may the odds…

[roanofarcc]

✨IZZY (she/her)✨ || 23

a little blog of my favorite things 🌊

moodboard & writing requests: OPEN!

📝writing masterlist!📝

[roanofarcc]

BABYDOLL. CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE: POUGELANDIA 2.0

jj maybank x fem!routledge OC -- FIX-IT FIC // read on Ao3

In which a boy with zero self preservation falls in love with a girl clawing at life.

chapter summary. with a bank account full of money, the pogues try to recreate their island life of poguelandia

a/n. welcome to season 4!

word count 4.1k || masterlist

previous chapter < > next chapter

18 MONTHS EARLIER

1.1 million. 72 thousand, 549 dollars. 

That was how much money the Pogues had in their joint account after cashing the gold from El Dorado. Over one million dollars, and it was all theirs. 

Obviously, the first thing you want to do when you find yourself with a shit ton of money is spend it. A new car. A house. A boat. There was a list of things the Pogues wanted, things they had once never dreamed of affording. But as great as throwing around their money sounded, they were still at the end of their rope; they were still clawing their way up from rock bottom. The last thing they needed was to blow every last penny and end up right back where they were.  

They had to be smart, responsible. Which was not normally the Pogue forte. Luckily, they had Pope, their voice of reason and the best out of them at budgeting since he had worked for his dad since he was old enough to reach the cash register. 

In order to maintain a lifestyle that didn’t require digging in the couch cushions for coins or working for Kooks, they had to spend their money in a way that also made them money. 

The plan? Poguelandia 2.0. 

The Maybank’s house and property were given to the bank after Luke skipped town, but it was announced that it would be up for auction soon. Pope proposed that they bid on the land, and if they won it, they could build a place to live and a business or two of their own to keep a steady income flow. 

It was perfect. Over half of them didn’t have homes to return to anyway. When they dropped by the property to scope it out, the possibilities came clear. A home, a surf shop, finishing charters, a bait and tackle business, a garden, a paradise of their very own. They could have exactly what they had on Pougelandia, right there on the Outer Banks; it would be perfect. 

Most importantly, they could build and enjoy it together. There would be no more angry parents, no more running away, no more worrying about where their next meal would come from, or if someone was out to get them. The Pogues could just exist in each other’s company on the waters most of them were born and raised in. It wasn’t just perfect; it was possible. 

The first order of business was winning the bid on the Maybank property. 

Like most things they did, it didn’t go exactly to plan. 

Pope wanted them to increase their bid by one dollar each time there was a bid. That way, they wouldn’t blow their whole account on the property alone and could use what was left to pay for construction. His plan was solid, in theory, but he hadn’t accounted for JJ’s eagerness and impatience. 

The second one buttoned-up Kook started bidding on the property, JJ abandoned Pope’s plan completely and bumped their bid way out of budget. 

One of the things Lottie both loved and loathed about her boyfriend was his tunnel vision. The moment he had his sights set on something, or his mind made up, there was almost no pulling him back. 

That was how they ended up the final bidder, spending way too much of their money on a piece of land nowhere near worth that much on paper. 

Needless to say, no one was thrilled about that. 

However, when they parked the Twinkie in the Maybank driveway and Lottie watched as JJ tore down the caution tape from the door of his childhood home, a part of her understood. 

How many times had he jumped when the screen door slammed, and Luke returned home? How many times had he patched up his own cuts or iced his own bruises inside that house? How many times had he crawled out of his bedroom window to escape to the Chateau? 

JJ was going to tear the house down and build something new on the foundation. That was why he wanted so bad, why he went rogue. 

He balled up the tape in his hands and seemed lost in thought as he stared at the screen door. Lottie joined him on the front porch. The place already felt different than the other times Lottie had visited. It no longer belonged to Luk. It was theirs. 

She nudged his arm and sent him a small smile. 

He returned it before glancing back at the rest of the Pogues standing in the grass. “Let’s make this our home.” And that’s exactly what they did. 

Their original budget was severely slashed, so they had to be scrappy with the construction. They pulled wood from abandoned houses on the Cut, which was surprisingly not rotted, cashed in some favors, and raided the shops downtown having liquidation sales. 

Somehow, they made it work. After weeks of DIY construction, putting together odds and ends, the finished project looked Lottie right in the eyes. 

They had their very own dock that stretched out into the water. At the end was a bait shop, complete with JJ’s name painted on the sign over the door. He had found the perfect boat charters, at an even better price. The Snapper was fixed up between JJ and Pope, ready for business. 

The house itself was mismatched and perfect. It was large enough that the Pogues wouldn’t all be crammed together as they had been in the Chateau, but it was still cozy. It reminded Lottie of a patchwork quilt, pulling in pieces of all of them to create the perfect home that they could live and grow in for a good while. 

The backyard was home to a garden that Kie and Jane were excited about. Boxes held growing fruits and veggies, and one or two of the boxes may have been home to Kie’s specialty weed. 

Also on the property was a little surf shop. 

Lottie leaned against the counter, admiring her own dream come true. The distant sound of her friends’ laughter mixed with the sea breeze, making her smile. 

Above the front door, Sarah had painted a surfboard with Lottie’s name, making it feel even more official. 

A low whistle drew her attention to the door. “Nice place,” JJ said as he strolled inside. 

“It’s alright,” she shrugged, earning a look from the blond. She broke out in a wide smile, unable to hide her excitement. “It’s perfect.” 

It was what she had once imagined when her dad had promised them anything they wanted after he brought home the gold. 

At the thought of her dad, Lottie reached for the bracelet made of braided fabric around her wrist, sitting between her waterproof watch and JJ’s bracelet she had won in a shotgun contest. The only thing the twins had left of their dad was the bag he had been carrying around with him when he died. Everything of his and theirs inside the Chateau had turned to ash in the fire. Inside the bag was just clothes and a waterlogged notebook. 

Kie had taken one of their dad’s patterned shirts and cut it up to make braided bracelets for the twins. That way, they’d have something of his that they could carry with them. A part of him was with them, living the post-treasure-hunting life he had once dreamed of. 

“I think Dad would have liked it,” said Lottie. 

JJ crossed the shop until he stood in front of her, resting his hands on his hips with a soft look on his face, slightly reddened and freckled by the sunshine. “Yeah, he would’ve.” 

She leaned forward into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “We actually pulled this off.” Even though she helped build Poguelandia 2.0 with her own hands, it was hard to wrap her brain around. 

“So far, so good,” JJ said. He chewed down on his lip for a moment and pulled back from her before he nodded his head toward the door. “I got somethin’ for you.” He didn’t wait for her to say anything before he was leading the way out of the surf shop, giving Lottie no choice but to follow. 

She quickened her pace until she was walking across the yard beside him. “Last time you surprised me, you and Kie were hanging a plastic shark in front of our porch.” 

During their search through the scrap yard, the two had found a life-size plastic shark and brought it home with them. It hung from its tail right in the front of their house, underneath the redrawn Poguelandia flag. 

JJ shook his head before he told her to close her eyes. She obliged, resting her hands over her eyes. 

There was shuffling before something was placed at her feet. 

“Okay, open ‘em.” 

Dropping her hands from her eyes, Lottie looked down to find a cardboard box in the grass. Little chirps filled her ears as fuzzy baby chicks waddled around inside the box. 

With a gasp, Lottie dropped to her knees and scooped up one of the chicks. It was so soft in her hands and looked up at her with a curious tilt of its little head. She was sure it was the cutest thing she had ever seen. 

“I still owed you for John B. the second,” said JJ, referring to Lottie’s once beloved rooster that nearly got them killed back during their hunt for the Royal Merchant’s gold. 

It had been Lottie’s other dream, if they ever secured Kook-level money, to have a little farm of her own. She had loved taking care of their chickens since she was little, and had wanted more animals, but their dad always shut her down because animals were expensive and he didn’t want to be left caring for them if she eventually got bored. 

Lottie had both of her dreams, a surf shop and her chickens back. 

She gazed up at JJ, still cradling the little chick. “Thank you.” Her heart was nearly spilling over with joy. 

The rest of the Pogues were quick to join them the second they spotted the box of chicks. Everyone grabbed one, cooing and petting their fuzzy heads. 

“Which one is gonna be John B. the third?” asked Kiara, only somewhat joking because she knew that was exactly what thinking. 

John B. tried to look annoyed, but it was hard with a chick cupped in his hands. “Can we maybe not name another chicken after me?” 

“We’re one hundred percent naming one of these chickens after you,” Lottie told him. He groaned as she held her chick up so she was eye-level with it. “And I think it’s going to be this little guy.” 

Poguelandia 2.0 really went off with only a small hitch. Business was slower than molasses at first, meaning several days of boredom and a lingering fear that they would never see a customer and would be monumentally screwed. 

However, slowly but surely, they started seeing business. A couple of boats stopped at their bait shop each day, stocking up before their day spent fishing on the water. Kie and Jane had started making sandwiches from stuff from their garden, which went over pretty well with hungry fishermen. 

As for Lottie’s surf shop, locals and tourists alike dropped in, looking for lessons or to rent a board. 

Lottie certainly didn’t miss working for Kooks at the country club, but she had missed lifeguarding a bit. She mostly missed the couple of weeks a year that they taught swim lessons to the Kooks’ kids before summer kicked off. 

She found that teaching surfing lessons was the best part of her job. She was her own boss and got to spend most of her days in the water. The rush she felt when the person or people she’d been instructing managed to catch a wave was amazing. 

Even the rich Kook-like tourists weren’t so bad, and they often left her a pretty tip at the end of their lessons. 

For the first time, Lottie was exactly where she wanted to be. But life was a lot like the ocean: some days the water was steady or gave you perfect waves glittering in the sunlight. Other days, it had nothing to give but nasty rip currents. 

A late-night storm delivered a rather calculated lightning strike, frying the bait shop’s fuse box. Without their live bait, the fishermen had no reason to give their business to them; the live bait was the shop’s main draw, after all. 

Fixing a fuse box was more expensive than felt necessary. They had enough to cover it, but barely. Because of that, they had to cut their usual spending dramatically. No more fancy heirloom tomato plants or imported peppers. No more upgrades to the chicken coop. No more deep-sea charters that used an excessive amount of gas. The Pogues were forced to tighten up, cut back until they could make more than just enough money to keep their heads above water. 

Lottie did her part by printing flyers for surf lessons and hanging them around Figure Eight, hoping to catch the eye of more people with money they were looking to spend. She hooked a few customers on her line, helping them out a little. 

They had saved a singular chunk of gold from El Dorado and locked it up in their safe for emergencies or if they ran into trouble. In their current situation, they would be fine as long as they saved the chunk of gold for their upcoming property tax, which was a hefty bill. It wasn’t to be used for anything else, unless they wanted to lose Poguelandia 2.0 and everything they had built. 

The Enduro was another island tradition that brought Kooks and Pogues together. Lottie had never cared much for it, but she had gone the couple of times JJ had raced in it. It was a plotted race track along the beach for motorbikes, and since JJ had recently bought himself a new used bike to replace the red one he wrecked in a police chase, he was excited to be back in the race. 

“Every time I see Topper, I want to punch him in his stupid-looking face,” Lottie said as she stood with her friends in the crowd of fellow onlookers. She didn’t consider herself a violent person, but there was something about Topper that irked her, despite him having sort of helped them attempt to steal the cross back from Rafe a while back. He just radiated entitled Kook, and Lottie couldn’t see past his douchebag-ery. 

Jane followed where Kie was pointing Topper out. “Who names their child Topper?” 

“Rich people,” answered Cleo. “I still can’t believe you dated him.” 

Sarah groaned and earned a wide-eyed look from Jane. “You dated someone named Topper?” 

The blonde crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Why is everyone always so hung up on his name?” 

“It’s objectively a bad name,” replied Lottie, earning ‘yeahs’ from the rest of the girls. 

Sarah was about to say something, but her eyes caught sight of something near the starting line. She elbowed Lottie in the ribs suddenly. “Rafe’s here.” 

“Ah, shit,” Lottie muttered. 

By some miracle, she and Kie had managed to avoid Rafe since they’d been back on the island. It was only a matter of time before they ended up at the same place, or Rafe finally paid them a visit to hash it out. Lottie imagined he still wasn’t too happy about them pushing him overboard then stealing his boat, after they had used him to help escape Singh’s place. But he got his boat back. Lottie wasn’t the least bit sorry, not after Rafe had melted down the cross that belonged to Pope’s family and should’ve been donated to a museum. 

Yet, she knew Rafe could be dangerous. He had nearly killed his sister twice and had fought with all of them at some point. Lottie really didn’t want any more trouble. 

At the starting line, John B. walked away from JJ. Instead of joining the rest of the group in the crowd, he disappeared into it. Sarah followed after him. 

The beach was packed, people lining both sides of the sandy track. Some people made signs and others were already cheering on who they wanted to win. The air smelled like beer and ocean breeze, reminding Lottie of high school keggers they hosted before life got out of hand. 

Sarah returned a minute or two later, reclaiming her spot beside Lottie. “Does JJ ever think through anything he does?” she asked. 

“No, not usually,” Lottie replied. She was about to tear her gaze away from JJ in the lineup, but then her brother took the spot beside him, with his beat-up bike and helmet. “Why is John racing?” 

“Because JJ bet our last piece of gold on himself.” 

It took a moment for Lottie to fully register what Sarah had said. “Gold? Our gold? Our last piece of gold?” 

Sarah nodded, earning a loud groan from Kie and Jane in near unison. 

“He knows that Rafe and Topper are gonna go after him. John B.'s racing to play defense. If JJ races alone, there’s no shot he’ll win. And we cannot lose this money.” 

It took everything in Lottie not to go up to JJ before the race even started and ask him what the hell he was thinking. But she already knew that he wasn’t really thinking, not about the right things anyway. He was being reckless. That ‘nothing to lose’ mindset was nearly impossible for JJ to shake. They had enough to lose before, and they lost it. But now? Now they had literally everything to lose. He knew that; deep down, Lottie knew he knew that. So why was it so hard for him to accept it? 

Two girls stood with flags in front of the line of racers. They counted down from three before they brought the flags down and officially kicked off the race. Bikes hurried from the starting line in a cloud of sand and loud growls of engines. 

Lottie started nervously picking at her fingernails as JJ’s bike stalled at the start, before he was able to get it moving and chase after the others. 

“I can’t watch,” she groaned as her gaze fell to the ground. 

“I know I said I’m not religious, but I think we should all pray,” said Jane as she pressed her hands together and closed her eyes. 

“The only one who needs to pray is JJ, because if he loses, I will kill him,” said Kie, her hardest gaze glued to the race. 

Lottie only managed to look away for a minute or two before she forced herself to watch. It felt like a car crash, something you wanted no part of but couldn’t look away from. 

Rafe maintained a strong lead all the way to the midway point, the buoy down the beach a ways. The commentators had announced that JJ had fallen all the way to last place after gaining on Rafe, after Rafe knocked him off course. JJ was the last to round the buoy, but his bike got away from him, sending him and it to the sand. The gap between JJ and first was going to be impossible to close. It didn’t matter if JJ managed to pass one or two bikes; he needed first place to win back their money. 

As he picked up his bike, Lottie thought for a moment he was going to give up. But as he got back on his bike, he didn’t take the same path as the bikers ahead of him had. He started gunning it toward the wide inlet while everyone else was making their way around it. 

The commentators picked up on what he was going to attempt to do before Lottie. JJ was going to try to jump the inlet. If he did, it would put him in front of the pack. If he didn’t, well, all Lottie could think about was the moment his old motorbike came crashing down from the overpass and her not knowing he wasn’t on it. 

The inlet was about fifty feet across, not impossible but not easy. 

She held her breath and didn’t take her eyes off him as he neared it. For a horrifying moment, JJ flew through the air, right over the inlet, and landed safely in the sand on the other side. He surged just a little bit ahead of Rafe, in first place for the final stretch. 

Lottie let out a breath and started cheering alongside everyone else. As mad at him as she was, she couldn’t help the impressive smile that tugged on her lips. 

The race was nearly over. JJ was in the lead as Rafe closed in just behind him. It would be a tight race, but he could do it; he had to do it. 

Not but twenty feet or so before the finish line, Rafe clipped his front tire against JJ’s back one. The hit was just right, sending both boys flying from their bikes and crashing against the ground, hard. Gasps replaced some of the cheers as both Rafe and JJ were on the ground alongside pieces of their bikes that had flown off on impact. 

The other racers closed in fast. John B. was leading them, but Lottie could tell by his sudden jerk of the handlebars that he panicked when he saw JJ on the ground directly in front of him. He didn’t swerve and go around like some of the others. John B. stopped just short of JJ, along with a couple of other racers who didn’t want to run over him or Rafe. 

However, the racers on the sides were phased at all. They blew through the finish line. 

Topper crossed it first. 

Cheers from the Kooks rang out, but they sounded like static in Lottie’s ears. Her friends started moving toward JJ and John B., and she trailed close behind, but before they reached them, JJ shoved past John B. and started in the opposite direction of the crowd. 

She checked that her brother was okay before she followed after JJ, weaving people until she saw him. His anger was palpable; he threw his helmet to the ground and ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. 

“What was that?” Lottie asked as she approached him, her arms crossed over her chest. He didn’t look at her, didn’t say anything. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

After a short beat, he threw his hands up in the air. His face was smudged with dirt and sand and guilt. “I don’t know!” he yelled. It looked like there was more he wanted to say, but he let his anger get the better of him, turning on his heel and walking away to cool off. Lottie was left alone in the sand, dragging a frustrated hand down the length of her face. 

What were they going to do? 

As suspected, the second Pope found out what JJ had done, he was furious. They had a $13,000 property tax bill due in a week, and not enough to pay it off. 

Pope had let JJ have it, and instead of fighting back, JJ took it with a hung head. He knew he fucked up. He didn’t brush it off and run away; JJ grumbled an apology. It didn’t fix anything, but maybe it was a wake-up call for him. 

The Pogues were sinking, once again. Until they were handed another lifeline that could pull them out. 

They all were lounging in the living room. Lottie was in the middle of painting Sarah’s nails when Kie called them over. They gathered around her laptop, which she had retrieved from her parents' place after they chilled out a bit, and looked at what she had found. 

The Outer Banks Sentinel had written an article about them and their discovery of El Dorado. Archaeologists had excavated the cave that Big John, Sarah, and John B. had blown up. Inside was the lost City of Gold; the discovery was partly attributed to the Pogues, each of their names listed right there in the article. 

One minute, they were just some kids with a reputation for causing trouble around the island; the next, they were labeled heroes of sorts. Back when they first got home, they had dumped all of that information on Mr. Sunn in a whirlwind, and he must’ve contacted the right people. 

Pope called Mr. Sunn the second they finished reading the article, and he told them that if the entire island didn’t already know what they had accomplished, they would soon. 

The museum hosted a celebration to recognize their efforts. After that, the people of Kildare seemed to give them a little break. Their reputation shifted slightly. Instead of the derelict kids well on their way to deadbeat futures, they were successful treasure hunters. They were worth something in their eyes, worth gold.

[norwhae]

this is the most El-looking she looked in the entirety of S5:

[roanofarcc]

🌊BABYDOLL (an obx fix-it fanfic) SEASON MOODBOARDS! 🌊

Lottie Routledge x JJ Maybank season one

Lottie Routledge x JJ Maybank season two

Lottie Routledge x JJ Maybank season three

Lottie Routledge x JJ Maybank season four

…

season 5 coming soon…

[roanofarcc]

BABYDOLL: AN OBX FANFICTION

jj maybank x fem!routledge oc || an outer banks re-write/fix-it

“I’ll take it all, babydoll. whatever’s been weighin’ you down”

In which a boy with zero self preservation falls in love with a girl clawing at life. || The Routledge twins didn’t share much in common aside from their name sake and their shit-luck. John B. took after their missing father while Charlotte was told she was a spitting image of her runaway mother. However, an affinity for curiosity, secrets, and treasure hunting seemed to run in the family.

MASTERLIST

season 1. - complete!

ONE! - TWO! - THREE! - FOUR! - FIVE!

SIX! - SEVEN! - EIGHT! - NINE! - TEN!

ELEVEN! - TWELVE! - THIRTEEN! - FOURTEEN!

FIFTEEN! - SIXTEEN! - SEVENTEEN!

EIGHTEEN! - NINETEEN! - TWENTY!

season 2. - complete!

TWENTY-ONE! - TWENTY-TWO!

TWENTY-THREE! - TWENTY-FOUR!

TWENTY-FIVE! - TWENTY-SIX!

TWENTY-SEVEN! - TWENTY-EIGHT!

TWENTY-NINE! - THIRTY! - THIRTY-ONE!

THIRTY-TWO! - THIRTY-THREE! - THIRTY-FOUR!

season 3.

THIRTY-FIVE! - THIRTY-SIX! - THIRTY-SEVEN!

THIRTY-EIGHT! - THIRTY-NINE! - FORTY!

FORTY-ONE! - FORTY-TWO! - FORTY-THREE!

FORTY-FOUR! - FORTY-FIVE! - FORTY-SIX!

FORTY-SEVEN! - FORTY-EIGHT! - FORTY-NINE!

FIFTY!

season 4.

…

season 5.

…

[drewseph]

this photo is sending me 😭

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE → CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN: THE DOMINOS FALL

summary: steve harrington x lab!oc. series rewrite-ish | read on Ao3

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 6.2k || masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. season 5 will stray the furthest from canon events!

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Tagged list: @sattlersquarry, @leptitlu, @adaydreamaway30, @excelciorst, @mysticmoon-0107, @emforjin, @hipsternerd9, @isleofmisfitvoldsoy

Robin spun around in her chair for what felt like the millionth time. Halfway seated on the desk beside Robin, Tamera watched with an amused smile on her lips, between stolen glances at her watch that would eventually tell her it was time to leave for her shift at the hair salon. 

“I just can’t believe you didn’t even tell me you were going to propose!” Robin said, again. She’d been repeating the same sentiment since Steve picked her up for work that morning. 

He took a sip of his hot mug of coffee, which held no bitterness, before he said, “It was a soft proposal. I do plan on something nicer than a twist-tie ring and the looming threat of the end of the world on our shoulders.” 

Tamera hummed. “Are you gonna let me do your hair for the wedding? I can consult Fara Fauset.” 

With a playful glare, Steve replied, “No one touches my hair but me, okay? And I stand by that hairspray. I’m even having Murray smuggle some more of it in for me, thank you very much.” 

A loud gasp sounded from Robin as she stopped spinning and quickly tried to stand to her feet. All that spinning made her dizzy, and she had to grip the back of the chair for support. “Am I your best man?!” 

“Will you slow down?” Steve said. “We have to defeat an evil monster and somehow convince the U.S. government that my kind-of-fiancé isn’t a national security threat first. Then we can start thinking about a wedding, okay?” 

In a huff, Robin collapsed back into her seat. “That’s not a no.” 

Of course Robin would have some important role in Steve’s wedding; she was his best friend, after all. But that all was far in the future. There was a lot they needed to do first. 

In all honesty, Steve didn’t know if they’d even reach that point. A life of pure normalcy, free of otherworldly or government threats, was far-fetched at the moment. All Steve wanted was Sunshine to know that he’d fight for that future regardless of how impossible it seemed. If something terrible happened, at least nothing would be left unsaid. Sunshine knew for certain that Steve wanted to spend the rest of his life at her side, no matter how long or short it turned out to be. 

“Knock knock,” Eddie said as he poked his head into the radio’s recording studio. 

Tamera pulled a face as she looked him over. “What’s that stain on your shirt?” 

He glanced at his shoulder, where the stain sat on his hand-me-down shirt, and sighed. “I’m pretty sure it’s baby puke.” 

“It really brings out your eyes,” remarked Robin with a smirk. 

The metalhead rolled his eyes. “You should start doing stand-up on your show, Robs. You’re a natural knee-slapper.” He leaned against the desk beside Steve and ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, courtesy of Tamera. It was still long, a little past his shoulders, which was as short as he dared let Tamera cut it. 

“Since there’s not much for me to do, being locked in the basement and all, I’ve become second in command when it comes to the super-powered baby,” Eddie said, rather dramatically. He wasn’t locked in the basement; he was a suspected murderer who supposedly died over a year ago. He couldn’t show his face without raising all the alarm in an already paranoid Hawkins. “I think Anne purposefully spits up on me and never Danielle.” 

“I would rather barf on you than Danielle,” Tamera said. Both Steve and Robin nodded in agreement, earning an unamused look from Eddie. Despite being the radio station’s ‘basement dweller,’ as Mike so fondly called it, Eddie did look more like himself than he had in a while. It seemed like helping out with Anne gave him more of a purpose than any trivial task Robin gave Eddie to help out with their radio show, or what little Eddie could do from the basement during their Crawls. He felt useful, Steve presumed. It put a bit more pep in his step. 

“I would prefer if no one barfed on anyone.” Steve perked up at the sound of Sunshine’s voice from just outside the recording studio. She stepped inside with a small smile, joining the cramped but comfortable space. 

Steve slung an arm around her shoulder as she neared and gently pulled her into his side before he pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head. 

She leaned into his side, her smile growing a little. “But I do think the bottle and spit-up helped put her out like a light,” she said, shooting Eddie a thankful look. 

With a shrug, Eddie said, “I’m coming for your babysitting title, Harrington.” 

Steve faked an offended gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

The group laughed, feeling a lightness envelope them. They had to relish in those moments, wherever they could find them. Those moments reminded Steve that they too were sort of still kids, just older teens who should be worrying about young adult issues, like college or careers, not how to stop a monster. Not that the universe, any of them, seemed to care what they should be doing. 

“I really hope someone at work has some news that I can bring back to you guys,” said Tamera. “Like, maybe an angry mob has formed overnight, and they plan to burn down the military’s set-up or something.” There was just the slightest humor in her voice, like she didn’t want to be too serious at the moment, but the words still carried a weight. 

Their newspaper stunt hadn’t given them the right momentum they needed or hoped for. And any that it had stirred up had fizzled out quickly when the military decided to clean up its act in the eyes of the residents. They were on their best behavior; it was such bullshit. It seemed like most people had fallen back to being on the military’s side, continuing to live in lockdown with little complaints here and there. And anyone who was still opposed was busy just trying to get through each week. No one would travel for work, and the allowance from the government didn’t help much. No one seemed pushy or angry anymore; they were just tired or maybe defeated. Steve wasn’t sure which one. 

“As much as I’d love to come up with another plan to rally pissed-off townsfolk, I think we have bigger things to worry about,” said Steve. “Like Vecna possessing Will…again.” The kid, of all people, didn’t deserve to be screwed with again. 

Beside him, Sunshine’s brows furrowed in deep thought. “He likes games, that much we know for sure. If he decided to show his face after all this time, then he’s probably healed enough to continue what he started. And he probably hopes to finish it this time.” 

“This whole thing, it kind of started with Will, right?” said Tamera. “Well, it started with Henry Creel but, I mean, Will was a major, like, catalyst. For whatever reason, Vecna and his boss- the Mind Flayer- have this weird connection to Will. And you guys have tried to break that connection before, right?” 

Sunshine nodded. “The Mind Flayer hates the heat. They had to practically burn the monster out of him. But something stayed, keeping him connected to them.” 

Resuming spinning in her chair, Robin jumped into the conversation. “I hate to say it, but even after we kill Vecna, I don’t know if that’ll end all of our monster-related problems.” 

“The Mind Flayer’s still a part of this,” Sunshine said with a sigh. “We killed what was left in our world at Starcourt, but as long as a piece of it still lives inside of Will and Vecna, it won’t stop. It knows now that it doesn’t need some big, fleshy body. It just needs someone or something to control.” 

“But,” Tamera rushed out. “Without Vecna acting and it’s…what did Dustin call it?” She looked at Steve. 

Of course, he remembered one of the many odd names and ranks bestowed to the monsters by Dustin and the rest of the Party. “Its five star general.” 

Tamera snapped her fingers at Steve before she continued. “Right! Without it’s five star general, I doubt whatever little piece of the Mind Flayer lives within Will would be very powerful. You take Vecna off the board, you lose the mind games. That doesn’t leave the Mind Flayer with much to work with,” she said. “And the kid’s withstood the monster's possession before, when it was way more powerful. He definitely could kick whatever small part is left over.” 

There was a beat of silence that passed between the group as they took in Tamera’s words. 

Eddie was the first one to speak. “That all sounds great, in theory. But that brings us back to square one. We have to kill Vecna.” Steve resisted the urge to groan. Eddie was right; they couldn’t get anywhere without killing Vecna. 

“You’re right. We still have to find and kill Vecna. But after, we have to break the connection with the Mind Flayer, with the Upside Down, completely. I think we have to do more than just close the Gate,” said Sunshine, her golden gaze flickering with an idea. “We know the Gate can and probably will be reopened if we just have El close it again. As long as that’s possible, this’ll never be over. We’ll never be free of that place as long as it exists.” 

Robin frowned. “So what do we do?” 

Sunshine’s gaze flickered around the group, her eyes narrowing with a familiar determination that Steve recognized like an old friend. 

“We have to destroy the Upside Down,” she said. 

[...]

“I don’t like this,” muttered Dustin for what had to be the hundredth time as he paced back and forth across the boys' bathroom. Lucas watched as he leaned against the blue-tiled sink, arms crossed and stomach already growling for lunch. 

“Dude,” he said with a small sigh. “You gotta relax. Maybe they just got a lead on something and skipped. If something was seriously wrong, someone would have radioed us by now with a Code Red.” 

Dustin halted his pacing and spun around to look at Lucas with wide eyes. “Unless they’re dead or captured and can’t radio us!” 

To most people, Dustin’s worries would’ve seemed ridiculous, but Lucas knew better than anyone just how real they were. 

“Something terrible could be happening right now, and we’re trying to learn fucking geometry!” 

Lucas placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Listen to me,” he said. “At lunch, we’ll call the radio station. Someone’s there, and they’ll know what’s going on, okay? But I’m sure that Mike and Will are just playing hooky and they forgot that the smart thing to do would’ve been to let us know so we don’t freak out. You know how they get something when they’re together.” 

Sometimes, Will and Mike were in their own little world. Lucas assumed that was what happened and nothing Code Red worthy…he hoped. 

His words seemed to have chilled Dustin out a little. “Okay,” he breathed out. “You’re probably right. But they’re gonna get an ear-full from me-” 

Dustin cut himself off as the restroom door opened and someone entered. Lucas nodded his head toward the door, and the two boys slipped out into the hall. 

The four boys all coordinated their study hall periods to be during the same hour to make it easier for them to discuss any upcoming Crawls. Sometimes they’d sneak out to the picnic tables just behind the football field, where Eddie used to do his drug deals. Or they’d find an empty table in the back corner of the library, where no one paid them any mind. 

As they started down the hall, Dustin palmed his eyes like he was trying to rub the stress from his brain through his eyeballs. “I have a history text next hour,” he groaned. 

Lucas glanced at his watch; they still had about half of their study hall left. “So then go study,” he told Dustin. “I’ll try to radio Mike and Will again. We’ll meet at the phones at lunch.” 

Dustin hesitated, weighing his options silently, but his expression gave him away. There was still a large part of Dustin that really cared about school. Lucas cared too, a little, much less than he once had. As long as he kept his grades in okay standing and didn’t draw alarm from his teachers or parents, he was fine. Dustin, on the other hand, couldn’t help but want to be at the top of their class. He tried to play it off, like he didn’t think about school much at all, but Lucas saw through him. 

With a breath, he finally gave in with a nod. Dustin drew his books closer to his chest and started toward the library to actually use it for studying. 

That left Lucas turning in the opposite direction, toward his locker, to grab his walkie. He and Dustin had radioed Mike and Will when they didn’t show up at the start of the school day, and then again when the two missed first period.

Dustin was quick to jump to the worst-case scenario, but Lucas wasn’t there yet. Or, maybe Lucas just refused to even entertain the idea of another one of his friends being hurt. 

The hallway was vacant as everyone was tucked away inside their classrooms. Lucas felt like he could breathe in the quiet. He opened his locker and grabbed the strap of his backpack, but was startled when the sound of a door slamming echoed through the air. He turned toward the noise and strained his ears to listen. There was another stretch of silence before a weird rattling sound came from the same direction. It sounded like someone trying to open a locked door with a bit of force, causing the whole thing to shake and groan in protest. Like when Erica would try to open the bathroom door when Lucas took too long in the shower. 

That wasn’t too odd. Hawkins High was an older building; it had been around since the forties. Lucas only knew that because the front hallway was lined with senior class photos from each decade. 

He shouldered his backpack and closed his locker before he started toward the noise. The rattling became louder as he neared the boys' locker room. 

“Hello?” he called out, stopping in front of the door. Maybe some freshman got pranked and locked inside the smelly locker room. It wouldn’t be the first prank Lucas had witnessed being played that year. Being locked in the locker room did seem a bit better than a swirly or getting dunked in the trash can. It was like the bullies read a ‘how to bully in the most cliché ways possible’ handbook before the school year started. 

There was no verbal response, but the door shook slightly. 

