#horror slashers

[coffeexcreamer]

[i-heart-slashers]

For Our Girl

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Poly!Lost Boys x Female!Reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You never meant to get tangled up with the Lost Boys, but a wrong turn in the woods led you to them—four vampires with glowing eyes and dangerous smiles. Now, weeks later, you’re theirs. Surrounded by their cold skin and sharp promises, you’re not just safe—you’re wanted, desired, and maybe too far gone to care what they are.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: suggestive themes. sexual tension. possessiveness.

The boardwalk hums with life, the carousel’s tinny music clashing with the roar of motorbikes and the screams from the roller coaster. You weave through the crowd, the salty ocean breeze tugging at your hair, your waitress apron still tied loosely around your waist from a double shift at the diner. Your feet ache, your head’s foggy, and all you want is to collapse into bed.

But the weight of their eyes on you, always watching, always there, makes your skin prickle with something that’s not quite fear anymore.

It started that night in the woods. A stupid shortcut after a late shift, your flashlight flickering, and then those glowing eyes. Four of them stepped out of the shadows like they owned the night. Paul, with his wild grin and a joint dangling from his lips. Marko, all sharp edges and sharper laughter. Dwayne, silent, his dark eyes pinning you in place. And David, cold and commanding, like he was sizing you up for dinner.

You should’ve screamed. Run. Done something. Instead, you snapped at David to get out of your way, or you’d make him. The words had tumbled out before you could stop them, fueled by exhaustion and defiance.

Paul had howled with laughter, Marko’s eyes had glinted with something dangerous, and even Dwayne’s stoic mask cracked into a faint smirk. David, though—he’d just stared, his lips curling into a slow, predatory smile.

“Feisty,” he’d said, voice like gravel and smoke. “I like that.”

You thought that was the end of it. A weird encounter with some punks who hung out in the wrong part of town. But then they started showing up everywhere.

Paul slipping a mixtape labeled “For Our Girl” onto your windowsill, filled with Mötley Crüe and The Cure. Marko ambushing you at the pier, dragging you to a secluded stretch of beach to watch the stars his arm brushing yours. Dwayne wordlessly showing up at your rundown apartment to fix the lock after you mentioned it was busted, his hands steady and sure, his gaze lingering too long on your throat.

And David. David, who one night draped his leather coat over your shoulders when the wind off the ocean turned sharp, his gloved fingers grazing your jaw as he tilted your face up to meet his icy blue eyes. “Anyone messes with you,” he said, voice low and deadly, “they answer to us.”

Now, weeks later, you’re unsure what you are to them. Not a victim—they’ve made that clear. Not just a friend, either. There’s a heat in the way they watch you, a hunger that’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying. You’re theirs, they say, and the word carries a weight you’re only starting to understand.

Tonight, you feel it more than ever. You’re halfway across the boardwalk when Paul’s voice cuts through the noise, lazy and teasing. “Yo, babe, where you runnin’ off to?”

You turn, and there they are, lounging against the railing like they own the place. Paul’s sprawled out, one leg kicked up, his blond hair a mess from the wind. Marko’s next to him, twirling a switchblade between his fingers, his patchwork jacket catching the neon glow. Dwayne leans back, arms crossed, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he watches you with that quiet intensity that makes your pulse race. And David—David stands at the center, his cigarette glowing red in the dark, his smirk promising trouble.

“Home,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Some of us have jobs, you know.”

Paul laughs, loud and bright, hopping off the railing to sling an arm around your shoulders. “Jobs are overrated. Come hang with us. We’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” You raise an eyebrow, glancing at the others. Marko’s grin is all teeth, and Dwayne’s expression doesn’t shift, but you catch the faintest tilt of his head like he’s daring you to say yes. David just exhales a plume of smoke, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

“Something… fun,” David says, and the word drips with suggestion, his voice curling around you like a promise.

Your stomach flips. You know what they are. You’ve seen how their eyes glow in the dark, and their teeth glint a little too sharp. You’ve noticed the bloodstains on Marko’s jacket that he laughs off and the way Dwayne’s hands are always cold when they brush your skin. Vampires. The word sits heavy in your mind, but instead of running, you’re still here, caught in their orbit.

“Fun,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “Last time you said that, Marko tried to teach me to surf at three a.m. I nearly drowned.”

Marko snickers, flipping the switchblade closed. “You loved it, admit it. Looked hot in that wetsuit, too.”

“Keep dreaming,” you shoot back, but a smile tugs at your lips, and Marko’s eyes light up with mischief.

Paul tightens his arm around you, pulling you closer. “C’mon, babe. Live a little. Or, y’know… unlive a little.” He winks, and you roll your eyes, but the heat of his body against yours sends a shiver down your spine.

Dwayne finally moves, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell the leather of his jacket and the faint tang of salt and iron that clings to him. “You’re tired,” he says, voice low, almost gentle. “Let us take you home.”

It’s not a question, but there’s no threat in it either. Just a quiet certainty, like he already knows you’ll say yes. You glance at David, who’s still watching you, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers. There’s something in his gaze—possessive but not cruel. Like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do.

“Fine,” you say, exhaling like you’re annoyed, but your heart’s pounding. “But I’m not riding on the back of anyone’s bike. Last time, Paul nearly crashed us into a dumpster.”

“Lies!” Paul gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m an artist on that bike.”

“An artist at chaos,” you mutter, and Marko laughs, sharp and delighted.

David flicks his cigarette away, stepping closer until he’s right in front of you, his presence overwhelming. “You’ll ride with me,” he says, and it’s not a request. His gloved hand brushes your cheek, lingering just long enough to catch your breath. “Unless you’re scared.”

You scoff, meeting his eyes. “Of you? Please.”

His smirk widens, and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you right there in front of everyone. Instead, he steps back, jerking his head toward the bikes parked nearby. “Let’s go.”

The ride to your apartment is a blur of wind and adrenaline, David’s bike roaring beneath you as you cling to his waist, the leather of his coat cool against your cheek. The others follow their laughter and whoops cutting through the night.

When you reach your place, you expect them to drop you off and peel out, but they don’t. They follow you inside, sprawling across your tiny living room like they own it—Paul kicking off his boots, Marko raiding your fridge, Dwayne leaning against the wall, watching you with that unreadable stare.

David doesn’t sit. He prowls, circling you like a predator as you untie your apron and toss it onto the counter. “You’re tense,” he says, voice low, almost a purr. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, leaning against the counter, trying to ignore how your skin tingles under his gaze. “Some creeps at the diner wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

The air shifts. Paul’s head snaps up from where he’s sprawled on the couch, his grin gone. Marko freezes a bottle of soda halfway to his lips. Dwayne’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. David stops moving, his gaze locking onto yours, sharp and dangerous.

“Who?” David asks, and the single word is a blade.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Just some drunk tourists. I handled it.”

“You handled it,” Marko repeats, setting the bottle down with a thud. “What’d they do?”

“Nothing worth mentioning,” you say, but your voice wavers and you curse yourself for it. “Just… got too close. Said some shit. My boss kicked them out.”

Dwayne pushes off the wall, stepping closer. “They touch you?” His voice is quiet, but there’s a lethal edge to it that makes your heart skip.

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Paul growls, sitting up. “Point ‘em out next time. We’ll handle it.”

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “What, you gonna beat up every jerk who looks at me wrong?”

“Yes,” Marko says, dead serious, and the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach flip.

David’s gloved hand cups your chin, tilting your face to meet his gaze. His touch is firm but not painful, and the heat of his stare makes your breath hitch. “No one touches what’s ours,” he says, voice low and deliberate. “No one bothers you. Ever.”

The possessiveness in his words should scare you, but it doesn’t. Instead, it sends a thrill through you, dangerous and electric. You’re not sure when you stopped being afraid of them—when their sharp edges and glowing eyes started feeling like safety instead of a threat.

