d take it easy tonight. Jenna, of course, didn’t take the same vow. She’s glued to some guy on your left, laughing too loudly at something he just said. Cody? Colby? You don’t know, and it doesn’t matter.
“Is that Munson?” a voice pipes up behind you. They push forward, aggressively knocking into your arm and causing you to spill most of your drink down the front of yourself.
“Great,” you grumble.
Without bothering to tell Jenna where you’re going, you peel away from the crowd of people and head toward the fire pit. You plant yourself close enough to let the heat lick at your skin, hoping it’ll dry the damp fabric clinging to your chest.
For a moment, you zone out. You stare into the shifting orange glow, tuning out the hollers, the clinking bottles, the echo of laughter bouncing off the trees. It’s almost peaceful.
Until you feel a presence at your side.
Blinking back to reality, you turn your head. Eddie Munson. Partially the reason your shirt is wet right now. His wild curls are haloed by the fire light, his leather jacket smelling faintly of smoke and trouble.
“I got a spare shirt in my van that you could borrow,” Eddie says, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips. His tone makes it sound less like an offer and more like a dare.
You arch a brow, crossing your arms over your shirt. “What, you think I’m just gonna wander off to your van and put on some random shirt from a guy I barely know? Sounds suspicious.”
He chuckles. “Suspicious? Maybe. But it beats smelling like stale keg beer all night, doesn’t it?”
“Are you trying to give Bee a wardrobe change?” Jenna butts in, clearly having eavesdropped. “Good luck with that. She wouldn’t be caught dead in anything that doesn’t match her bows.”
Before you can snap back, her fingers dart up to tug at the bow in your hair. You swat her hand away, glaring. “Hands off.”
Eddie lifts both his hands in mock surrender. “Just offering a lifeline, ladies. No harm, no foul.”
You pause, the heat of the fire against your damp shirt making the discomfort unbearable. Against your better judgment, you sigh. “Alright. Fine. I’ll take it.”
For a second, Eddie just stares. Then his grin grows wider, lighting up his face like the flames behind him. He executes an exaggerated bow before sweeping his arm toward the crowd. “Follow me, your highness.”
Jenna cups her hands around her mouth and calls after you as Eddie leads the way, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Bee!”
Your cheeks burn, mortification crawling up your neck. “Ignore her.”
Eddie only laughs, the sound low and amused, curling in the air like smoke.
It only takes a few minutes to reach his van, parked just far enough from Skull Rock that the shouting and music bleed through the trees like echoes from another world.
Eddie swings open the back doors with a dramatic flourish. Inside, it’s exactly what you expected—half chaos, half sanctuary. A few crumpled notebooks, scattered cassette tapes, and empty beer cans litter the floor. He digs through a heap of clothes, tossing aside old flannels and jackets with little care.
“Aha!” He straightens triumphantly, holding up a black t-shirt like a trophy.
You take it, unfolding it to reveal Black Sabbath scrawled in bold, purple lettering across the front. You raise your eyebrows, the grin tugging at your lips impossible to hide. “Wow. Consider me impressed.”
Without hesitation, you peel off your damp shirt right there, unbothered by the way his eyes go wide before he immediately looks away, cheeks tinting pink under the moonlight. You slip his shirt on. It hangs much looser on you than it would on him, but the purple lettering almost perfectly matches the bow in your hair.
“You okay over there, Munson?” you tease.
When he finally dares to look back at you, his expression softens into a lopsided smile. “It actually looks good on you. You almost don’t look like a cheerleader anymore.”
You throw a hand to your chest in mock horror. “Oh my god. It’s official. I’m rebelling, aren’t I?”
“You know, if you really wanted to make a statement, you could wear that to cheer practice on Monday,” he chuckles.
You roll your eyes, unable to stop your laugh. “Oh, totally.”
As you make your way back toward the party, the sound of music and voices grows louder, but it doesn’t drown out your easy back-and-forth with Eddie. You catch yourself thinking something surprising: you kind of like him.
“You can hang out with Jenna and me if you want,” you offer casually, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.
His brows shoot up, and he puts a hand to his chest, gasping. “Are you inviting me to crash the sacred cheer squad hangout?”
You roll your eyes, trying not to smile.
“Because if that’s the case,” he continues with a grin, “count me in. Always wanted to see how the other half lives.”
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Eddie is… interesting. Endearing, even. You know he has a bad reputation, being that he’s a drug dealer and rumors were spread in the spring about how he burned his own house down, but he doesn’t strike you as someone scary or dangerous. Just someone who was probably dealt some shit luck in their life.
The conversation between you flows easier than you’d ever expected—his sarcasm matching your wit, your stories making him laugh in a way that feels genuine. For once, it feels like you’re talking without keeping score.
Until the spell shatters.
“What the fuck is she doing with Munson?” Steve’s voice cuts through the noise behind you, loud, slurred, unmistakably his.
You sigh heavily, causing Eddie to raise a curious eyebrow. “He your boyfriend?”