Lucas looked up and down the hall to see if he could catch a teacher or a janitor and have them open the door, but no one was around. 

With a sigh, he grasped the doorknob and hesitated. It was just the locker room. Even if some bullies were harassing some kid inside, Lucas had handled much scarier things. Plus, he knew what it was like to be that kid being harassed; maybe he could save someone else the pain, even just a bit. 

He gave the door a hard yank, expecting resistance, but the door flew open with ease. He stumbled back in surprise. With one hand still holding the door, he stuck his head inside. The usual awful fluorescents overhead weren’t turned on, which was a little weird. Normally, the lights remained on all day, as there was a gym class nearly every hour and practices after the last bell. They were usually switched off in the evening, after the last practice got out. 

Lucas groped along the wall until he found the light switch, but when he flipped it, no lights came on. He flicked the switch a couple of times with no success. 

“Anyone in here?” he called out, lingering just a couple of steps inside the locker room. Something that sounded like mumbling came from deeper inside. Lucas cleared his throat before he asked, “Uh, you good, man?” He was hoping someone would respond that everything was fine and Lucas could go on about his day; he was never that lucky, though. 

The mumbling voice didn’t respond, but it did sound like their mumbles became cries. Lucas couldn’t just leave. He rolled his shoulders back and headed right inside, through the darkness. He used his muscle memory of the locker room and followed the sounds of sniffles. Scattered gym bags littered the floor, making the journey a bit more hazardous. 

However, he managed to find his way to the back of the locker room, where a wall separated the lockers from the showers. The room was illumined dimly by a singular light, and steam from one of the showers rose to meet the light at the ceiling. 

Lucas sucked in a breath and readied himself before he peered around the wall and into the room. 

Out of all of the things he braced himself to see, in the middle of the tiled floor near one of the drains, Billy Hargrove was not one of them. 

Lucas’s stomach lurched violently as he stared at Billy’s cross-legged figure on the ground. He was dressed in the ripped and dirtied white tank top Lucas remembered him in on the Fourth of July. His hair hung in wet curls and his skin was pricked with sweat. Billy’s eyes were nothing but black dots in the sea of bloodshot. 

Slowly, Lucas took a step back as bile rose in his throat. 

“Sinclair,” Billy’s deep voice almost sang. “I told Max to stay away from you.” 

Lucas felt his heart start to race, but his mind was just one step ahead of it. 

Billy was dead. He was long dead and gone, and whoever was in front of him wasn’t real. Lucas could have answered Billy, spoken back. He could have screamed at the ghost to fuck off. Lucas wanted to hit him now that he was taller and stronger than he was back in ‘84 when Billy threatened him. But it wasn’t real, and none of that would do anything but add fuel to whatever fucked-up fire was burning before his eyes. 

Just as Billy started to rise to his feet, Lucas ripped the backpack from his shoulder and yanked the zipper open. In one quick motion, he grabbed his Walkman that he kept in a separate pocket for easy access, already pre-loaded with his favorite song for that very situation. 

Billy started walking toward him, coming too close for comfort. Lucas grabbed his backpack as he spun around and started running. 

He stumbled over gym bags and narrowly avoided colliding with the rows of gym lockers as he clipped his Walkman to his front pocket. He managed to bang his shoulder against the wall, misjudging his turn in the dark, but he recovered quickly and quickened his pace as he slipped his headphones over his ears. The door came into view, pouring light from the hall. 

Before his finger pressed down on the play button, he heard Billy’s ghost spit, “Look where she is now. All because she didn’t stay away from you!” 

The words hit Lucas like a gut punch; he stumbled and nearly face-planted, but he caught himself on the door frame before he hurried through it. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he refused to stop or to turn around. 

As soon as he was in the hall, he shut the locker room door with a swift kick and continued his sprint. The world blurred around him and his eyes stung, but he remained focused on the exit. As much as he wanted to double over and empty his rolling stomach, he talked himself out of it, in fear of stopping for even a second and allowing Billy’s ghost to catch up to him. 

Music played loudly in his ears, drowning out everything around him as he shoved his way through the school’s front doors. The fresh air greeted him with open arms. There was still no stopping, though. Lucas wouldn’t stop until he was somewhere safe, with the people who made him feel safe. He listened to the song on a loop as he sprinted the long distance to the radio station. 

Don’t lose your grip on the

dreams of the past

You must fight just to keep

them alive. 

It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the

thrill of the fight…

[...] 

“Leia, come on! We need to go, now!” 

She struggled to slip on her tennis shoe, keeping herself balanced with one hand on her bedframe. 

Jonathan had radioed minutes earlier, calling a Code Red meeting, but he didn’t give any more information, which was alarming. 

The sisters, along with Luke, Hopper, and Joyce, had just returned from some early morning training. It had drained Leia more than usual, as she had tried to expand the reach of her abilities pretty far. After chugging a Gatorade and changing out of her clothes into something cozier, she had laid down in her bed for a little rest. But about five minutes in, her radio crackled and Hopper was barking at everyone to move out, fast. 

Leia didn’t mean to lag behind. 

Once both shoes were on her feet, she hastily grabbed a sweatshirt from the pile of laundry on the floor and readied to leave her room, but a loud thud on her window stopped her in her tracks. 

A little bird fluttered at her window, knocking against the glass on the other side. It didn’t seem to understand that the window was, well, a window, not something it could fly through. 

Leia knew they needed to leave, find out what Jonathan’s Code Red meant. Something bad had probably happened. Something terrible, but Leia couldn’t get herself to tear her eyes away from the poor little bird. She shuffled toward the window, brows drawn together in confusion. 

Why wasn’t the bird flying away? It just kept running into the glass, each hit growing more frantic as it flailed its wings around. 

Then, the glass started to splinter underneath the bird. Leia was still learning the odds and ends of certain things, but she was fairly certain little birds like the one in front of her didn’t possess enough strength nor were heavy enough to break a window. The crack started small, a mere hairline that Leia would have missed if she hadn’t been paying such close attention. But as the bird continued its rampage against the glass, the fracture grew and grew. 

That wasn’t what troubled Leia, though. What troubled her was when the glass started to grow red. 

She stumbled forward until she touched the glass and started banging her fists against it. “Stop!” she cried, praying the little bird got spooked and flew away. It didn’t, though. It just kept ramming its small body against the glass over and over again. The white feathers that adorned it began to turn red in horrible splotches, just like the glass. 

A sob bubbled past Leia’s lips. Why wouldn’t it stop? Its beak was shattered, and its face started to splinter alongside the glass. Leia kept hitting the window with her palms, not paying attention to how fractured the glass already was. 

As the red-painted, mutilated bird smacked against the window once more, and Leia’s hand collided with the glass, the entire thing shattered. Leia screamed and threw herself backwards. 

Silence followed, the unnerving kind. She had squeezed her eyes closed in fear of glass getting into them. When she peeled them back open, her whole body trembling, she expected to see the broken window staring back at her. 

However, there wasn’t so much as a scratch on it. The window was perfectly fine, aside from her smudged handprint in the middle of the glass. There were no broken pieces, no blood, no bird. 

She couldn’t help the confused and scared cry that left her mouth as she pushed herself further away from the window. Her bedroom door creaked open, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the window. 

“Leia?” El’s voice called out before she rounded Leia’s shaking figure on the floor and kneeled in front of her. “What happened?” 

Leia hiccupped and shook her head quickly. “I-It was right there…” She lifted her hand and pointed a finger at the window. “There w-was a bird and the…then the window b-broke. I swear it…” 

The look on El’s face changed, hardened. “You saw something that wasn’t really there?” 

All Leia could do was nod in response, worried that if she tried to explain herself, she’d only sound crazier or break into a fit of heavy sobs. 

El stood up, and for a moment, Leia thought her sister was just going to leave her. Maybe El did think she was crazy. Leia felt crazy as she stared at the window. 

But El returned a few seconds later with Leia’s Walkman and headphones in her hands. She gazed at Leia with determination lit like fire in her wide brown eyes as she sat in front of her. “You’ll be okay,” she said before gently placing the headphones over Leia’s ears. El started the tape already inside, preloaded in case of emergencies like the very one happening at that moment. 

As the music hummed through Leia’s brain, El enveloped her in a hug, holding her fiercely like a promise. Leia closed her eyes and sank into her sister’s arms, listening to her favorite song. 

I want to be the one to walk in

the sun

Oh girls, they wanna have fun. 

Oh girls just wanna have

That’s all they really want

Is some fun

[...]

Dustin was confused and a little upset. He peddled quickly on his bike, knowing any moment his mom would get left a voicemail on their machine that Dustin had decided to cut class for the remainder of the day. But between the frantic Code Red from Jonathan and then Lucas up and disappearing, Dustin knew he couldn’t wait around until the school day ended. Something was happening, and he’d be damned if it happened without him. 

What if Vecna had gotten ahold of Will again? Or chased El inside the Void? What if Sunshine had been taken again? What if they found Vecna and were gearing up to kill the son-of-a-bitch once and for all? 

There were too many possibilities of what the Code Red could mean, and Dustin didn’t plan to hear it second hand after he finished his lectures in biology and painting in art class. 

Why hadn’t Lucas waited for him? That was what really bugged Dustin. They had planned to meet by the payphones at lunch, but when Dustin arrived, Lucas wasn’t there. He waited for a while before he marched back inside to track his friend down, disgruntled. Lucas wasn’t at his locker, in his previous period’s classroom, in none of the restrooms or the locker room. He was nowhere. 

It made Dustin’s stomach knot up, especially after his Walkie started going off in his backpack. 

First Will and Mike don’t show up to school, then Lucas vanishes. None of it sat right with Dustin. He hoped his friends were just being assholes, and he could yell at them when they all reunited at the radio station. Yet, there was a little voice in the back of his head that warned him something else was happening. And if he learned anything from the past near decade of his life, that ‘something’ was seldom good. 

So, he biked as quickly as his legs would allow him down the road, ignoring the stitch already growing in his side. The quickest way to the radio station from school was to take McCool street. The road cut through the woods, with towering trees that curved over the road like a canopy, cutting the sunlight slightly and giving the road an eerie feel. 

You’d think with all of the things Dustin had seen, the woods wouldn’t be as scary to him anymore. It was quite the opposite, though. The woods freaked him out more and more each year. There was always something lurking in them, and those things were no longer monsters spawned from Dustin’s overactive imagination. No, they were real monsters, real evil. 

As he biked, he tried to focus only on the road ahead, ignoring the woods to both his sides. 

The sound of an engine came from up ahead. It brought Dustin a brief relief that at least he wouldn’t be alone on the road for a few moments. 

Around the bend, a van emerged. What relief bloomed inside of Dustin quickly wilted as the van jerked sideways, skidding down both lanes before it abruptly stopped several feet ahead of him. He could have squeezed around the van, but the sudden fishtail into a stop caught Dustin off guard. He pulled on his brakes and dropped his feet from the pedals onto the ground. 

Maybe they just lost control. Or maybe they popped a tire, and their van went wonky because of that. There wasn’t much Dustin could do about that; he didn’t know how to change a tire or really anything about cars at all. But he felt like it would be shitty if he hurried off without making sure whoever was inside was okay. 

He dropped his kickstand with his foot and started slowly toward the van. “Hello?” He hoped someone rolled down the window or got out before he had to venture much closer to the van. They sometimes gave him the creeps, as he hadn’t forgotten about being chased down by the ‘Department of Energy’ vans while Brenner was after El. 

There was no answer or any indication that whoever was inside planned to get out and assess what was wrong with their van. It made Dustin feel a little weird. He hesitated, wondering if he should abandon ship and continue on his hurried journey to the radio station. But before he could decide anything, the driver’s side door flung open with a harshness that caused Dustin to flinch. Still, though, no one stepped out. 

“Uh, hello?” He started to creep forward again, scooting to the side so he could see inside the door without getting too close. 

There was no one in the driver nor passenger seat. The whole front section of the van was empty. 

“Oh,” Dustin muttered. “I don’t like this.” He started to back away, ready to bee-line for his bike when the side door of the van rolled open. Out filed men in crisp suits, their faces blank and figures too tall. 

Dustin stumbled over his feet as his eyes widened in even more confusion. So many questions swirled around his head; a cure of his curious nature. But he had been in one too many life-or-death situations to linger around and ask questions. 

He darted toward his bike. 

“Stop!” one of the suits barked, but Dustin ignored him and reached his bike. He flipped up the kickstand and swung one leg over the seat. He only spared one glance at the suits before he took off, and they had their hands reaching toward the insides of their coat pockets. 

Dustin started to realize how dire situations turned when none of his friends with superpowers were around. Sure, he was smart, but he wasn’t bulletproof. With a string of curse words, he started peddling. He knew if he took off down the road the way he had come, he’d be an easy target. Instead, he off-roaded it. 

The steep embankment on the side of the road helped him gain speed as he took off into the woods, and the dying grass helped carry him for a little bit. The voices of the suits weren’t too far behind, having to chase after him on foot. There were too many obstacles in the woods for him to get very far on his bike, so Dustin had to ditch it. 

He all but threw himself off of it and started running. Out of all his friends, he was the slowest runner and the clumsiest. What he lacked in physical endurance he made up for tenfold with his intellect, but he wasn’t sure how far that was going to get him at that moment. 

He weaved around trees, not running in a straight path in hopes that it threw the suits off. Unfortunately, as he veered right, he was too focused on what looked like a break in the thick of trees to see a stump hidden by overgrown, brown weeds. He hit the stump hard and flew right over it before hitting the ground hard. Pain shot through his ankle as he landed on it the wrong way in an attempt to stop himself from face-planting. 

His backpack was still on, and he itched to dig out his radio and call for help, but he had no idea where in the woods he was exactly. They’d never reach him in time. 

Why were the suits after him? Did the government finally decide that their group knew too much? Did they plan to eliminate all of them for good, steal their superpowered friends, and write it all off like some mysterious tragedy that they’d never take responsibility for? 

No, Dustin wouldn’t let that happen. His mother would be crushed in ways he didn’t want to even think about. They all had too much life to live still. And if they were wiped off the board, Vecna would win. The military and the government had no fucking clue what they were really dealing with. Vecna would end the world before they even realized it. 

With a pained cry, Dustin stood up and kept hobbling through the woods. He thought he had shaken the men enough that it would take them a while to find him, but he forgot that they were trained for that sort of thing and he was just a teenage boy, now with a busted ankle. 

They popped out from behind the trees in a blink of an eye, guns raised as they circled Dustin. He looked around for some means of escape. He needed Steve there, ready to at least attempt to kick their asses. Or Sunshine to pull him behind her while she illuminated her hands. He needed a plan from Mike or a half-baked one thought up by Lucas. He needed Nancy and her impeccable aim or Max with some sarcastic comment that eased some of the worry in the air. He needed somebody, anybody. But Dustin was all alone. 

He was all alone. 

One of the men started speaking, but Russian poured from his lips. Dustin turned his body to face him and noticed he wasn’t dressed like the other men in their black suits. He was dressed in the same uniforms the Russians underneath Starcourt had worn. 

Were the Americans teaming up with Russians to take them down? No. That didn’t make any sense. 

Dustin shook the idea from his head and glanced at the men beside the Russian. He too wasn’t in a suit, but rather in a Hawkins High letterman's jacket. 

“Jason?” he breathed out, his head dizzy as he peered at the zombie-like version of Jason before him. The blond looked awful in stained clothes and sunken-in features. But the worst part was the large gash through his entire midsection, only somewhat covered up by the jacket, where he’d been ripped apart as the Gates broke open when Max’s heart stopped. 

“Look at what you did!” Jason yelled, his words slightly slurred and rough around the edges. His movements were choppy as he stepped forward, like he didn’t have full control of his lower half. “You and Hellfire! You killed me!” 

Dustin shook his head, heart hammering inside his chest. “N-No! No, we didn’t. It wasn’t Hellfire! It was…” 

Then it clicked. 

“Vecna,” he whispered to himself, taking a look around at the terrifying cast of characters that circled him. They weren’t real. They had been, at one point, but not anymore. 

Dustin threw his backpack on the ground and dug around for his Walkman as the circle started to close in. Jason’s shouts grew louder, mixing with the bitter Russian and barks of the men from the Lab. It all became a chaotic storm, threatening to drown Dustin right where he stood. 

After a few seconds, he found it and made quick work of securing the headphones over his ears before he grasped the device tightly. He gave one last look around the circle before he slammed his finger down on the play button. As the music started to play, he ran straight through a small gap in the circle. 

Don’t you know, I’m still standing,

better than I ever did?

Looking like a true survivor, 

feeling like a little kid

I’m still standing after all

this time

[fake-tweets]

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE → CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN: THE DOMINOS FALL

summary: steve harrington x lab!oc. series rewrite-ish | read on Ao3

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 6.2k || masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. season 5 will stray the furthest from canon events!

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Tagged list: @sattlersquarry, @leptitlu, @adaydreamaway30, @excelciorst, @mysticmoon-0107, @emforjin, @hipsternerd9, @isleofmisfitvoldsoy

Robin spun around in her chair for what felt like the millionth time. Halfway seated on the desk beside Robin, Tamera watched with an amused smile on her lips, between stolen glances at her watch that would eventually tell her it was time to leave for her shift at the hair salon. 

“I just can’t believe you didn’t even tell me you were going to propose!” Robin said, again. She’d been repeating the same sentiment since Steve picked her up for work that morning. 

He took a sip of his hot mug of coffee, which held no bitterness, before he said, “It was a soft proposal. I do plan on something nicer than a twist-tie ring and the looming threat of the end of the world on our shoulders.” 

Tamera hummed. “Are you gonna let me do your hair for the wedding? I can consult Fara Fauset.” 

With a playful glare, Steve replied, “No one touches my hair but me, okay? And I stand by that hairspray. I’m even having Murray smuggle some more of it in for me, thank you very much.” 

A loud gasp sounded from Robin as she stopped spinning and quickly tried to stand to her feet. All that spinning made her dizzy, and she had to grip the back of the chair for support. “Am I your best man?!” 

“Will you slow down?” Steve said. “We have to defeat an evil monster and somehow convince the U.S. government that my kind-of-fiancé isn’t a national security threat first. Then we can start thinking about a wedding, okay?” 

In a huff, Robin collapsed back into her seat. “That’s not a no.” 

Of course Robin would have some important role in Steve’s wedding; she was his best friend, after all. But that all was far in the future. There was a lot they needed to do first. 

In all honesty, Steve didn’t know if they’d even reach that point. A life of pure normalcy, free of otherworldly or government threats, was far-fetched at the moment. All Steve wanted was Sunshine to know that he’d fight for that future regardless of how impossible it seemed. If something terrible happened, at least nothing would be left unsaid. Sunshine knew for certain that Steve wanted to spend the rest of his life at her side, no matter how long or short it turned out to be. 

“Knock knock,” Eddie said as he poked his head into the radio’s recording studio. 

Tamera pulled a face as she looked him over. “What’s that stain on your shirt?” 

He glanced at his shoulder, where the stain sat on his hand-me-down shirt, and sighed. “I’m pretty sure it’s baby puke.” 

“It really brings out your eyes,” remarked Robin with a smirk. 

The metalhead rolled his eyes. “You should start doing stand-up on your show, Robs. You’re a natural knee-slapper.” He leaned against the desk beside Steve and ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, courtesy of Tamera. It was still long, a little past his shoulders, which was as short as he dared let Tamera cut it. 

“Since there’s not much for me to do, being locked in the basement and all, I’ve become second in command when it comes to the super-powered baby,” Eddie said, rather dramatically. He wasn’t locked in the basement; he was a suspected murderer who supposedly died over a year ago. He couldn’t show his face without raising all the alarm in an already paranoid Hawkins. “I think Anne purposefully spits up on me and never Danielle.” 

“I would rather barf on you than Danielle,” Tamera said. Both Steve and Robin nodded in agreement, earning an unamused look from Eddie. Despite being the radio station’s ‘basement dweller,’ as Mike so fondly called it, Eddie did look more like himself than he had in a while. It seemed like helping out with Anne gave him more of a purpose than any trivial task Robin gave Eddie to help out with their radio show, or what little Eddie could do from the basement during their Crawls. He felt useful, Steve presumed. It put a bit more pep in his step. 

“I would prefer if no one barfed on anyone.” Steve perked up at the sound of Sunshine’s voice from just outside the recording studio. She stepped inside with a small smile, joining the cramped but comfortable space. 

Steve slung an arm around her shoulder as she neared and gently pulled her into his side before he pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head. 

She leaned into his side, her smile growing a little. “But I do think the bottle and spit-up helped put her out like a light,” she said, shooting Eddie a thankful look. 

With a shrug, Eddie said, “I’m coming for your babysitting title, Harrington.” 

Steve faked an offended gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

The group laughed, feeling a lightness envelope them. They had to relish in those moments, wherever they could find them. Those moments reminded Steve that they too were sort of still kids, just older teens who should be worrying about young adult issues, like college or careers, not how to stop a monster. Not that the universe, any of them, seemed to care what they should be doing. 

“I really hope someone at work has some news that I can bring back to you guys,” said Tamera. “Like, maybe an angry mob has formed overnight, and they plan to burn down the military’s set-up or something.” There was just the slightest humor in her voice, like she didn’t want to be too serious at the moment, but the words still carried a weight. 

Their newspaper stunt hadn’t given them the right momentum they needed or hoped for. And any that it had stirred up had fizzled out quickly when the military decided to clean up its act in the eyes of the residents. They were on their best behavior; it was such bullshit. It seemed like most people had fallen back to being on the military’s side, continuing to live in lockdown with little complaints here and there. And anyone who was still opposed was busy just trying to get through each week. No one would travel for work, and the allowance from the government didn’t help much. No one seemed pushy or angry anymore; they were just tired or maybe defeated. Steve wasn’t sure which one. 

“As much as I’d love to come up with another plan to rally pissed-off townsfolk, I think we have bigger things to worry about,” said Steve. “Like Vecna possessing Will…again.” The kid, of all people, didn’t deserve to be screwed with again. 

Beside him, Sunshine’s brows furrowed in deep thought. “He likes games, that much we know for sure. If he decided to show his face after all this time, then he’s probably healed enough to continue what he started. And he probably hopes to finish it this time.” 

“This whole thing, it kind of started with Will, right?” said Tamera. “Well, it started with Henry Creel but, I mean, Will was a major, like, catalyst. For whatever reason, Vecna and his boss- the Mind Flayer- have this weird connection to Will. And you guys have tried to break that connection before, right?” 

Sunshine nodded. “The Mind Flayer hates the heat. They had to practically burn the monster out of him. But something stayed, keeping him connected to them.” 

Resuming spinning in her chair, Robin jumped into the conversation. “I hate to say it, but even after we kill Vecna, I don’t know if that’ll end all of our monster-related problems.” 

“The Mind Flayer’s still a part of this,” Sunshine said with a sigh. “We killed what was left in our world at Starcourt, but as long as a piece of it still lives inside of Will and Vecna, it won’t stop. It knows now that it doesn’t need some big, fleshy body. It just needs someone or something to control.” 

“But,” Tamera rushed out. “Without Vecna acting and it’s…what did Dustin call it?” She looked at Steve. 

Of course, he remembered one of the many odd names and ranks bestowed to the monsters by Dustin and the rest of the Party. “Its five star general.” 

Tamera snapped her fingers at Steve before she continued. “Right! Without it’s five star general, I doubt whatever little piece of the Mind Flayer lives within Will would be very powerful. You take Vecna off the board, you lose the mind games. That doesn’t leave the Mind Flayer with much to work with,” she said. “And the kid’s withstood the monster's possession before, when it was way more powerful. He definitely could kick whatever small part is left over.” 

There was a beat of silence that passed between the group as they took in Tamera’s words. 

Eddie was the first one to speak. “That all sounds great, in theory. But that brings us back to square one. We have to kill Vecna.” Steve resisted the urge to groan. Eddie was right; they couldn’t get anywhere without killing Vecna. 

“You’re right. We still have to find and kill Vecna. But after, we have to break the connection with the Mind Flayer, with the Upside Down, completely. I think we have to do more than just close the Gate,” said Sunshine, her golden gaze flickering with an idea. “We know the Gate can and probably will be reopened if we just have El close it again. As long as that’s possible, this’ll never be over. We’ll never be free of that place as long as it exists.” 

Robin frowned. “So what do we do?” 

Sunshine’s gaze flickered around the group, her eyes narrowing with a familiar determination that Steve recognized like an old friend. 

“We have to destroy the Upside Down,” she said. 

[...]

“I don’t like this,” muttered Dustin for what had to be the hundredth time as he paced back and forth across the boys' bathroom. Lucas watched as he leaned against the blue-tiled sink, arms crossed and stomach already growling for lunch. 

“Dude,” he said with a small sigh. “You gotta relax. Maybe they just got a lead on something and skipped. If something was seriously wrong, someone would have radioed us by now with a Code Red.” 

Dustin halted his pacing and spun around to look at Lucas with wide eyes. “Unless they’re dead or captured and can’t radio us!” 

To most people, Dustin’s worries would’ve seemed ridiculous, but Lucas knew better than anyone just how real they were. 

“Something terrible could be happening right now, and we’re trying to learn fucking geometry!” 

Lucas placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Listen to me,” he said. “At lunch, we’ll call the radio station. Someone’s there, and they’ll know what’s going on, okay? But I’m sure that Mike and Will are just playing hooky and they forgot that the smart thing to do would’ve been to let us know so we don’t freak out. You know how they get something when they’re together.” 

Sometimes, Will and Mike were in their own little world. Lucas assumed that was what happened and nothing Code Red worthy…he hoped. 

His words seemed to have chilled Dustin out a little. “Okay,” he breathed out. “You’re probably right. But they’re gonna get an ear-full from me-” 

Dustin cut himself off as the restroom door opened and someone entered. Lucas nodded his head toward the door, and the two boys slipped out into the hall. 

The four boys all coordinated their study hall periods to be during the same hour to make it easier for them to discuss any upcoming Crawls. Sometimes they’d sneak out to the picnic tables just behind the football field, where Eddie used to do his drug deals. Or they’d find an empty table in the back corner of the library, where no one paid them any mind. 

As they started down the hall, Dustin palmed his eyes like he was trying to rub the stress from his brain through his eyeballs. “I have a history text next hour,” he groaned. 

Lucas glanced at his watch; they still had about half of their study hall left. “So then go study,” he told Dustin. “I’ll try to radio Mike and Will again. We’ll meet at the phones at lunch.” 

Dustin hesitated, weighing his options silently, but his expression gave him away. There was still a large part of Dustin that really cared about school. Lucas cared too, a little, much less than he once had. As long as he kept his grades in okay standing and didn’t draw alarm from his teachers or parents, he was fine. Dustin, on the other hand, couldn’t help but want to be at the top of their class. He tried to play it off, like he didn’t think about school much at all, but Lucas saw through him. 

With a breath, he finally gave in with a nod. Dustin drew his books closer to his chest and started toward the library to actually use it for studying. 

That left Lucas turning in the opposite direction, toward his locker, to grab his walkie. He and Dustin had radioed Mike and Will when they didn’t show up at the start of the school day, and then again when the two missed first period.

Dustin was quick to jump to the worst-case scenario, but Lucas wasn’t there yet. Or, maybe Lucas just refused to even entertain the idea of another one of his friends being hurt. 

The hallway was vacant as everyone was tucked away inside their classrooms. Lucas felt like he could breathe in the quiet. He opened his locker and grabbed the strap of his backpack, but was startled when the sound of a door slamming echoed through the air. He turned toward the noise and strained his ears to listen. There was another stretch of silence before a weird rattling sound came from the same direction. It sounded like someone trying to open a locked door with a bit of force, causing the whole thing to shake and groan in protest. Like when Erica would try to open the bathroom door when Lucas took too long in the shower. 

That wasn’t too odd. Hawkins High was an older building; it had been around since the forties. Lucas only knew that because the front hallway was lined with senior class photos from each decade. 

He shouldered his backpack and closed his locker before he started toward the noise. The rattling became louder as he neared the boys' locker room. 

“Hello?” he called out, stopping in front of the door. Maybe some freshman got pranked and locked inside the smelly locker room. It wouldn’t be the first prank Lucas had witnessed being played that year. Being locked in the locker room did seem a bit better than a swirly or getting dunked in the trash can. It was like the bullies read a ‘how to bully in the most cliché ways possible’ handbook before the school year started. 

There was no verbal response, but the door shook slightly. 

Lucas looked up and down the hall to see if he could catch a teacher or a janitor and have them open the door, but no one was around. 

With a sigh, he grasped the doorknob and hesitated. It was just the locker room. Even if some bullies were harassing some kid inside, Lucas had handled much scarier things. Plus, he knew what it was like to be that kid being harassed; maybe he could save someone else the pain, even just a bit. 

He gave the door a hard yank, expecting resistance, but the door flew open with ease. He stumbled back in surprise. With one hand still holding the door, he stuck his head inside. The usual awful fluorescents overhead weren’t turned on, which was a little weird. Normally, the lights remained on all day, as there was a gym class nearly every hour and practices after the last bell. They were usually switched off in the evening, after the last practice got out. 

Lucas groped along the wall until he found the light switch, but when he flipped it, no lights came on. He flicked the switch a couple of times with no success. 

“Anyone in here?” he called out, lingering just a couple of steps inside the locker room. Something that sounded like mumbling came from deeper inside. Lucas cleared his throat before he asked, “Uh, you good, man?” He was hoping someone would respond that everything was fine and Lucas could go on about his day; he was never that lucky, though. 

The mumbling voice didn’t respond, but it did sound like their mumbles became cries. Lucas couldn’t just leave. He rolled his shoulders back and headed right inside, through the darkness. He used his muscle memory of the locker room and followed the sounds of sniffles. Scattered gym bags littered the floor, making the journey a bit more hazardous. 

However, he managed to find his way to the back of the locker room, where a wall separated the lockers from the showers. The room was illumined dimly by a singular light, and steam from one of the showers rose to meet the light at the ceiling. 

Lucas sucked in a breath and readied himself before he peered around the wall and into the room. 

Out of all of the things he braced himself to see, in the middle of the tiled floor near one of the drains, Billy Hargrove was not one of them. 

Lucas’s stomach lurched violently as he stared at Billy’s cross-legged figure on the ground. He was dressed in the ripped and dirtied white tank top Lucas remembered him in on the Fourth of July. His hair hung in wet curls and his skin was pricked with sweat. Billy’s eyes were nothing but black dots in the sea of bloodshot. 

Slowly, Lucas took a step back as bile rose in his throat. 

“Sinclair,” Billy’s deep voice almost sang. “I told Max to stay away from you.” 

Lucas felt his heart start to race, but his mind was just one step ahead of it. 

Billy was dead. He was long dead and gone, and whoever was in front of him wasn’t real. Lucas could have answered Billy, spoken back. He could have screamed at the ghost to fuck off. Lucas wanted to hit him now that he was taller and stronger than he was back in ‘84 when Billy threatened him. But it wasn’t real, and none of that would do anything but add fuel to whatever fucked-up fire was burning before his eyes. 

Just as Billy started to rise to his feet, Lucas ripped the backpack from his shoulder and yanked the zipper open. In one quick motion, he grabbed his Walkman that he kept in a separate pocket for easy access, already pre-loaded with his favorite song for that very situation. 

Billy started walking toward him, coming too close for comfort. Lucas grabbed his backpack as he spun around and started running. 

He stumbled over gym bags and narrowly avoided colliding with the rows of gym lockers as he clipped his Walkman to his front pocket. He managed to bang his shoulder against the wall, misjudging his turn in the dark, but he recovered quickly and quickened his pace as he slipped his headphones over his ears. The door came into view, pouring light from the hall. 

Before his finger pressed down on the play button, he heard Billy’s ghost spit, “Look where she is now. All because she didn’t stay away from you!” 

The words hit Lucas like a gut punch; he stumbled and nearly face-planted, but he caught himself on the door frame before he hurried through it. Tears gathered in his eyes, but he refused to stop or to turn around. 

As soon as he was in the hall, he shut the locker room door with a swift kick and continued his sprint. The world blurred around him and his eyes stung, but he remained focused on the exit. As much as he wanted to double over and empty his rolling stomach, he talked himself out of it, in fear of stopping for even a second and allowing Billy’s ghost to catch up to him. 

Music played loudly in his ears, drowning out everything around him as he shoved his way through the school’s front doors. The fresh air greeted him with open arms. There was still no stopping, though. Lucas wouldn’t stop until he was somewhere safe, with the people who made him feel safe. He listened to the song on a loop as he sprinted the long distance to the radio station. 

Don’t lose your grip on the

dreams of the past

You must fight just to keep

them alive. 

It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the

thrill of the fight…

[...] 

“Leia, come on! We need to go, now!” 

She struggled to slip on her tennis shoe, keeping herself balanced with one hand on her bedframe. 

Jonathan had radioed minutes earlier, calling a Code Red meeting, but he didn’t give any more information, which was alarming. 