“I can take care of myself,” you say, but your voice is softer now, your defiance melting under the weight of their attention.

“We know,” Dwayne says, his voice a low rumble as he steps closer, his hand brushing your arm. “But you don’t have to.”

Paul’s on his feet now, crowding in, his grin back but sharper, hungrier. “You’re ours, babe. Means we’ve got your back. Always.”

Marko’s behind you, closer than you realized, his breath cool against your neck as he murmurs, “And we don’t share.”

Your pulse races, the air thick with tension—sexual, dangerous, intoxicating. You’re surrounded, their bodies close enough that you can feel the unnatural chill of their skin, the promise of something more in every lingering touch. David’s thumb brushes your lower lip, and you swallow hard, caught in the pull of his gaze.

“Get some rest,” he says finally, stepping back and breaking the spell. “We’ll be around.”

They leave as silently as they came, the roar of their bikes fading into the night. But the weight of their promise lingers, heavy and warm, and as you crawl into bed, you know there’s no going back. You’re theirs—and you’re not sure you’d want it any other way.

[wr1tten1nl4mbsbl00d]

Thinking abt m!reader getting sandwiched between vampire! Hannigram while they feed off you..

Legs draped over Will’s thighs, leaning back into Hannibal’s chest as he held your hand in a gentle yet firm grip.

Their heads on either side of your neck, Will lapping at the flowing blood like he was starving while Hannibal let it stream into his mouth, licking the occasional stray drop. Once the initial sting subsided, it was actually rather ticklish.

He felt your grip falter in his hand and informed Will that you were done for the night, to which he nodded and began bandaging your wounds. They both knew you’d sooner pass out from blood loss than cut them off (which they made sure to scold you for), hence the hand system.

Barely conscious by this point, they carried your dizzy self into bed; Will cuddling and kissing you while Hannibal cooked an iron-rich meal for when you woke up :)

[cat-mermaid]

Fantastic parody song about how movie horror slashers just mosey after their victims. I'm reposting because it looks like the original one posted on tumblr last year got taken down?

Full song:

[thedissection]

; love no one but you . .

pairing ; brahms / reader

cw ; implied harm towards reader, brahms being brahms, author’s buns writing, reader captive against their will, typical slasher bullshit.

thought about brahms. thought about how he’d not exactly above locking up his live-in ‘nanny’ if it meant keeping him with him. what else can he do?

his mother and father are gone, he has no one else — and you’ve been taking care of him. it was in the rules. surely, you’d sympathize with him right? and with all he’d done to please, to try his best to be good.. all he wants is for you to keep the routine. to have him at the center of your world.

you can’t go anywhere, can’t leave him, can’t possibly care for someone else. he’s not above many things, after all, he’s still so impressionable. he’d hang their guts on the wall to prove that a point; before letting you, of all people, believe that you’d ever leave his clutches.

if you betray him, there’s that chance he’s not above doing the same to yours. it’s the same drive that had him trapping poor animals who knew no better than to succumb to his cruelty, and the same drive that had rejected others before you in a senseless fit of rage, trying too hard to undo a familial grief brought unto him from his birth.

he won’t like it, of course — nannies are no good dead — but he assures himself that it won’t have to get to that point. it never will. he’s been good. he’s always tried to be good.

[brokenl0re]

Survive The Night- Eddie Munson X Reader

masterlist

Summary: When Chrissy Cunningham turns up murdered, the town of Hawkins spirals into fear. A red envelope marked YOU appears in everyone’s pocket. A killer is hunting them. As the group barricades itself inside the Wheeler house, paranoia spikes, friendships fracture, and the night dissolves into terror. But there’s a truth lurking beneath the panic—something far more intimate, far more calculated.

WORDCOUNT: 10.4k

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, VIOLENCE, ANGST, MILD GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS, SWEARING, DRINKING, STRAP IN. major character deaths

People always said Hawkins was small enough that everyone knew everyone. You knew that wasn’t true. You didn’t realise Chrissy Cunningham. Not really. Pretty. Quiet. Cheerleader. Dating Jason Carver.  Sweet in a way that felt too gentle for the people she surrounded herself with.

You’d talked a handful of times, mainly in the hallways, sometimes in English class, and she was always kind. Soft in tone, soft in smile. Which made what happened to her feel… wrong. Too ugly. Too deliberate for a girl like that. Disembowelled and throat-slashed in her neat, organised bedroom while her parents slept just down the hall.

No break-in. No stolen items. No defensive wounds. Just violence. Brutal, purposeful violence.

And in a town like Hawkins, where nothing ever happened, her murder hit like a fault line cracking straight through every routine you used to trust. Even your friend group — this strange, mismatched collection of people who somehow stuck together — felt the shift the moment news broke.

Steve had been hovering again.

You noticed it in the way he lingered — leaning against doorframes, standing a little too close, pretending to reorganise tapes at Family Video just so he could keep you in his line of sight.

When you grabbed your coat to have a smoke outside, he stepped in front of the exit before you could reach it.

“You’re not going out there alone,” he said, voice firm in that bossy-big-brother way he tried to tone down but never really managed. “Not with everything that’s been happening.”

You groaned. “Steve. It’s three streets.”

“And Chrissy lived two streets from here,” he shot back, lowering his voice like the words themselves might shatter something. “Come on. Just—humour me.”

Before you could argue, Robin popped up behind the counter, practically spilling a stack of returns in her rush to intervene.

“Steve,” she huffed, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “You’re suffocating her. People can walk. Walking still exists.”

“I’m not suffocating,” he said, even as he hovered at your elbow like a golden retriever guarding a steak. “I’m… looking out.”

Robin shook her head, mumbling, “If you get any more protective, she’s gonna need a crowbar to pry you off.”

You snorted. Steve looked mortally offended. Robin looked pleased with herself.

A moment later, the bell over the door jingled again. Nancy and Jonathan stepped in with matching shadows under their eyes. They didn’t greet anyone at first — they scanned the place, taking stock, constantly two steps ahead of everyone else.

Steve went still.

You felt it before you saw it—the way the air around him tightened, the way his jaw clenched just a little too quickly, the way his smile slipped into something practised and painfully polite. He didn’t say a word, but the look he gave Nancy was soft in a way he probably wished it wasn’t. And the look he gave Jonathan wasn’t mean… just tired. Heavy. Like old bruises pressing against bone.

Nancy brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning closer to Jonathan as she whispered something, their shoulders almost touching. Whatever it was, Jonathan huffed a quiet, worried laugh, and Nancy touched his arm without thinking.

Steve swallowed.

Just a slight movement. Barely anything.  But it landed like a punch.

Nancy’s fingers tightened around her notebook when she caught sight of the “In Loving Memory of Chrissy Cunningham” paper taped by the register. Jonathan quietly shut the blinds, like he didn’t want the outside world peering in.

The younger boys arrived next.

Mike slammed the door shut behind him, demanding, “Did anyone follow us?”

Lucas rolled his eyes but checked the parking lot anyway — a quick peek through the blinds before dropping them again. Dustin set his backpack on the counter and started rummaging through it with military urgency.

“We need a plan,” Dustin declared. “We’re dealing with a maniac. A real one. No more messing around.”

Their voices were deeper now, their frames taller, but there were flashes — a frantic gesture, a worried glance — that reminded you of the little kids who used to ride bikes past your porch every summer.

Lucas paused, noticing the tension in your shoulders. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded because that’s what you were supposed to do.

Then the last one came in.

Eddie kicked the door shut with his heel, breath fogging in the cold as he waltzed inside like he hadn’t been watching the parking lot the whole walk up.

He flashed a big, cocky grin to the younger boys, unnecessary, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Those went straight to you.