“God, no,” you say, fake gagging. “More like the bane of my entire existence.”
“Well, the bane of your entire existence is about five feet away,” Eddie chuckles, tilting his head toward Steve. “And he’s staring daggers.”
Panic prickles under your skin. You don’t even know why. Maybe because last weekend seemed to blur lines you swore you’d never cross, and now Steve’s glare feels like exposure. You swallow hard and look at Eddie. “Kiss me.”
His brows draw together, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. “Wait… What?”
“Just—Just do it!” you urge before you lose your nerve.
Eddie studies you for a beat, equal parts amused and hesitant. Then, with a small shrug, he cups your face and leans in. His lips brush yours softly, just long enough to make your heart skip a beat.
When you pull back, you glance sideways. Steve’s gone, swallowed by the crowd.
Eddie smirks, though there’s a question in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but… Should you go after him?”
You shake your head, turning back to him with a surprising steadiness.. “No. I think I’d actually like to kiss you again. Like… A lot.”
The corner of his mouth curls higher, devilish. “My car or yours?”
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Sunday
September 23, 1984
You wake with a start, the morning light filtering in through your curtains. Your head is throbbing. Your mouth tastes like stale beer and regret. Every pulse in your head feels like a drumbeat gone wrong.
So much for taking it easy. Last weekend doesn’t even come close to this level of hungover misery.
Groaning, you roll over to bury your face in your pillow—only to find yourself nose-to-nose with a mess of curls.
You scream. Loud.
Eddie bolts upright beside you, eyes wide, hair sticking up like a startled cat. His confusion mirrors yours.
Before you can demand answers, a knock rattles your bedroom door. Both your heads whip toward it at the exact same time, panic written across your faces.
“Bee, sweetie, are you alright?” your mom calls gently. “I heard you scream.”
Your voice comes out higher than usual, too quick. “Yeah! Just—Uh—A spider. A big spider. I got it!”
“Alright, honey. Breakfast is on the table. Don’t let it get cold.”
“Be down in a sec!” you shout, wincing at how loud your own voice sounds in your skull.
You grab at your aching head, placing it between your knees.
“Are you…” Eddie trails off, clearing his throat. “Are you okay?”
“Mm. Peachy,” you grumble. He tries to be nice and pat your back, but you shrug him off. “We didn’t, uh, do anything last night… Did we?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No. Definitely not.”
“Good. Then you may proceed,” you say. He chuckles under his breath, resuming the back pats. “How did we even get here?”
“I drove your car,” he says, smirking faintly. “Relax, I wasn’t drunk.”
“Then how did I end up this drunk?” you ask, gesturing at your tangled sheets and your foggy brain.
“You really wanna know?”
“Not yet.” You chew on your lip. “We have to figure out how to get you out of here first.”
“I’ve climbed out of my fair share of windows, believe it or not,” he says, a crooked smile on his face.
“Alright, Munson,” you giggle. “Didn’t know you had so much game.”
He shoots you a wink. “Full of surprises, aren’t I?”
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Your plan goes off without a hitch. Eddie climbs out of your window while you get ready and tell your parents you’re going to Jenna’s because you forgot something, then you pick him up on the corner.
You’re speeding down the streets of Hawkins, windows down, taking the long way to Skull Rock so that he can get his van.
“Okay,” you finally say. “Tell me.”
Eddie smirks faintly. “Man, you really don’t remember getting plastered, do you?”
You squint at him, defensive. “Clearly not, Munson. I just thought we were going to make out. So enlighten me.”
“Oh, well, we did that. A little.” He leans back in the seat, a smug smile on his face. “Anyway. Story time. You got it in your head that you could drink me under the table.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.” Yes, it does.
“Oh, it was very you,” he shoots back. “You were standing on a log by the fire, yelling about how ‘the cheer squad has stamina.’ Pretty sure you even flexed.”
Your face burns hot. “I did not flex.”
“Oh, you did,” Eddie says, fighting back laughter. “And then you stole a bottle of tequila right out of some guy’s hand, called it your ‘holy grail,’ and proceeded to take three shots back-to-back.”
You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t worry, it gets better.” His grin widens. “After that, you tried to teach me the fight song. Except you forgot half the words, so you just made up new ones about how Hawkins High sucks.”
A reluctant laugh bubbles out of you. “Okay. Sounds about right.”
“Then—this is my favorite part—you marched down to Lover’s Lake, shoes in one hand, bow in the other, and declared you were going for a midnight swim.”
Your head snaps toward him. “I did not!”
“Oh, you did,” he insists, smirking. “Luckily, I stopped you before you drowned yourself in three feet of water. You settled for splashing me like a maniac instead.”
You groan again. “Please stop.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “So yeah. That’s how you got this drunk. A one-woman war against tequila and common sense.”
You pull up next to his van. “Well, here you are, sir. And thank you for recounting my tragic tale of a night.”
“Thank you, milady,” Eddie laughs. He gets out of the car, crossing his arms on the open window once he shuts the door. “We should hang out again.”