The sisters, along with Luke, Hopper, and Joyce, had just returned from some early morning training. It had drained Leia more than usual, as she had tried to expand the reach of her abilities pretty far. After chugging a Gatorade and changing out of her clothes into something cozier, she had laid down in her bed for a little rest. But about five minutes in, her radio crackled and Hopper was barking at everyone to move out, fast. 

Leia didn’t mean to lag behind. 

Once both shoes were on her feet, she hastily grabbed a sweatshirt from the pile of laundry on the floor and readied to leave her room, but a loud thud on her window stopped her in her tracks. 

A little bird fluttered at her window, knocking against the glass on the other side. It didn’t seem to understand that the window was, well, a window, not something it could fly through. 

Leia knew they needed to leave, find out what Jonathan’s Code Red meant. Something bad had probably happened. Something terrible, but Leia couldn’t get herself to tear her eyes away from the poor little bird. She shuffled toward the window, brows drawn together in confusion. 

Why wasn’t the bird flying away? It just kept running into the glass, each hit growing more frantic as it flailed its wings around. 

Then, the glass started to splinter underneath the bird. Leia was still learning the odds and ends of certain things, but she was fairly certain little birds like the one in front of her didn’t possess enough strength nor were heavy enough to break a window. The crack started small, a mere hairline that Leia would have missed if she hadn’t been paying such close attention. But as the bird continued its rampage against the glass, the fracture grew and grew. 

That wasn’t what troubled Leia, though. What troubled her was when the glass started to grow red. 

She stumbled forward until she touched the glass and started banging her fists against it. “Stop!” she cried, praying the little bird got spooked and flew away. It didn’t, though. It just kept ramming its small body against the glass over and over again. The white feathers that adorned it began to turn red in horrible splotches, just like the glass. 

A sob bubbled past Leia’s lips. Why wouldn’t it stop? Its beak was shattered, and its face started to splinter alongside the glass. Leia kept hitting the window with her palms, not paying attention to how fractured the glass already was. 

As the red-painted, mutilated bird smacked against the window once more, and Leia’s hand collided with the glass, the entire thing shattered. Leia screamed and threw herself backwards. 

Silence followed, the unnerving kind. She had squeezed her eyes closed in fear of glass getting into them. When she peeled them back open, her whole body trembling, she expected to see the broken window staring back at her. 

However, there wasn’t so much as a scratch on it. The window was perfectly fine, aside from her smudged handprint in the middle of the glass. There were no broken pieces, no blood, no bird. 

She couldn’t help the confused and scared cry that left her mouth as she pushed herself further away from the window. Her bedroom door creaked open, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the window. 

“Leia?” El’s voice called out before she rounded Leia’s shaking figure on the floor and kneeled in front of her. “What happened?” 

Leia hiccupped and shook her head quickly. “I-It was right there…” She lifted her hand and pointed a finger at the window. “There w-was a bird and the…then the window b-broke. I swear it…” 

The look on El’s face changed, hardened. “You saw something that wasn’t really there?” 

All Leia could do was nod in response, worried that if she tried to explain herself, she’d only sound crazier or break into a fit of heavy sobs. 

El stood up, and for a moment, Leia thought her sister was just going to leave her. Maybe El did think she was crazy. Leia felt crazy as she stared at the window. 

But El returned a few seconds later with Leia’s Walkman and headphones in her hands. She gazed at Leia with determination lit like fire in her wide brown eyes as she sat in front of her. “You’ll be okay,” she said before gently placing the headphones over Leia’s ears. El started the tape already inside, preloaded in case of emergencies like the very one happening at that moment. 

As the music hummed through Leia’s brain, El enveloped her in a hug, holding her fiercely like a promise. Leia closed her eyes and sank into her sister’s arms, listening to her favorite song. 

I want to be the one to walk in

the sun

Oh girls, they wanna have fun. 

Oh girls just wanna have

That’s all they really want

Is some fun

[...]

Dustin was confused and a little upset. He peddled quickly on his bike, knowing any moment his mom would get left a voicemail on their machine that Dustin had decided to cut class for the remainder of the day. But between the frantic Code Red from Jonathan and then Lucas up and disappearing, Dustin knew he couldn’t wait around until the school day ended. Something was happening, and he’d be damned if it happened without him. 

What if Vecna had gotten ahold of Will again? Or chased El inside the Void? What if Sunshine had been taken again? What if they found Vecna and were gearing up to kill the son-of-a-bitch once and for all? 

There were too many possibilities of what the Code Red could mean, and Dustin didn’t plan to hear it second hand after he finished his lectures in biology and painting in art class. 

Why hadn’t Lucas waited for him? That was what really bugged Dustin. They had planned to meet by the payphones at lunch, but when Dustin arrived, Lucas wasn’t there. He waited for a while before he marched back inside to track his friend down, disgruntled. Lucas wasn’t at his locker, in his previous period’s classroom, in none of the restrooms or the locker room. He was nowhere. 

It made Dustin’s stomach knot up, especially after his Walkie started going off in his backpack. 

First Will and Mike don’t show up to school, then Lucas vanishes. None of it sat right with Dustin. He hoped his friends were just being assholes, and he could yell at them when they all reunited at the radio station. Yet, there was a little voice in the back of his head that warned him something else was happening. And if he learned anything from the past near decade of his life, that ‘something’ was seldom good. 

So, he biked as quickly as his legs would allow him down the road, ignoring the stitch already growing in his side. The quickest way to the radio station from school was to take McCool street. The road cut through the woods, with towering trees that curved over the road like a canopy, cutting the sunlight slightly and giving the road an eerie feel. 

You’d think with all of the things Dustin had seen, the woods wouldn’t be as scary to him anymore. It was quite the opposite, though. The woods freaked him out more and more each year. There was always something lurking in them, and those things were no longer monsters spawned from Dustin’s overactive imagination. No, they were real monsters, real evil. 

As he biked, he tried to focus only on the road ahead, ignoring the woods to both his sides. 

The sound of an engine came from up ahead. It brought Dustin a brief relief that at least he wouldn’t be alone on the road for a few moments. 

Around the bend, a van emerged. What relief bloomed inside of Dustin quickly wilted as the van jerked sideways, skidding down both lanes before it abruptly stopped several feet ahead of him. He could have squeezed around the van, but the sudden fishtail into a stop caught Dustin off guard. He pulled on his brakes and dropped his feet from the pedals onto the ground. 

Maybe they just lost control. Or maybe they popped a tire, and their van went wonky because of that. There wasn’t much Dustin could do about that; he didn’t know how to change a tire or really anything about cars at all. But he felt like it would be shitty if he hurried off without making sure whoever was inside was okay. 

He dropped his kickstand with his foot and started slowly toward the van. “Hello?” He hoped someone rolled down the window or got out before he had to venture much closer to the van. They sometimes gave him the creeps, as he hadn’t forgotten about being chased down by the ‘Department of Energy’ vans while Brenner was after El. 

There was no answer or any indication that whoever was inside planned to get out and assess what was wrong with their van. It made Dustin feel a little weird. He hesitated, wondering if he should abandon ship and continue on his hurried journey to the radio station. But before he could decide anything, the driver’s side door flung open with a harshness that caused Dustin to flinch. Still, though, no one stepped out. 

“Uh, hello?” He started to creep forward again, scooting to the side so he could see inside the door without getting too close. 

There was no one in the driver nor passenger seat. The whole front section of the van was empty. 

“Oh,” Dustin muttered. “I don’t like this.” He started to back away, ready to bee-line for his bike when the side door of the van rolled open. Out filed men in crisp suits, their faces blank and figures too tall. 

Dustin stumbled over his feet as his eyes widened in even more confusion. So many questions swirled around his head; a cure of his curious nature. But he had been in one too many life-or-death situations to linger around and ask questions. 

He darted toward his bike. 

“Stop!” one of the suits barked, but Dustin ignored him and reached his bike. He flipped up the kickstand and swung one leg over the seat. He only spared one glance at the suits before he took off, and they had their hands reaching toward the insides of their coat pockets. 

Dustin started to realize how dire situations turned when none of his friends with superpowers were around. Sure, he was smart, but he wasn’t bulletproof. With a string of curse words, he started peddling. He knew if he took off down the road the way he had come, he’d be an easy target. Instead, he off-roaded it. 

The steep embankment on the side of the road helped him gain speed as he took off into the woods, and the dying grass helped carry him for a little bit. The voices of the suits weren’t too far behind, having to chase after him on foot. There were too many obstacles in the woods for him to get very far on his bike, so Dustin had to ditch it. 

He all but threw himself off of it and started running. Out of all his friends, he was the slowest runner and the clumsiest. What he lacked in physical endurance he made up for tenfold with his intellect, but he wasn’t sure how far that was going to get him at that moment. 

He weaved around trees, not running in a straight path in hopes that it threw the suits off. Unfortunately, as he veered right, he was too focused on what looked like a break in the thick of trees to see a stump hidden by overgrown, brown weeds. He hit the stump hard and flew right over it before hitting the ground hard. Pain shot through his ankle as he landed on it the wrong way in an attempt to stop himself from face-planting. 

His backpack was still on, and he itched to dig out his radio and call for help, but he had no idea where in the woods he was exactly. They’d never reach him in time. 

Why were the suits after him? Did the government finally decide that their group knew too much? Did they plan to eliminate all of them for good, steal their superpowered friends, and write it all off like some mysterious tragedy that they’d never take responsibility for? 

No, Dustin wouldn’t let that happen. His mother would be crushed in ways he didn’t want to even think about. They all had too much life to live still. And if they were wiped off the board, Vecna would win. The military and the government had no fucking clue what they were really dealing with. Vecna would end the world before they even realized it. 

With a pained cry, Dustin stood up and kept hobbling through the woods. He thought he had shaken the men enough that it would take them a while to find him, but he forgot that they were trained for that sort of thing and he was just a teenage boy, now with a busted ankle. 

They popped out from behind the trees in a blink of an eye, guns raised as they circled Dustin. He looked around for some means of escape. He needed Steve there, ready to at least attempt to kick their asses. Or Sunshine to pull him behind her while she illuminated her hands. He needed a plan from Mike or a half-baked one thought up by Lucas. He needed Nancy and her impeccable aim or Max with some sarcastic comment that eased some of the worry in the air. He needed somebody, anybody. But Dustin was all alone. 

He was all alone. 

One of the men started speaking, but Russian poured from his lips. Dustin turned his body to face him and noticed he wasn’t dressed like the other men in their black suits. He was dressed in the same uniforms the Russians underneath Starcourt had worn. 

Were the Americans teaming up with Russians to take them down? No. That didn’t make any sense. 

Dustin shook the idea from his head and glanced at the men beside the Russian. He too wasn’t in a suit, but rather in a Hawkins High letterman's jacket. 

“Jason?” he breathed out, his head dizzy as he peered at the zombie-like version of Jason before him. The blond looked awful in stained clothes and sunken-in features. But the worst part was the large gash through his entire midsection, only somewhat covered up by the jacket, where he’d been ripped apart as the Gates broke open when Max’s heart stopped. 

“Look at what you did!” Jason yelled, his words slightly slurred and rough around the edges. His movements were choppy as he stepped forward, like he didn’t have full control of his lower half. “You and Hellfire! You killed me!” 

Dustin shook his head, heart hammering inside his chest. “N-No! No, we didn’t. It wasn’t Hellfire! It was…” 

Then it clicked. 

“Vecna,” he whispered to himself, taking a look around at the terrifying cast of characters that circled him. They weren’t real. They had been, at one point, but not anymore. 

Dustin threw his backpack on the ground and dug around for his Walkman as the circle started to close in. Jason’s shouts grew louder, mixing with the bitter Russian and barks of the men from the Lab. It all became a chaotic storm, threatening to drown Dustin right where he stood. 

After a few seconds, he found it and made quick work of securing the headphones over his ears before he grasped the device tightly. He gave one last look around the circle before he slammed his finger down on the play button. As the music started to play, he ran straight through a small gap in the circle. 

Don’t you know, I’m still standing,

better than I ever did?

Looking like a true survivor, 

feeling like a little kid

I’m still standing after all

this time

[sattlersquarry]

back in my body (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: You are not comfortable in your body, and you are not comfortable with sex. But at least you have your crush good friend Steve Harrington by your side.

Word Count: ~13k

Warnings: 18+ please MDNI!!!! language; frank discussions of sex & anatomy; body insecurity, and underage drinking; reader has a debilitating fear of sex and intimacy and is simultaneously touch-starved and touch-averse; mentions of masturbation; making out; there is a smut-adjacent scene at the end [dry humping] but I don't even know if it's enough to call it "explicit." I was going to write more and then got too stressed to, so the actual smut is fade-to-black. Sorry y'all lol

a/n: I hope this is relatable to someone out there. I hope it makes them feel less alone. Tagging my usual tag list and a few mutuals who may be interested (but no worries if not, this is different than my usual fare): @aloneinthehellfire @starry-eyed-steve @scaredofbeingbasic @roanofarcc @thecreelhouse @curiositydooropened

Also ty @tinfoileddd and @stevebabey for encouraging me to still write and post this when I wasn't sure about it!! I appreciate it tenfold!!!

💋💋💋

You have never felt all that comfortable in your body.

You don’t hate it, but you don’t love it. Seeing yourself in the mirror is like seeing a loose acquaintance and having to force yourself to be polite: Oh, you again. Hey. How’s it going?

You’re also not all that comfortable with sex. Or the idea of it, because you’ve never had it. Your best friend, Heather Holloway, lost her virginity at a house party at 16, probably at the exact same moment you feigned a stomachache to get out of playing 7 Minutes in Heaven.

Maybe it’s a side effect of your insecurity, or of being raised in a small, conservative-leaning town stuck in its purity culture ways, but the thought of intimacy terrifies you. Letting your guard down and being that vulnerable with another human being feels like the sword of Damocles swinging above your head, ready to chop you in two.

In the summer of 1985, a few weeks after high school graduation, you’re at the Holloway house for a spa night (i.e., painting your nails and drinking wine you pilfered from Mrs. Holloway’s wine fridge). Heather asks you if you really want to be a virgin before college. 

“Virginity is a construct,” you reply, quoting something you read in a zine you bought from a bookstore in Indianapolis. 

“Right, sure,” Heather says flippantly. She shakes one hand, trying to air-dry her Passionate Plum manicure. “But don’t you want to have at least some experience? Because you don’t want your first sexual encounter to be with some drunk frat bro who can’t find the clit.”

“Ohmigod Heather,” you say, embarrassment and anxiety washing over you at her crass words.

“What?! I’m just saying! We should hook you up with someone before we leave in the fall.”

“Leave” was a strong word. You and Heather were going to Cartersville University for college, barely 30 minutes away.

“Ooh, you know what I heard,” Heather says, leaning in conspiratorially. You can smell the Pinot Grigio on her breath. “Steve Harrington is, like, desperate for a date. He asks out every girl our age who comes into Scoops. You should go after him.”

“I don’t really want to ‘go after’ a guy who asks out everyone,” you say, fidgeting with your fingers and already wanting to chip off the baby blue nail polish you haphazardly applied.

Heather shrugs. “Suit yourself. You might regret that, though, because everyone says he’s like…you know.”

She makes some sort of motion with her hands. You’re not sure if you don’t understand it because of your lack of sexual experience or because she’s not adequately expressing whatever she’s trying to. You blink, and Heather huffs. “He’s hung, Y/N. All the girls at school say so.” 

You aren’t sure if this conversation makes you want to laugh or cry, so you change the subject by picking up the half-empty bottle and gesturing to Heather’s plastic cup. “Want more wine?” 

💋💋💋

Less than a week later, Heather calls you in a panic.

“Please,” she begs. “Something’s wrong with my mom! She passed out after dinner. My dad took her to the hospital but I’m really, really scared…I don’t want to be alone!” 

Your parents are out of town caring for a sick relative, so you have no curfew to adhere to and book it to her house on your bike. But after you ring the doorbell and she lets you inside, you instantly get the feeling something is wrong.

“Why is it so cold?” you ask, a shiver involuntarily running through you. Goosebumps raise on your arms and legs, and you don’t understand how Heather is comfortable in a tank top and shorts when it can’t be more than 60 degrees inside her house.

Heather doesn’t respond. Instead, she almost robotically sits on the couch and puts her head in her hands. You take a seat next to her and place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” you soothe. “Your mom is going to be all right.”

“No, she isn’t!” Heather says, voice muffled in her hands. 

“She will! You just have to be positive. The doctors will figure out what’s wrong with her.”

Still with her face covered, Heather says, “Do you think they’ll figure out what’s wrong with you?”

You frown, brows pulling together. “W-what?”

In one swift motion, she pulls a rag out from a couch cushion and covers your mouth with it. You try and fight back, but you feel the pull of sleep calling you.

Her expression is devoid of emotion. “Sorry, Y/N,” she says, as your consciousness wanes. “But He told me He needs more.”

💋💋💋

For the next few days, you become Billy Hargrove’s second-in-command. The creature possessing you seems to like that you’re mousy and insecure. You’re easier to break. Easier to control.

When you’re under the Mind Flayer’s influence, you feel like you’re watching yourself through a pane of glass. Your mind screams at your body to Stop it! Stop! as you knock Mike Wheeler unconscious in the back hallways of the mall. But it’s no use. As long as the Mind Flayer has its hooks in you, you’re forced to be a bystander to your own life.

It changes when you get to the mall’s main atrium: Billy has Eleven in his clutches, and you’re standing nearby in case he needs backup. The fireworks are burning your skin from the inside out, and your ears are ringing, so you don’t hear what El says to Billy. But something in his expression shifts. You watch the darkened veins on his face and arms fade. 

He looks up at you, and sees your skin still covered in those veins.

“What are you waiting for?” you hear yourself ask. “Give her to Him!”

Don’t! you scream inside your mind. God, please, don’t do it Billy.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says, remorse flashing on his face when he realizes what he’s done under the influence of a monster—not just to you, but to El, to Heather, to everyone else making up the Mind Flayer’s physical form. “I’m so, so sorry Y/N.”

You blink, surprised, even more so when he turns toward the creature that’s been controlling you two for days. He grapples with one of its tentacles, and then the creature impales him with another. You scream in pain and fall onto your back a few feet away, the pesky hive mind keeping you connected. His pain is very much yours.

“You have to fight it!” someone shouts, from somewhere in this godforsaken mall. Easier said than done.

You close your eyes and try to force the Mind Flayer out of your head. He’d been feeding on your darkest memories to keep you in control, so maybe you could take back over by focusing on happier ones: Meeting Heather in 3rd grade and making a best friend for the first time in your life. Riding bikes through town. Swimming at the pool every summer. Dancing wildly at the Snow Ball. Weekend trips to Indianapolis with your family. Cheering Heather on as she won prom queen, just a few weeks ago.

You focus on the good, and the bad sloughs itself out of you in a big rush. Just in the nick of time, too. You sit up, feeling woozy, and watch as the Mind Flayer falls to the ground, very much dead. 

A few feet away, you watch Billy’s stepsister, Max Mayfield, cry for him. Eleven comforts her. You stagger to your feet, unsure of what to do or where to go. 

You fail to blink back tears, and they roll down your face when the gravity of what’s happened sinks over you.

“H-Heather,” you sob. “No! No!” 

You fall to your knees in front of the corpse of the Mind Flayer, sobbing into your hands.

“It isn’t your fault.”

You whip your head to the side, where Will Byers stands. He’s looking at you with empathy, and is treating you more kindly than you expected this crew to after everything that happened.

“What he did to you,” Will says, nodding toward the monster. “And what he made you do, it is not your fault. Trust me, I understand that more than anyone else here.”

You aren’t sure what he means by that, but you simply offer a hoarse, “Thank you.” 

Steve Harrington, whose face is bloodied and bruised in a way that makes you feel sick, walks up to you next.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says softly, but there’s a trace of urgency laced in his words. “We should get out of here before these fires spread. Can you stand?”

You nod shakily, though you stumble a bit, feeling weary. Steve reaches to balance you and you flinch away from him. “Sorry!” he says, and backs up, tucking his hands in his pockets as if to assure you he wouldn’t try and touch you again.

As you walk toward the exit, you feel numb. You profusely apologize to Eleven, Max, and the others, but like Will, they don’t hold it against you. (Well, Mike Wheeler grumbles something about having a concussion, but when he sees how upset you are, he walks it back.)

“It was the hive mind,” he says. “Not you.” 

Right. Not you. It was an external force invading your mind and body. A hostile takeover. The sword of Damocles inches ever-closer to your skull in your mind.

That night, Robin Buckley’s parents drive you and Steve home as well. Steve offers to stay with you, but you want to be alone. You want to crawl into your bed, in the body you don’t trust anymore, and cry yourself to sleep. So that’s exactly what you do.

💋💋💋

You defer your enrollment to Cartersville U, wanting to take a gap year to deal with the grief and pain. Your parents understand, showering you with gifts and attention to make up for the fact that they weren’t there the night of the “mall fire” that killed your best friend and so many others.

You make new friends in Steve and Robin, getting a job at the Family Video with them. However, one gap year turns to two, and then three, when an earthquake hits and the military sets up a barricade. No one in or out, except for extenuating circumstances.

Steve reads you in on the truth: it wasn’t a simple earthquake. It was another monster from the Mind Flayer’s domain opening portals to another dimension, called Gates. The uneasy feeling you’d had all week starts to make sense when you realize the hive mind was active again.

“We’re going to kill him,” Steve tells you quietly as you two sit in Max’s hospital room to keep her company. When you heard about her coma, your heart just broke.

“I want to help,” you say.

“No way,” Steve says, shaking his head. “You’ve been tortured enough by this fucker.”

“Everyone has!” you say. “Let me help, Steve.”

He does, even if he doesn’t seem happy about it. You help the group plan Crawls into the Upside Down, where the “resurrected” Chief Hopper searches for Henry Creel/Vecna/One. The way you understand it, Vecna and the Mind Flayer are partners in crime. So while you were connected to the hive mind in 1985, you were technically connected to Vecna too. The thought makes you sick.

And in fall 1987, after 30-some Crawls, you and Will are dragged back into the hive mind’s orbit. It’s painful, seeing from the vision of a monster—at least it’s not your body carrying out the acts this time.

In the downtime before your plan at the Turnbow’s house, Steve finds you crying in the storage closet at the WSQK station.

“What’s wrong?!” he says, sitting on the floor beside you, but leaving some space. After two years of friendship, he knows better than to reach for you—you don’t love physical touch.

You shake your head. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it isn’t.”

You screw your eyes shut, deciding to just be honest. “I hate being so close to the hive mind,” you say quietly. “I hate being back there, like I’m out of control of my body again. It’s…violating.” 

You don’t say more, but you could. You could talk about how you still haven’t had sex, kissed anyone, or really dated at all, because your fear of sex and intimacy and vulnerability was ratcheted up after you were flayed. You have this compulsive need to be in control of your body at all times, and sex seems like a surefire way to lose that control. You don’t want to lose yourself to someone else. Ever again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Steve says. If he can tell you’re not telling the full truth, he doesn’t bring it up. “Listen, we’re going to kill Vecna once and for all. And then he, and the Mind Flayer, and the whole hive mind will be gone.”

You appreciate his positivity, even if you don’t feel so optimistic. “Thank you,” you say. You hesitate, before asking, “Could I get a hug?” 

Steve had secretly hoped you would ask. When you occasionally ask for a hug is the only time you let him close to you.

“Of course,” he says, opening his arms for you. You hug him tightly, but only for a few seconds, before you’re pulling away. Steve stands and offers you a hand. You murmur, “Thanks,” and take it, but let go as soon as you’re on your feet. Steve doesn’t take offense—he’s not that insecure. But he does find his arms and hands feeling a bit warm where he was just holding you…

Steve squashes that instantly. Whatever he’s feeling is a bad idea. Besides, you all have a world to save.

💋💋💋

You do save the world, shockingly. Somehow, your team of quasi-heroes pulls it off, and then you’re all expected to go about life as normal.

Eleven is finally able to get some semblance of a normal life, after the military is exposed for their clandestine experiments. She even gets a hefty payout from the government, which Hopper commands cannot be used on a lifetime supply of Eggos, to her chagrin.

Max re-enrolls in school, hoping to catch up, with Lucas, Mike, Will, and Dustin offering to be her personal tutors. 

Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin all go far from Hawkins for college in fall 1988. You still end up only 30 minutes away, at Cartersville University. You’re a bit surprised when Steve tells you he’s enrolled as well.

“I think I want to be a teacher,” he says, while the two of you are attending a new student mixer during orientation week (and glomming onto each other so you don’t need to talk to any strangers).

“That’s amazing, Steve!” you say. “You’re great with kids. You’re going to do really, really well.”

He smiles, a bit bashful. “Thanks, Y/N. What do you think you want to study?”

You don’t get the chance to respond before a pretty girl is sidling up to him. “Hey, I haven’t seen you around here before.”

You bite back the urge to make a sarcastic remark about how you’re all new, so of course she hasn’t seen Steve before. As Steve begins to flirt back, you quietly excuse yourself for more punch. Oh, brother.

💋💋💋

Your roommate is the most insatiable human being to exist.

You think she and her boyfriend have sex four times a week, maybe five. Good lord.

Coming home from a long day of one lab, two lectures, and an exam, you scowl at the sight of a bright pink sock with yellow daisies stitched on it resting on the doorknob of your dorm. 

You know your roommate’s boyfriend lives off-campus, so it’s easier for their post-class romps to be in the dorm. But your stomach squeezes and twists, and the fact that she can so easily engage in intimacy while you’re still terrified of your own naked reflection sometimes angers you. You meet Steve in the dining hall for dinner and lament about it, stabbing at your salad with a fork.

“It’s just so goddamn inconsiderate that she’s fucking in our shared room all the time,” you say hotly, spearing a cherry tomato and biting into it. 

“That really sucks,” Steve says, genuinely upset on your behalf. His empathy is one of his best qualities. “I mean, she should at least give you a heads-up or something.” 

“Or something,” you grumble. “I hope she gets a UTI.”

Steve nearly chokes on his grilled cheese sandwich.

You feel a bit ashamed. “Sorry. Was that, like, totally evil of me to wish on another person?”

“Not evil,” Steve says. “A little twisted, maybe.” 

You cover your face with your hands, embarrassed. Steve just laughs.

“I kind of like this side of you,” he muses. 

“Shut up.” You flick a craisin at him. It lands in his perfect hair. It’s your turn to laugh, and his turn to blush as he brushes it away.

“But seriously,” you add, shaking your head. “I just don’t get how they even have the energy to do it so often.”

Now that you’ve successfully vented your frustration, you’re ready to change the subject. You’re about to ask Steve how his club baseball team is going when he says, “I mean, the few weeks I dated that girl I met at the orientation mixer, that was about how often we’d hook up.” 

Suddenly, you’re very invested in your salad once more. 

Steve frowns at the sudden chill in your demeanor. 

“Sorry,” he says, wondering if he overshared. “You probably didn’t need to know that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, voice tight.

Steve furrows his brow. “Really? Because I’ve never seen someone inspect ranch dressing that closely.”

“I said it’s fine,” you say, anger creeping in again. You seal up the to-go container holding your half-finished dinner and add, “I’m going to the library. Hopefully Sierra’s boyfriend is long gone by the time I’m done studying.” 

You storm off, leaving a bewildered Steve behind.

💋💋💋

You think you might be sexually frustrated. 

You don’t know what that feels like, exactly. You’re pretty certain in your 20-some years of life, you’ve never felt it before.

But you’re still scared of sex, so the feeling is confounding. Why does your traitorous body want the thing your brain has convinced you is terribly dangerous?

You don’t like masturbating because you can never get yourself off, but your roommate is staying with her boyfriend for the weekend and you have a dorm to yourself, and you might as well try to do something to stave off the burning under your skin. If you don’t, you’ll probably go into some sort of hysteria. Is this when women in the 1800s would’ve been sent to the seaside?

You eye the poster hanging on Sierra’s side of the dorm room, of some hunky male musician you’re certain is popular though you can’t name a single one of his songs, and hope it’ll spark something in you. You fumble around with your hand shoved down the front of your jeans, but your clumsy strokes combined with the swoonworthy stare of Hunky Musician does not make you come.

Could this be something behavioral science can solve? You head to the library, wearing a baseball cap pulled low over your eyes as if it could disguise you, wondering if there’s some kind of psychology textbook titled “Handbook For Adult Women Who Are Scared Of Sex But Really Want To Get Off.”

You don’t find that in a shadowy corner of the nonfiction section with the books on sex and relationships, but you do find a rather interesting-looking tome titled “Tending To Her Garden of Pleasure: The Complete Guide To A Woman’s Orgasm.” Close enough.

“Hey, Y/N!” 

You have a small cardiac event when Steve calls your name, dropping the book on the carpeted floor. You burn with embarrassment, shame, and regret, mortified that the book fell cover-side up.

You can’t even bring yourself to say anything, or even put the book back on the shelf. You blink back tears and speedwalk past Steve, ignoring him calling after you.

You sit on a bench by the vending machines outside the library, hugging your backpack to your chest. You should just head back to your dorm, but the thought of being alone in that room again makes you want to peel your own skin off. 

Minutes tick by, and you notice Steve out of the corner of your eye, heading your way. You aren’t sure what to expect as he gingerly takes a seat on the bench next to you, but it’s definitely not a soft, “I think you forgot something.”

He holds the book out to you, cover-side down this time. Your eyes widen. “You checked it out?”

“In case you still wanted it,” Steve said. And he’s not teasing you. He’s being 100% genuine. Though he can’t resist and adds, “But if you don’t, maybe I should study up.”

You snort and shake your head. “I’m sure the librarian got a kick out of that.”

“She’s stone cold,” Steve said. “Didn’t even react. I’m probably not the only desperate schmuck who’s taken this thing home.” He screws his face up with disgust. “Eugh, they like, disinfect the books each time they’re returned, right?”

But you don’t play along. The words “desperate schmuck” rattle around in your head. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shuddery breath.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, suddenly serious again, misinterpreting what’s making you upset and tucking the book in his backpack. “I promise I’m not making fun of you.”

“I know,” you say. You sniffle. “I just…Steve, I think I’m broken.” 

Steve frowns. “What do you mean?” 

You consider just walking away, but he sounds so concerned, and it might be nice to open up about this to someone you know and trust.

“I can’t have sex,” you say, voice cracking on the last word, “because the thought of it scares me so badly. And all my hang-ups make it hard to get myself off, too.” You huff out a hollow laugh. “Which makes me sound so babyish, because we’re in college now, and it seems like everyone else is screwing someone or jerking off all the time.”

You slouch in your seat. “And I’ve never even been kissed,” you murmur, so quiet you aren’t sure if Steve can even hear you anymore. “The longer I go without it, the more scary intimacy gets in my head, and I—hell, we’ve fought monsters, I know what real terror feels like, so why do I feel that way about something other people can do every single day?! It’s like I said. I’m broken!”

“No,” Steve says, voice gentle but firm. “You aren’t.”

“Says the guy who’s probably bedded every girl our age in Hawkins!” you fire back, before immediately feeling guilty for snapping at him.

“‘Bedded’?” Steve says. “What is this, a Shakespeare play?”

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

Steve waves it off. “It’s fine. You’re upset. And I guess I do have something of a track record…but I’m serious. You aren’t broken, Y/N.” He shrugs. “Sure, dating and sex can be fun. But it does mean you might get your heart stomped on in the end. Trust me, I know all about that.”

He gets a far-off look in his eye, and you know he’s thinking about Nancy. The one that got away.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking your time,” Steve adds. 

“When does it stop being scary?” you ask quietly. “Putting yourself out there, and…and giving up control to someone else?” 

“‘Control’?” Steve asks, confusion flashing on his features. “Sex doesn’t have to be about control. I mean, it can, if you’re into heavier stuff, but—did someone tell you that?” 

“No,” you say. “But I have firsthand experience with feeling like your body doesn’t belong to you.”

It takes a minute for the dots to connect. When they do, Steve’s eyes widen. “Oh. This is because of…”

“Yeah. Well, I was always a bit freaked out by sex, but it just kind of got worse after…all that.”

“Geez,” Steve huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Henry Creel really did a number on us. The fucker.” 

You look down at your feet, unsure of what else to say.

“Listen,” Steve says. “You don’t have to have sex with anyone if you don’t want to. Ever, no matter what someone says.”

You want to articulate that there is a part of you, deep down, that does want sex. You just feel like you can’t have it, because it feels like the most dangerous thing in the world. But that’s more than you’re willing to share at present, so you thank Steve for the support.

“Um, I don’t think I’m ready for the book,” you add, standing from the bench. “So you can return it.”

“Are you kidding?” Steve says, with a smirk. “I’m reading this thing cover to cover. I’m going to become a master of female pleasure by the end of the week.”

You burn again, but not from embarrassment this time. From something else that you aren’t ready to identify. 

But whatever it is, it sure helps you get off for the very first time mere hours later.

💋💋💋

The following spring, you and Steve complete your first year of college. You decide to move into an off-campus apartment together. Before the summer semester begins (because after starting school later than normal because of the quarantine, you both feel like you’re playing catch-up), you return to Hawkins to celebrate the Class of 1989.