“Alright,” he announced, tossing his hair back dramatically. “Which one of you nerds scheduled this emergency meeting while I’m supposed to be playing the Hideout? I brought Twizzlers, by the way”

“Chrissy Cunningham is dead, and all you care about is your little band and candy?” You huffed, anger flooding your veins, but Robin quickly grabbed your hand beneath the counter, calming you.

Robin gave your hand a gentle squeeze under the counter, her eyes flicking to you with that “don’t blow it” look she’d perfected over years of chaos. You let out a frustrated sigh, curling your fingers around hers for a second before pulling back, still tense.

Eddie, oblivious to the gravity in the room, let his grin falter slightly when he saw your expression. “Okay… fine,” he said, voice dropping just enough to show he knew something serious was going on. “Dead girl. Scary stuff. Got it. No candy jokes.”

Steve, still rigid by the doorframe, ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. His gaze bounced between Nancy and Jonathan, whose closeness felt like a deliberate push in a wound no one else had noticed. Every slight touch, Nancy brushing a strand of hair from Jonathan’s forehead, his hand lingering just a second longer on her notebook—made Steve’s chest tighten in a way that wasn’t just worry about Chrissy.

Mike, crouched at the edge of the counter with Lucas and Dustin, muttered under his breath, voice tight: “It’s… the same day. The same day Will went missing, years ago.”

Lucas’s eyes widened. Dustin froze mid-gesture, fingers still clutching a pencil over a hastily sketched map of Hawkins. Even Eddie’s grin slipped into a frown.

You felt it immediately—the unease, the weight of history pressing down. Hawkins had never fully shaken the old fear, the memory of Will’s disappearance lingering in corners of everyone’s mind, unspoken but always there. And now, Chrissy’s death brought it all rushing back like a gust of cold wind.

Nancy finally spoke, her voice sharp but steady. “We all need to be careful. And we need to be honest with each other. No secrets. Not now.”

Everyone went quiet, the room thick with unspoken dread. Then, one by one, each of you reached into your pockets.

Steve’s fingers brushed something small and flat before he pulled it out: a red envelope. He stared at it for a long beat, then slowly opened it. Inside was a single word, written in cursive black letters:

YOU.

Robin’s hand came next, shaking slightly as she withdrew her own identical envelope. Her eyes flicked to Steve’s, then to yours. Same red. Same black letters. 

YOU.

She dropped it onto the counter with a soft, almost terrified sigh.

Nancy’s envelope followed, her fingers steady, but her jaw tight as she read the word. Jonathan’s was identical; he held it a second longer than necessary, as if he were bracing for it to mean something else, something worse.

Mike pulled his out, muttering under his breath, voice tight and low, “It’s… the same day. The same day, Will went missing.”

Lucas froze, eyes wide, and Dustin let his pencil clatter to the counter as he stared at the red note before him. Even Eddie, usually so cocky, went pale. He flicked the paper open and back, as if confirming it wasn’t a trick of the light.

Finally, you took yours out. The red envelope felt heavier than it should. You unfolded it slowly.

YOU.

One word. Ten of you. Ten identical notes.

The silence that followed was deafening. Steve’s hand twitched. Robin’s fingers hovered over the envelope as if it might bite her. Nancy glanced at Jonathan, whose eyes shifted nervously to the blinds before returning to the note. And Eddie… all Eddie would look at was you. When your eyes caught him, his eyes quickly shifted focus.

It wasn’t a coincidence. Whoever had left these had singled you all out. And now the room felt smaller, colder, like the walls themselves were closing in.

Hawkins had always hidden its secrets behind quiet streets and small-town routines—but this? This was different. This was a warning.

And you were all marked.

Eddie shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing slightly, curls falling into his eyes. “Come on,” he said, voice loud enough to cut through the room, but with an edge that betrayed the unease he tried to mask. “This could just be a hoax. Someone is trying to freak us out. There’s no proof we’re next. It’s probably just someone being a total idiot.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “A hoax?” he repeated, voice sharp. “Chrissy Cunningham is dead, Eddie. This isn’t a prank.”

Eddie waved a hand dismissively. “Exactly why it could be a prank. Small town, scary story, freak people out. Classic setup. Doesn’t mean anyone’s actually coming after us.”

You stepped forward, voice low and firm, cutting through the tension. “We are the only ones who know what happened to Will Byers. November 1983.”

The room went silent. Jonathan stiffened instantly, fingers tightening on the edge of his notebook. His jaw set hard, eyes narrowing, a shadow of old pain flashing across his face. Will—his brother—had disappeared that night. He had carried that fear and helplessness for years. And now… this.

Dustin froze mid-motion, pencil still hovering over his hastily drawn map of Hawkins. Lucas and Mike exchanged sharp, worried glances. Nancy’s eyes sharpened, jaw tight, but all of them felt it—the weight of what you’d just said. Even Robin stopped fiddling with her envelope, gaze locked on you.

Nancy ran a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath as she tried to steady the room. “Listen,” she said, voice calm but firm, “We need to stick together. All of us. Sleep at each other’s houses. Don’t go anywhere alone. Not now.”

“Does that mean slumber party at Harringtons?” Eddie joked, looking over at Lucas and Dustin,

Steve frowned, stepping closer, hands on his hips. “Of course, we stick together,” he said, voice a little too sharp, eyes flicking toward Jonathan. “But we can’t just hide away forever. We need—”

“I don’t want to be around any of you right now,” Jonathan cut in, his tone cold, clipped. His hands were shoved into his pockets, jaw tight. “Not tonight, not while this… all of this is happening. I need space.”

Steve’s face tightened, anger flashing. “Space? This isn’t about you wanting space, Jonathan! This is about all of us staying safe—”

“You don’t get it,” Jonathan snapped, stepping back. “You don’t get what it’s like to have your little brother… taken from you. To know how fragile everything is. I can’t— I can’t be around people pretending they’re safe while there’s a killer out there!”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed. He ran a hand through his hair, voice low and strained. “Jonathan—”

“No.” Jonathan’s voice cut across him, firm and final. “I’m staying away. I need to be alone. Don’t try to follow me.”

Without another word, he spun on his heel and stormed out, the door slamming hard behind him.

The room fell silent, the thump of his exit echoing in the still air. Steve stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides. Nancy let out a sigh, rubbing her temples. Dustin and Lucas exchanged worried looks.

Eddie muttered, voice tight, “Well… that’s… not great.” You glare at him.

Mike just stared after the door, tension written across his features. “He’s right, I mean, give him a break”, he said softly. “But… still. We have to do something. Together.”

You glanced at the envelopes in everyone’s hands—the black letters marked YOU. The threat wasn’t just outside. It was in the cracks of the people you thought you knew. 

“Look, our mom and dad are out of town,” Nancy glanced at Mike. “Robin and Y/N can crash in my room, Lucas and Dustin in Mike's, and the rest in the basement,”

Steve threw his hands in the air. “Great, I’m stuck in the creepiest room of the whole house.”

Eddie put his arm around Steve, “It’s okay, Stevie, we can cuddle, I’ll be big spoon.”

Steve recoiled as Eddie slid an arm around his shoulders. “Quit it, Eddie”

“I’m just helping you cope, Stevie,” Eddie said, grin tight, eyes darting nervously around the room. “Safety in numbers, right?” You couldn’t help but smile at his humour. 

Steve’s patience snapped. He shoved Eddie lightly but firmly off him. “Back off,” he snapped, stepping between Eddie and the counter. “This isn’t about your stupid jokes. Focus!”

Robin groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Oh my God, you two are insufferable. I’m definitely rooming with Nancy and Y/N”

Nancy waved a hand, trying to regain control. “Ignore them. The point is, we stick together tonight. Phones off, doors locked, windows shut. We need to be alert.”

Dustin’s pencil hovered over his map, shaking slightly. “I want shifts—someone stays up, someone monitors the doors, someone checks the street every ten minutes—”

“Relax, Dustin,” Mike said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll figure out shifts. Calm down.”