“We should,” you agree.
୨ৎ───୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ────୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Steve is stepping in front of your car before he can even think about what he’s doing when he spots you coming home.
You slam on your brakes, throwing your arms up. “What the fuck are you doing?” you ask, poking your head out of the car window.
He doesn’t move. He crosses his arms, jaw clenched tight. “Did you fuck Eddie Munson?”
“Maybe I did,” you lie, biting down on a smirk. “What’s it to you?”
His nostrils flare, color creeping up his neck. “Seriously, Bee?”
“Are you going to get the fuck out of my way?” you fire back, pushing your hair out of your face. Your eye twitches with the effort of holding his stare.
He stays planted, immovable. You throw the car in park, slam the door, and stomp up to him until you’re toe-to-toe.
“What’s the goddamn problem?” you demand. “Didn’t you make this a competition when you tried to rub Nancy in my face?”
“Yeah, maybe,” he admits through gritted teeth. His hands drop to his hips, body angled toward you like he’s ready for a fight. “But seriously? Eddie Munson? The school freak?”
You tilt your chin up, defiant. “What? Are you jealous?”
“Jealous?” He laughs, sharp and humorless. “No. I just didn’t think you’d be that desperate.”
“You sound like you’re forgetting you have a girlfriend, dude,” you snort. “Why are you so worried about who I’m dating?”
His eyes narrow. “I know I have a girlfriend. Doesn’t mean I can’t be curious about what you’re up to.”
“Curious? Is that what you’re calling this?” you laugh coldly. “You fully stepped out in front of my car to ask me if I fucked him. That’s not curiosity. That’s obsession.”
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he moves closer, stepping into your space so quickly that you stumble back, your lower back leaning against the front of the car. His hands come down on either side of you beside your hips, caging you in. His legs brush against yours as he towers over you, gaze burning down into yours. “You really piss me off.”
You shove at his chest. “Yeah, well, you’re really pissing me off!”
He doesn’t move, so you shove harder. He catches your wrist, yanking it down, his grip firm but not hurting.
“Let go of me!” you snap, twisting free and shoving him again. This time, he staggers a step back, but he lunges right back in, his hand catching your elbow as you try to sidestep him.
You swat at his arm, pushing against his shoulder. “God, you’re such a dick!”
“Yeah? Takes one to know one!” he fires back, grabbing your wrist again when you push at him, both of you grappling like neither will give an inch.
It’s clumsy and heated, more about frustration than force. It almost reminds you of when you both went through a wrestling phase in second grade.
Your shoes scrape the pavement as you twist, his grip slipping when you wrench free and shove at his chest again. It knocks him into your car, his palm slapping against it to steady himself.
For a moment, you think you’ve won. You spin on your heel, storming back toward the driver’s side door.
But you don’t make it.
His hand catches your arm, yanking you back before you can reach the handle.
“Let go, Steve!” you snap, jerking against his grip.
He drags you into him, arms locking around your torso from behind. You thrash, elbowing back, but he hooks his hands at your ribs and won’t let you move, his chest pressed against your back.
“Ahem.”
Both of you freeze instantly.
Mrs. Callahan stands at the edge of her driveway, robe tied tight, curlers bobbing, trash bag dangling from one hand. She stares at you both tangled in the middle of the street like she’s stumbled upon a soap opera.
“Afternoon,” Steve blurts, his voice too high. His arms stay locked around you, like he hasn’t even realized he’s still holding on.
You force a laugh, your hands tugging at his forearms. “Hi, Mrs. Callahan. We were just… talking.”
Her drawn-on eyebrows raise. “Talking? Looks more like a wrestling match to me.”
“Friendly sparring,” Steve says quickly, flashing a grin that’s all teeth. “You know… Just… Keeping her in line.”
You elbow him in the ribs, hard enough that he grunts but doesn’t release you. “He’s kidding,” you add through clenched teeth. “Totally kidding.”
Mrs. Callahan doesn’t look convinced, but she mutters something about goddamn children and drags her trash to the curb before disappearing.
The second her door shuts, silence crashes down.
You both realize he’s still got you locked against him. His arms drop like he’s touched live wire, and you stumble forward a step, spinning on him with wide eyes.
“Friendly sparring?” you repeat.
Steve runs a hand through his hair, flustered. “It worked, didn’t it?”
You scoff, crossing your arms. “Worked? You made us look like lunatics.”
He waves you off, trying to recover. “Nah. If anything, she probably thought we were—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” you cut him off, pointing to him as you back toward your car.
He chuckles. “C’mon, Bumble Bee. Admit it. I sold it.”
You slam the door shut, glaring at him through the open window. “If you ever grab me like that again, Harrington, I’ll make sure Mrs. Callahan really does call the cops. And they’ll be here quick. Her son’s a deputy.”
His grin falters, and you smirk as you throw the car in gear.
“Guess that’s my win,” you add, before pulling away.
areudirty
annaxmalina
vaporwave
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
jacobvanloon
ellievsbear
stormborns