Sitting in the bleachers with Steve and Robin, you cheer extra loud when Will, Dustin, Max, Lucas, and Mike walk the stage—though no one cheers louder for Mike than Eleven. Dustin’s valedictorian speech has the whole crowd going nuts.

On the WSQK rooftop after the festivities, you share a drink with your friends. You all agree to meet up every few months at Robin’s uncle’s house to socialize, and also because Jonathan is going to need some major help on his student film.

You laugh, talk, and drink, and it’s nice, for a while. However, after Robin starts teasing Steve for getting dumped by a classmate in Spanish during their Spanish class oral exam, she turns to you.

“Please tell us your love life is going better than Steve’s,” Robin says. “We need a story about Cartersville that won’t depress us.”

An icy panic spreads itself through your body. You force a laugh and shake your head. “No love life to speak of,” you say lightly. “I’m just studying a lot.”

“Oh, come on!” Robin says. “There has to be someone you’re at least crushing on.”

You shake your head and take a long sip of your beer. It’s mostly warm by now, due to the heat. “No one.”

That’s mostly true. Sure, you’ve noticed over the last few months that you find Steve…attractive. Very much so. But he’s your friend. And he knows you’re not ready for a relationship that involves sex, and he has sex all the time. Well, you don’t think he’s hooked up with anyone since you two moved in together. But still. You two would never work.

Nancy scans the twist of your mouth and rescues you. “So, Steve, what exactly did your professor say when you got broken up with during the test?”

Steve groans and shakes his head. “Not you two, Wheeler. I swear, you all relish in my misfortune.” 

But he’s a good sport, and he recounts every detail of the situation that he hadn’t already shared. You force a few more laughs, but deep down, you find yourself feeling anxious. Everyone on this rooftop has fallen in love before. They’ve all had sex before. They probably can tell that you haven’t. Do they think you’re a prude? Or that something’s wrong with you? Something is wrong with you. Fear essentially runs your life. But you don’t want your friends to know that. 

A few hours later, when Steve drives you two back to Cartersville in his truck, he says, “Hey, you’re pretty quiet. All good?”

“Mm-hm,” you say with a weak smile. “My stomach just, uh, hurts a little. So I’m ready to get home.”

“Sorry about that,” Steve says. He glances at you at a red light. “And sorry about Robin. She shouldn’t have been so nosy.”

“It’s fine,” you say. It’s not. Steve can tell it’s not. But the light turns green, and you angle your face away from his to watch the trees whiz by, so he doesn’t press.

💋💋💋

Steve is an adequate roommate.

He does his half of the chores in a (mostly) timely manner. He doesn’t leave dishes in the sink or hair in the drain. But he does bring a lot of girls home.

However, he’s respectful about it. Every time he has a date, he gives you a heads-up that they might be coming home with him at the end of the night. Sometimes, he’ll even borrow the phone in whatever restaurant they were just dining at to tell you an exact ETA.

You think that he thinks this is what you want, after your roommate experience from last year; a warning in advance that Sex Is Going To Be Happening, since he knows it makes you uncomfortable. While you appreciate what you assume is meant to be a nice sentiment, all it does is make you frustrated, sexually and otherwise. It’s not fun to get constant reminders that Other People Are Fucking And You Are Not (And It’s Kind Of Your Fault But Also Sort Of The Mind Flayer’s So Who’s To Say?).

You realize that something has to change when you come downstairs one early morning in August and catch Steve feeding his date from the night before, Renee, a strawberry. People actually do that shit? You were certain that couples-feeding-each-other-fruit was made up for Hollywood.

“Oh, hey,” Steve says in greeting when you shuffle into the kitchen. You are wearing a pair of Hawkins High gym shorts and a T-shirt with ALF on it. Renee is wearing one of Steve’s button-up shirts and presumably nothing else.

“Good morning!!!” you say, accidentally too chipper. You flash a smile at Renee. She looks at you like she wishes you were dead. Cool.

“Any fun plans for the day?” you offer weakly, after you throw a waffle in the toaster.

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Renee wraps her arms around him and kisses his cheek. His face flushes as Renee says, “We’ll probably just go back to bed.”

You aren’t sure how to respond to that. She seems to be trying to mark her territory on Steve, as if she can tell that you’ve been harboring the tiniest, centimeter-sized crush on him for the past few months (that you know better than to act on).

Steve extricates himself from Renee and stands from his seat at the counter. “What are you going to do today, Y/N?”

You appreciate that he’s trying to cut back on the PDA while you’re in there. But Renee has no qualms about it. She stands and hugs Steve from behind while you stammer through some explanation of the portfolio you’re putting together for your summer poetry workshop. While you’re halfway through raving about how “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver really inspired your work, Renee starts kissing Steve’s neck.

“That’s really cool,” Steve says, though you know he stopped listening as soon as Renee got her hands on him. 

“Thanks,” you say. You put your waffle on a plate and say, “I’ll just, uh, eat in my room.”

You scurry out before either of them can say anything else. As soon as you get to your room and close the door, all the tension in your body dissipates. 

Shit, for the very first time in your life, you think you need a date of your own.

💋💋💋

Steve is worried that you’re upset with him.

Ever since Renee tried to pounce on in him the kitchen, you’ve been avoiding him. You spend the last few days of the summer semester locked away in a library study room, leaving before he wakes up and coming home after he’s gone to bed.

After the third day of avoidance, while he assumes you’re out at the library again, he tries to explain to Renee why they shouldn’t engage in PDA in front of you (without blabbing all about your fear and trauma). Renee doesn’t get it.

“What, is she like, in love with you or something?” Renee huffs, as the two of them sit on the couch.

“No!” Steve says, though his heart kicks up a bit at the thought. You’re wonderful, in every way, and if Steve thought you had feelings for him, he would pursue you—at whatever speed you’re comfortable with, whatever that looks like. But you’ve never made any indication that you see him as more than a friend, even when he privately took a vow of celibacy for the first month in the new apartment to prove to you that he’s not just some horndog. “Not at all. She’s just…”

“Lonely?” Renee offers. “Desperate because she doesn’t have what we do?”

She surges forward, keen to end this conversation and start making out, but Steve leans away from her with a frown. “Don’t talk about her like that.” 

Renee rolls her eyes. Steve’s blood boils.

“Whatever,” Renee says. “I mean, no offense, but I don’t really see why you two are friends. Like, you’re you, and she’s less of a person and more of a skittish cartoon mouse.”

Steve is baffled. Has Renee always been casually cruel like this? Truth be told, most of the time they’ve spent together has been in his bedroom, or the backseat of his car, or her bedroom, and none of those times involved a lot of talking.

Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he stands from the couch and says, “I think you should probably leave.”

Renee scoffs. “Seriously?” 

Steve walks to the door and opens it. Renee snatches up her purse and storms out. Steve slams it shut, before leaning his forehead on the cool wood.

Later, he wanders into the kitchen and makes a pitiful excuse for a dinner (mac & cheese with pieces of hot dog inside—not very nutritious, but delicious), and he wonders if this is a cosmic sign that he should ask you out. He’s assuming that you don’t feel the same, but he could be dead wrong.

He mulls it over in his mind as he eats. He could profess his feelings and promise that you would set the pace, if you’re interested in him too. This all sounds great, and Steve is actually feeling pretty confident, and he brews himself a cup of coffee (or three) to stay awake tonight.

He’s wired on caffeine when he hears your key click in the lock at 12:08 a.m.

“Oh!” you say, when you enter the apartment and see him sitting on the couch in the low lamplight. “Hi, Steve.” You clear your throat and close the door behind you. “I’m sorry I’ve been so M.I.A. I finally turned in my poetry portfolio after a pretty stressful few days.”

“That’s great!” Steve says. He offers to carry your backpack for you. You thank him and hand it off, heading into the kitchen for a midnight snack before bed.

Steve hangs your bag on its hook and hovers in the kitchen doorway, wondering if the speech he has prepared is a good idea or not. He’s about to just bite the bullet when you turn to him with a shy smile and say, “I have good news.”

“About your poetry portfolio?” 

You shake your head, your grin widening. “Nope. I’ve got a date. For the first time! Ever!!!”

Steve’s eyes widen. He tries to arrange his shocked expression into something that resembles joy, while his heart is withering away inside his chest. “Whoa! That’s g-great! With who?” 

“His name is Gary,” you say as you reheat some leftover pizza.

“Gary,” Steve repeats.

“My friend Judy set it up,” you continue, blissfully unaware of the crisis Steve is currently going through. “She was in my summer poetry workshop. She’s a writing major, and Gary was her math tutor last semester. She said he’s super cool.”

“Super cool,” Steve echoes again. He can’t seem to form any coherent thoughts, except, IDIOT!!! WHY DID YOU WAIT SO LONG?!?!?! WHY DID YOU WASTE TIME WITH RENEE?!?!?!?!

You seem to pick up on the tension radiating off Steve. Your bright expression falters. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve assures you. Because the last thing he wants to do is ruin something that could be good for you, just because he holds a candle for you and continually talked himself out of acting on it. “I’m really happy for you. This is big!” 

You nod and smile again, but it looks a little weaker this time. “Thank you, Steve.”

He excuses himself to bed. As soon as he gets in his room, he picks up the phone on his nightstand and calls Robin.

“Hello?” she murmurs sleepily.

“Robin, I fucked up,” Steve whispers into the receiver.

A pause, and then: “Did you somehow bring the Upside Down back?”

Steve frowns. “Uh, no?”

“Get a girl pregnant?”

“No!” Steve huffs, aghast. “I always have safe sex, Rob, and I’m frankly offended that you’d assume otherwise.”

“Okay, King Condom,” Robin snorts. “Then what the hell are you calling me so late for? What could be so bad?” 

Steve’s quiet for a moment. And then, barely audible, he says, “I have feelings for someone that I probably shouldn’t, but think I missed my chance to act on them.”

“Oh, I see,” Robin muses. “This is about Y/N.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m not an idiot, Steve,” Robin says. “I saw the way you looked at her when we were at WSQK together. I could always tell there was something there, simmering below the surface. Simmering? Boiling? What’s the difference, anyway?”

“Can we get back on track, please?” Steve asks, rubbing his forehead. “What do I do? Is it selfish if I beg her not to date this other guy?” 

“I don’t know about selfish,” Robin says. “But if you ask her out now, it is kind of going to look like you only want to date her because she’s unavailable. And that’s shitty.”

Steve agrees that it might not be a good look. So he swallows down his feelings for you, hoping they’ll fade like a bruise before long.

💋💋💋

Your first date with Gary is at a nice buffet in Cartersville. He pays for you, and he’s nice, if a little self-absorbed. 

When he drops you off at your apartment complex after, he doesn’t walk you up to the door. That’s how you always pictured your first date would end: your prince charming walks you to your door and kisses you sweetly. 

Instead, Gary haphazardly parks in the fire lane and leans across the center console, practically mashing his teeth against yours for a first kiss that leaves something to be desired. You aren’t sure what you’re supposed to feel afterward, but it’s not the butterflies you envisioned. It’s just…fine.

As summer slowly turns to autumn and another semester begins, you agree to a second date, then a third. Each ends with a similar attack of a kiss. After the fourth, Gary tries to invite himself up.

“My roommate is home,” you say in lieu of giving him a “yes” or “no.”

“So?” Gary asks. He flashes you an impish grin. “I can be quiet. Don’t know if you’ll be able to, once I get my hands on you…”

You suppress a shiver. You don’t feel any more ready for sex than you did before you started this thing with Gary. But maybe it’s something you just have to do once, and then it’ll feel fine and normal. You fidget with the hem of your skirt and say, “Do you want to come over tomorrow evening? My roommate has a teaching lab that doesn’t end until 9:00.” 

Gary agrees. This time, when he kisses you goodbye, he shoves his tongue in your mouth unexpectedly. Eugh. 

As you ascend the steps toward your and Steve’s apartment, you try to focus on the positives, to avoid drowning in dread: a man is interested in you! He’s taken you on many nice dates, to restaurants and movies! He likes kissing you, and tomorrow, he is going to have sex with you!

Your knees nearly buckle once you walk into the apartment, when the reality of what you’ve just promised hits you. Apprehension clings to you like cheap fabric, and you wonder if you should change your mind. Call Gary and end whatever this is before you have to give him the part of yourself you’re terrified to share. 

As you kick your shoes off by the door, you feel mentally transported to summer 1985. To that feeling of the Mind Flayer invading every one of your senses. The part of your brain that’s so afraid of so many things assumes sex will feel like that too: an invasion. You start to breathe a little harder.

“You okay?” 

You curse and flinch at the sight of your roommate popping in the kitchen doorway, hand on your chest. “Jesus, Steve! I’m putting a goddamn bell on you.”

He gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I heard you come in, but you didn’t say anything.” He scans your face, brow furrowed. “You look pretty freaked. Did Gary cross a line? Do I need to run him over with my truck?” 

“You have your lab tomorrow, right?” you ask, ignoring his question. “The three-hour night class?” 

Steve nods slowly. “Uh, yeah…why?”

“Gary’s going to come over so we can have sex while you’re in class,” you blurt out. You probably should be mortified by your brutal honesty, but you suddenly don’t feel well and can’t stop yourself.

Steve’s jaw drops. Then, he closes his mouth and nods. “Okay.” A pause, and then, “And you’re sure you want to?”

Fuck. He can read you like a book. “Yes,” you say. You breeze past him, heading into your bedroom.

You think he’ll leave it at that, but he follows you in as you toss your purse on your desk. “Forgive me if I’m not convinced,” Steve says dryly. He leans against your doorframe and crosses his arms. He adds, softer, “Y/N, don’t force yourself to do something you’re not ready for.”

“But that’s just the thing!” you say, barking out a hollow laugh. “At this rate, I feel like I’ll never be ready!” You jab a finger at your temple. “I have to just do it to prove to my fucked-up mind that it’s fine.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “I see where you’re coming from, but c’mon. This is different than, like, getting over a fear of heights by rock climbing, or something. This is sex. And it should be special.” 

That grates your nerves. You scoff and yank open a dresser drawer, pulling out your pajamas and throwing them on your bed. “Oh, and is it special with every girl you bring home?”

“Yes!” Steve says, though there’s an edge to his voice now. “Just because I date around doesn’t mean the sex is meaningless!”

“And that’s what I’m trying to do too!” you fire back. “Date around, and make a meaningful connection. So I don’t get why you’re being so weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Steve protests.

“Yes!” you shout, unable to tamp down the fear and dread turning into anger. “You are! You’re acting this is some kind of afterschool special!”

“Because I know you, Y/N!” Steve says, voice breaking a bit on your name. “The look on your face is the same look you had when we were riding into the Upside Down in the back of a refrigerated truck to kill Vecna. You’re scared. It’s not worth pushing yourself into having sex when you’re this freaked out.”

You look away. He’s got you dead to rights. He continues, “Don’t have sex with Gary just to check it off a checklist. There’s nothing wrong with taking your time. With being patient until…until the right person comes along.”

For a moment, he thinks he’s convinced you. Then, you narrow your eyes and say, “Is that what you tell the girls you date?”

“Huh?”

“That you’ll be patient,” you continue, stepping a bit closer. You see Steve swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What would you do if, say, the woman you were going out with told you she wasn’t ready to have sex. Would you wait until she was, or dump her for someone who wants to jump your bones?”

“I’d wait,” Steve says, jaw tense. “Of course I would.”

“Really? Even if she wasn’t ready to sleep with you after three dates? Or three months—hell, three years of dating?” you continue. Tears build up on your lashline. “Would you be able to wait that long?”

You aren’t sure if this is a hypothetical question anymore. 

“I would wait,” Steve repeats, voice low. “However long until she’s ready.”

You want to believe him. Every fiber of your being wants to believe him. Because he’s looking at you in a way that makes you feel like you mean something to him. Like you really are worth waiting for. 

But your insecurity overtakes you and convinces you he’s just being nice, and a protective friend. You aren’t like the women he dates. You aren’t vivacious, and conventionally beautiful, and confident in your body.

“Liar,” you say, not much louder than a whisper. 

Steve frown deepens. “No, I—”

“Will you definitely be gone tomorrow night?” you ask.

Steve sighs and closes his eyes. He nods once, a curt motion.

“Okay. Good. Goodnight, Steve.”

You go to close your door. Steve steps back just as it slams in his face. He’s left standing in the hall alone, with mounting regret, marveling at how he never has the capacity to say what he really wants to.

💋💋💋

Steve’s teaching lab is from 6-9 on Wednesday nights. It usually involves learning classroom management strategies. Steve knows he won’t be paying a lick of attention to any of that today.

Before he leaves for campus, he hesitates, but knocks on your bedroom door. “Hey,” he says, with a soft call of your name. “Uh, can we talk?”

A few seconds later, the door swings open. Steve’s heart stutters at the sight of you. You’re wearing a pale blue dress and matching eyeshadow. You look stunning, even more than you usually do, if that’s possible.

“Whoa,” he breathes out. He clears his throat. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you say coolly. You cross your arms. “You heading out?” 

“Yep.”

“And you won’t be back—”

“Until 10:30,” Steve promises. “I’m going to hit the library after class.” He pauses, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. “Hey, have fun tonight, okay?”

Maybe that was a weird thing to say. But sex is supposed to be fun. Steve hopes you remember that—your expression looks as though you’re preparing for your last rites.

“Thanks,” you say, forcing a smile. Steve awkwardly hovers in the hallway, so you add, “Did you…need something else?”

“Just remember to be safe,” Steve says, his protective side showing. His voice drops in volume, even though there’s no one else around to hear it, and continues, “You have condoms, right?”

Your eyes wide, deer-in-the-headlights style. “Don’t guys usually have those?” 

“I mean, sometimes,” Steve says. “But not always. Hold it right there.” 

He ducks back into his room and returns with a box of condoms. You try not to pass away from embarrassment when he hands it to you.

“Just in case,” he says. “Do not let Gary convince you they won’t fit. You can pull one of those things over your arm up to your elbow.”

You snort. “Good to know.”

“I’m serious,” Steve says. He places his hand on your shoulder with a feather-light touch. For once, the unplanned physical contact doesn’t make you flinch or cause your stomach to roil. “And if at any point you’ve changed your mind, say so. Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You nod. “Right. I won’t. Thank you. Seriously.” 

Steve squeezes your shoulder gently before dropping his arm. “Go get ’em, tiger.” With those words of wisdom, he leaves.

💋💋💋

Gary is prompt. You two had agreed he’d come over at 7. At 6:59, he’s knocking on the front door.

At 7:02, you’re pouring him a glass of wine.

At 7:05, he’s kissing you on your couch. It feels weird to you, still, and you aren’t sure if that’s because of your lack of experience or because Gary is a bad kisser. You don’t dwell on that fact, trying to shut down the part of your brain that is freaking out about all this physical touch. 

And, oh boy, Gary is touching you all over. Your shoulders, your back, your chest, your hips. But he’s moving his hands so fast, it almost feels like a pat down. Is he doing this right? Is it rude if you ask him to slow down, to savor you a bit more? What’s the protocol here?!

“We should go to your room,” Gary murmurs against your lips.

You nod, before you can talk yourself out of this. “Y-yeah. Yes. Let’s go.”

And so you find yourself in your bed with him, and the pat down continues over your dress. Gary is whispering something in your ear. You think it’s supposed to be sexy, but you’re too busy trying to keep your brain focused on the task at hand to even comprehend the words.

“Nice rack,” he murmurs in a tone that he seems to assume is seductive, fondling your breasts over the bodice of your dress. 

What am I, a rack of ribs? you think.

“What did you say?” Gary says, continuing his ministrations as he nips your earlobe.

Shit, did you say that out loud? You screw your eyes shut. “Uh, just that I want you to keep going,” you say quickly.

He accepts that without issue, and begins kissing your neck. He slows his hands over your chest, and you believe he’s finally going to take his time with you, and then—

Rrrrrrrip!!!! The sound of tearing fabric has your eyes popping open. You gasp and, with anger coursing through you, shove Gary’s chest with all your might. He tumbles off you, landing with an “Ooph!” on the mattress next to you.

Heartbeat pounding in your ears, you scramble off the bed and look at the mirror hanging on the back of your closet door. 

“You tore my dress!” you say, horrified at the big gash down its bodice, now exposing the white lace bra you spent too much money on for this shitshow.

Gary is two parts confused, one part annoyed. “So?” he says. “There were too many buttons.”

You whirl around to where he sits against your headboard and glare. “This was my favorite dress.”

“Just buy another!” Gary says. He stands from the bed and saunters over to you, giving you a sly look. “Maybe we can go to the mall and I can pick out something for—”

“I can’t buy another one just like this,” you interrupt hotly. Your brain is firing on all cylinders. You aren’t sure if you even understand why you’re so upset, but you don’t stop yourself from saying, “This was from the JC Penney Summer 1985 collection. They don’t make it anymore!” 

Gary stares at you and blinks once, twice. “Okay? Uh, sorry, I guess. I mean, I don’t see what the big deal is, but—can we get back to having sex now?”

You shake your head. “No. I want you to leave.” You wave your hand between the two of you. “Whatever this was? It’s over now.”

Gary’s disposition sours. His lip curls. “Are you serious?”

“As a funeral,” you snap. “Now, please, get the fuck out of my house.”

Gary gives you a long, hard look. He huffs in disbelief with an eye roll. “Frigid bitch.”

He storms out of your room, grabbing his shoes without even putting them back on, and slams the door to your apartment.

As soon as he’s gone, you sink to the edge of your bed and put your hands on your knees. You try to control your breathing, to relax, to think whatever happy thoughts you need to so you can put this shitty night behind you.

But when you glance up again and see your ruined dress in the reflection of the mirror, you begin to cry. The sword of Damocles falls, slicing your skull in two.

💋💋💋

Steve parks his truck outside the apartment complex at 10:40.

He gave you an extra 10 minutes. Not that he feels like Gary the math major has enough stamina for 3 hours and 40 minutes of lovemaking, but still. Better safe than sorry.

Steve figures he’ll nurse his broken heart with a beer and then head to bed. Maybe he’ll run into you in the kitchen and casually ask how the night went. (Despite his unrequited feelings for you, he hopes it went well.) But when he enters the apartment, it’s eerily quiet, in a way that sends a shiver down Steve’s spine.

Why is it so dark in here? The only light is coming from the crack under your bedroom door. Shit, is Gary still here?

Steve leaves his shoes and backpack by the door and tiptoes down the hall toward his room. He hears a whimper from your room and freezes. One whimper turns into another, which turns into what sounds like a sob.

Panic rises in Steve and he barges the rest of the way down the hall, banging on your door. If Gary is still there and the reason you’re crying right now, Steve is going to jail for first-degree murder. At least his uncle is a pretty good lawyer.

Steve calls your name. “Hey! What’s wrong?”

He hears you sniffle through the door. “Go away!” you shout, though your voice is hoarse, as if you’ve been crying for a while.

“Not until I know you’re okay,” Steve says. “Can I come in?” 

“No!” 

Steve feels helpless on the wrong side of the door. He felt this way countless times in the fight against forces of evil, most notably when he was hanging by one hand off a radio tower in the Upside Down.

“Please,” Steve begs. “I just want to make sure you’re all right. I won’t be able to sleep until I know you are.”

For a few aching seconds, you don’t respond. But then: “F-fine. Come in.”

Steve pushes the door open. You’re seated on your bed, wearing your favorite ALF shirt and flannel pajama pants. Your face is a teary-eyed mess as you sew something blue. Wait a minute. 

“Is that your dress?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to you (but leaving you a wide berth of space, as usual). You nod shakily. This doesn’t lessen his panic. “What happened?” Steve says.

“Nothing,” you mutter. You refuse to look at him as you work, though your hands are trembling so badly, your stitches are all crooked. 

Steve covers your hands with one of his. You still, finally looking up at him. “Tell me what happened,” he says quietly.

You suck in a rattling breath and try to get yourself together to recount the events of the night. “He ripped my dress before we even got past second base,” you say. “He didn’t even care that it made me upset! I kicked him out and he called me a—a—a frigid bitch!” 

You cry harder, throwing the ruined dress on the floor, needle and thread still attached. 

Steve’s seeing red. Maybe he’ll do the first-degree murder anyway. “That’s so fucked. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You sniffle again. “Heather and I picked that dress together. For high school graduation. I—I only wear it for special occasions because I want it to last as long as possible and…fuck!” You cover your face with your hands.

Steve isn’t sure what to do or say in this moment to make you feel better. “Is it okay if I give you a hug?” he asks quietly, because it’s all he can think to offer. Without responding, your throw your arms around his neck and sob into his shoulder. 

“We’ll get the dress fixed,” Steve promises, rubbing your back gently while you cry. “Mrs. Henderson has a really swanky sewing machine, and she can mend anything. I’ll call her tomorrow to ask her about it, and can drive down to Hawkins over the weekend to drop it off.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Steve says firmly.

This is the longest you’ve touched him—hell, the longest you’ve touched anyone—since…maybe ever. It feels nice. Surprisingly.

Eventually, you feel like you’ve used up all your tears and pull away. “Thank you for being so nice to me,” you say. “Even when I freak out over small things.”

“This isn’t small,” Steve says. “Gary’s a disrespectful prick. Seriously, don’t even give him another thought.”

You nod, and then sigh. “He’s probably already called Judy and told her how neurotic I am.”

“If Judy’s not a shitty person, she’ll be on your side,” Steve says firmly. 

You fidget with your fingers, quiet for a few moments. Then, you whisper, “I really wanted tonight to go well.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be ready to try this again,” you admit. “Like, dating, and sex, and all that stuff.”

An opportunistic asshole would use this moment to confess their feelings, but Steve’s not that guy. “That’s completely fine,” he says. “When the time’s right, you’ll know.”

You aren’t sure if that’s true, but you like his optimism.

💋💋💋

You mope around for the next few weeks. All you do is go to class, study, and sleep. One morning in mid-October, Steve decides to get you out of this funk by inviting you to a Halloween party one of his teammates on the club baseball team is throwing.

“It’ll be the perfect thing for you,” Steve says, when you initially don’t look to enthused about the idea, frowning over your bowl of Cheerios. “We can drink, dance, and forget about shitty people like Larry.”

“Gary,” you correct.

“Isn’t that what I said?” Steve asks innocently. He takes a bite of toast and shoots you a closed-mouth smile, his cheeks puffy and round like a chipmunk. It makes you laugh and roll your eyes. He’s good at that—at disarming you when you feel stress start building. How is he so good at that? 

You stir your now-soggy cereal absentmindedly. “Wouldn’t you rather bring a date to the party?” you say. “I noticed you haven’t really been going out.” You clear your throat. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t date or bring people over just because I don’t.”

You’re secretly happy that he’s not dating a lot anymore. Your centimeter-sized crush on Steve has grown exponentially, ever since he had Mrs. Henderson fix your dress and hunted for the same dress at all the thrift stores from here to Indianapolis, somehow procuring one in green. You just don’t know if that’s the kind of thing a friend does for a friend, or a friend does for someone they’re also harboring a crush on.

Steve’s poker face is too good. You aren’t able to glean anything from his casual expression and even tone as he says, “I know. It’s just not a priority right now.” He sips orange juice and adds, “So. Party?” 

You agree to go, and, to Steve’s immense satisfaction, agree to do a “Return of the Jedi”-themed duo costume. You have the idea to both go as Han Solo, before and after being freed from carbonite. You wear matching outfits with water guns painted to look like blasters, except everything you’re wearing is slate gray. You add some silver glitter to your makeup and hair as well, though you don’t paint your face fully silver to avoid looking like the Tin Man.

“Hey, Han Solo and the Tin Man!” one of Steve’s baseball buddies says as soon as you two enter the party. Well, it was worth a try.

Surprisingly, the party is fun. You and Steve do drink and dance, and the tipsier you get, the more you find your mind wandering to places it shouldn’t. Like how good Steve looks in his Han Solo costume, how good he probably looks out of it, and did he ever read that library book on female pleasure? You drink some more to try and drown out your dirty, disgusting, shameful thoughts.

But are they really all that shameful? You’re human, after all, and Steve’s a good-looking guy. If you weren’t so afraid of intimacy with another person, or of ruining your friendship, you might’ve tried to seduce him years ago. Maybe even back before the Mind Flayer, when Heather told you to ask him out at Scoops Ahoy.

“You okay?” Steve asks, leaning close so he can be heard over the music. You nod and take another sip, trying not to think about your dead best friend saying, “He’s hung, Y/N.” 

“I just need to run to the bathroom,” you say. “Be right back.”

You navigate through the throng of dancing, sweaty college students and—after too many tries—finally find a bathroom upstairs that isn’t occupied by an amorous couple. When you make your way back downstairs, you no longer see Steve on the dance floor. Your brow furrows as you scan the crowd for him, finally catching a glimpse of his infamous hair ducking into the kitchen. 

You make your way there, but once you walk inside, you stop short. Steve is across the way chatting with a girl. She’s wearing a white minidress with feathery wings, and a headband with a halo attached via white pipe cleaner. She reminds you of Nancy Wheeler, with her delicate features and bright eyes. Your heart sinks. Of course Steve wants to talk to her. Not his roommate, who’s probably leaking silver glitter everywhere she goes.

You awkwardly shuffle through the crowd of partygoers and, once you’re a bit closer, overhear the angel practically purr, “You know, Han Solo was my sexual awakening.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Was he now?” 

“We should get out of here,” Angel says, reaching up to brush a stray curl off of Steve’s forehead. Steve smiles politely and, to your utter surprise, says, “Sorry, I’m not interested.” 

Huh? Angel is exactly his type: pretty, available, and unabashedly horny. And Steve’s turning down the chance to take her home? 

To her credit, Angel accepts the declined invitation with grace. “Suit yourself,” she says. “I think I saw an Indiana Jones around here anyway.”

As she leaves, you approach Steve. His face splits into a grin when he sees you. “Hey! I was just looking for you. I requested the DJ play that Duran Duran song you like. Hopefully it’s coming up soon.” 

You consider moving on from what you overheard, but you can’t stop yourself from ignoring his statement and asking, “Why did you shoot down the angel girl?” 

Steve’s smile falters. “You heard that?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say. You force a chuckle. “I mean, what gives? She was perfect for you.”

“No,” Steve says. “She wasn’t.”

You’re confused. He almost sounds dejected. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing!” Steve says, exasperation leaching into his tone. He nods toward the living room. “C’mon, let’s go dance.”

You shake your head. You’re probably jumping to conclusions, but you have to know if there’s any validity to your hunch. “No. I want you to tell me why you aren’t dating anymore. And if it’s my fault.”

Steve’s expression is pained. “Don’t make me answer that,” he murmurs. He turns on his heel and charges out to the back porch for some air. You follow, guilt gnawing at you as the cool air of the October night hits you. That was practically a “Yes.”

“Steve, don’t stop dating on my account,” you say, assuming that’s what this all is: him trying not to make you feel left out of the Dating and Relationships part of life that you just don’t feel equipped for. “Go hook up with Ms. Angel if you want to.”

“I don’t want to hook up with her!” Steve says. He’s agitated, rubbing his nose in a way he only does when he’s upset.

“But why—”

“Because I like someone else!” Steve explodes. “But if I tell her, it might ruin our friendship, or…” He swallows hard. “Or our living situation.”

His words wash over you, and realization dawns. Part of you is thrilled. The other part of you is terrified, imagining all the ways this could go wrong. “Oh.”

“The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable,” Steve says quickly, sensing your unease. “I know that dating and stuff isn’t, like, easy for you. And if you don’t feel the same way, I won’t be offended. If you want me to move out, I will, and—”

“Steve?”

“...Yeah?”

You can’t believe you’re about to say this, but: “May I kiss you?” 

Steve freezes. After a few seconds, he sounds wrecked and says, “Y-yeah. Yes.”

You inch closer to him, cupping his face in your hands gently. His skin his warm, despite the mid-autumn chill. He hesitates before softly placing his hands on your waist. “Is this okay?” he asks. You nod, before softly pressing your lips to his.

Kissing Steve is nothing like you thought it would be. It’s 1,000% better. Whatever the fuck Gary was doing was obviously, categorically incorrect. Because Gary didn’t kiss you soft and slow, like he was revering the taste of you. He didn’t move his hands from your waist to your back, pulling you in ever-so-much closer. He didn’t make you feel like you were floating.

You’re so overwhelmed with an emotion you can’t quite describe that you pull away. Steve’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?” he asks, worry radiating off him in waves.

You surprise him by kissing his cheek. He looks a little dazed, touching his cheek in the very same spot. “Nothing’s wrong,” you promise. “I just—I’m sorry, I’m messing this up.”

You start to back away, but before you get very far, Steve intertwines one of his hands with yours. “No, no,” he says. He runs his thumb over your knuckles, and you’re surprised at how nice it feels. “You’re not messing anything up. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

You take a few deep breaths and try to collect yourself. “I—I like you too,” you say, after a beat. “I have, for a while. But I just figured you didn’t feel the same. Because you knew about all my…hang-ups.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner,” Steve says. You can see that he means it by the expression on his face—regret, with a splash of longing and earnestness. “I hate that you wasted time with Harry.”