Steve finally exhaled, voice lower, steadying the group. “Alright. We stick together. We watch each other. No wandering. No secrets. We survive the night, that’s the plan.”

You met his gaze, and for the first time since Eddie’s interruption, the group felt like a single, if uneasy, unit.

“I… I need to go home and grab a few things,” you said, tugging at your jacket nervously. “I’m not sleeping in my work clothes”

Steve’s protective instincts kicked in instantly. “I’ll drive you,” he said, voice firm, like there was no other option.

Robin groaned, stepping closer. “Steve, I need a ride too. And I’m not cloning up the store on my own,”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but then Eddie leaned against the counter, hands stuffed in his pockets, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll drive Y/N. My van’s out front.. Saves time.”

Steve blinked, caught off guard. “Your van? Eddie, that thing looks like it’s held together with duct tape and prayers!”

Eddie shrugged. “Runs fine. Mostly. Come on, Killer on the loose, I’d take my chances with my van,”

Steve stared between you, Robin, and Eddie, torn between responsibility and protectiveness. “I don’t like it,” he muttered.

“You don’t have to like it,” Eddie shot back lightly, though his eyes flicked with something more serious. “It’s just a ride.”

You grabbed your jacket. “Steve, I’ll be fine. Really.”

He huffed, defeated. “Fine. But Eddie?”

Eddie raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“You drive carefully,” Steve said, pointing at him like a warning.

Eddie grinned. “Scouts honour.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You were never a scout.”

“Exactly,” Eddie said, smirking.

You followed Eddie out of the store, the air cool and still as the door shut behind you. The parking lot was quiet, unusually so, and every shadow seemed just a little too long.

Eddie unlocked the van and swung the passenger door open with a small, dramatic bow. “Your chariot awaits.”

You climbed in, settling into the worn seat as Eddie shut his door and started the engine. It growled to life—loud, rattling, stubborn—but alive.

As he pulled out of the lot, he gave you a quick side glance. “So… you good? Or should I prepare for you to freak out halfway there?”

You exhaled slowly, gripping your bag. “I’m fine. Just… let’s get home.”

You watched Hawkins slip past the van window, the familiar streets feeling suddenly alien under the dim streetlights. Your stomach knotted as you saw the yellow police tape flapping in the breeze around Chrissy Cunningham’s house, Sheriff Hopper standing nearby, murmuring into his radio.

—

“Home for the night,” Eddie said, voice low. He didn’t move, didn’t comment on the cigarette—just watched the street, alert, waiting.

You grabbed your bag and swung the door open, stepping onto the quiet driveway. Gravel crunched under your boots, oddly loud in the still night.

You offered a small, wry smile, then headed up the steps and through Nancy’s front door, the warmth of the house swallowing you like a small, fragile shield against the tension outside.

Inside, the quiet was almost comforting, but the weight of the red “YOU” notes lingered in your mind. Tonight, everyone would have to stay together—walls, doors, and windows couldn’t keep out what had already marked you.

The instant you stepped inside, Steve was there, pulling you into a firm, almost protective hug. “Hey… you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. It wasn’t overbearing—just a solid, grounding presence. You let yourself lean into it for a moment, letting the tension in your shoulders ease slightly.

When you pulled back, Steve’s eyes flicked toward Eddie, who was leaning against the doorway, smirking just a little. Steve’s look was sharp but measured, a silent acknowledgement of respect for the fact that Eddie had gotten you here safely. Eddie met it with a small, almost imperceptible nod, and that brief exchange passed like a secret between them.

Nancy appeared in the hallway, ushering you forward. “Come on, I’ll help you settle in,” she said, guiding you to her room. The warmth of the house was a slight relief from the cold, tense night outside. You dropped your bag on the bed as Nancy helped fluff pillows and make space for you.

From the living room, the younger boys’ voices drifted up, a comforting hum of normalcy. They were sitting around the coffee table, playing cards, the clatter of cards and occasional laughter grounding the house in something familiar. Mike peeked up from the game, giving you a small, encouraging smile, while Lucas and Dustin concentrated fiercely on their hands, trying to ignore the heavy mood hanging over the house. Eddie walked over, ruffling Dustin's hat

You sank onto the edge of Nancy’s bed, running a hand over the comforter. “Have you heard from Jonathan?” you ask.

Nancy’s hands paused on the pillow she was adjusting. For a second, her expression flickered—worry, frustration, something deeper tucked beneath it.

She shook her head lightly. “No. Not since he left.” Her voice was steady, but the way her thumb worried the corner of the pillowcase betrayed the tension she was holding in her shoulders. “I’m… trying not to push. He needs space, and if I start chasing him right now, he’ll just run farther.”

You nodded, though the knot in your stomach tightened. Jonathan storming off into the night—with a killer loose, with red envelopes showing up in your pockets—felt like the worst kind of gamble.

Nancy sat beside you, smoothing her hair back with a practiced motion. “He’s not stupid,” she added quietly, more to reassure herself than you. “He knows how to take care of himself. He just… doesn’t want to be here right now.”

Her voice dipped on that last part.

Downstairs, a burst of laughter cut through the tension—Lucas slapping a card onto the table, Dustin groaning dramatically, Mike insisting someone was cheating. Eddie’s voice rose over the commotion, loud and theatrical:

“Dustin Henderson, if you accuse me of rigging the deck one more time, I swear I’ll hex your dice for the next three campaigns—”

“YOU can’t hex dice, that’s not even a thing,” Dustin shouted back.

“Not with that attitude!” Eddie retorted.

Their voices floated up the stairs, warm and familiar and messy—something that didn’t belong to a night like this, but somehow made it a little easier to breathe.

Nancy let out a small, strained laugh. “At least they’re… being themselves.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Feels normal. Kind of.”

She reached over, squeezing your hand gently. “We’re going to get through tonight. Together. We’ll keep each other safe.”

You nodded, meeting her steady gaze. The determination there was a sharp contrast to the exhaustion around her eyes—but it was real. Solid. Nancy Wheeler didn’t crumble under fear; she built plans on top of it.

A sudden set of footsteps pounded up the stairs—then Steve appeared in the doorway, leaning on the frame.

“Just checking in,” he said, scanning the room, then you, then Nancy. “Everything good?”

“We’re good,” Nancy answered, folding her arms.

He nodded, relief flickering across his features before he glanced at you again—long enough to make sure you were really okay.

“Dinner’s… well, Robin’s trying to make grilled cheese,” Steve added, grimacing. “So if the smoke alarm goes off, nobody panics.”

From downstairs: “STEVE! IT’S NOT BURNT, IT’S JUST… ADVANCED!”

Steve rolled his eyes. “See what I mean?”

Despite everything, a small laugh slipped out of you.

Steve caught it—his shoulders loosened.

“Anyway,” he said softly, “take your time. But… don’t close the door all the way, okay? Just… in case.”

Nancy gave him a pointed look—one that said I already have a plan for tonight, Harrington—but he ignored it.

He pushed off the doorframe and headed back downstairs, the sounds of the group swallowing him up.

Nancy returned her attention to you, voice gentler now. “Get changed. I’ll grab extra blankets.”

Before she stepped out, she paused, glancing back at the phone on her bedside table “If Jonathan calls…  tell me  right away.”

There was something fragile in the way she said it, something that made your chest tighten.

Then she slipped out, leaving you with your bag, the muffled bickering from downstairs, and the soft hum of a house trying desperately to feel safe.

—-

The dining room lights glowed warm and low, casting soft shadows across the table. Plates clinked, silverware scraped, and the faint smell of slightly over-toasted bread hung in the air — Robin’s “advanced” grilled cheese.

Everyone was crammed around the Wheeler dining table, elbows brushing, knees knocking, the whole scene too domestic for the weight sitting on all your shoulders.

You sat between Steve and Nancy.

Which meant you were stuck squarely in the blast radius.

Nancy ate with precise, quiet motions, her fork cutting clean lines through her sandwich. Steve, on the other hand, tore into his like it had personally offended him — jaw tight, eyes fixed on something that wasn’t his plate.

Every time Nancy shifted, Steve’s eyes flicked her way. Every time Steve breathed too loudly, Nancy’s shoulders tensed.

The air between them was thick enough to choke on.

Nobody mentioned Jonathan.

Opposite you, Eddie lounged back in his chair, one boot braced against the table leg, chewing loudly on his grilled cheese like he was auditioning for a commercial. He caught your eye and wiggled his brows, clearly enjoying the discomfort radiating off the other two.

Robin sat beside him, sniffing suspiciously at her own sandwich. “Okay, be honest,” she said, pointing her crust at Dustin. “Is it bad? Because Steve said he liked it and Steve lies to protect my feelings.”

“I do not lie—” Steve started.

“STEVE,” Robin cut in, “you once told me my bangs looked fine when they made me look like a startled raccoon.”

Steve groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Can we not—”

“It’s edible,” Dustin declared, giving Robin a thumbs-up.

Mike shrugged. “Better than Mom’s tuna surprise.”

“Everything is better than your Mom’s tuna surprise,” Lucas muttered.

Nancy hid a tiny, involuntary laugh behind her napkin. Steve’s head turned toward her immediately — too sharply, too much hope in it — and she felt it. You felt it. Everybody felt it.

She forced the smile down, focusing on her plate.

Eddie leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Damn, Harrington. Thought you’d have moved on from pining by now.”

Steve choked on air. “I’m not— I wasn’t— Eddie, shut up.”

Nancy went rigid, Mike dropped his fork as Lucas sucked in a slow, painful breath.  Robin muttered, “Oh God,” into her sandwich.

Eddie just smirked at Steve like a cat that had found a weak spot in the fence.

You kicked Eddie under the table.

Hard.

He jolted, eyes widening. “Ow— okay, okay. Jesus.” He held his hands up. “Fine. No more romance commentary at the table.”

Steve didn’t look at anyone. His jaw ticked. His knee bounced hard enough that you could feel it through your chair.

Nancy finally spoke, voice soft, polite, painfully neutral. “Focus on the food, Eddie.”

“Copy that, Wheeler.” Eddie took a loud bite.

The tension didn’t dissipate — it just shifted, settling like static across the table. You could practically feel Steve vibrating beside you, and Nancy sinking deeper into her thoughts on your other side.

You slowly reached for your water.

You reached for your water glass, fingers brushing against the cool condensation—

—and another hand touched yours.

Eddie’s.

Just the barest graze of his knuckles against your fingers, a brief, accidental-on-purpose kind of contact as he reached for his own glass at the same time. His hand lingered for a second too long — warm, calloused, unmistakably intentional.

Your breath caught.

Eddie didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he took a slow sip, eyes forward, pretending nothing had happened. But then his gaze flicked up, quick, unreadable, almost flirting with the idea of touch again.

Across the table, Robin didn’t notice, too busy analysing the structural integrity of her grilled cheese.

But Nancy did.

Her eyes darted toward you, then toward Eddie, a flicker of something like curiosity crossing her face.

And Steve… Steve definitely noticed. His brows twitched, jaw tightening just enough to betray the brewing storm behind his forced calm.

Eddie caught Steve’s reaction out of the corner of his eye and smothered a grin behind his glass.

You pulled your hand back slowly, pulse ticking in your throat. The slight touch shouldn’t have meant anything — but the night was heavy, the tension thick, and Eddie’s warmth still tingled against your skin like electricity trying to find a way out.

Before anyone could comment, Robin clapped her hands loudly. “So!” she announced, practically yelling. “Dessert. Pop-Tarts. Who’s in?”

The whole table jolted.

And the moment, your moment, slipped quietly into the noisy, awkward scramble that followed.

But Eddie still watched you over the rim of his glass. And he knew you felt it. He knew.

—

A half hour later, the house had settled into an uneasy imitation of normalcy. Everyone had migrated to the living room, plates scraped clean, the empty grilled cheese pan abandoned in the kitchen sink. Lamps glowed warm against the dark windows, and someone had tossed a couple of blankets onto the floor.

Robin burst in from the foyer with a stack of VHS tapes in her arms, nearly tripping over Mike’s feet.

“Okay!” she announced dramatically. “Family Video provided us with some quality entertainment tonight. And by quality, I mean stuff Keith said nobody rents anymore, which makes them perfect for us.”

She dumped the stack onto the coffee table. Cases fanned out like a macabre hand of cards.

“Uhh, Halloween…. Texas Chainsaw Massacre…Friday the 13th,”

“Did you purely bring Slasher films?” I ask.

“I have a strange humour when nervous,” Robin shrugs her shoulders.

Robin began tallying votes with the seriousness of a presidential election. “Okay, so far we have: one for Halloween, one for Chain Saw, one traumatised Nancy—”

While she was distributing ballots made out of torn napkins, your attention drifted.

Eddie had slipped away from the main cluster of people. He wandered casually toward the dining room hutch—too casually—and crouched down like he was totally, absolutely innocent and definitely not doing anything suspicious.

You shifted in your seat, watching him pull open a polished cabinet door.

Nancy’s parents’ liquor cabinet.

Your brows rose as he rummaged inside, pushing aside untouched bottles of whiskey, vodka, and something fancy enough to have a gold label. Eddie glanced over his shoulder once, making sure Nancy wasn’t looking, then reached for a bottle of Jack Daniels like a raccoon discovering a treasure chest.

He held it up triumphantly—then froze when he saw your eyes on him.

Slowly… dramatically… he pressed a finger to his lips.

Shhh.

You tried not to smile. Tried and failed. His grin widened just enough to show he was pleased with himself.

Across the room, Steve snapped his fingers. “Hey! Y/N! You voting or what?”

You tore your gaze from Eddie just as he slipped the bottle under his jacket, whistling like the world’s worst undercover agent.

Robin waved a napkin ballot at you. “Last vote before democracy dies!”

Eddie sauntered back into the group, looking far too smug.

“Halloween,” you called out, eyes not leaving Eddie. And you couldn’t help thinking, Slasher movies weren’t the only dangerous thing in the room tonight.

The lights were off, except for the faint glow of the TV and a single lamp behind the couch, casting everything in warm, murky gold. The living room wasn’t meant to hold this many people — especially not this tightly — but nobody complained. Nobody wanted space tonight.

Blankets piled on the floor. Bowls of half-eaten popcorn sat abandoned on the coffee table. The opening credits of Halloween flickered across the screen, that synth theme crawling up your spine like cold fingers.

Everyone had squeezed themselves into whatever space they could claim.

Mike, Lucas, and Dustin were crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on the carpet. Robin sat cross-legged in front of the couch, leaning back against Steve’s shins. Nancy perched on the arm of the couch like she was afraid to sink into comfort.

And you—

You were wedged between Steve and Eddie on the sofa, so close your knees brushed both of theirs whenever you shifted.

Steve sat rigidly, arms folded, jaw tight, pretending he wasn’t wound like a spring. He kept glancing toward Nancy, who steadfastly watched the screen as if concentration could hold her whole world together.

Eddie had slouched the second he sat down, legs spread, arm thrown over the back of the couch behind you. Not touching you. Not quite. But close enough that you felt the ghost of his sleeve against your shoulders.

The movie had barely started when Eddie’s fingers — the hand draped behind you — shifted.

Not obviously.

Just enough that his knuckles brushed the back of your shoulder.

Light. Casual. Testing.

Your breath hitched.

Steve noticed.

He didn’t say anything, but his jaw clenched so hard you heard the faint grind of teeth. His knee jostled against yours, the tension rolling off him in waves.