“Gary.”

“That’s what I said. Jerry.” 

You wonder if he needs to get his hearing checked, but then notice his sly grin. You shake your head and playfully swat his shoulder. “You’re goofy.”

“You just said you like me,” Steve taunts, looking awfully proud of himself. “So you like goofy.”

“Yeah. I really, really do.” 

Steve hesitates, before bringing a hand up to brush a stray lock of hair out of your face. “Can I kiss you again?” he asks. 

You want to say yes, but there’s a part of your brain that still panics at the thought. A lot has happened in the past seven minutes, and you feel a tad in over your head.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Steve promises. “We don’t have to rush. Patience is my middle name. Steve ‘Patience’ Harrington.” 

It’s not. It’s Daniel. But instead of reminding him of that fact, you ask, “Can I have a hug instead?” 

“Of course you can,” Steve says, his voice low and fond as he opens his arms for you. The two of you hold each other outside while the party rages on indoors, and it just feels right. 

💋💋💋

Dating Steve is strange at first. You struggle to adjust to the change from friends to more, feeling a little caught off guard with the displays of affection that you aren’t used to.

But Steve never pressures you into anything. He asks every time he wants to hug or kiss you. He even asks if it’s all right to hold your hand. You’re sure that to some other girls, such constant check-ins would be annoying. But for you, it’s a saving grace. You’re able to ease into physical intimacy in a way that feels comfortable to you. It no longer feels like the terrifying beast that you’d been so afraid of for years. Instead, it’s warm and comforting, because you’re with Steve, and he always makes you feel safe. 

However, the metaphorical sword of Damocles has been re-hung, because there’s still something hanging over your head: sex. You and Steve have kissed quite a lot, but that’s about it. He’s true to his word from the Halloween party and makes it clear there’s no rush to do anything more, but sometimes you two will be kissing, and he’ll suddenly pull away and ask if you want to watch a really serious documentary about how paint is mixed, or a sad movie. And then he’ll sit on the opposite side of the sofa from you with a pillow on his lap.

You almost feel bad, like you’re torturing the guy. One day when you try to apologize for still not being ready for that next step, Steve waves away your concerns.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says. “Really. Let me just, uh, go take a cold shower real quick.”

One day in December, after finals week but before the holidays, you two are watching that paint documentary for the fifth time, and you decide that enough’s enough. You trust Steve. (Hell, you might even love him, even if it’s probably too soon to make such a declaration.) If you’re going to have sex with anyone, you want it to be with him.

You broach the subject, rather bluntly, as the credits roll. “Do you want to have sex with me?” 

Steve almost trips and falls on his way to eject the VHS from your VCR. “Huh? What? Sorry, I thought you just said—”

“I asked if you wanted to have sex with me,” you repeat. “Now. Well, not now now. Maybe give me a few minutes to put on a nicer bra or something.” 

Steve frowns. “You’re talking…weirdly.”

“I am not!”

“You are. Using your professional voice. Like this is a business transaction. I don’t want us talking about sex to feel like hashing out a contract.” He pops the VHS back in its case and returns to the sofa, sitting closer to you this time. He covers one of your hands with his, his touch grounding you. “I promise you, I’m okay waiting.” 

“But you shouldn’t have to wait,” you say. And, to your utter embarrassment, you feel tears welling up in your eyes. “If I was normal, we could’ve done it by now.”

“Screw normal,” Steve says. “We’ve fought monsters, Y/N. We’re the furthest from normal on the planet.” He wipes a stray tear off your cheek. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s really all right.” 

Sweetheart. The pet name has you feeling warm all over. But you agree that maybe now’s not the time. Your hands are shaking, and your throat is tight, and as much as you love him, you feel sort of nauseous about being in bed with Steve.

“Whenever you’re really ready,” Steve says, “you’ll know. Trust me.”

You do. More than anyone else on the planet. 

💋💋💋

There’s a blizzard in mid-January. A total white-out that has classes canceled too soon after the semester began. You and Steve are holed up in your apartment, and he’s kissing you on the couch, and when he stops and asks, “Hey, can we watch that documentary again?” in a pained sort of voice, a realization crashes over you like a tsunami wave: 

You’re horny. 

Like, horrendously horny. Very much so. Sure, you’ve felt this way from kissing Steve before, but it feels more visceral now. Like, it won’t be enough this time to go into your room under the guise of studying and touch yourself thinking about your boyfriend.

You shake your head. “No. Steve, I’m ready. Like, actually this time.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Really? You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” you say, before kissing him again.

The two of you clumsily stand, barely coming up for air as you kiss and stumble down the hall. You end up in Steve’s room, and in his bed, in record time.

“Tell me if I do anything you don’t like,” Steve murmurs as he hovers above you, pressing kisses down your jaw and neck. You let out a soft sigh as he moves lower, kissing your sternum and your stomach over your sweater. “Can I take this off?” he asks.

You nod, and he pulls your top off gently. You’re not in a particularly nice bra today—it’s an odd shade of orange that you bought on clearance—but Steve drinks in the sight with hungry eyes.

“You next,” you say, tugging at the hem of his Cartersville U sweatshirt. As soon as it’s off, you feel your heart race. You run a hand over his chest hair and try not to swoon.

“Like what you see?” Steve teases. 

You nod, before pulling him in for another kiss.

Your jeans get tossed next, and then Steve’s. But as his fingers graze the waistband of your panties, you feel it: panic, crawling its way through your mind and body.

Not now, you think, kissing Steve a little harder to try and push the feeling away. Please, no, not now.

Steve’s hand moves a centimeter lower, and you subtly flinch. You don’t even have to ask Steve to stop. He notices, pulls his hand away, and moves so he’s laying on his side next to you.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, before you can apologize. “We can stop.”

You cover your face with your hands, mortified. “I thought I could do it,” you say, voice muffled through your hands. “But there’s something in my messed-up head that just stops me. I trust you. I want this with you so much. But I just hate feeling like I’m out of control.”

Steve’s mind flashes back to that day from last spring semester, when he found you in the library looking at a book on sex. Outside, on the bench, you’d described sex as “giving up control to someone else.” An idea forms in his head.

“If you want to be in control, take it,” Steve says.

You peek out from your hands. “Huh?” 

Steve leans against the headboard and folds his hands on his stomach, above the waistband of his black boxers. “Have your way with me, Y/N,” he says, in a half-teasing voice.

The words send desire coursing through you, from your head to your toes. “Are you serious?” you ask.

Steve nods. “I trust you too,” he says. “And I want this to be comfortable for you. If you want to stop, we can stop. But if you want to keep going…” He trails off, but the message is loud and clear.

You think about it for a moment. Then, you make your way over to him, straddling his lap. You rest your hands on his shoulders, and he places his on your waist. You roll your hips experimentally, punching out a groan from him and a gasp from you. 

“Is that okay?” you ask, breathless.

“More than okay,” Steve says, voice a bit rough. So you repeat the motion again, again, and again. Steve bucks up his hips to meet yours, and you gasp again. 

The two of you move in tandem, bodies pulsing with need, sighs and moans falling from your lips. You kiss Steve again, with a renewed sense of fervor. You feel too good to be afraid.

💋💋💋

Afterward, while you and Steve are curled up in his bed, you feel your eyes start to water. You quickly wipe the tears away, but Steve notices. His blissful expression is replaced with a furrowed brow and a frown. “What‘s wrong? Are you all right?”

He relaxes when your face splits into a smile. “More than all right. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.”

You wrap your arms around him for a tight hug. He returns the embrace, pressing a kiss to the crown of your hair.

There’s so much you want to say. You want to tell Steve how you never thought you could have this kind of intimacy with anyone. You want to thank him for being so kind and attentive, and for letting you take the lead. You want to kiss him some more, for hours. 

You want to explain that something has shifted inside you, and your body feels like your own again for the first time in a long time. 

But instead of saying all that, you hold your boyfriend close, feeling the heaviness you've carried for years loosen its grip with every passing second.

💋💋💋

a/n: please lmk what you thought <3

[roanofarcc]

Gosh, this was SO GOOD!!

[sattlersquarry]

back in my body (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: You are not comfortable in your body, and you are not comfortable with sex. But at least you have your crush good friend Steve Harrington by your side.

Word Count: ~13k

Warnings: 18+ please MDNI!!!! language; frank discussions of sex & anatomy; body insecurity, and underage drinking; reader has a debilitating fear of sex and intimacy and is simultaneously touch-starved and touch-averse; mentions of masturbation; making out; there is a smut-adjacent scene at the end [dry humping] but I don't even know if it's enough to call it "explicit." I was going to write more and then got too stressed to, so the actual smut is fade-to-black. Sorry y'all lol

a/n: I hope this is relatable to someone out there. I hope it makes them feel less alone. Tagging my usual tag list and a few mutuals who may be interested (but no worries if not, this is different than my usual fare): @aloneinthehellfire @starry-eyed-steve @scaredofbeingbasic @roanofarcc @thecreelhouse @curiositydooropened

Also ty @tinfoileddd and @stevebabey for encouraging me to still write and post this when I wasn't sure about it!! I appreciate it tenfold!!!

💋💋💋

You have never felt all that comfortable in your body.

You don’t hate it, but you don’t love it. Seeing yourself in the mirror is like seeing a loose acquaintance and having to force yourself to be polite: Oh, you again. Hey. How’s it going?

You’re also not all that comfortable with sex. Or the idea of it, because you’ve never had it. Your best friend, Heather Holloway, lost her virginity at a house party at 16, probably at the exact same moment you feigned a stomachache to get out of playing 7 Minutes in Heaven.

Maybe it’s a side effect of your insecurity, or of being raised in a small, conservative-leaning town stuck in its purity culture ways, but the thought of intimacy terrifies you. Letting your guard down and being that vulnerable with another human being feels like the sword of Damocles swinging above your head, ready to chop you in two.

In the summer of 1985, a few weeks after high school graduation, you’re at the Holloway house for a spa night (i.e., painting your nails and drinking wine you pilfered from Mrs. Holloway’s wine fridge). Heather asks you if you really want to be a virgin before college. 

“Virginity is a construct,” you reply, quoting something you read in a zine you bought from a bookstore in Indianapolis. 

“Right, sure,” Heather says flippantly. She shakes one hand, trying to air-dry her Passionate Plum manicure. “But don’t you want to have at least some experience? Because you don’t want your first sexual encounter to be with some drunk frat bro who can’t find the clit.”

“Ohmigod Heather,” you say, embarrassment and anxiety washing over you at her crass words.

“What?! I’m just saying! We should hook you up with someone before we leave in the fall.”

“Leave” was a strong word. You and Heather were going to Cartersville University for college, barely 30 minutes away.

“Ooh, you know what I heard,” Heather says, leaning in conspiratorially. You can smell the Pinot Grigio on her breath. “Steve Harrington is, like, desperate for a date. He asks out every girl our age who comes into Scoops. You should go after him.”

“I don’t really want to ‘go after’ a guy who asks out everyone,” you say, fidgeting with your fingers and already wanting to chip off the baby blue nail polish you haphazardly applied.

Heather shrugs. “Suit yourself. You might regret that, though, because everyone says he’s like…you know.”

She makes some sort of motion with her hands. You’re not sure if you don’t understand it because of your lack of sexual experience or because she’s not adequately expressing whatever she’s trying to. You blink, and Heather huffs. “He’s hung, Y/N. All the girls at school say so.” 

You aren’t sure if this conversation makes you want to laugh or cry, so you change the subject by picking up the half-empty bottle and gesturing to Heather’s plastic cup. “Want more wine?” 

💋💋💋

Less than a week later, Heather calls you in a panic.

“Please,” she begs. “Something’s wrong with my mom! She passed out after dinner. My dad took her to the hospital but I’m really, really scared…I don’t want to be alone!” 

Your parents are out of town caring for a sick relative, so you have no curfew to adhere to and book it to her house on your bike. But after you ring the doorbell and she lets you inside, you instantly get the feeling something is wrong.

“Why is it so cold?” you ask, a shiver involuntarily running through you. Goosebumps raise on your arms and legs, and you don’t understand how Heather is comfortable in a tank top and shorts when it can’t be more than 60 degrees inside her house.

Heather doesn’t respond. Instead, she almost robotically sits on the couch and puts her head in her hands. You take a seat next to her and place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” you soothe. “Your mom is going to be all right.”

“No, she isn’t!” Heather says, voice muffled in her hands. 

“She will! You just have to be positive. The doctors will figure out what’s wrong with her.”

Still with her face covered, Heather says, “Do you think they’ll figure out what’s wrong with you?”

You frown, brows pulling together. “W-what?”

In one swift motion, she pulls a rag out from a couch cushion and covers your mouth with it. You try and fight back, but you feel the pull of sleep calling you.

Her expression is devoid of emotion. “Sorry, Y/N,” she says, as your consciousness wanes. “But He told me He needs more.”

💋💋💋

For the next few days, you become Billy Hargrove’s second-in-command. The creature possessing you seems to like that you’re mousy and insecure. You’re easier to break. Easier to control.

When you’re under the Mind Flayer’s influence, you feel like you’re watching yourself through a pane of glass. Your mind screams at your body to Stop it! Stop! as you knock Mike Wheeler unconscious in the back hallways of the mall. But it’s no use. As long as the Mind Flayer has its hooks in you, you’re forced to be a bystander to your own life.

It changes when you get to the mall’s main atrium: Billy has Eleven in his clutches, and you’re standing nearby in case he needs backup. The fireworks are burning your skin from the inside out, and your ears are ringing, so you don’t hear what El says to Billy. But something in his expression shifts. You watch the darkened veins on his face and arms fade. 

He looks up at you, and sees your skin still covered in those veins.

“What are you waiting for?” you hear yourself ask. “Give her to Him!”

Don’t! you scream inside your mind. God, please, don’t do it Billy.

“I’m sorry,” Billy says, remorse flashing on his face when he realizes what he’s done under the influence of a monster—not just to you, but to El, to Heather, to everyone else making up the Mind Flayer’s physical form. “I’m so, so sorry Y/N.”

You blink, surprised, even more so when he turns toward the creature that’s been controlling you two for days. He grapples with one of its tentacles, and then the creature impales him with another. You scream in pain and fall onto your back a few feet away, the pesky hive mind keeping you connected. His pain is very much yours.

“You have to fight it!” someone shouts, from somewhere in this godforsaken mall. Easier said than done.

You close your eyes and try to force the Mind Flayer out of your head. He’d been feeding on your darkest memories to keep you in control, so maybe you could take back over by focusing on happier ones: Meeting Heather in 3rd grade and making a best friend for the first time in your life. Riding bikes through town. Swimming at the pool every summer. Dancing wildly at the Snow Ball. Weekend trips to Indianapolis with your family. Cheering Heather on as she won prom queen, just a few weeks ago.

You focus on the good, and the bad sloughs itself out of you in a big rush. Just in the nick of time, too. You sit up, feeling woozy, and watch as the Mind Flayer falls to the ground, very much dead. 

A few feet away, you watch Billy’s stepsister, Max Mayfield, cry for him. Eleven comforts her. You stagger to your feet, unsure of what to do or where to go. 

You fail to blink back tears, and they roll down your face when the gravity of what’s happened sinks over you.

“H-Heather,” you sob. “No! No!” 

You fall to your knees in front of the corpse of the Mind Flayer, sobbing into your hands.

“It isn’t your fault.”

You whip your head to the side, where Will Byers stands. He’s looking at you with empathy, and is treating you more kindly than you expected this crew to after everything that happened.

“What he did to you,” Will says, nodding toward the monster. “And what he made you do, it is not your fault. Trust me, I understand that more than anyone else here.”

You aren’t sure what he means by that, but you simply offer a hoarse, “Thank you.” 

Steve Harrington, whose face is bloodied and bruised in a way that makes you feel sick, walks up to you next.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says softly, but there’s a trace of urgency laced in his words. “We should get out of here before these fires spread. Can you stand?”

You nod shakily, though you stumble a bit, feeling weary. Steve reaches to balance you and you flinch away from him. “Sorry!” he says, and backs up, tucking his hands in his pockets as if to assure you he wouldn’t try and touch you again.

As you walk toward the exit, you feel numb. You profusely apologize to Eleven, Max, and the others, but like Will, they don’t hold it against you. (Well, Mike Wheeler grumbles something about having a concussion, but when he sees how upset you are, he walks it back.)

“It was the hive mind,” he says. “Not you.” 

Right. Not you. It was an external force invading your mind and body. A hostile takeover. The sword of Damocles inches ever-closer to your skull in your mind.

That night, Robin Buckley’s parents drive you and Steve home as well. Steve offers to stay with you, but you want to be alone. You want to crawl into your bed, in the body you don’t trust anymore, and cry yourself to sleep. So that’s exactly what you do.

💋💋💋

You defer your enrollment to Cartersville U, wanting to take a gap year to deal with the grief and pain. Your parents understand, showering you with gifts and attention to make up for the fact that they weren’t there the night of the “mall fire” that killed your best friend and so many others.

You make new friends in Steve and Robin, getting a job at the Family Video with them. However, one gap year turns to two, and then three, when an earthquake hits and the military sets up a barricade. No one in or out, except for extenuating circumstances.

Steve reads you in on the truth: it wasn’t a simple earthquake. It was another monster from the Mind Flayer’s domain opening portals to another dimension, called Gates. The uneasy feeling you’d had all week starts to make sense when you realize the hive mind was active again.

“We’re going to kill him,” Steve tells you quietly as you two sit in Max’s hospital room to keep her company. When you heard about her coma, your heart just broke.

“I want to help,” you say.

“No way,” Steve says, shaking his head. “You’ve been tortured enough by this fucker.”

“Everyone has!” you say. “Let me help, Steve.”

He does, even if he doesn’t seem happy about it. You help the group plan Crawls into the Upside Down, where the “resurrected” Chief Hopper searches for Henry Creel/Vecna/One. The way you understand it, Vecna and the Mind Flayer are partners in crime. So while you were connected to the hive mind in 1985, you were technically connected to Vecna too. The thought makes you sick.

And in fall 1987, after 30-some Crawls, you and Will are dragged back into the hive mind’s orbit. It’s painful, seeing from the vision of a monster—at least it’s not your body carrying out the acts this time.

In the downtime before your plan at the Turnbow’s house, Steve finds you crying in the storage closet at the WSQK station.

“What’s wrong?!” he says, sitting on the floor beside you, but leaving some space. After two years of friendship, he knows better than to reach for you—you don’t love physical touch.

You shake your head. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it isn’t.”

You screw your eyes shut, deciding to just be honest. “I hate being so close to the hive mind,” you say quietly. “I hate being back there, like I’m out of control of my body again. It’s…violating.” 

You don’t say more, but you could. You could talk about how you still haven’t had sex, kissed anyone, or really dated at all, because your fear of sex and intimacy and vulnerability was ratcheted up after you were flayed. You have this compulsive need to be in control of your body at all times, and sex seems like a surefire way to lose that control. You don’t want to lose yourself to someone else. Ever again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Steve says. If he can tell you’re not telling the full truth, he doesn’t bring it up. “Listen, we’re going to kill Vecna once and for all. And then he, and the Mind Flayer, and the whole hive mind will be gone.”

You appreciate his positivity, even if you don’t feel so optimistic. “Thank you,” you say. You hesitate, before asking, “Could I get a hug?” 

Steve had secretly hoped you would ask. When you occasionally ask for a hug is the only time you let him close to you.

“Of course,” he says, opening his arms for you. You hug him tightly, but only for a few seconds, before you’re pulling away. Steve stands and offers you a hand. You murmur, “Thanks,” and take it, but let go as soon as you’re on your feet. Steve doesn’t take offense—he’s not that insecure. But he does find his arms and hands feeling a bit warm where he was just holding you…

Steve squashes that instantly. Whatever he’s feeling is a bad idea. Besides, you all have a world to save.

💋💋💋

You do save the world, shockingly. Somehow, your team of quasi-heroes pulls it off, and then you’re all expected to go about life as normal.

Eleven is finally able to get some semblance of a normal life, after the military is exposed for their clandestine experiments. She even gets a hefty payout from the government, which Hopper commands cannot be used on a lifetime supply of Eggos, to her chagrin.

Max re-enrolls in school, hoping to catch up, with Lucas, Mike, Will, and Dustin offering to be her personal tutors. 

Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin all go far from Hawkins for college in fall 1988. You still end up only 30 minutes away, at Cartersville University. You’re a bit surprised when Steve tells you he’s enrolled as well.

“I think I want to be a teacher,” he says, while the two of you are attending a new student mixer during orientation week (and glomming onto each other so you don’t need to talk to any strangers).

“That’s amazing, Steve!” you say. “You’re great with kids. You’re going to do really, really well.”

He smiles, a bit bashful. “Thanks, Y/N. What do you think you want to study?”

You don’t get the chance to respond before a pretty girl is sidling up to him. “Hey, I haven’t seen you around here before.”

You bite back the urge to make a sarcastic remark about how you’re all new, so of course she hasn’t seen Steve before. As Steve begins to flirt back, you quietly excuse yourself for more punch. Oh, brother.

💋💋💋

Your roommate is the most insatiable human being to exist.

You think she and her boyfriend have sex four times a week, maybe five. Good lord.

Coming home from a long day of one lab, two lectures, and an exam, you scowl at the sight of a bright pink sock with yellow daisies stitched on it resting on the doorknob of your dorm. 

You know your roommate’s boyfriend lives off-campus, so it’s easier for their post-class romps to be in the dorm. But your stomach squeezes and twists, and the fact that she can so easily engage in intimacy while you’re still terrified of your own naked reflection sometimes angers you. You meet Steve in the dining hall for dinner and lament about it, stabbing at your salad with a fork.

“It’s just so goddamn inconsiderate that she’s fucking in our shared room all the time,” you say hotly, spearing a cherry tomato and biting into it. 

“That really sucks,” Steve says, genuinely upset on your behalf. His empathy is one of his best qualities. “I mean, she should at least give you a heads-up or something.” 

“Or something,” you grumble. “I hope she gets a UTI.”

Steve nearly chokes on his grilled cheese sandwich.

You feel a bit ashamed. “Sorry. Was that, like, totally evil of me to wish on another person?”

“Not evil,” Steve says. “A little twisted, maybe.” 

You cover your face with your hands, embarrassed. Steve just laughs.

“I kind of like this side of you,” he muses. 

“Shut up.” You flick a craisin at him. It lands in his perfect hair. It’s your turn to laugh, and his turn to blush as he brushes it away.

“But seriously,” you add, shaking your head. “I just don’t get how they even have the energy to do it so often.”

Now that you’ve successfully vented your frustration, you’re ready to change the subject. You’re about to ask Steve how his club baseball team is going when he says, “I mean, the few weeks I dated that girl I met at the orientation mixer, that was about how often we’d hook up.” 

Suddenly, you’re very invested in your salad once more. 

Steve frowns at the sudden chill in your demeanor. 

“Sorry,” he says, wondering if he overshared. “You probably didn’t need to know that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, voice tight.

Steve furrows his brow. “Really? Because I’ve never seen someone inspect ranch dressing that closely.”

“I said it’s fine,” you say, anger creeping in again. You seal up the to-go container holding your half-finished dinner and add, “I’m going to the library. Hopefully Sierra’s boyfriend is long gone by the time I’m done studying.” 

You storm off, leaving a bewildered Steve behind.

💋💋💋

You think you might be sexually frustrated. 

You don’t know what that feels like, exactly. You’re pretty certain in your 20-some years of life, you’ve never felt it before.

But you’re still scared of sex, so the feeling is confounding. Why does your traitorous body want the thing your brain has convinced you is terribly dangerous?

You don’t like masturbating because you can never get yourself off, but your roommate is staying with her boyfriend for the weekend and you have a dorm to yourself, and you might as well try to do something to stave off the burning under your skin. If you don’t, you’ll probably go into some sort of hysteria. Is this when women in the 1800s would’ve been sent to the seaside?

You eye the poster hanging on Sierra’s side of the dorm room, of some hunky male musician you’re certain is popular though you can’t name a single one of his songs, and hope it’ll spark something in you. You fumble around with your hand shoved down the front of your jeans, but your clumsy strokes combined with the swoonworthy stare of Hunky Musician does not make you come.

Could this be something behavioral science can solve? You head to the library, wearing a baseball cap pulled low over your eyes as if it could disguise you, wondering if there’s some kind of psychology textbook titled “Handbook For Adult Women Who Are Scared Of Sex But Really Want To Get Off.”

You don’t find that in a shadowy corner of the nonfiction section with the books on sex and relationships, but you do find a rather interesting-looking tome titled “Tending To Her Garden of Pleasure: The Complete Guide To A Woman’s Orgasm.” Close enough.

“Hey, Y/N!” 

You have a small cardiac event when Steve calls your name, dropping the book on the carpeted floor. You burn with embarrassment, shame, and regret, mortified that the book fell cover-side up.

You can’t even bring yourself to say anything, or even put the book back on the shelf. You blink back tears and speedwalk past Steve, ignoring him calling after you.

You sit on a bench by the vending machines outside the library, hugging your backpack to your chest. You should just head back to your dorm, but the thought of being alone in that room again makes you want to peel your own skin off. 

Minutes tick by, and you notice Steve out of the corner of your eye, heading your way. You aren’t sure what to expect as he gingerly takes a seat on the bench next to you, but it’s definitely not a soft, “I think you forgot something.”

He holds the book out to you, cover-side down this time. Your eyes widen. “You checked it out?”

“In case you still wanted it,” Steve said. And he’s not teasing you. He’s being 100% genuine. Though he can’t resist and adds, “But if you don’t, maybe I should study up.”

You snort and shake your head. “I’m sure the librarian got a kick out of that.”

“She’s stone cold,” Steve said. “Didn’t even react. I’m probably not the only desperate schmuck who’s taken this thing home.” He screws his face up with disgust. “Eugh, they like, disinfect the books each time they’re returned, right?”

But you don’t play along. The words “desperate schmuck” rattle around in your head. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shuddery breath.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, suddenly serious again, misinterpreting what’s making you upset and tucking the book in his backpack. “I promise I’m not making fun of you.”

“I know,” you say. You sniffle. “I just…Steve, I think I’m broken.” 

Steve frowns. “What do you mean?” 

You consider just walking away, but he sounds so concerned, and it might be nice to open up about this to someone you know and trust.

“I can’t have sex,” you say, voice cracking on the last word, “because the thought of it scares me so badly. And all my hang-ups make it hard to get myself off, too.” You huff out a hollow laugh. “Which makes me sound so babyish, because we’re in college now, and it seems like everyone else is screwing someone or jerking off all the time.”

You slouch in your seat. “And I’ve never even been kissed,” you murmur, so quiet you aren’t sure if Steve can even hear you anymore. “The longer I go without it, the more scary intimacy gets in my head, and I—hell, we’ve fought monsters, I know what real terror feels like, so why do I feel that way about something other people can do every single day?! It’s like I said. I’m broken!”

“No,” Steve says, voice gentle but firm. “You aren’t.”

“Says the guy who’s probably bedded every girl our age in Hawkins!” you fire back, before immediately feeling guilty for snapping at him.

“‘Bedded’?” Steve says. “What is this, a Shakespeare play?”

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

Steve waves it off. “It’s fine. You’re upset. And I guess I do have something of a track record…but I’m serious. You aren’t broken, Y/N.” He shrugs. “Sure, dating and sex can be fun. But it does mean you might get your heart stomped on in the end. Trust me, I know all about that.”

He gets a far-off look in his eye, and you know he’s thinking about Nancy. The one that got away.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking your time,” Steve adds. 

“When does it stop being scary?” you ask quietly. “Putting yourself out there, and…and giving up control to someone else?” 

“‘Control’?” Steve asks, confusion flashing on his features. “Sex doesn’t have to be about control. I mean, it can, if you’re into heavier stuff, but—did someone tell you that?” 

“No,” you say. “But I have firsthand experience with feeling like your body doesn’t belong to you.”

It takes a minute for the dots to connect. When they do, Steve’s eyes widen. “Oh. This is because of…”

“Yeah. Well, I was always a bit freaked out by sex, but it just kind of got worse after…all that.”

“Geez,” Steve huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Henry Creel really did a number on us. The fucker.” 

You look down at your feet, unsure of what else to say.

“Listen,” Steve says. “You don’t have to have sex with anyone if you don’t want to. Ever, no matter what someone says.”

You want to articulate that there is a part of you, deep down, that does want sex. You just feel like you can’t have it, because it feels like the most dangerous thing in the world. But that’s more than you’re willing to share at present, so you thank Steve for the support.

“Um, I don’t think I’m ready for the book,” you add, standing from the bench. “So you can return it.”

“Are you kidding?” Steve says, with a smirk. “I’m reading this thing cover to cover. I’m going to become a master of female pleasure by the end of the week.”

You burn again, but not from embarrassment this time. From something else that you aren’t ready to identify. 

But whatever it is, it sure helps you get off for the very first time mere hours later.

💋💋💋

The following spring, you and Steve complete your first year of college. You decide to move into an off-campus apartment together. Before the summer semester begins (because after starting school later than normal because of the quarantine, you both feel like you’re playing catch-up), you return to Hawkins to celebrate the Class of 1989.

Sitting in the bleachers with Steve and Robin, you cheer extra loud when Will, Dustin, Max, Lucas, and Mike walk the stage—though no one cheers louder for Mike than Eleven. Dustin’s valedictorian speech has the whole crowd going nuts.

On the WSQK rooftop after the festivities, you share a drink with your friends. You all agree to meet up every few months at Robin’s uncle’s house to socialize, and also because Jonathan is going to need some major help on his student film.

You laugh, talk, and drink, and it’s nice, for a while. However, after Robin starts teasing Steve for getting dumped by a classmate in Spanish during their Spanish class oral exam, she turns to you.

“Please tell us your love life is going better than Steve’s,” Robin says. “We need a story about Cartersville that won’t depress us.”

An icy panic spreads itself through your body. You force a laugh and shake your head. “No love life to speak of,” you say lightly. “I’m just studying a lot.”

“Oh, come on!” Robin says. “There has to be someone you’re at least crushing on.”

You shake your head and take a long sip of your beer. It’s mostly warm by now, due to the heat. “No one.”

That’s mostly true. Sure, you’ve noticed over the last few months that you find Steve…attractive. Very much so. But he’s your friend. And he knows you’re not ready for a relationship that involves sex, and he has sex all the time. Well, you don’t think he’s hooked up with anyone since you two moved in together. But still. You two would never work.

Nancy scans the twist of your mouth and rescues you. “So, Steve, what exactly did your professor say when you got broken up with during the test?”

Steve groans and shakes his head. “Not you two, Wheeler. I swear, you all relish in my misfortune.” 

But he’s a good sport, and he recounts every detail of the situation that he hadn’t already shared. You force a few more laughs, but deep down, you find yourself feeling anxious. Everyone on this rooftop has fallen in love before. They’ve all had sex before. They probably can tell that you haven’t. Do they think you’re a prude? Or that something’s wrong with you? Something is wrong with you. Fear essentially runs your life. But you don’t want your friends to know that. 

A few hours later, when Steve drives you two back to Cartersville in his truck, he says, “Hey, you’re pretty quiet. All good?”

“Mm-hm,” you say with a weak smile. “My stomach just, uh, hurts a little. So I’m ready to get home.”

“Sorry about that,” Steve says. He glances at you at a red light. “And sorry about Robin. She shouldn’t have been so nosy.”

“It’s fine,” you say. It’s not. Steve can tell it’s not. But the light turns green, and you angle your face away from his to watch the trees whiz by, so he doesn’t press.

💋💋💋

Steve is an adequate roommate.

He does his half of the chores in a (mostly) timely manner. He doesn’t leave dishes in the sink or hair in the drain. But he does bring a lot of girls home.

However, he’s respectful about it. Every time he has a date, he gives you a heads-up that they might be coming home with him at the end of the night. Sometimes, he’ll even borrow the phone in whatever restaurant they were just dining at to tell you an exact ETA.

You think that he thinks this is what you want, after your roommate experience from last year; a warning in advance that Sex Is Going To Be Happening, since he knows it makes you uncomfortable. While you appreciate what you assume is meant to be a nice sentiment, all it does is make you frustrated, sexually and otherwise. It’s not fun to get constant reminders that Other People Are Fucking And You Are Not (And It’s Kind Of Your Fault But Also Sort Of The Mind Flayer’s So Who’s To Say?).

You realize that something has to change when you come downstairs one early morning in August and catch Steve feeding his date from the night before, Renee, a strawberry. People actually do that shit? You were certain that couples-feeding-each-other-fruit was made up for Hollywood.

“Oh, hey,” Steve says in greeting when you shuffle into the kitchen. You are wearing a pair of Hawkins High gym shorts and a T-shirt with ALF on it. Renee is wearing one of Steve’s button-up shirts and presumably nothing else.

“Good morning!!!” you say, accidentally too chipper. You flash a smile at Renee. She looks at you like she wishes you were dead. Cool.

“Any fun plans for the day?” you offer weakly, after you throw a waffle in the toaster.

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Renee wraps her arms around him and kisses his cheek. His face flushes as Renee says, “We’ll probably just go back to bed.”

You aren’t sure how to respond to that. She seems to be trying to mark her territory on Steve, as if she can tell that you’ve been harboring the tiniest, centimeter-sized crush on him for the past few months (that you know better than to act on).

Steve extricates himself from Renee and stands from his seat at the counter. “What are you going to do today, Y/N?”

You appreciate that he’s trying to cut back on the PDA while you’re in there. But Renee has no qualms about it. She stands and hugs Steve from behind while you stammer through some explanation of the portfolio you’re putting together for your summer poetry workshop. While you’re halfway through raving about how “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver really inspired your work, Renee starts kissing Steve’s neck.

“That’s really cool,” Steve says, though you know he stopped listening as soon as Renee got her hands on him. 

“Thanks,” you say. You put your waffle on a plate and say, “I’ll just, uh, eat in my room.”

You scurry out before either of them can say anything else. As soon as you get to your room and close the door, all the tension in your body dissipates. 

Shit, for the very first time in your life, you think you need a date of your own.

💋💋💋

Steve is worried that you’re upset with him.

Ever since Renee tried to pounce on in him the kitchen, you’ve been avoiding him. You spend the last few days of the summer semester locked away in a library study room, leaving before he wakes up and coming home after he’s gone to bed.

After the third day of avoidance, while he assumes you’re out at the library again, he tries to explain to Renee why they shouldn’t engage in PDA in front of you (without blabbing all about your fear and trauma). Renee doesn’t get it.

“What, is she like, in love with you or something?” Renee huffs, as the two of them sit on the couch.

“No!” Steve says, though his heart kicks up a bit at the thought. You’re wonderful, in every way, and if Steve thought you had feelings for him, he would pursue you—at whatever speed you’re comfortable with, whatever that looks like. But you’ve never made any indication that you see him as more than a friend, even when he privately took a vow of celibacy for the first month in the new apartment to prove to you that he’s not just some horndog. “Not at all. She’s just…”

“Lonely?” Renee offers. “Desperate because she doesn’t have what we do?”

She surges forward, keen to end this conversation and start making out, but Steve leans away from her with a frown. “Don’t talk about her like that.” 

Renee rolls her eyes. Steve’s blood boils.

“Whatever,” Renee says. “I mean, no offense, but I don’t really see why you two are friends. Like, you’re you, and she’s less of a person and more of a skittish cartoon mouse.”

Steve is baffled. Has Renee always been casually cruel like this? Truth be told, most of the time they’ve spent together has been in his bedroom, or the backseat of his car, or her bedroom, and none of those times involved a lot of talking.

Steve doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he stands from the couch and says, “I think you should probably leave.”

Renee scoffs. “Seriously?” 

Steve walks to the door and opens it. Renee snatches up her purse and storms out. Steve slams it shut, before leaning his forehead on the cool wood.

Later, he wanders into the kitchen and makes a pitiful excuse for a dinner (mac & cheese with pieces of hot dog inside—not very nutritious, but delicious), and he wonders if this is a cosmic sign that he should ask you out. He’s assuming that you don’t feel the same, but he could be dead wrong.

He mulls it over in his mind as he eats. He could profess his feelings and promise that you would set the pace, if you’re interested in him too. This all sounds great, and Steve is actually feeling pretty confident, and he brews himself a cup of coffee (or three) to stay awake tonight.

He’s wired on caffeine when he hears your key click in the lock at 12:08 a.m.

“Oh!” you say, when you enter the apartment and see him sitting on the couch in the low lamplight. “Hi, Steve.” You clear your throat and close the door behind you. “I’m sorry I’ve been so M.I.A. I finally turned in my poetry portfolio after a pretty stressful few days.”

“That’s great!” Steve says. He offers to carry your backpack for you. You thank him and hand it off, heading into the kitchen for a midnight snack before bed.

Steve hangs your bag on its hook and hovers in the kitchen doorway, wondering if the speech he has prepared is a good idea or not. He’s about to just bite the bullet when you turn to him with a shy smile and say, “I have good news.”

“About your poetry portfolio?” 

You shake your head, your grin widening. “Nope. I’ve got a date. For the first time! Ever!!!”

Steve’s eyes widen. He tries to arrange his shocked expression into something that resembles joy, while his heart is withering away inside his chest. “Whoa! That’s g-great! With who?” 

“His name is Gary,” you say as you reheat some leftover pizza.

“Gary,” Steve repeats.

“My friend Judy set it up,” you continue, blissfully unaware of the crisis Steve is currently going through. “She was in my summer poetry workshop. She’s a writing major, and Gary was her math tutor last semester. She said he’s super cool.”

“Super cool,” Steve echoes again. He can’t seem to form any coherent thoughts, except, IDIOT!!! WHY DID YOU WAIT SO LONG?!?!?! WHY DID YOU WASTE TIME WITH RENEE?!?!?!?!

You seem to pick up on the tension radiating off Steve. Your bright expression falters. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve assures you. Because the last thing he wants to do is ruin something that could be good for you, just because he holds a candle for you and continually talked himself out of acting on it. “I’m really happy for you. This is big!” 

You nod and smile again, but it looks a little weaker this time. “Thank you, Steve.”

He excuses himself to bed. As soon as he gets in his room, he picks up the phone on his nightstand and calls Robin.

“Hello?” she murmurs sleepily.

“Robin, I fucked up,” Steve whispers into the receiver.

A pause, and then: “Did you somehow bring the Upside Down back?”

Steve frowns. “Uh, no?”

“Get a girl pregnant?”

“No!” Steve huffs, aghast. “I always have safe sex, Rob, and I’m frankly offended that you’d assume otherwise.”

“Okay, King Condom,” Robin snorts. “Then what the hell are you calling me so late for? What could be so bad?” 

Steve’s quiet for a moment. And then, barely audible, he says, “I have feelings for someone that I probably shouldn’t, but think I missed my chance to act on them.”

“Oh, I see,” Robin muses. “This is about Y/N.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m not an idiot, Steve,” Robin says. “I saw the way you looked at her when we were at WSQK together. I could always tell there was something there, simmering below the surface. Simmering? Boiling? What’s the difference, anyway?”

“Can we get back on track, please?” Steve asks, rubbing his forehead. “What do I do? Is it selfish if I beg her not to date this other guy?” 

“I don’t know about selfish,” Robin says. “But if you ask her out now, it is kind of going to look like you only want to date her because she’s unavailable. And that’s shitty.”

Steve agrees that it might not be a good look. So he swallows down his feelings for you, hoping they’ll fade like a bruise before long.

💋💋💋

Your first date with Gary is at a nice buffet in Cartersville. He pays for you, and he’s nice, if a little self-absorbed. 

When he drops you off at your apartment complex after, he doesn’t walk you up to the door. That’s how you always pictured your first date would end: your prince charming walks you to your door and kisses you sweetly. 

Instead, Gary haphazardly parks in the fire lane and leans across the center console, practically mashing his teeth against yours for a first kiss that leaves something to be desired. You aren’t sure what you’re supposed to feel afterward, but it’s not the butterflies you envisioned. It’s just…fine.

As summer slowly turns to autumn and another semester begins, you agree to a second date, then a third. Each ends with a similar attack of a kiss. After the fourth, Gary tries to invite himself up.

“My roommate is home,” you say in lieu of giving him a “yes” or “no.”

“So?” Gary asks. He flashes you an impish grin. “I can be quiet. Don’t know if you’ll be able to, once I get my hands on you…”

You suppress a shiver. You don’t feel any more ready for sex than you did before you started this thing with Gary. But maybe it’s something you just have to do once, and then it’ll feel fine and normal. You fidget with the hem of your skirt and say, “Do you want to come over tomorrow evening? My roommate has a teaching lab that doesn’t end until 9:00.” 

Gary agrees. This time, when he kisses you goodbye, he shoves his tongue in your mouth unexpectedly. Eugh. 

As you ascend the steps toward your and Steve’s apartment, you try to focus on the positives, to avoid drowning in dread: a man is interested in you! He’s taken you on many nice dates, to restaurants and movies! He likes kissing you, and tomorrow, he is going to have sex with you!

Your knees nearly buckle once you walk into the apartment, when the reality of what you’ve just promised hits you. Apprehension clings to you like cheap fabric, and you wonder if you should change your mind. Call Gary and end whatever this is before you have to give him the part of yourself you’re terrified to share. 

As you kick your shoes off by the door, you feel mentally transported to summer 1985. To that feeling of the Mind Flayer invading every one of your senses. The part of your brain that’s so afraid of so many things assumes sex will feel like that too: an invasion. You start to breathe a little harder.

“You okay?” 

You curse and flinch at the sight of your roommate popping in the kitchen doorway, hand on your chest. “Jesus, Steve! I’m putting a goddamn bell on you.”

He gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I heard you come in, but you didn’t say anything.” He scans your face, brow furrowed. “You look pretty freaked. Did Gary cross a line? Do I need to run him over with my truck?” 

“You have your lab tomorrow, right?” you ask, ignoring his question. “The three-hour night class?” 

Steve nods slowly. “Uh, yeah…why?”

“Gary’s going to come over so we can have sex while you’re in class,” you blurt out. You probably should be mortified by your brutal honesty, but you suddenly don’t feel well and can’t stop yourself.

Steve’s jaw drops. Then, he closes his mouth and nods. “Okay.” A pause, and then, “And you’re sure you want to?”

Fuck. He can read you like a book. “Yes,” you say. You breeze past him, heading into your bedroom.

You think he’ll leave it at that, but he follows you in as you toss your purse on your desk. “Forgive me if I’m not convinced,” Steve says dryly. He leans against your doorframe and crosses his arms. He adds, softer, “Y/N, don’t force yourself to do something you’re not ready for.”

“But that’s just the thing!” you say, barking out a hollow laugh. “At this rate, I feel like I’ll never be ready!” You jab a finger at your temple. “I have to just do it to prove to my fucked-up mind that it’s fine.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “I see where you’re coming from, but c’mon. This is different than, like, getting over a fear of heights by rock climbing, or something. This is sex. And it should be special.” 

That grates your nerves. You scoff and yank open a dresser drawer, pulling out your pajamas and throwing them on your bed. “Oh, and is it special with every girl you bring home?”

“Yes!” Steve says, though there’s an edge to his voice now. “Just because I date around doesn’t mean the sex is meaningless!”

“And that’s what I’m trying to do too!” you fire back. “Date around, and make a meaningful connection. So I don’t get why you’re being so weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Steve protests.

“Yes!” you shout, unable to tamp down the fear and dread turning into anger. “You are! You’re acting this is some kind of afterschool special!”

“Because I know you, Y/N!” Steve says, voice breaking a bit on your name. “The look on your face is the same look you had when we were riding into the Upside Down in the back of a refrigerated truck to kill Vecna. You’re scared. It’s not worth pushing yourself into having sex when you’re this freaked out.”

You look away. He’s got you dead to rights. He continues, “Don’t have sex with Gary just to check it off a checklist. There’s nothing wrong with taking your time. With being patient until…until the right person comes along.”

For a moment, he thinks he’s convinced you. Then, you narrow your eyes and say, “Is that what you tell the girls you date?”

“Huh?”

“That you’ll be patient,” you continue, stepping a bit closer. You see Steve swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What would you do if, say, the woman you were going out with told you she wasn’t ready to have sex. Would you wait until she was, or dump her for someone who wants to jump your bones?”

“I’d wait,” Steve says, jaw tense. “Of course I would.”

“Really? Even if she wasn’t ready to sleep with you after three dates? Or three months—hell, three years of dating?” you continue. Tears build up on your lashline. “Would you be able to wait that long?”

You aren’t sure if this is a hypothetical question anymore. 

“I would wait,” Steve repeats, voice low. “However long until she’s ready.”

You want to believe him. Every fiber of your being wants to believe him. Because he’s looking at you in a way that makes you feel like you mean something to him. Like you really are worth waiting for. 

But your insecurity overtakes you and convinces you he’s just being nice, and a protective friend. You aren’t like the women he dates. You aren’t vivacious, and conventionally beautiful, and confident in your body.

“Liar,” you say, not much louder than a whisper. 

Steve frown deepens. “No, I—”

“Will you definitely be gone tomorrow night?” you ask.

Steve sighs and closes his eyes. He nods once, a curt motion.

“Okay. Good. Goodnight, Steve.”

You go to close your door. Steve steps back just as it slams in his face. He’s left standing in the hall alone, with mounting regret, marveling at how he never has the capacity to say what he really wants to.

💋💋💋

Steve’s teaching lab is from 6-9 on Wednesday nights. It usually involves learning classroom management strategies. Steve knows he won’t be paying a lick of attention to any of that today.

Before he leaves for campus, he hesitates, but knocks on your bedroom door. “Hey,” he says, with a soft call of your name. “Uh, can we talk?”

A few seconds later, the door swings open. Steve’s heart stutters at the sight of you. You’re wearing a pale blue dress and matching eyeshadow. You look stunning, even more than you usually do, if that’s possible.

“Whoa,” he breathes out. He clears his throat. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you say coolly. You cross your arms. “You heading out?” 

“Yep.”

“And you won’t be back—”

“Until 10:30,” Steve promises. “I’m going to hit the library after class.” He pauses, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. “Hey, have fun tonight, okay?”

Maybe that was a weird thing to say. But sex is supposed to be fun. Steve hopes you remember that—your expression looks as though you’re preparing for your last rites.

“Thanks,” you say, forcing a smile. Steve awkwardly hovers in the hallway, so you add, “Did you…need something else?”

“Just remember to be safe,” Steve says, his protective side showing. His voice drops in volume, even though there’s no one else around to hear it, and continues, “You have condoms, right?”

Your eyes wide, deer-in-the-headlights style. “Don’t guys usually have those?” 

“I mean, sometimes,” Steve says. “But not always. Hold it right there.” 

He ducks back into his room and returns with a box of condoms. You try not to pass away from embarrassment when he hands it to you.

“Just in case,” he says. “Do not let Gary convince you they won’t fit. You can pull one of those things over your arm up to your elbow.”

You snort. “Good to know.”

“I’m serious,” Steve says. He places his hand on your shoulder with a feather-light touch. For once, the unplanned physical contact doesn’t make you flinch or cause your stomach to roil. “And if at any point you’ve changed your mind, say so. Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You nod. “Right. I won’t. Thank you. Seriously.” 

Steve squeezes your shoulder gently before dropping his arm. “Go get ’em, tiger.” With those words of wisdom, he leaves.

💋💋💋

Gary is prompt. You two had agreed he’d come over at 7. At 6:59, he’s knocking on the front door.

At 7:02, you’re pouring him a glass of wine.

At 7:05, he’s kissing you on your couch. It feels weird to you, still, and you aren’t sure if that’s because of your lack of experience or because Gary is a bad kisser. You don’t dwell on that fact, trying to shut down the part of your brain that is freaking out about all this physical touch. 

And, oh boy, Gary is touching you all over. Your shoulders, your back, your chest, your hips. But he’s moving his hands so fast, it almost feels like a pat down. Is he doing this right? Is it rude if you ask him to slow down, to savor you a bit more? What’s the protocol here?!

“We should go to your room,” Gary murmurs against your lips.

You nod, before you can talk yourself out of this. “Y-yeah. Yes. Let’s go.”

And so you find yourself in your bed with him, and the pat down continues over your dress. Gary is whispering something in your ear. You think it’s supposed to be sexy, but you’re too busy trying to keep your brain focused on the task at hand to even comprehend the words.

“Nice rack,” he murmurs in a tone that he seems to assume is seductive, fondling your breasts over the bodice of your dress. 

What am I, a rack of ribs? you think.

“What did you say?” Gary says, continuing his ministrations as he nips your earlobe.

Shit, did you say that out loud? You screw your eyes shut. “Uh, just that I want you to keep going,” you say quickly.

He accepts that without issue, and begins kissing your neck. He slows his hands over your chest, and you believe he’s finally going to take his time with you, and then—

Rrrrrrrip!!!! The sound of tearing fabric has your eyes popping open. You gasp and, with anger coursing through you, shove Gary’s chest with all your might. He tumbles off you, landing with an “Ooph!” on the mattress next to you.

Heartbeat pounding in your ears, you scramble off the bed and look at the mirror hanging on the back of your closet door. 

“You tore my dress!” you say, horrified at the big gash down its bodice, now exposing the white lace bra you spent too much money on for this shitshow.

Gary is two parts confused, one part annoyed. “So?” he says. “There were too many buttons.”

You whirl around to where he sits against your headboard and glare. “This was my favorite dress.”

“Just buy another!” Gary says. He stands from the bed and saunters over to you, giving you a sly look. “Maybe we can go to the mall and I can pick out something for—”

“I can’t buy another one just like this,” you interrupt hotly. Your brain is firing on all cylinders. You aren’t sure if you even understand why you’re so upset, but you don’t stop yourself from saying, “This was from the JC Penney Summer 1985 collection. They don’t make it anymore!” 

Gary stares at you and blinks once, twice. “Okay? Uh, sorry, I guess. I mean, I don’t see what the big deal is, but—can we get back to having sex now?”

You shake your head. “No. I want you to leave.” You wave your hand between the two of you. “Whatever this was? It’s over now.”

Gary’s disposition sours. His lip curls. “Are you serious?”

“As a funeral,” you snap. “Now, please, get the fuck out of my house.”

Gary gives you a long, hard look. He huffs in disbelief with an eye roll. “Frigid bitch.”

He storms out of your room, grabbing his shoes without even putting them back on, and slams the door to your apartment.

As soon as he’s gone, you sink to the edge of your bed and put your hands on your knees. You try to control your breathing, to relax, to think whatever happy thoughts you need to so you can put this shitty night behind you.

But when you glance up again and see your ruined dress in the reflection of the mirror, you begin to cry. The sword of Damocles falls, slicing your skull in two.

💋💋💋

Steve parks his truck outside the apartment complex at 10:40.

He gave you an extra 10 minutes. Not that he feels like Gary the math major has enough stamina for 3 hours and 40 minutes of lovemaking, but still. Better safe than sorry.

Steve figures he’ll nurse his broken heart with a beer and then head to bed. Maybe he’ll run into you in the kitchen and casually ask how the night went. (Despite his unrequited feelings for you, he hopes it went well.) But when he enters the apartment, it’s eerily quiet, in a way that sends a shiver down Steve’s spine.

Why is it so dark in here? The only light is coming from the crack under your bedroom door. Shit, is Gary still here?

Steve leaves his shoes and backpack by the door and tiptoes down the hall toward his room. He hears a whimper from your room and freezes. One whimper turns into another, which turns into what sounds like a sob.

Panic rises in Steve and he barges the rest of the way down the hall, banging on your door. If Gary is still there and the reason you’re crying right now, Steve is going to jail for first-degree murder. At least his uncle is a pretty good lawyer.

Steve calls your name. “Hey! What’s wrong?”

He hears you sniffle through the door. “Go away!” you shout, though your voice is hoarse, as if you’ve been crying for a while.

“Not until I know you’re okay,” Steve says. “Can I come in?” 

“No!” 

Steve feels helpless on the wrong side of the door. He felt this way countless times in the fight against forces of evil, most notably when he was hanging by one hand off a radio tower in the Upside Down.

“Please,” Steve begs. “I just want to make sure you’re all right. I won’t be able to sleep until I know you are.”

For a few aching seconds, you don’t respond. But then: “F-fine. Come in.”

Steve pushes the door open. You’re seated on your bed, wearing your favorite ALF shirt and flannel pajama pants. Your face is a teary-eyed mess as you sew something blue. Wait a minute. 

“Is that your dress?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to you (but leaving you a wide berth of space, as usual). You nod shakily. This doesn’t lessen his panic. “What happened?” Steve says.

“Nothing,” you mutter. You refuse to look at him as you work, though your hands are trembling so badly, your stitches are all crooked. 

Steve covers your hands with one of his. You still, finally looking up at him. “Tell me what happened,” he says quietly.

You suck in a rattling breath and try to get yourself together to recount the events of the night. “He ripped my dress before we even got past second base,” you say. “He didn’t even care that it made me upset! I kicked him out and he called me a—a—a frigid bitch!” 

You cry harder, throwing the ruined dress on the floor, needle and thread still attached. 

Steve’s seeing red. Maybe he’ll do the first-degree murder anyway. “That’s so fucked. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You sniffle again. “Heather and I picked that dress together. For high school graduation. I—I only wear it for special occasions because I want it to last as long as possible and…fuck!” You cover your face with your hands.

Steve isn’t sure what to do or say in this moment to make you feel better. “Is it okay if I give you a hug?” he asks quietly, because it’s all he can think to offer. Without responding, your throw your arms around his neck and sob into his shoulder. 

“We’ll get the dress fixed,” Steve promises, rubbing your back gently while you cry. “Mrs. Henderson has a really swanky sewing machine, and she can mend anything. I’ll call her tomorrow to ask her about it, and can drive down to Hawkins over the weekend to drop it off.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Steve says firmly.

This is the longest you’ve touched him—hell, the longest you’ve touched anyone—since…maybe ever. It feels nice. Surprisingly.

Eventually, you feel like you’ve used up all your tears and pull away. “Thank you for being so nice to me,” you say. “Even when I freak out over small things.”

“This isn’t small,” Steve says. “Gary’s a disrespectful prick. Seriously, don’t even give him another thought.”

You nod, and then sigh. “He’s probably already called Judy and told her how neurotic I am.”

“If Judy’s not a shitty person, she’ll be on your side,” Steve says firmly. 

You fidget with your fingers, quiet for a few moments. Then, you whisper, “I really wanted tonight to go well.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be ready to try this again,” you admit. “Like, dating, and sex, and all that stuff.”

An opportunistic asshole would use this moment to confess their feelings, but Steve’s not that guy. “That’s completely fine,” he says. “When the time’s right, you’ll know.”

You aren’t sure if that’s true, but you like his optimism.

💋💋💋

You mope around for the next few weeks. All you do is go to class, study, and sleep. One morning in mid-October, Steve decides to get you out of this funk by inviting you to a Halloween party one of his teammates on the club baseball team is throwing.

“It’ll be the perfect thing for you,” Steve says, when you initially don’t look to enthused about the idea, frowning over your bowl of Cheerios. “We can drink, dance, and forget about shitty people like Larry.”

“Gary,” you correct.

“Isn’t that what I said?” Steve asks innocently. He takes a bite of toast and shoots you a closed-mouth smile, his cheeks puffy and round like a chipmunk. It makes you laugh and roll your eyes. He’s good at that—at disarming you when you feel stress start building. How is he so good at that? 

You stir your now-soggy cereal absentmindedly. “Wouldn’t you rather bring a date to the party?” you say. “I noticed you haven’t really been going out.” You clear your throat. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t date or bring people over just because I don’t.”

You’re secretly happy that he’s not dating a lot anymore. Your centimeter-sized crush on Steve has grown exponentially, ever since he had Mrs. Henderson fix your dress and hunted for the same dress at all the thrift stores from here to Indianapolis, somehow procuring one in green. You just don’t know if that’s the kind of thing a friend does for a friend, or a friend does for someone they’re also harboring a crush on.

Steve’s poker face is too good. You aren’t able to glean anything from his casual expression and even tone as he says, “I know. It’s just not a priority right now.” He sips orange juice and adds, “So. Party?” 

You agree to go, and, to Steve’s immense satisfaction, agree to do a “Return of the Jedi”-themed duo costume. You have the idea to both go as Han Solo, before and after being freed from carbonite. You wear matching outfits with water guns painted to look like blasters, except everything you’re wearing is slate gray. You add some silver glitter to your makeup and hair as well, though you don’t paint your face fully silver to avoid looking like the Tin Man.

“Hey, Han Solo and the Tin Man!” one of Steve’s baseball buddies says as soon as you two enter the party. Well, it was worth a try.

Surprisingly, the party is fun. You and Steve do drink and dance, and the tipsier you get, the more you find your mind wandering to places it shouldn’t. Like how good Steve looks in his Han Solo costume, how good he probably looks out of it, and did he ever read that library book on female pleasure? You drink some more to try and drown out your dirty, disgusting, shameful thoughts.

But are they really all that shameful? You’re human, after all, and Steve’s a good-looking guy. If you weren’t so afraid of intimacy with another person, or of ruining your friendship, you might’ve tried to seduce him years ago. Maybe even back before the Mind Flayer, when Heather told you to ask him out at Scoops Ahoy.

“You okay?” Steve asks, leaning close so he can be heard over the music. You nod and take another sip, trying not to think about your dead best friend saying, “He’s hung, Y/N.” 

“I just need to run to the bathroom,” you say. “Be right back.”

You navigate through the throng of dancing, sweaty college students and—after too many tries—finally find a bathroom upstairs that isn’t occupied by an amorous couple. When you make your way back downstairs, you no longer see Steve on the dance floor. Your brow furrows as you scan the crowd for him, finally catching a glimpse of his infamous hair ducking into the kitchen. 

You make your way there, but once you walk inside, you stop short. Steve is across the way chatting with a girl. She’s wearing a white minidress with feathery wings, and a headband with a halo attached via white pipe cleaner. She reminds you of Nancy Wheeler, with her delicate features and bright eyes. Your heart sinks. Of course Steve wants to talk to her. Not his roommate, who’s probably leaking silver glitter everywhere she goes.

You awkwardly shuffle through the crowd of partygoers and, once you’re a bit closer, overhear the angel practically purr, “You know, Han Solo was my sexual awakening.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Was he now?” 

“We should get out of here,” Angel says, reaching up to brush a stray curl off of Steve’s forehead. Steve smiles politely and, to your utter surprise, says, “Sorry, I’m not interested.” 

Huh? Angel is exactly his type: pretty, available, and unabashedly horny. And Steve’s turning down the chance to take her home? 

To her credit, Angel accepts the declined invitation with grace. “Suit yourself,” she says. “I think I saw an Indiana Jones around here anyway.”

As she leaves, you approach Steve. His face splits into a grin when he sees you. “Hey! I was just looking for you. I requested the DJ play that Duran Duran song you like. Hopefully it’s coming up soon.” 

You consider moving on from what you overheard, but you can’t stop yourself from ignoring his statement and asking, “Why did you shoot down the angel girl?” 

Steve’s smile falters. “You heard that?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say. You force a chuckle. “I mean, what gives? She was perfect for you.”

“No,” Steve says. “She wasn’t.”

You’re confused. He almost sounds dejected. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing!” Steve says, exasperation leaching into his tone. He nods toward the living room. “C’mon, let’s go dance.”

You shake your head. You’re probably jumping to conclusions, but you have to know if there’s any validity to your hunch. “No. I want you to tell me why you aren’t dating anymore. And if it’s my fault.”

Steve’s expression is pained. “Don’t make me answer that,” he murmurs. He turns on his heel and charges out to the back porch for some air. You follow, guilt gnawing at you as the cool air of the October night hits you. That was practically a “Yes.”

“Steve, don’t stop dating on my account,” you say, assuming that’s what this all is: him trying not to make you feel left out of the Dating and Relationships part of life that you just don’t feel equipped for. “Go hook up with Ms. Angel if you want to.”

“I don’t want to hook up with her!” Steve says. He’s agitated, rubbing his nose in a way he only does when he’s upset.

“But why—”

“Because I like someone else!” Steve explodes. “But if I tell her, it might ruin our friendship, or…” He swallows hard. “Or our living situation.”

His words wash over you, and realization dawns. Part of you is thrilled. The other part of you is terrified, imagining all the ways this could go wrong. “Oh.”

“The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable,” Steve says quickly, sensing your unease. “I know that dating and stuff isn’t, like, easy for you. And if you don’t feel the same way, I won’t be offended. If you want me to move out, I will, and—”

“Steve?”

“...Yeah?”

You can’t believe you’re about to say this, but: “May I kiss you?” 

Steve freezes. After a few seconds, he sounds wrecked and says, “Y-yeah. Yes.”

You inch closer to him, cupping his face in your hands gently. His skin his warm, despite the mid-autumn chill. He hesitates before softly placing his hands on your waist. “Is this okay?” he asks. You nod, before softly pressing your lips to his.

Kissing Steve is nothing like you thought it would be. It’s 1,000% better. Whatever the fuck Gary was doing was obviously, categorically incorrect. Because Gary didn’t kiss you soft and slow, like he was revering the taste of you. He didn’t move his hands from your waist to your back, pulling you in ever-so-much closer. He didn’t make you feel like you were floating.

You’re so overwhelmed with an emotion you can’t quite describe that you pull away. Steve’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?” he asks, worry radiating off him in waves.

You surprise him by kissing his cheek. He looks a little dazed, touching his cheek in the very same spot. “Nothing’s wrong,” you promise. “I just—I’m sorry, I’m messing this up.”

You start to back away, but before you get very far, Steve intertwines one of his hands with yours. “No, no,” he says. He runs his thumb over your knuckles, and you’re surprised at how nice it feels. “You’re not messing anything up. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

You take a few deep breaths and try to collect yourself. “I—I like you too,” you say, after a beat. “I have, for a while. But I just figured you didn’t feel the same. Because you knew about all my…hang-ups.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner,” Steve says. You can see that he means it by the expression on his face—regret, with a splash of longing and earnestness. “I hate that you wasted time with Harry.”

“Gary.”

“That’s what I said. Jerry.” 

You wonder if he needs to get his hearing checked, but then notice his sly grin. You shake your head and playfully swat his shoulder. “You’re goofy.”

“You just said you like me,” Steve taunts, looking awfully proud of himself. “So you like goofy.”

“Yeah. I really, really do.” 

Steve hesitates, before bringing a hand up to brush a stray lock of hair out of your face. “Can I kiss you again?” he asks. 

You want to say yes, but there’s a part of your brain that still panics at the thought. A lot has happened in the past seven minutes, and you feel a tad in over your head.

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Steve promises. “We don’t have to rush. Patience is my middle name. Steve ‘Patience’ Harrington.” 

It’s not. It’s Daniel. But instead of reminding him of that fact, you ask, “Can I have a hug instead?” 

“Of course you can,” Steve says, his voice low and fond as he opens his arms for you. The two of you hold each other outside while the party rages on indoors, and it just feels right. 

💋💋💋

Dating Steve is strange at first. You struggle to adjust to the change from friends to more, feeling a little caught off guard with the displays of affection that you aren’t used to.

But Steve never pressures you into anything. He asks every time he wants to hug or kiss you. He even asks if it’s all right to hold your hand. You’re sure that to some other girls, such constant check-ins would be annoying. But for you, it’s a saving grace. You’re able to ease into physical intimacy in a way that feels comfortable to you. It no longer feels like the terrifying beast that you’d been so afraid of for years. Instead, it’s warm and comforting, because you’re with Steve, and he always makes you feel safe. 

However, the metaphorical sword of Damocles has been re-hung, because there’s still something hanging over your head: sex. You and Steve have kissed quite a lot, but that’s about it. He’s true to his word from the Halloween party and makes it clear there’s no rush to do anything more, but sometimes you two will be kissing, and he’ll suddenly pull away and ask if you want to watch a really serious documentary about how paint is mixed, or a sad movie. And then he’ll sit on the opposite side of the sofa from you with a pillow on his lap.

You almost feel bad, like you’re torturing the guy. One day when you try to apologize for still not being ready for that next step, Steve waves away your concerns.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says. “Really. Let me just, uh, go take a cold shower real quick.”

One day in December, after finals week but before the holidays, you two are watching that paint documentary for the fifth time, and you decide that enough’s enough. You trust Steve. (Hell, you might even love him, even if it’s probably too soon to make such a declaration.) If you’re going to have sex with anyone, you want it to be with him.

You broach the subject, rather bluntly, as the credits roll. “Do you want to have sex with me?” 

Steve almost trips and falls on his way to eject the VHS from your VCR. “Huh? What? Sorry, I thought you just said—”

“I asked if you wanted to have sex with me,” you repeat. “Now. Well, not now now. Maybe give me a few minutes to put on a nicer bra or something.” 

Steve frowns. “You’re talking…weirdly.”

“I am not!”

“You are. Using your professional voice. Like this is a business transaction. I don’t want us talking about sex to feel like hashing out a contract.” He pops the VHS back in its case and returns to the sofa, sitting closer to you this time. He covers one of your hands with his, his touch grounding you. “I promise you, I’m okay waiting.” 

“But you shouldn’t have to wait,” you say. And, to your utter embarrassment, you feel tears welling up in your eyes. “If I was normal, we could’ve done it by now.”

“Screw normal,” Steve says. “We’ve fought monsters, Y/N. We’re the furthest from normal on the planet.” He wipes a stray tear off your cheek. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s really all right.” 

Sweetheart. The pet name has you feeling warm all over. But you agree that maybe now’s not the time. Your hands are shaking, and your throat is tight, and as much as you love him, you feel sort of nauseous about being in bed with Steve.

“Whenever you’re really ready,” Steve says, “you’ll know. Trust me.”