On the carpet, Dustin whispered, “Dude, shh, this is the good part,” loudly enough that everyone heard.

You tried to focus on the movie.

The theme music thumped like a heartbeat. Laurie Strode walked down her quiet neighborhood street. Pumpkins glowed on porches. Leaves blew across the pavement.

A normal night that wasn’t normal anymore.

Robin tossed popcorn in the air and missed her mouth entirely. “God, I forgot how much I hate that mask,” she hissed.

“Kevlar-face Kirk,” Eddie whispered back. “He’s the patron saint of bad vibes.”

You snorted. Too loud.

Steve shot you a look — half fond, half jealous — that twisted something low in your stomach.

Your ankle brushed Eddie’s boot. You didn’t know who moved first. Neither of you pulled away.

Outside the TV’s glow, the rest of the house felt impossibly dark. The weight of the red notes sat heavy behind all of you — a silent threat, waiting.

But here, for a moment, you were warm. Pressed between two people who would die before they let anything happen to you.

Another tense scene played. Laurie walking faster. The shape behind her. The music building.

Eddie leaned forward just slightly, elbows on his knees. From the corner of your eye, you saw the neck of the stolen Jack Daniels bottle peeking from beneath his jacket, hidden between the couch cushions.

You nudged him.

He looked at you out of the side of his eye, smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Later”, he mouthed.

And somehow, that made your pulse trip faster than the slasher on the screen.

The movie continued, shadows stretching, screams sharp, tension thick.

And in the tight space between Eddie’s shoulder and Steve’s arm, you felt every charged second of it — every brush, every glance, every shift of breath.

—--

The Wheeler backyard was quiet in that eerie, suburban-after-midnight way — too still, too dark, too normal for a night like this. The porch light buzzed weakly above you and Eddie, casting a dull cone of yellow over the patchy grass while crickets hummed somewhere beyond the fence.

You and Eddie sat on the old wooden steps, a near-empty bottle of Jack Daniels resting between you like some forbidden offering you’d both already accepted.

You flicked your lighter, took a drag, and let the smoke burn down your throat before curling into the cold night air.

Eddie plucked the bottle up and tipped it back, finishing the last swallow with a grimace. “Jesus H— that’ll put hair on your chest.”

You smirked. “Don’t think you need any more.”

He shot you an offended look through a curtain of curls. “Are you calling me hairy?”

“I’m calling you feral.”

Eddie grinned, unable to stop himself. He handed you the bottle. “Finish it. I’m pretty sure this is top-shelf stuff. Wheeler Sr.’s prized secret stash. The kind he hides behind tax documents and ‘don’t touch’ labels.”

You felt the ghost of his warmth on the glass. “Nancy’s dad is gonna kill us.”

“Nah,” Eddie said, leaning back on his elbows, boots braced on the step below. “He’ll blame the killer.” He paused “Or Steve. Probably Steve.”

You huffed a small laugh and took a swallow. The whiskey was warm and sharp, settling into you like a slow, dangerous flame.

Eddie’s eyes followed the motion of your throat as you swallowed. He didn’t bother hiding it.

The porch light flickered.

He lit his cigarette with a cupped hand, the flame briefly illuminating the cut of his cheekbones and the soft warmth in his eyes. For a long moment, neither of you spoke — trading the cigarette silently now that the bottle was gone, the muffled sounds of the slasher movie leaking through the living room walls.

Distant screams. Dustin yelling about plot holes. Robin’s dramatic commentary.

Eddie blew out a slow stream of smoke, watching it dissolve into the dark. “Y’know,” he said, voice low and honest, “I didn’t think tonight would feel so surreal.”

You nudged him. “Because of the murder?”

He shook his head, curls brushing his forehead. “Because of the company.”

Heat pooled low in your stomach — whiskey, smoke, or him, you weren’t sure.

He nudged your knee with his own. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured. “You’re gonna make me say something stupid.”

“Like what?” you whispered.

His smirk turned softer, closer. “Like how you’re the only person I’d risk Wheeler Senior’s wrath for… just to steal his fancy-ass liquor.”

Your breath hitched.

The porch light buzzed again. The night went very still.

Eddie’s fingers brushed yours as he took the cigarette back. Not accidental. Not subtle. His knee pressed into yours, warm and steady. He leaned closer — enough that his breath warmed your cheek, enough that his eyes flicked to your mouth and lingered.

You tilted toward him.

He moved in too — slow, deliberate, careful in a way Eddie Munson wasn’t usually careful.

Your noses nearly brushed.

His voice dropped, barely a whisper. “If we kiss right now, sweetheart… .”

Your lips parted—

SLAM.

The back door banged open.

“WHAT THE HELL!?” Steve’s voice cracked in outrage.

You and Eddie jerked apart so hard he almost toppled off the step.

Robin pointed at the empty bottle like it was evidence in a crime. “OH MY GOD, THEY’RE DRINKING.” Robin darted over, crouching next to m,e “You could have at least invited me, Y/N”. Robin grabbed the bottle, taking a sip

Nancy stepped onto the porch, robe tight, eyes wide in alarm before flattening into exhausted resignation. “Oh.”

Steve pointed at you like a stressed-out PTA mom. “ Are you two INSANE? Killer on the loose...”

Eddie, leaning a little too far to one side, raised a solemn hand. “Listen, Harrington… there is a killer out there. A killer. Alcohol is coping. We are coping.”

Robin nodded thoughtfully. “He… might have a point.”

Nancy sighed. Long. Deep. Bone-tired. “You know what? Fine. Fine. With everything going on? If there was ever a night to break into that cabinet…”

Eddie whooped victoriously — then nearly fell forward.

Steve groaned, already defeated. “If Mrs. Wheeler finds out, I’m blaming Eddie.”

“You always blame Eddie!” Eddie protested.

“Because it’s always you!”

Something cracked — tension, fear, dread — all splitting open at once.

And for the first time all night, you all laughed.

—

The living room was a mess. Glorious, drunken chaos.

Nancy’s cassette player blasted The Bangles, the familiar pop-rock filling the warm room. Steve was pacing back and forth, occasionally flipping the tape like he was DJing at Studio 54, his tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up. Robin was mid-spin in the centre of the room, flailing her arms like a jazz dancer who didn’t care if she hit anyone.

Eddie was grinning from ear to ear, moving like he owned the space, every step exaggerated, every gesture theatrical, as if the end of the world could start tomorrow and he wouldn’t care.

You were laughing breathlessly, holding onto his hands as he spun you around, stumbling together until he caught you by the waist. His face was flushed, eyes bright, and his grin was contagious.

“You,” he panted, leaning close enough that your noses nearly brushed, “are the best kind of trouble.”

You laughed, dizzy from spinning and warmth. “We’re all trouble tonight.”

He stared at you — really stared — warm, soft, and just a little wrecked.

“We could’ve kissed earlier,” he murmured.

“But we were interrupted,” You murmur, nose nearly touching his.

“Stupid interruptions,” his eyes looking at your lips.

You blinked, pulling back slightly from Eddie, and your gaze drifted across the room. Steve and Nancy were dancing together, bodies moving to the beat with that familiar mix of clumsy and deliberate rhythm. Nancy laughed, tilting her head back, her hair catching the light. Steve smiled at her, but every few seconds his eyes flicked toward you, like he couldn’t help himself.

Eddie followed your line of sight, his grin widening. “Look at him,” he muttered, low enough that only you could hear, “the great Steve Harrington, losing focus over you instead of Nancy.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your blush. “He’s not… he’s just… uh… making sure no one trips over a coffee table?”

“Sure,” Eddie said, mock-serious, his hands back on your waist as he spun you again, “that’s totally it.”

Steve, oblivious to your whispered exchange, finally broke away from Nancy for a moment, swaying closer toward the middle of the room. His eyes met yours just long enough to make your stomach flutter before he jerked back, pretending to check his footing.

You caught Eddie watching your reactions like a hawk, a teasing gleam in his eye. “You know he’s going to stare at you the whole night, right?” he murmured.

You smirked, leaning in close, the music thumping around you. “And you’re going to enjoy it, aren’t you?”

“Hell yeah,” he whispered back, the warmth of his chest pressing against yours. He lightly pressed his lips against yours. 

You froze for just a second, heart hammering, before melting into the warmth pressing against you. Eddie’s lips lingered lightly, teasing, playful, but there was something electric in the press of them — a promise wrapped in daring. The music thumped around you, loud enough to mask the pounding of your heart, the chaos of the room fading into a blur.

Your hands instinctively found his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you leaned in closer. The scent of him — cigarette smoke, whiskey, something distinctly Eddie — wrapped around you, making the air between you taut and impossibly close.

A sudden burst of laughter behind you broke the spell. Robin was twirling near the corner of the room, arms outstretched, and Steve and Nancy were spinning again, oblivious to everything except their own rhythm. Steve’s eyes flicked toward you once more, just long enough for a pang of awareness to hit your chest.

Eddie smirked against your lips, voice a low murmur. “Ignore the world. Right here. Right now.”

You couldn’t help it — a laugh bubbled up in spite of everything. You pressed your forehead to his, breathing mingling, hearts racing in tandem with the music. For a moment, all the fear, the tension, and the red envelopes seemed miles away, reduced to nothing more than background noise to this dizzy, intoxicating closeness.

And then, somewhere between another spin and another laugh, Eddie whispered, “Yeah… this is the kind of trouble I like.”

You smiled against him, warmth and mischief dancing in your chest, as the room swirled around you both — chaotic, alive, and perfectly, dangerously yours.

Eddie leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours lightly, teasingly, just enough to make your pulse spike. He pulled back slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Gotta take a leak,” he murmured, voice low and playful, though his eyes lingered on yours a moment longer than necessary.

Before you could respond, he winked and slipped away, heading upstairs, leaving a trace of warmth and mischief in his wake.

You watched Eddie’s retreating back until he disappeared up the stairs, the faint creak of the steps marking his absence. Your fingers lingered where his had brushed yours, heat curling through your chest.

Steve appeared at the edge of the couch, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. “What the hell was that about?” he asked, voice low but sharp, clearly annoyed.

You blinked at him, tilting your head. “Why do you care?” you shot back, trying to sound casual, though your pulse betrayed you.

Steve stepped closer, irritation written all over him. “I mean—come on. That was… I don’t even know. You’re kissing Eddie right here, in front of everyone!”

You leaned back, smirking a little, though heat crept into your cheeks. “Yeah, well… he’s not exactly subtle either.”

Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Ugh, seriously? I mean—can you not?” His gaze flicked toward the staircase where Eddie had gone, frustration tightening every line of his body.

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Relax, Steve. It’s just a kiss. No one died.”

Steve let out a sharp huff, clearly not convinced. “It’s not that it’s ‘just a kiss,’ it’s—ugh, never mind. Forget I asked.” He muttered the last part, muttering to himself, but the annoyed tension in his stance didn’t disappear.

You grinned, shaking your head. “Sure, Harrington. I’ll forget.”

Steve huffed again, muttering under his breath as he wandered toward the kitchen, clearly still annoyed—but you knew he’d be thinking about it the rest of the night.

Eddie reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, hands casually wiped on his black jeans, the slight smirk still tugging at his lips as if nothing had changed.

The warm hum of the living room felt a little too fragile when a sharp knock rattled against the front door.

Heads snapped toward it. Tension rippled through the group.

“Not again,” Nancy muttered, eyes narrowing.

Robin peeked around the couch, voice low. “Who… who would it be now?”

Steve’s jaw clenched, fists tightening at his sides. “No way I’m opening that. Not without knowing who—”

Before anyone could finish, the door creaked open slowly. Standing there in the dim porch light was Jonathan. His shoulders were tense, eyes wary, but there was a faint relief in the way he exhaled when he saw everyone.

“Jonathan?” Nancy said, voice soft but sharp. Nancy softened, wrapping her arms around her boyfriend. 

The warm relief of Jonathan’s arrival barely registered before a piercing scream ripped through the house.

Everyone froze. The laughter, the music, the teasing—all of it died in an instant.

“Upstairs!” Steve barked, already charging toward the staircase. You and Eddie followed without hesitation, your hearts hammering. Nancy and Robin were right behind, fear etched into every line of their faces.

When you burst into the boys’ room, the scene was worse than you could have imagined.

Mike was sitting on the floor, shaking, tears streaking down his face, a guttural sob escaping his throat. His tiny hands clutched his knees as if they could protect him from the horror in front of him.

Lucas and Dustin lay in their sleeping bags, eyes wide open, throats slashed. The blood glistened under the pale light from the hall, stark and brutal. Silence seemed impossible to hold, yet the room had swallowed it all, leaving only a horrifying stillness.

“Oh God… oh God…” Nancy whispered, her hands flying to her mouth as she stumbled closer, her face drained of color. Robin had her hands over her mouth too, eyes wide, shaking.

“T‑They… they were asleep,” he whispered, staring straight ahead as if afraid to blink. “I—I woke up because… because something felt warm…”

Steve’s face tightened. “Warm?”

Mike swallowed, a strangled sob escaping as he wiped his nose with the back of his shaking hand.

“It… it was in my sleeping bag,” he choked. “Their blood. I woke up in their blood.”

Robin turned away, pressing her fist to her mouth. Nancy made a small, wounded sound, pulling Mike into her arms and clinging to him like she might shatter otherwise.

The room tilted. Your heartbeat skidded. Your stomach surged violently.

“I—” you gasped, backing away, chest tightening. “I need—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. You bolted.

You barely heard Eddie calling your name as you sprinted down the hallway, stumbling into the bathroom and slamming the door behind you. Your knees hit the tile hard as you braced yourself over the toilet. And then everything came up—liquor, grilled cheese, the sour sting of fear.

Your entire body shook. The sound of your retching echoed horribly in the small room. Tears blurred your vision, hot and relentless, as if your body was trying to purge the image burned into your mind.

A light knock came at the door. Soft. Careful.

“Hey…” Eddie’s voice, low and shaky but trying to be steady. “It’s me. Are you—can I come in?”

You couldn’t answer. You retched again instead.

There was a moment of silence. Then the door cracked open gently—Eddie must’ve pushed slow enough to avoid the faulty latch clattering. He stepped in and shut it behind him.

“Jesus…” he breathed, kneeling beside you. He didn’t touch you at first—almost like he was afraid to break you—but then he rested a hand lightly between your shoulder blades. “It’s okay. Just—just breathe. I got you. You shouldn’t have seen that”

Another wave hit you, violent and sudden, and Eddie’s grip steadied you so you didn’t fall forward.

When the retching finally slowed to miserable dry heaves, he grabbed a few tissues from the counter and wiped your mouth carefully, his touch soft but trembling.

“They were kids Eddie, kids!” you cried between gags.

When you finally managed to sit back against the cold tile, gasping for air, the muffled chaos downstairs hit your ears like a second wave.

Shouts. Yelling. The sound of someone slamming against furniture.

You stumbled to your feet, supporting yourself against the sink, and cautiously opened the bathroom door. The living room was a scene of utter panic.

Steve and Jonathan were facing off, chests heaving, fists clenched. Steve’s eyes were wide with anger and disbelief, while Jonathan’s jaw was tight, his whole body radiating restrained fury.

“You think you can just waltz in here and show up like you own this place?!” Steve barked. His face was red, his hands trembling with rage. “You—YOU did this! Didn’t you? You brought this nightmare here!”