You do. More than anyone else on the planet. 

💋💋💋

There’s a blizzard in mid-January. A total white-out that has classes canceled too soon after the semester began. You and Steve are holed up in your apartment, and he’s kissing you on the couch, and when he stops and asks, “Hey, can we watch that documentary again?” in a pained sort of voice, a realization crashes over you like a tsunami wave: 

You’re horny. 

Like, horrendously horny. Very much so. Sure, you’ve felt this way from kissing Steve before, but it feels more visceral now. Like, it won’t be enough this time to go into your room under the guise of studying and touch yourself thinking about your boyfriend.

You shake your head. “No. Steve, I’m ready. Like, actually this time.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Really? You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” you say, before kissing him again.

The two of you clumsily stand, barely coming up for air as you kiss and stumble down the hall. You end up in Steve’s room, and in his bed, in record time.

“Tell me if I do anything you don’t like,” Steve murmurs as he hovers above you, pressing kisses down your jaw and neck. You let out a soft sigh as he moves lower, kissing your sternum and your stomach over your sweater. “Can I take this off?” he asks.

You nod, and he pulls your top off gently. You’re not in a particularly nice bra today—it’s an odd shade of orange that you bought on clearance—but Steve drinks in the sight with hungry eyes.

“You next,” you say, tugging at the hem of his Cartersville U sweatshirt. As soon as it’s off, you feel your heart race. You run a hand over his chest hair and try not to swoon.

“Like what you see?” Steve teases. 

You nod, before pulling him in for another kiss.

Your jeans get tossed next, and then Steve’s. But as his fingers graze the waistband of your panties, you feel it: panic, crawling its way through your mind and body.

Not now, you think, kissing Steve a little harder to try and push the feeling away. Please, no, not now.

Steve’s hand moves a centimeter lower, and you subtly flinch. You don’t even have to ask Steve to stop. He notices, pulls his hand away, and moves so he’s laying on his side next to you.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, before you can apologize. “We can stop.”

You cover your face with your hands, mortified. “I thought I could do it,” you say, voice muffled through your hands. “But there’s something in my messed-up head that just stops me. I trust you. I want this with you so much. But I just hate feeling like I’m out of control.”

Steve’s mind flashes back to that day from last spring semester, when he found you in the library looking at a book on sex. Outside, on the bench, you’d described sex as “giving up control to someone else.” An idea forms in his head.

“If you want to be in control, take it,” Steve says.

You peek out from your hands. “Huh?” 

Steve leans against the headboard and folds his hands on his stomach, above the waistband of his black boxers. “Have your way with me, Y/N,” he says, in a half-teasing voice.

The words send desire coursing through you, from your head to your toes. “Are you serious?” you ask.

Steve nods. “I trust you too,” he says. “And I want this to be comfortable for you. If you want to stop, we can stop. But if you want to keep going…” He trails off, but the message is loud and clear.

You think about it for a moment. Then, you make your way over to him, straddling his lap. You rest your hands on his shoulders, and he places his on your waist. You roll your hips experimentally, punching out a groan from him and a gasp from you. 

“Is that okay?” you ask, breathless.

“More than okay,” Steve says, voice a bit rough. So you repeat the motion again, again, and again. Steve bucks up his hips to meet yours, and you gasp again. 

The two of you move in tandem, bodies pulsing with need, sighs and moans falling from your lips. You kiss Steve again, with a renewed sense of fervor. You feel too good to be afraid.

💋💋💋

Afterward, while you and Steve are curled up in his bed, you feel your eyes start to water. You quickly wipe the tears away, but Steve notices. His blissful expression is replaced with a furrowed brow and a frown. “What‘s wrong? Are you all right?”

He relaxes when your face splits into a smile. “More than all right. I’m happier than I’ve been in a long, long time.”

You wrap your arms around him for a tight hug. He returns the embrace, pressing a kiss to the crown of your hair.

There’s so much you want to say. You want to tell Steve how you never thought you could have this kind of intimacy with anyone. You want to thank him for being so kind and attentive, and for letting you take the lead. You want to kiss him some more, for hours. 

You want to explain that something has shifted inside you, and your body feels like your own again for the first time in a long time. 

But instead of saying all that, you hold your boyfriend close, feeling the heaviness you've carried for years loosen its grip with every passing second.

💋💋💋

a/n: please lmk what you thought <3

[fruifruit]

if the sinclairs have no fans im dead

[roanofarcc]

I KNEW IT, I KNEW YOU

pairing. peter parker x reader

summary. you feel haunted by a stranger, a fuzzy gap in your memory that made no sense. but magic has a funny loophole when it comes to these kinds of thing.

warnings. inaccurate loopholes in stranger’s spell. based off taylor swift’s new song: I knew It, I Knew You. not proofread

word count. 1.5k | masterlist (requests open!)

a/n. entering spider-man mode

You weren't solving a crime. Yet, if anyone got their hands on your notebook, they'd think the opposite. Contained in the lined pages was an elaborate assortment of fragmented dreams, crude sketches, and information written with little care for organization or grammar. It was a strange collection that you'd been piecing together for about six months.

You were missing something. And you knew how strange it sounded. How could you miss something, someone, you had so little memory of? For all you know, the person you were missing was nothing more than some stranger you passed on the street who, for some reason, clung to your brain and threatened to drive you crazy. The more you tried to rationalize it, the crazier it sounded to you.

You knew someone and had forgotten them; that was what you were going with. It was the only thing that made sense! And it didn't even make much of it. But there was a fuzzy space in your memories that reached out with desperate hands, like it wanted so badly to reach you, but wasn't close enough.

Maybe you had hit your head and couldn't recall, and that knocked whoever it was right out of your brain. Maybe whoever it was was a mere figment of your imagination, and you needed to see a doctor. But doctors were expensive, and you had too many pieces for it to be nothing.

You had initials, which you were fairly confident in: P.P. A Midtown sweatshirt you didn't buy, nor did your friends loan you that appeared in your backpack one day. And a list of memories that didn't feel right when you recalled them.

Obviously, that wasn't much to go off of, but you knew the fuzzy image of a stranger in your dreams and the twist in your gut when you gazed at the high school sweatshirt that something was right.

"Do you believe in magic, Spiderman?" you asked the red-and-blue-clad figure as he landed on the rooftop with a graceful thud.

He looked at you for a moment, quiet and still. "Uh, I mean, yeah. Kind of hard not to with..." He vaguely gestured around with his hands. Superpowers and magic seemed to go almost hand-in-hand, even if the said superpower wasn't brought on by magic. The disbanded Avengers had their own set of magical folks, mixed with the more science-y ones. They came together for the same purpose, until they didn't anymore.

"Okay," you said, kicking your legs against the edge of the building you sat on. The city was alive underneath you, lights stretched out as far as your eyes could see. There was something peaceful about the constant noise, a lullaby you grew up with. "Do you believe in coincidences?"

Spiderman scratched the back of his neck before he shrugged. "I guess so."

You narrowed your gaze at the superhero, and he seemed to shrink back slightly. You knew you weren't intimidating him, not when he could swing around the city and knock out bad guys with seemingly little effort. So what was it? If he didn't like you, he would have found another rooftop- there were plenty. Yet, night after night, he joined you.

"I don't think I do," you answered, swinging your legs around from dangling off the ledge to planted firmly on the rooftop's ground.

"What'd you mean?" he asked, voice steady, but you saw his fingers anxiously tap against the roof's ledge.

You chewed down on your lip and turned your gaze away from the masked hero. "If I tell you, you might think I'm crazy."

He stepped closer beside you, his own gaze fixed out on the city too. "Hard to seem crazy talking to a dude dressed in spandex."

That brought a laugh out of you.

"Okay," you started. "I think...you, Spiderman, are a part of this really confusing puzzle in my head. There are so many pieces, but the more I think about it and try to put them together, I circle back to you." Spiderman was silent. You swore you couldn't even hear him breathing as you paused.

Your courage was waning. Before you lost it, you reached into your discarded backpack and pulled out the well-worn high school sweatshirt. Spiderman was watching you closely as you held it up.

"Does this mean anything to you?" you asked him.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, t-that's a high school, right?"

You felt your heart sink slightly as you nodded.

Then, he spoke again. "I went there."

Your head snapped up, eye widening. "You went there? When?"

He hesitated, like the words were having a hard time forming in his throat. "Same time as you."

Something between shock and triumph ran through you. Under your breath, you whispered, "I knew it." Maybe not exactly, but you had a hunch. There was something terribly familiar about Spiderman that you couldn't put your finger on. It kept you up at night after your rooftop conversations. Something in his voice nagged you, pulling on a severed thread somewhere in the back of your mind.

"Did I know you? In school."

He sucked in a breath. "Y-You did. Until you didn't."

Confused, you clutched the sweatshirt to your chest. There was something about the hunk of fabric that brought you comfort in a way you couldn't explain.

"I don't forget people easily," you replied.

A sad sort of laugh left his mouth, slightly muffled behind his mask as he shook his head. "You didn't have much of a choice."

"Did I hit my head?" you asked. "That's my running theory."

He shook his head once more, more definite that time. "No." Spiderman turned his gaze toward the sky, too polluted with light to see the stars. He seemed to be thinking hard for several seconds, leaving you standing, hugging the sweatshirt as confusion swirled around your brain.

"Magic. It was magic."

"Magic?" you repeated. "Magic made me...forget you?"

"I guess not entirely."

You blinked, thinking back on the fuzzy figure that haunted your memories. It was like your brain was battling against something...magic, maybe? Your brain wanted to uncloud your memories, but it kept being stopped by something.

"I knew you," you whispered more to yourself. "Without the mask."

Spiderman nodded slowly. He looked around the rooftop before he reached for the back of his neck and stopped.

You swallowed thickly. "You can trust me," you rushed out, feeling your heart start to race.

"I know," he replied, with no hesitation, like he had said those words before. "I-It's not that. It's...I don't know how much you'll remember."

Neither did you.

Spiderman sucked in a breath and tugged on the back of his mask before he pulled it up and off. You held your breath as you watched.

Under the mask, he was around your age, with a pale complexion in the moonlight and soft brown eyes. There was a tenseness in his jaw and a slight furrow in his brows as he slowly lifted his gaze to look at you.

There was a tickle in the back of your mind, like when you start to recall something you once forgot. It was like there had been an itch constantly annoying you in your brain, impossible to scratch. But as you took a step closer to Spiderman, studying the expanse of his face, you felt the itch start to dissipate.

You're not sure what compelled you, exactly. You didn't feel fully in control of your actions as you stepped closer. With a shaky hand, you reached up and carefully brushed your fingers against his cheek.

Something akin to a bolt of electricity ran through your body. You jerked back as a bubble of pain popped inside your head. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your fingers against your temples for a moment as your brain was flooded. A dam had broken loose. The fuzzy images and confusing gaps in what felt like precious memories filled themselves out with each intense wave.

You didn't feel yourself fall back to the ground.

Freshman year. An empty lunch table. Star Wars nerds. Washington DC. The Decathlon Team. Chemistry. Homecoming. Iron Man. Tutoring sessions. Aunt May. Coffee dates. A spaceship. Thanos. Venice. Mysterio. A promise. A kiss. A way home. A leaked identity. More Spidermen. Too many villains. Dr. Strange. An "I'll find you." A spell.

Peter Parker.

A gasp left your lips as you opened your eyes to see a maskless Spiderman kneeling beside you. His expression was drenched in worry, his suit-clad hand hovering over your shoulder, like he was scared to touch you.

You all but launched yourself at him, practically tackling him in a hug that caught him off guard and sent you both crashing against the rooftop.

"Peter," you cried into his shoulder, holding onto him so tight you were only a little worried about squeezing the life right out of him.

He sputtered in response, until his brain caught up with his mouth. "Y-You remember?"

You pulled back just enough to see his face. He looked a little older, a little sadder. But the Peter Parker you knew and loved still twinkled in his eyes, even if it was behind a kind of haze.

"I remember," you replied, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his. His arms tightened around your waist as he let out a breath of his own relief.

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE → CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX: BOYS DON’T CRY

summary: steve harrington x lab!oc. series rewrite-ish | read on Ao3

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 4k || masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. season 5 will stray the furthest from canon events!

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Tagged list: @sattlersquarry, @leptitlu, @adaydreamaway30, @excelciorst, @mysticmoon-0107, @emforjin, @hipsternerd9, @isleofmisfitvoldsoy

The Crawl started later than usual. 

Sunshine sat in the basement of the radio station with a babbling Anne on her thigh as she listened alongside Joyce for Hopper’s confirmation that he had made it safely into the Upside Down. They both had their attention fixed on the radio on the table, but Joyce was too anxious to sit in the empty seat behind her. 

Steve, Dustin, and Jonathan took the station’s van to track Hopper on their side as he moved through the Upside Down. 

The rest of the party, along with Kali and Eddie, gathered around the whiteboard. The kids quietly chatted amongst themselves and got ready to note anything odd Hopper reported back. 

Sunshine turned her attention onto the kids, feeling the lingering tension between them following Luke, El, and Will’s trip into the Void and their encounter with Vecna. Will had taken a similar posture to Luke; his body curled into itself as if he was scared of anyone venturing too close. 

After his possession, they believed Will’s ties to the Mind Flayer had been severed. That, however, proved to be untrue the following summer when Will felt its presence regain strength as the Gate was reopened. Then, after their battle against the solid form of the Mind Flayer at Starcourt, they hoped the monster was done and gone for good. But nothing could ever be that simple, not for them, at least. A piece of the Mind Flayer had infected Henry Creel long before it got its hands on Will. That piece of the Mind Flayer was very much alive inside of the man-turned monster, and a piece of it still lingered inside of Will too. It was those two pieces that connected Will to Vecna, both of them having been infected by it. 

Mike called what happened to Will inside the Void ‘hijacking.’ Will’s mind had been momentarily hijacked by Vecna, allowing the monster to control him. Why Vecna used Will to go after Luke specifically, no one was sure of. El had more history with both the Mind Flayer and Henry, but Luke had posited that it was because El was the harder target. If Vecna had been recovering after their fight over a year ago, that would make sense. 

Will was clearly terrified of getting hijacked outside of the Void and hurting someone else. He was so gentle, too kind for all that he’d been through. The weight of hurting Luke was heavy on his shoulders. Yet, his friends kept him from crumbling. They showed through their actions that they weren’t scared of Will. They wanted to help him. They needed to. Finding Vecna before he found them again was the only way they knew how to do that. 

But the monster, even after finally showing his face after over a year, was still elusive. They hoped that Crawl would bring them closer, but it was so uncertain; everything was so uncertain. 

“The Old Man is en route!” said Robin over the radio. She and Tamera were on lookout duty that night, a task usually done by Lucas and Mike, but the two wanted to stay close to Will that night, so the girls volunteered for the job. They watched from the top of the church's bell tower, which gave the perfect view into the military base, for Hopper to sneak into one of the cargo trucks for a ride into the Upside Down. 

Over Sunshine’s shoulder, Nancy tapped her foot against the concrete floor repeatedly as her eyes were glued to her watch. She knew, down to the second, the amount of time it took for one of the cargo trucks to pass through the Gate hidden behind the walls of the base, and to travel the route to what they recently figured out was to the Upside Down base. Hopper would jump out of the truck not long after passing through the Gate and trek to the section he was set to search during that Crawl. 

According to the information that Murray was able to, somehow, get his hands on, the delivery of supplies would take an hour. That gave Hopper just enough time to search the next square on their map for any sign of Vecna. 

A couple of minutes passed before Dustin’s voice sounded from the radio. 

“We got him. Headed west now. Over.” 

Everyone let out a collective breath of relief. Sunshine glanced down at Anne, whose gaze flickered around the room in curiosity. 

“Now we wait,” Nancy said more to herself than anyone. She pulled up a chair on the other side of Sunshine and sat, drawing Anne’s attention. Nancy greeted her with a small smile and wave. “Someone’s up late.” 

Sunshine sighed. “Someone doesn’t like to be left out of all the excitement.” Anne refused to sleep when the basement was full of people. It was like she knew something was going on and she didn’t want to miss out. Even when Sunshine or anyone tried to get her to go to sleep upstairs, in the dark and quiet, Anne fussed until she was back in the action. Sunshine supposed it was a good thing she liked being around people, but she could see the little girl fighting off sleep with each passing minute. 

“Holly used to be like that,” Nancy said. “She still can be, sometimes.” A small frown formed on her lips, and she shook her head. “I thought all of this would be over before she was old enough to ask questions about what is wrong with this place.” 

Sunshine shifted in her seat, facing Nancy. “She’s asking questions?” 

“How could she now?” Nancy replied, a humorless laugh punctuating her sentence. “She rides her bike to school every morning with Will and Mike, past a military base where the library used to be. She asked to go to our aunt’s house on Lake Michigan for her birthday this year, but our mom had to explain why we aren’t allowed to leave town yet.” She paused and lowered her voice so only Sunshine could hear her. “Her room is between Mike’s and mine. How do you explain to your little sister why you and your brother wake up screaming sometimes?” 

Sunshine’s heart ached as she took in the sadness in her friend’s face. Using her free hand, not holding Anne, and grasped Nancy’s and squeezed it in what little reassurance she could offer. “You can’t,” she said. “But you’re doing everything you can to protect her so she doesn’t do the same. That’s something, Nancy.” 

With a tired sigh, Nancy leaned sideways into Sunshine, resting her head on the girl’s shoulder. “I wish I could have protected Mike from it.” 

“You’re trying to keep him safe now. You’ve been trying since this whole thing started.” 

“It wasn’t enough.” 

Sunshine rested her head against Nancy’s. “It has to be,” she said. “It’s hard protecting the people we love, especially when they want to protect you and their friends just as badly.” 

Nancy just hummed in response. There wasn’t much else to say. They all were in an impossible space, trying so hard to save the people they loved, with no real guarantee it’ll work. 

“Shit!” A loud hiss startled Sunshine upright. From across the room, Leia nearly tripped over her shoes as she moved toward the desk. A box of tissues sat on the corner, and Leia hastily grabbed a handful. A small drop of blood stained the front of her white shirt. 

“Are you okay?” Sunshine asked her sister. Leia nodded as she pressed the tissue against her nose. 

“Did you just use your powers?” asked Nancy. 

Leia hesitated before she nodded again. “Mike, uh, startled me. I slipped for a second.” 

‘Slipped’, as in lost brief control of her abilities. But Sunshine hadn’t noticed the lights flicker or the radio crackle with static, which was often a result of Leia using her abilities, accidentally or intentionally. Maybe Sunshine just missed it. 

Wiping the last bit of blood from her nose, Leia tossed the tissue into the waste basket and hurried back to the kids without another word. 

Sunshine’s attention was pulled onto Anne as she let out a whinny cry. “Well, if you didn’t fight sleep so hard, we wouldn’t be crying, now, would we?” she said as she stood up from her seat and headed upstairs with the hope of finally getting Anne to sleep for the night. 

The Crawl had been a success in terms of a smooth entrance and exit for Hopper, but he cleared another square of their map without finding anything. 

About halfway through the Crawl, Sunshine got Anne to fall asleep and eventually returned her to her crib after the basement cleared out. 

Steve stayed behind after returning, and he and Sunshine enjoyed a rare moment alone on the rooftop. 

The night had long settled in, and the chill of fall was making itself at home. Sunshine had changed into a set of pajamas that Steve had brought from her house. Her mom had packed her a bag, complete with a container of cookies and another letter. They’d been exchanging letters since Sunshine’s return, which mostly consisted of her reassuring her parents that she was alright. 

The soft t-shirt she wore didn’t exactly protect her from the dropping temperatures, but she was too comfortable with her head resting in Steve’s lap to get up. An involuntary shiver ran through her, which he noticed immediately; Steve had been keeping a close eye on her since she returned. He shrugged off his zip-up and placed it over her like a blanket. 

She gazed up at him, his hair gently getting messy by the breeze and his features more relaxed than usual. “Now you’re going to be cold,” she said. 

He shook his head, lifting his chin to the starry sky like he was taking in the cool weather happily. “Nah. I’m not the one shivering.” 

The scene felt normal. So normal that Sunshine almost felt like she hadn’t been gone. It was in moments like that one where she could almost forget. But then she became very aware that she couldn’t feel the tickle of hair on the back of her neck, and phantom pain crept through her bones. The memories were like greedy hands, eager to take hold of her and drag her right back under water. 

A soft sigh fell from her lips before she could stop it. 

“What’s on your mind, my Sunshine?” asked Steve, his voice impossibly soft. She wanted to melt into him. 

“I just wish I felt more like myself. I think I could do more if I did.” 

Steve brought his hand to the side of her face, holding her with a gentle touch. “You don’t need to do any more than you already are,” he said. “No one expects more from you.” 

“I know. But I do.” 

He was quiet for a moment; his face pinched in deep thought. He moved his hand from her face and patted her shoulder, prompting her to sit up. Sunshine watched him with a curious gaze as he grabbed a bag of candy they had brought to the roof to snack on. He pulled off the zip tie that kept the bag closed, and with a look of intense concentration, he twisted it into a loop before he held it up. 

“What’s that?” 

“A promise,” he said simply. “After this is all over, and there’s no more evil governments after us or mind-screwing monsters, you, Sunshine, will never feel like the whole world is on your shoulders. That’s my promise to you.” 

Tears welled up in her golden eyes. She wasn’t sure that was really something he could promise, but the sincerity on his face and in his voice gave her no choice but to believe him. She chuckled wetly as she gazed at him with all the love in her heart. 

“That’s a big promise.” 

“Yeah, well, if there’s anyone who deserves a big promise, it’s you.” He shrugged, like what he was saying was so casual, so easy. “You have me, Sunshine. Forever. If you want me.” 

Sunshine was quick to throw her arms around him, and he wasted no time embracing her back. He held her with both a gentleness and a fierceness, like he wasn’t going to let someone take her again. Sunshine felt safe with him; she always had, even in the most dire of situations. And he saw her, really saw her, not as some marvel of science, but a marvel of a girl who loved him. 

“I want you forever, Steve,” she whispered into his shoulder. 

“Whew,” he breathed out before he laughed, almost nervously. 

He leaned back with a smile that was contagious. With the zip tie still pinched between his fingers, he held it out to her. “What do you say? If the world doesn’t end here soon, want to marry me?” 

Sunshine couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled past her lips, something so young and sweet. They really were just two kids, nearing the end of the teenage years with far too much baggage. And while Sunshine had spent most of her childhood not feeling like a kid, with Steve, it came back to her. Around him, she was that little girl running wild and free, not scared of what lurked in the woods or hid in the treetops. No, with him, she was the little girl who climbed the branches toward the sky and picked wildflowers. She wanted to feel like that forever, and with him, she would. 

“Of course I do.” 

He beamed brighter than the moon overhead and slipped the zip tie ring onto her left hand’s ring finger. It was an odd shape and silly; it was perfect. 

“If my mom knew I just proposed to you with a zip tie, she’d kill me,” he joked. “I promise, I’ll find you a real ring, something almost as pretty as you.” He leaned forward, still holding her hand, and pressed a kiss to her nose. 

With a shake of her head, Sunshine grasped the sides of his face and kissed his lips under the twinkle of stars that seemed to push their way out from behind the cloud cover just for them. 

Sunshine could have fallen asleep on the roof, lying with her head on Steve’s chest and his hand tracing patterns on her back. The rhythmic thump of his heart lulled her eyes to a close, but as the early hours of the morning neared, they knew they needed to get some actual sleep somewhere a little more comfortable. 

They stood to their feet and readied to head back inside. The night had grown even colder. Sunshine had slipped her arms into Steve’s zip-up and went to keep her hands warm in the pockets, but she touched something inside the right pocket. 

She pulled out what she thought was just a piece of trash, a crumpled-up napkin. But before she could shove it back into the pocket, she noticed smudges of red that stained the napkin. 

Steve paused at the door to the roof and made a face when he saw what she was looking at. “Oh, gross. Sorry,” he said. “Dustin’s nose started bleeding on our Crawl tonight, and I knew if I left the trash behind, I’d get an earful from Robin. I meant to throw that away.” 

“Dustin got a bloody nose?” Sunshine said, unable to hide the rush of panic from flooding her face. 

“He said it’s from when those assholes roughed him, Lucas, and Mike up,” Steve said, attempting to ease her growing worry. 

She glanced back down at the napkin dotted with blood. “He’s sure?” 

Steve nodded. “He sounded pretty sure, yeah.” He held out his hand, and she passed off the napkin. “Don’t worry, I’m keepin’ an eye on him. I promise." 

With a nod, she followed him back inside the radio station. 

[...]

Mike tried not to roll his eyes as he lifted a full bag of garbage from the trashcan, but it was a reflex he couldn’t help. His dad made some dry comment about him finally helping out around the house. The chores around the house had doubled since the Byers started crashing with them, but Mike didn’t mind that part. What he hated was how his dad liked to act like he did nothing to help because he forgot to take the trash out a couple times. God forbid it slipped his mind between school and trying to stop some fucking monster from ending their world. 

If the Byers weren’t there, Mike probably would have shot back with some shitty comment that got him sent to his room, or one of those looks from his mom that made his stomach hurt with guilt. But Joyce was helping Karen wash dishes, and both women were actually smiling as they chatted. Jonathan was teasing Nancy about her choice of movie that she had picked out from their subpar collection, and they both looked a little less tense than they had in a while. And Will was pretty enthusiastically helping Holly draw her very own D&D character. 

Mike had coined the name for her character one night when he and Will were doing homework downstairs, and Holly came down to annoy them. Instead of telling her to get out, Will started asking her about school, which led to Holly excitedly talking about some made-up game her and her friends played at recess. Will said she and her friends would probably like D&D once it stopped being basically outlawed and deemed ‘satanic.’ 

Holly insisted on coming up with her own character, and Mike gave in to join the conversation. After some back and forth, they settled on Mike’s name suggestion of Holly the Heroic. He promised to paint her a figurine after she drew out what she wanted. 

It was weird, but the extra three people brought a sense of peace to the Wheelers’ household; chaotic peace, if that was even a thing. It was enough to make Mike not bitch back to his dad. Instead, he started to haul the garbage toward the garage. 

Outside, it was as if summer had stepped over the edge of a cliff, sending the temperatures plummeting. The concrete floor of the garage was cool against Mike’s bare feet as he stepped through the side door of the garage to where the bins sat beside the house. 

The wind had picked up too, causing the lid of the bin to smack against the siding of the garage after he lifted it. Mike cringed at the noise before he tossed the bag inside and closed the lid. 

Before he stepped back into the garage, he heard his name being called around the side of the home and toward the driveway. 

Despite his lack of shoes and jacket, he followed the noise. 

“Will?” he called out, spotting his friend in the middle of the driveway with his back to Mike. “What’re you doing?” When Will didn’t respond, a shiver ran down his spine, and not because of the cool air. 

Since the trip to the Void with El, Luke, and Will, Mike had been on edge, along with everyone else. He’d been watching Will closely, worried that something would happen to him. 

What if Vecna got a hold of Will again and made him do something Will would never even think about? What if the monster cursed Will like he had Max? What if…?

There were too many ‘what ifs’ that swirled around Mike’s head that he didn’t want to think about. 

He called Will’s name again as he started to walk down the driveway toward him. He only managed to take a couple of steps before Will broke out running. Confusion halted Mike’s movements for a second before he took off after him. 

The asphalt stung the bottoms of the bare feet as he followed Will down the road, but he didn’t slow. It wasn’t until Will reached the end of the road, a couple of houses down from the Wheeler’s, did Will finally stopped, allowing Mike to catch up. 

“Will?” Mike called out again, but when Will didn’t respond, he closed the short distance between them and grasped Will’s shoulder. 

However, the second Mike’s fingers grazed the fabric of Will’s shirt, he finally turned around. 

Mike’s eyes went wide as he stumbled backwards. The person in front of him wasn’t the Will he knew then, but rather the Will he had once known. The Will in front of him was shorter and skinnier. His eyes and cheeks were sunken in, almost like he was hollow inside. Blood and dirt were smeared against his pale skin, and he had his hands clenched in tight fists at his sides. 

Will’s cracked and bloodied lips parted before he spoke in a higher-pitched and sadder voice. “It got me.” 

Inside his chest, Mike’s heart thundered, and nausea rose in his throat. “T-This isn’t real,” he whispered. He had left his backpack discarded on his bedroom floor, where he kept his Walkman in case something exactly like what was happening happened. They all kept them close, but Mike hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t gotten a bloody nose or nightmares any more intense than the ones he’d had since he was twelve. His head only hurt when he listened to the kids in his classes ask stupid questions or when his dad tried to talk to him about golf. Had he missed something? 

The younger version of Will frowned and tilted his head to the side as he peered upward at Mike. “It was real for me,” he said, his voice growing bitter with each word he said. “Did you even care, Mike?” 

“What?” he sputtered, feeling hot and cold at the same time. He knew he was being screwed with, but it felt so real. So, so real. “Of course I cared.” 

Will was silent for an excruciating moment before he took a step toward Mike. “Do you still?” 

Before Mike could respond, Will’s appearance shifted before his eyes. Instead of the younger version of Will, Mike was staring at the current version of Will, taller and not as ghostly. Still, there was something unsettling about that Will, the way his gaze was sharp, like all of the softness that made up Will had been taken out. 

“Of course I do,” Mike said after a beat, finding his voice, even if it was shaky. He tried to reach out to Will again, to see if he was real, but Will jerked backward as Mike had slapped him. His face was suddenly painted with hurt, a look that made Mike feel sick.

Then, Will shook his head, eyes glassy. “You’re scared.” 

Of monsters. Of the world ending. Of himself. 

Mike’s eyes gathered with tears too, mirroring Will’s expression. He wanted to shake his head, tell Will he was wrong, but Mike felt stuck. He was scared. 

Taking another step back, Will sighed. He turned back around, and Mike suddenly snapped out of his frozen state. He lurched forward toward Will, trying to grab him before he walked away again. But instead of grabbing Will’s shoulder, Mike’s hand went right through him. He was thrown off balance and fell forward, catching himself with his hands as he fell against the road. A sharp sting spread across his palms as the skin was peeled back. That feeling, however, came second to the sting that spread through his chest. A cry broke through his lips so sudden and sharp it startled even him. 

Then, the sudden feeling of a hand on his back caused him to scream. The hand didn’t move, though. Shook his shoulder. He blinked, and the empty road in front of him was replaced by the concerned expression of Nancy. He grabbed her forearms, ensuring that she was solid and real. Once he was only somewhat sure of that, he fell forward into her, burying his head in her chest as he continued to cry. 

“Oh, Mike,” she said softly, holding onto him tightly. 

He flinched as something was slipped over his ears, but his body relaxed slightly when he realized it was a pair of headphones. Music flooded through his head. 

I would say I’m sorry

If I thought that it would 

Change your mind…

[roanofarcc]

I found your Ghosts fics recently and I really adore your series of the ghostbride and Trevor (is it ongoing it by the way? I would so love to see more <3) so I clicked on your profile to come and tell you and imagine my surprise to find YOU'RE THE PROJECT SUNSHINE AUTHOR TOO??? I've been following project sunshine on ao3 for SO LONG dude this is such a crazy crossover for me LMAO

omg hi!! that’s so funny it’s like universes colliding

tbh I’ve fallen off of ghosts but I did really love writing for it. I’d probably be down to continue, but I haven’t seen the latest season or 2 so I can’t promise perfect canon accuracy. however, trevor and the ghost bride are very beloved to me so I may have to revisit them!!

[roanofarcc]

BABYDOLL. CHAPTER FIFTY: A PIRATE'S LIFE

jj maybank x fem!routledge OC -- FIX-IT FIC // read on Ao3

In which a boy with zero self preservation falls in love with a girl clawing at life.

chapter summary. the quest of el dorado comes to an end and is not the only thing laid to rest. a return to the OBX marks a new beginning for the pogues

a/n. and this concludes season 3! onwards to season 4, where this story will diverge from the canon plot...a lot

word count 3k || masterlist

previous chapter < > next chapter

The boat half they had ditched, hidden on the riverbank, was still there after their slow but rushed hike. The twins had kept their dad on his feet for the whole trip, while he focused on the path ahead and kept pressure on his bleeding wound. Any scattered conversation between the group was lost on Lottie. All she could focus on was getting her dad somewhere safer where they could patch him up, then get everyone the hell home. Her body had worked on auto pilot while her mind tried to block out every horrible way their day could end. 

She felt only a bit of relief when they got their dad into the boat. She dumped out the contents of her bag and started rummaging through the first-aid supplies she had packed. Big John’s breathing only grew more labored by the minute. A layer of sweat covered his face, and his hand was completely coated in blood from the gunshot wound that covered it tightly. 

With the help of Pope, he and Lottie cleaned the still bleeding wound as best as they could before wrapping it. Big John groaned in pain with even the slightest touch, but he stayed still, eyes screwed shut until they were done. There was only so much they could do; he needed a hospital. 

According to John B. and Sarah, he’d been with the injury for hours. He had lost a lot of blood, more than Lottie wanted to even think about. His skin was cool to the touch and waxy. 

Her own hands were covered in blood by the time she leaned back with nothing more to fix. She couldn’t even find it herself to wipe them off. She just stared at her dad as his expression relaxed just slightly after shifting positions, his head in John B.’s lap. 

“Hey, Dad, you’re all right,” he said quietly. “Just hang in there.” 

With his eyes still closed, Big John cracked a small but pained smile. “We did it, my boy,” he rasped out. He lifted his hand from his side and grasped at the air. “Where’s Char?” 

Lottie leaned forward on her knees and took her dad’s bloodied hand in her own, squeezing it gently. “I’m right here.” Tears had lined her eyes since they started hiking, but she kept herself in check and focused. But she finally let them fall, rolling down her sunburnt cheeks. 

He turned his head just slightly and peeled open his eyes to look at her. “I’m sorry.” 

She was quick to shake her head. “Don’t. Don’t do that, okay? You…you’re gonna be fine, and when we get back home, we can start over. For real this time. Hell, m-maybe we’ll find another treasure to hunt, huh?” 

He weakly squeezed her hand back. “My girl,” he whispered, lips twitching upwards in a ghost of a smile. “I spent my whole life lookin’ for treasures. Now, I found El Dorado. But I was so…so focused on that treasure, I missed the one right in front of me.” 

He broke out in a short coughing fit, his body tensing in pain before he relaxed once more. “It was you, Char. You were my treasure, too. Wish it didn’t take me so damn long to see that.” 

As he kept his hold on Lottie’s hand, he grabbed John B.’s with his other hand and brought them both to rest on top of his chest. “I wish I had been a better father to both of ‘ya.” 

The twins both shook their heads, matching tear streaks down their faces. 

“I made you two promise me you’d look after each other,” their dad continued, his voice growing weaker. “I need ya’ to keep that promise still, you hear me? You are the best damn kids I could’ve asked for. And I…” he trailed off, sucking in a shuddered breath. 

John B.’s chin trembled as he said, “You can tell us when we get home.” 

A bag rested at John B.’s side. He reached inside and pulled out a piece of El Dorado, a piece of the treasure they actually found despite all of the odds. And a place that would never be found again, as the explosion they heard earlier was the entrance collapsing, along with Singh and his empire. The gold glittered in the sunlight as John B. placed it on their dad’s chest and placed the man’s hand over it.

“You did it,” said John. 

Big John seemed to relax even more, as the pain in his body had subsided. “I’ll see you kids at home,” he said in a mere whisper before his eyes slipped shut. 

Panic squeezed Lottie, tensing her muscles as she leaned over her dad. “No,” she rushed out, her fingers curling around the fabric of her dad’s shirt. “No, no, no. Dad, come on. W-We’re going home!” 

There was no movement; his chest had stopped rising and falling, and his hands fell limp around the piece of gold that completed his life’s adventure. 

John B. had tipped forward, his forehead resting against their dad’s as his shoulders shook. 

Lottie felt her heart crack in the same place it had before when she believed her dad to be dead, but this time it was definite. There was no mystery. No ‘what if?’ Their dad was gone, really gone. 

A  sob bubbled up from her throat, loud and heartbroken. A pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly as the world blurred into a fiery sunset reflected over the river as they continued on. 

They’d leave two bodies behind in South America. Near a big, beautiful tree that looked a little similar to the one in the backyard of the Chateau, they carved a headstone for Big John, and Sarah built a cross out of sticks for her dad. 

For several tearful moments, they stood in silence around the two graves. 

Lottie had mourned her dad once already. It had been something sad, but bitter too. And that bitterness had settled like a rock in her stomach for months. Mourning him a second time was void of the bitterness, making it only sadder. At the end of it all, he had loved her as any dad should. Maybe he hadn’t been good at showing it; maybe he should have tried harder to separate her from her mom in his mind. There were many maybes, but he loved her and John B., and that was what she’d remember above everything. 

She wished they had gotten a real second chance to be a family, but it hadn’t been in the cards for the three Routledges. 

However, as Lottie spared a glance at the group of people around her, her friends, she still had a family. Maybe it was an unconventional one, a terribly messy one, but that was her great treasure. And she had no plan of letting anyone take that from her too. 

18 MONTHS LATER

From down the hall, Lottie heard a voice ask, “How about this?” before JJ appeared at the doorway. He was dressed in a nice pair of slacks and a leather jacket that still had the tag on it. He looked a little unsure of himself, in a pair of new shoes and socks without holes worn in the heels. His hair was also freshly cut, making him look ridiculously good-looking. 

Lottie moved to stand in front of him and pulled the tag off his jacket before tossing it into the bin. A smile formed on her lips as she looked him over with a low whistle. “You clean up nice, Jay.” 

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t conceal the blush that tinted his cheeks. “I don’t do ‘dressed-up,’ okay? Be honest with me. Do I look ridiculous?” He stepped around her and looked at himself in the mirror, fiddling with his hair and adjusting his button-down. 

“You look so handsome it hurts.” She dramatically placed a hand over her heart and doubled over. “How will I cope?” He shot her an exasperated look, and she broke out into laughter. “I’m serious! You look great. And if you didn’t, you think Sarah would let you out of the house?” 

JJ let out a huff but seemed to relax slightly, turning around to rest his lower back against the sink counter. His attention became swept up in her as she finished up her makeup. 

During their shopping trip for what Pope referred to as ‘respectable people’ outfits, Lottie had fallen in love with a turquoise dress that stopped just above her knees, and had some with the cutest seashell belt that sat high around her waist. For the day, she had taken off her waterproof watch, but kept the frayed bracelet JJ had given her after beating him in a shotgun contest. It didn’t quite match, but she didn’t care. The bracelet never came off her wrist, and she fully intended on wearing it until it broke; then she beat him in another shotgun competition and take his other one. 

Sarah had been able to get back into Tannyhill with Rafe MIA and brought a whole duffle bag full of shoes for the girls to choose. Lottie had claimed a strappy white wedge, and loved them so much she’d probably try to wear them with any outfit she put on from then onward, even if it looked ridiculous. 

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” JJ said after a beat, earning an eyebrow raise from Lottie. 

“You really know how to charm a girl.” 

He smiled and gently grabbed her hips, making her turn away just slightly from the mirror. She still had the mascara wand in her grasp as he kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Better?” 

She hummed in response and closed the mascara before she wound her arms around his neck. Still with a grin, he bent down just slightly and pressed a kiss to her pink-glossed lips. 

Lottie could have stayed just like that forever, but she had forgotten that the bathroom door was still open, inviting interruption. 

“Hey, Lot? Have you seen my-” 

Both Lottie and JJ jumped at the sudden intrusion and pulled apart once they spotted John B. slack-jawed in the doorway. He was midway through buttoning up his shirt, but had stopped as his eyes flickered between the two of them, wide and borderline mortified. 

“What the hell is happening?!” 

JJ let out a quiet, “Oh, man.” He cleared his throat and dropped his hands from Lottie’s waist, holding them up like he’d been caught in the middle of a crime. “I knew there was something we forgot to do.” 

With a wince, Lottie turned toward her brother with an innocent expression on her face. “We can explain-” 

“Explain?” John B. shot a look at JJ. “Why are you kissing my sister, dude?!” 

“Yeah, about that…” He pointed to John B. “Your sister.” Then he pointed to himself. “My girlfriend.” 

John B. looked like this brain had short-circuited for a moment. He just stared at them before he nodded slowly. Lottie thought he was going to be cool about it. But then he said, in a calm voice, “I’m going to kill you, JJ.” 

JJ laughed. “Ah, man. Come on…” he trailed off before bolting straight past John B. and down the hall. John B. let out a string of loud curses as he started chasing after his best friend. 

With a sigh, Lottie shook her head. She debated following after the two. John B. wouldn’t actually kill JJ, but she wasn’t exactly sure what he’d do. 

“Your brother finally found out?” Into the bathroom stepped Sarah, a hint of amusement on her face. 

Lottie nodded. “I didn’t mean to rip the bandage off like that.” 

Sarah shrugged, leaning her hip against the doorframe. She had found a pretty satin top in her favorite color, pink, and a matching long skirt. The pair of heels she wore made her stand a little taller than Lottie. 

“He’ll get over it. It’s not like you and JJ didn’t half act like a couple before you started dating,” said Sarah. “And you two haven’t exactly been subtle since you started.” 

“Exactly!” Lottie huffed out. “I honestly thought he had just figured it out. Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything inside that head of his.” Sarah laughed lightly. 

More voices sounded from down the hall, followed by the door outside opening and closing. The others must’ve followed the boys' “fight” outside. Sarah nodded her head toward the hall. “Come on, let’s make sure no one wrinkles their shirt before we shove it in the faces of everyone on the island that we’re real, honest-to-God, treasure hunters.” 

After they returned from South America, somber with a backpack full of gold. The Pogues went straight to Mr. Sunn. They told him their insane story of discovering El Dorado and showed him the gold to prove it, as he really was the only person they trusted with that information off the bat. Mr. Sunn nearly passed out, but after his shock passed, he promised to make all of the necessary arrangements with the people he knew and trusted. 

And eighteen months later, Kildare was hosting a banquet in the Pogues' honor. It sounded ridiculous. Lottie half expected to show up to the empty yard of the island’s museum, but when they arrived, rows of chairs were filled with everyone from Pope and Kie’s parents to Shoupe. Even Topper and his parents were there, probably against his will, but still. Half of the island had come together for the event. 

The Pogues, sans Jane, who opted to sit in the front row beside the Carreras, stood side by side as some decorated historian boasted about their findings into a microphone. John B. held onto a framed photograph of their dad, who had been named the leader of the expedition. 

For the first time, they weren’t looked at as some derelict kids with no future. They had done something deemed impossible. All of their hurt and screw-ups and trouble hadn’t been for nothing. 

Denmark Tanny’s legacy was amplified, his whole history and not just the sanitized version of it. Mr. Sunn helped curate a much larger and more accurate display at the museum. The Limberys could shield themselves with all of the money they wanted, but they wouldn’t be able to hide their history and what their family had done. It was on display for all to see. And while the devastation of the cross being melted still weighed heavy on Pope, Lottie could see the glint of satisfaction in his eyes as the true story of Denmark got pulled out from under the rug used to bury it. 

The Pogues had donated the Gnomon and one hunk of gold to the museum too. It would be displayed alongside their names and a photograph, making their own mark in history. 

Lottie didn’t want to jinx it, but it did finally seem like things were on the up and up for them, finally, after so much hurt and heartbreak. 

After the speech and their recognition, the Pogues gathered around one of the tables set up to eat some of the finger food that had been catered. Lottie enjoyed a cold glass of lemonade as she listened to Kie and Jane’s tale of their latest turtle-saving adventure. 

John B. and Sarah were the last ones in the line to get food out of the group, and as they started to make their way to the Pogues, they were stopped by an older man dressed in a fancy suit and seemingly unbothered by the humidity outside. 

Pope nodded his head toward them, drawing everyone’s attention. Worldlessly, they all abandoned the table and joined John B. and Sarah, curious and weary of the man.  

“Can we help you?” asked Sarah, holding a plate of mini sandwiches. 

“Yes,” the man replied. “I wanted to tell you all that it’s remarkable what you did. The Royal Merchant. El Dorado. Denmark Tanny. You have a very impressive resume. And I was wondering if you would all be so kind as to look at an item of mine.” He took a couple of steps to the nearest empty table and set his briefcase on it. 

“What kind of item?” questioned Cleo. 

“It’s a manuscript. I would investigate it myself, but I’m too long in the tooth. I need partners, and you all were first on my list.” 

Lottie couldn’t hide her surprise. 

“May I?” The man nodded and placed an old, weathered book in Pope’s outstretched hand. He opened the book to the first page. “1718. Geez, this thing is old.” 

Over his shoulder, Jane studied the book with furrowed brows. “1718. Why does that year ring a bell?” she muttered, seemingly to herself. 

Beside her, JJ shot her a look. “Big year for you?” 

She rolled her eyes and thought for another moment before a small gasp felt her lips. “Wait. Isn’t that the year Captain Blackbeard died? And if I’m not mistaken, I think it was right off the coast here, right?” she said, looking to the man. 

The Pogues all stared at her. They were used to Pope’s deep well of knowledge that sometimes caused him to spout off facts that none of them would have remembered in a million years, but Jane’s comment was somehow even more obscure. How the hell did she know the death date of some captain? 

The man seemed impressed with Jane’s knowledge. His lips quirked up in a reserved smile. “Precisely. Do you know his real name?” 

Jane thought for another moment, her lips pressed in a thin line before she said, “Ah! Edward T…T-something.” 

“Teach,” said the man with a nod. 

As they spoke, Pope started to carefully flip through the pages of the book. Over his other shoulder, John B.’s eyes scanned the pages. “This is a captain’s log. It has the exact position of the ship.” 

Jane’s eyes widened. “No fucking way.” 

The man chuckled. “It’s the exact location where his ship sailed and where it stopped.” 

The Pogues exchanged glances, something glittering in all of their eyes. Eighteen months was the longest they had gone in a long time of normalcy. But there was an itch under the skin that none of them admitted to. It seemed as if adventure sought them out. 

Lottie could hear her dad’s voice in her ear, telling them all to go for it: all in. Now or never…

[roanofarcc]

BABYDOLL. CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: A CROSSROADS

jj maybank x fem!routledge OC -- FIX-IT FIC // read on Ao3

In which a boy with zero self preservation falls in love with a girl clawing at life.

chapter summary. after landing in south america, the quest for el dorado and big john is on

a/n. one for chapter of season 3!

word count 4.1k || masterlist

previous chapter < > next chapter

After they landed, Mike broke the news that it was a couple-hour bus ride to Tres Rocas, where they needed to go. That was less than ideal, but it was better than being stuck back home with no ride, so they had to take what they could get. 

On their bus ride, the four met a local who chatted with them throughout the bumpy ride. He had heard tales of the trail to El Dorado, and his directions matched almost exactly with what Neville had told them, which told Lottie that they were probably on the right track. 

The man also told them that he, along with many others, believed El Dorado was cursed because almost everyone who went hunting for it was never seen again. That wasn’t as helpful. JJ seemed to be the only one of the four who brushed it off with a laugh, not believing in such things. Kie looked about as unsure as Lottie felt, and Jane wore her confusion brightly on her face. 

After they arrived in Tres Rocas, the bus had been parked for no longer than thirty seconds before, in very typical Pogue fashion, Lottie spotted Pope and Cleo sprinting down the street they were parked beside like they were in trouble. 

JJ leaned out the side of the window-less bus and waved them down. 

The two stopped dead in their tracks at the four of them halfway hanging out the window, like they hadn’t actually expected them to find a ride. 

"Well, I’ll be damned,” muttered Cleo. Her eyes fell onto Jane, who looked lost but followed suit in waving to the two people who were strangers to her. “You brought a friend?” 

Jane smiled. “Hey, I’m Jane. Kiara’s former bunkmate. Well, kind of. Does it count if you never actually slept in the bunk?” Kie shrugged but didn’t have the chance to say anything before a stressed-out Pope looked over his shoulder. 

“We gotta go!” he shouted. 

Cleo nodded. “Start runnin’!” The two then took off and rounded the bus to the other side, where they used it to hide behind as vehicles turned down the road in pursuit of something- them, Lottie quickly pieced together. 

She groaned and threw her head back. “Already?! We just got here!” They scrambled to gather their sparse belongings and hurried off the bus to where Pope and Cleo were.

“Those are Singh’s men,” Pope quickly explained. “They knew we’re here, so we need a plan, and fast.” 

The Jeep’s Singh’s men were parked across the street from the bus and started to get out, large guns slung over their shoulders as they looked on the hunt. 

Lottie looked around for somewhere to hide and locked her gaze on a collection of roadside fruit stands a couple of feet away. She took off toward them and beckoned the group to follow. There was just enough room behind the stands and the wall for all of them to crouch and stay out of sight. 

They could hear the men question everyone they could get their hands on, practically interrogating the people who had been on the bus with them. By some miracle, no one had ratted them out. Lottie didn’t know if it was because they didn’t pay enough attention to the four clearly out-of-place Americans, or maybe they could smell the trouble on Singh’s men and thought it was best not to say too much. 

The men had gotten close but didn’t spot them. It wasn’t long before they decided to move on and continue their hunt elsewhere. The group waited for the sound of their vehicles to fill the air. Pope slowly lifted his head and let out a sigh of relief after he told them the coast was clear. 

Cleo clicked her tongue, resting against the wall. “Welcome to South America.” 

On the other side of Kie, Jane wiped a hand down the length of her face, her eyes blown wide. “When you said we were running away to South America, I was thinking more fun vacation and less, uh, trouble?” 

Kie winced and shot the girl an apologetic look. “I probably should have explained everything a little bit better.” 

Any normal person would have been angry, upset, or somewhere in between that they weren’t told exactly what they were getting into by joining the Pogues. But Jane didn’t exactly seem like your typical girl. She willingly snuck out of Kitty Hawk with a group of strangers and jumped aboard a weird dude’s plane with little hesitation. And she hardly seemed that disturbed that they were actively being hunted down by brawny men with guns. 

Jane just shrugged her shoulders. “It’s cool. Beats talking to my therapist and doing yard work.” 

Pope furrowed his brows at her. “Does it?” 

“Hey!” JJ said sharply, earning everyone’s attention. “We gotta move out, like, now. Mike said if we needed it, he knows a guy with a boat.” 

The group stood up and moved out from behind the fruit stands. Lottie looked up and down the street. “What about my brother and Sarah?” 

“If Singh’s men went after the two of us, they know John B. and Sarah are here too. They probably dipped out of here to find Jose, the dude with the riverboat. We told each other if we get split up, just follow the direction from Neville, and we’ll all find our way back together,” said Pope. 

Lottie hated it when they all split up, but it was partially her fault. They had gotten there late because of their rescue mission. If they agreed to follow the plan and find each other again along the way, then Lottie would honor that. They all were after the same thing: Big John and El Dorado. 

After Mike loaded up his plane, he met them at Tres Rocas. He texted JJ to meet him at this old shack near the river, with boarded-up windows and an overgrown yard. The place looked abandoned, but they didn’t venture inside it. Instead, Mike led them down a worn path to the river. On the shore was a boat, fixed with tarps to keep the harsh sun at bay and a little worse for wear. The boat was nothing pretty, but Mike assured them it was full of gas and would get them to El Tesoro. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t have the guide Jose, who knew exactly where he was going. All they had was some loose map drawn by the guy Mike knew and their blind faith that they could bullshit their way through just about anything. 

“Thanks,” Pope said to Mike before he stepped in the boat first. Cleo, Kie, and Jane followed suit. 

“Don’t thank me; I’d start praying if I were you guys,” Mike said with a shake of his head before his gaze fell onto the blond. “JJ?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You owe me. Times ten.” 

JJ gave him a curt nod before he motioned for Lottie to get into the boat so he could push it offshore before joining them. Once they were all in and on the water, they began their journey down the river. 

JJ steered, seated beside the engine with an expression fixed in determination with a small hint of worry. His debt to Mike had grown exceptionally. If they didn’t find El Dorado and bring back some gold, Lottie didn’t know what would happen. They’d be found out the second they returned to the island. 

But that was a worry for another time. First, they needed to find Big John and pry him from the hands of Singh. 

Lottie fixed her gaze out ahead of them, taking in the thick walls of greenery on both sides of the river. Bugs hummed, and animals somewhere in the jungle howled. Overhead, birds of bright colors flew and listened to their own singing from the treetops. If they had been there under a less stressful situation, Lottie would have found it peaceful. Instead, the hot and humid air on her skin made her uncomfortable, and her chest carried an unforgiving tightness. 

“So, Jane, right?” Cleo spoke, cutting through the silence that had fallen between the group. The girl nodded, seated across from Cleo and toying with the tied bracelets around her wrist. “Why’d you want to tag along here?” 

“Oh, um, well, I didn’t really know what we were doing or why. But I wanted to get the hell out of Kitty Hawk and probably wouldn’t have gotten another chance until my aunt stopped by to see if I’d stopped being such a, in her words, ‘pain in her ass,’” she said. “Which is funny because she also calls me unmotivated and lacking ambition. I don’t know how I can be both, but whatever. All I know is, it’ll be a lot harder to call me lazy when she finds out I ran away with a girl I just met and her friends. She’ll probably kill me, but that’s only if I go back to her stupid house with her stupid cat.” 

Jane hardly took a breath the whole second half of her story. She finished and slumped down in her seat before she looked at everyone staring at her. A sheepish smile graced her lips. “Sorry.” 

With a shake of her head, Lottie said, “You know, if we make it out of here in one piece, we can crown you an official Pogue, and you can hang with us if you don’t want to go back to your aunt’s.” She wasn’t one to invite just anyone into their tight-knit circle, but it had worked out great with Cleo, even if she had sort of been dragged into their issues then stranded on an island with them. 

“What’s a Pogue?” 

“A friend,” Kie said. “And Lot’s right. If you don’t mind slumming it with us, we don’t mind the extra company.” 

Pope added, “I promise we don’t always do shit like this.” 

“Don’t believe him. We’ve become real treasure hunters lately,” said JJ. 

A scoff sounded from Cleo. “Some sorry ass treasure hunters who can’t hang on to any of the shit they find. But sure, Rude Boy, we’re treasure hunters.” 

“That’s not our fault!” JJ argued. 

Jane looked between the group thoughtfully, lips pursed slightly. “When I was little, I did seriously consider a career as a pirate,” she said, in what sounded like full seriousness. “So, I’m down.” 

They all laughed, their numbers growing in size as they continued to pick wayward teenagers along the way. If only they had somewhere to go back to when they returned to the Outer Banks. 

With the map from Mike and Pope's beautiful brain and Cleo’s sense of direction, they came upon El Tesoro. However, from a good distance away, they already spotted Singh’s men, who had to be waiting for them to show up. Before they could be spotted on the river, they parked the boat up on the bank, shielded by the thick of overhanging branches, and crept their way through the jungle until they reached the wooden dock, a handful of men, and a shed. 

They were able to sneak into the shed from the opposite side of where the men were lounging, not paying a whole lot of attention. Singh didn’t leave behind his most alert men; he probably took them with him and Big John to ensure there were no surprises. That was good for the Pogues, though. 

Pope and Cleo had stolen some firecrackers from Tres Rocas that some kids had left unattended, and JJ always carried a lighter on him. From Jane’s backpack, they used a piece of paper and a pen to write a note to the men, warning them about how they’d have five seconds after the first ‘gunshot’ before things got nasty. Inside the shed were fishing poles and other miscellaneous supplies. They hooked the letter and cast it out to the closest man seconds before the boys started lighting the explosives. 

It worked like a charm. The loud bangs of the firecrackers tricked Singh’s men into thinking they were being ambushed, and they were quick to bail. They retreated into their boat and hurried away without much issue. 

Once the immediate threat of Singh’s men was gone, the Pogues scrounged around for any supplies they could steal, then started on foot through the jungle, following the vague directions Neville had told John B., JJ, and Lottie back on his houseboat. They were also following the hope that Sarah and John B. had already been there and were ahead of them on the journey, and the hope that they at least knew where Big John and Singh were, if they hadn’t found them already. 

Mike had been kind enough to arm them each with a machete, which came in handy to fight against the greenery, but also in case they encountered trouble along the way too. JJ was enjoying himself, whacking through the thick vegetation and saying how he felt like Indiana Jones. 

After they were walking for a bit, Pope had spotted footprints in the dirt, which brightened their hope of finding either John B. and Sarah, or Singh and Big John. Lottie doubted many people were trekking through there for a leisurely stroll, so it had to lead them somewhere. Pope and Cleo led the way, following the prints. 

As much as Lottie hated running, she quickly realized she also hated hiking. When they found themselves in breaks between the tree cover, the hot sun set her skin ablaze, and her worn-out sneakers rubbed against her heels. She gritted her teeth and focused on the path ahead, trying to avoid the swing of JJ’s machete. 

“You doing okay, Lot?” JJ asked, pausing to turn around after he climbed a steep, small incline. He held out his hand for her, and she accepted it gratefully, letting him help her up. 

“Never take me on a date hiking,” she muttered, keeping hold of his hand for a couple of seconds longer, even though both his and her palms were sweaty. 

JJ chuckled lightly. “Noted. No marathons and no hiking.” He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go and continuing to clear a path through the greenery. 

After another mile or two, the group all caught up with each other and stopped in a grassy field for a quick break. Pope had snagged him and Cleo two water bottles before they were chased by Singh’s men. They were borderline hot by that point, but no one cared as they passed them around. Lottie wiped the sweat from her forehead and fixed her ponytail into a bun to keep her hair off of her neck. 

Once they all had a bit of water in them and caught their breath, they continued on following the vague path of footprints not yet erased by the abundance of nature surrounding them. 

↕  

JJ had lost track of how long they’d been hiking for. Why couldn’t El Dorado have been somewhere a little colder? Or somewhere easier to trek through? He knew that was the point; treasure wasn’t supposed to be easy to find, and neither were treasure hunters, apparently. 

He paused for one second to ease the start of an ache in his legs, but was startled half out of his mind when the sound of an explosion tore through the air. He cursed loudly before his gaze went upwards, where birds fled from their perch on the high branches with loud squawks. 

“I think it came from over there!” shouted Pope, not waiting for anyone’s reply before he took off toward the noise. 

Beside Kie, Jane’s face scrunched up. “Are we sure following the sound of a bomb going off is a smart move?” 

Lottie shook her head. “Nothing we do is a smart move.” 

So, they headed right toward the sound. It wasn’t long before familiar voices waded through the air. JJ let out a breath the second he heard John B. and Sarah up somewhere through the trees. 

Then, a third voice sounded. 

“They found him,” Lottie rushed out as she started to pick up her pace. They could see John B. and Sarah not too far ahead, with their back to them. JJ heard what Lottie had too: the voice of her dad. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he was the first to hear the fourth voice in the conversation. 

“Wait,” JJ said, grabbing Lottie’s hand to stop her before she broke through the surrounding plants to where her bother dad, and Sarah were. The Pogues stopped at JJ’s words too. “Is that…” 

A long simmering anger appeared on Pope’s face as he finished JJ’s sentence. “Ward.” 

The group crept forward and found a fallen tree trunk close enough to the others to hear what they were saying and large enough to keep them hidden. They needed to figure out what kind of situation they were entering before they jumped in. That usually wasn’t JJ’s forte, but he knew that Ward was bad news. 

JJ spotted Big John seated on a rock, but most of his figure was blocked by John B., and Sarah stood close by. Her attention was fixed on her dad, who stood opposite the three of them with a gun in his grasp, aimed at the two Routledges. JJ assumed Ward wanted to shoot Big John, not John B., but the latter wouldn’t have been a shock. Yet, JJ wasn’t sure if Ward would shoot John B., knowing it would be the final line in the sand Sarah drew, keeping her forever beyond resentful of her dad. 

“No,” Lottie whispered. She reached behind her and grabbed the handle of the machete sticking out of the top. 

JJ already had his knife in his hands. He glanced at the other Pogues, and honorary Pogue, Jane. “All in?” 

They all situated their gifted machetes in their grasps before nodding. 

JJ whispered a countdown, and once he hit one, all six of them raced out from their hiding spot, yelling. All of the attention fell onto them as they surrounded Ward with their knives raised. 

Lottie pointed her weapon at Ward. “Drop the gun!” she shouted. 

While JJ had felt bad for Sarah, back when they thought they had watched Ward blow himself up on his boat, he wished the man would have done it for real. He kept being the largest pain in their ass, constantly standing between them and something good almost within reach. 

Ward didn’t budge, but he looked wildly surprised to see them. His eyes were blown wide, and the look on his face made it easy to see that he didn’t know what to do next. 

“You’re outnumbered, Ward,” said JJ. 

The man changed his aim, moving back and forth between the group frantically. He wasn’t expecting an ambush. 

“What?” Pope called out. “Are you gonna shoot all of us?” 

“If you’re gonna shoot anyone,” Big John said, his voice loud to draw Ward’s attention. JJ took his eyes off Ward for just a second. Big John was holding his hand against his side, the fabric underneath stained red; he was hurt already. JJ wondered if it had been Ward or Singh’s doing. “Shoot me.” 

John B. shifted more in front of his dad and took a step toward Ward. His jaw was hardest, and anger flared in his eyes. He took another step. Then another, making JJ inch to knock his friend out of the way and take his face, but he was worried any movement too sudden would cause Ward to pull down on the trigger his finger hovered over. John B. didn’t stop until he was only a foot or two away from Ward and the gun. 

“Or me,” he challenged. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lottie run forward. She moved too fast for him to realize what was happening. His fingers just missed her shoulder, wanting to pull her back beside him. As he stumbled forward, Lottie had already slotted herself between Ward and her brother, chest heaving and hands shaking as one gripped the machete and the other curled into a fist at her side. 

JJ felt another wave of panic surge through him. He felt like that any time any of his friends were in danger, but with Lottie, it was tenfold. Blood rushed in his ears and his chest constricted. He wanted to do something; he needed to do something, but he was rooted in place, watching the scene play out on high alert. 

“You’re not shooting any of us,” Lottie said lowly. “Haven’t you done enough?” 

At Lottie’s side, Sarah appeared. Her eyes were lined with tears, but she too looked angry. “Stop it,” she said coldly. If there was anyone who could make Ward pause, it was her. 

There were several, impossibly tense, seconds where nothing happened. The Pogues all stayed with their machetes tightly in their grip, itching to take Ward down. Ward’s finger backed away from the trigger, but he didn’t lower the gun, still aimed at Lottie’s chest. His gaze, however, had moved onto Sarah. 

He knew the second he pulled the trigger, it was over for him. But one shot was all it would take for him to kill any one of them. That couldn’t happen. 

“I know you,” Sarah then continued. “You forget that I know you.” Slowly, she reached up and grasped her dad’s wrist. He let her take the gun from his grasp, and she passed it off behind her back to John B. 

Tears shone in Ward’s eyes too as he quietly cried out, “I…I can’t…” 

“I can.” 

JJ’s eyes snapped onto a man who had slipped out from the jungle directly behind Big John. He had a gun in his grasp with the tip against the man’s head. John B. was quick to aim Ward’s gun at Singh’s man. 

“Drop it,” the man said coldly. 

“Easy, bud,” Big John rasped out. “Your boss is dead. You got no reason to do this.” 

“I can think of a few reasons.” His gaze hardened before he shouted at John B. to drop his weapon once more. 

John B. slowly raised both of his hands and let the gun fall to the dirt. Singh’s man stepped around Big John and picked up the other gun, pocketing it so none of them got any bright ideas. To be fair, JJ was about five seconds away from diving for the gun on the ground to replace his machete. The knife was nice, but not against a gun. 

“Thought you’d get away with the gold, eh?” said the man. He eyed the group, his gun slowly passing by all of them. “My mate back there is dead.” His gaze zeroed in on Sarah, and it didn’t leave her. 

JJ’s pulse hammered, and his mind spun. No Pogue was dying that day. He just needed a plan. He needed to think. He needed to- 

However, before he could even let out a breath, Ward was yelling and charging at the man. Gunshots rang out, and blood was quick to seep through the fabric of Ward’s shirt, but it didn’t stop him. He ran right at the man and tackled him. They rolled right beside a steep drop-off. Maybe Ward knew that, or maybe it was just a kind of fucked up luck. As the man regained his footing, so did Ward. With one final yell, he tackled the man for the second time, sending both of them right over the edge of the drop-off. 

A heavy silence filled the air, and no one moved for a moment, unsure if what just happened was even real. It was Sarah who shook out of her shock first. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks as she peered over the edge. Everyone else followed suit. 

JJ stared at the two bodies sprawled out at the bottom, dead. He felt both nauseous and relieved, just as he had when he thought Ward blew himself up. But that time there was a body and no chance of him finding a way to cheat death. No, Ward Cameron was dead for good that time. 

A horrible sob tore through the air from the lips of Sarah. John B. wrapped her up in his arms, his expression a cloud of different emotions. JJ imagined he felt the same conflicting thoughts spiral around his mind, only probably ten times worse than whatever JJ felt. Ward had tried to kill him and his dad. Ward had him framed for murder and nearly put him on death row. Ward had caused all of them so much grief it was dizzying. 

Ward did a lot of awful things, but he died saving Sarah. JJ supposed they had to give him the smallest amount of credit for that. 

“John B., Lot!” Pope shouted, drawing everyone’s attention. He was at Big John’s side, who had his head tipped back and face scrunched up in pain as he pressed against the injury at his side. Up close, JJ could see how much blood covered the man’s hand and soaked through his shirt, and that was just around the wound. 

The twins were quick to their dad’s side. They helped him to his feet, earning a pained groan. 

“We gotta get him out of here,” said John. 

Lottie’s face only grew in worry, twisted up like she could feel her dad’s pain. “What happened?” 

“Singh shot him.” 

JJ and the rest of the Pogues quickly gathered the bags and belongings strewn across the ground before they trailed after the Routledges, everyone eager to get the hell back home.