Jonathan froze, shock flickering across his face. “What the hell are you talking about, Harrington? I didn’t do anything!”

“You expect me to believe that?” Steve shouted, shoving Jonathan back. “Lucas and Dustin are dead, Jonathan! And you just stroll in like it’s nothing? You always have that damn look—like you know more than you’re telling us!”

Nancy’s face went pale. She moved toward the wall phone, fumbling with the receiver, voice shaking. “We… we need to call the cops.”

She lifted the handset, then froze. Her eyes widened. “The wire…” she whispered. She tugged at it, yanking the cord from the wall. It was cut—cleanly, deliberately.

“No signal,” she breathed, panic threading her voice. “We can’t call anyone.”

Steve’s face tightened, fists clenching. “Great. Just… perfect.” His eyes darted toward the front and back doors. “We can at least get out, right?”

You all rushed to the doors, hearts hammering. Panic surged. Both were jammed. No amount of yanking or pushing would budge them. The locks hadn’t been tampered with—they’d been blocked from the outside.

Eddie’s grin from earlier was gone. He pounded a fist against the front door. “Shit! You don’t think… they're still in the house!”

You swallow, before looking around at all of your friends. “Or… it’s one of us,” you breathe. Everyone turned, looking horrified in your direction. 

Steve’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as he pointed a finger at Jonathan, shaking with barely-contained anger. “One of us? Don’t act innocent, Jonathan! You just show up here like nothing happened, and now—now Lucas and Dustin are dead! What, are you gonna tell me you had nothing to do with it?”

Jonathan stepped back, hands raised, voice low but firm. “Steve, I swear to God—I didn’t do this! You think I’d just stroll in here after something like that?”

Steve took a step closer, eyes wild, chest heaving. “You always have that calm, quiet thing about you. Always acting like you know more than anyone else. Well, newsflash—maybe you did! Maybe you were waiting to show up until it was convenient!”

Nancy grabbed Steve’s arm, her voice sharp but trembling. “Steve! Stop accusing him! We don’t know anything yet!”

Steve yanked his arm free, eyes flashing with rage. “Stop telling me what to do, Nancy! I’m not blind! I can see the way he walks in here, acting like a hero, and meanwhile—” He gestured wildly toward the boys’ room upstairs, “—look at what’s happened while he’s been gone!”

Eddie stepped forward, voice low but cutting, trying to anchor the group. “Steve, calm the hell down. Pointing fingers won’t bring anyone back. None of us knows who it is.”

Jonathan walked over to Eddie, angry and red. “Eddie, I am not the fucking killer,” he shouted, his chest heaving, eyes wide in disbelief.

Eddie looked down, placing a hand in his inside pocket. The room froze, all sound cut except for the shallow breaths of the group.

“I know,” he said softly, almost too calmly. His fingers tightened. Then, with a single deliberate click—BANG.

Jonathan collapsed to the floor, eyes wide in shock. A piercing scream erupted from Nancy, her hands flying to her mouth. Steve’s jaw dropped, a mix of rage and disbelief twisting his face.

Eddie swayed slightly, gun still trained on Steve, the dim living room light glinting off the metal. “Welcome to Act Three, Harrington,” he said, voice steady, almost theatrical.

Steve’s fists clenched, stepping forward despite the terror in his eyes. “You… you’re insane. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Robin stumbled back, trembling. “Eddie… you… What are you doing?!”

Mike froze in place, tears streaking down his face, gripping the edge of the couch as the reality hit him.

Eddie’s grin returned, small, sharp, terrifying. “It’s just the beginning,” he whispered, lowering the gun slightly but never removing his aim. “And don’t think it’s over yet. Not until the curtain falls.”

Robin stumbled back, trembling. “Eddie… you… what are you doing?!”

Eddie’s grin returned, small, sharp, terrifying. “Oh, Robin,” he murmured, almost fondly, “you really don’t understand your role yet.”

Before anyone could react, a deafening shot rang out. Robin’s scream cut through the room, sharp and horrified. She collapsed to the floor beside Jonathan, eyes wide, blood blossoming across her chest.

Nancy’s cries filled the room, raw and unending, as she clung to Jonathan’s lifeless body. The warm, chaotic living room from before had dissolved into horror, the flickering light casting monstrous shadows over blood-soaked carpet and terrified faces.

Steve’s eyes snapped, his jaw tightening. “I’m not letting this happen!” With a roar, he lunged at Eddie, shoving him backward and trying to wrestle the gun free.

Eddie staggered, laughing, but it was uneven, unhinged. “Ohhh, Harrington… that’s the spirit!”

The gun fired—a sharp, deafening crack—and Nancy screamed. She staggered backward, a hand pressed to her chest, blood blooming across her robe. “Ahhhh!”

Steve froze for just a heartbeat, horror washing over him. “Nancy!” He dove to her side, hands trembling as he assessed the wound. Nancy gasped, tears spilling freely, clutching at him. “It’s… it’s okay… I’m… I’m okay,” she whimpered, though her voice was shaky, barely above a whisper.

Eddie smirked, finger still twitching on the trigger, but Steve’s rage surged. With a desperate, forceful heave, he wrenched the gun from Eddie’s grasp, twisting it away and slamming Eddie against the wall. The metal clanged against the doorframe. Eddie let out a strangled curse, fury burning in his eyes, but he was unarmed.

Steve spun toward you and Mike, adrenaline propelling him. “Come on! Upstairs! Now!”

You and Mike didn’t hesitate. You grabbed each other’s hands as Steve pushed you toward the staircase. “Hurry, don’t look back!” he barked, dragging both of you up the steps, adrenaline screaming through every vein.

Behind you, you could hear Eddie’s curses, low and dangerous, echoing off the walls. The living room was chaos—Nancy’s cries, the metallic clatter of the gun hitting the floor, and Eddie’s deranged laughter mixing into a horrifying symphony.

Steve shoved the bathroom door open as you reached the landing. “Get in there, lock it!” he ordered, yanking you both inside. You slammed the door behind you, fumbling with the lock as Mike clutched your arm, shaking.

You sank against the door, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath. “He… he’s insane,” you gasped, voice trembling.

Steve pressed himself against the door, breathing hard, forehead slick with sweat. “Yeah… but we’re alive, at least for now. And we’re not staying down there with him.”

Mike whimpered, burying his face in your shoulder. You wrapped an arm around him, trying to steady both your own fear and his. Outside, the sound of Eddie pounding on the front door, calling your names, grew louder.

Steve crouched beside you, voice low and determined. “We’re getting through this. I swear. No one else dies while I’m here. Not on my watch.”

Eddie’s pounding on the door grew relentless, the wood rattling under his fists. His voice—low, taunting, unhinged—slid through the cracks. “Come on! You can’t hide forever! I know you’re in there!”

Steve’s eyes darted to the doorknob, to the walls, to the terrified faces of you and Mike. His jaw tightened. He leaned closer, pressing himself against you, voice barely above a whisper, trembling with a mixture of fear and determination.

“I’ve always… always loved you,” he confessed, his forehead resting against yours, eyes fierce and desperate. “And I won’t let anything happen to you. Not while I’m here. Not ever.”

You froze for a heartbeat, the words hitting like a hammer—warm, raw, honest. You felt his hands tighten around you, pulling you close, shielding you from the chaos outside.

And then, in one motion so swift it blurred with adrenaline and shock, you drew a small knife from your jacket pocket into Steves back.

Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief as you pressed it against his back, just below the shoulder blades. “Y/N… what—”

You twisted the knife, and Steve gasped, stumbling forward, hands instinctively trying to grab yours—but it was too late. Pain and shock flooded his face, eyes locking with yours.

Mike screamed, clutching your arm, terror etched into every line of his small frame. “Y/N! No! Stop!”

Steve collapsed to the floor with a strangled cry, clutching at the wound, his mouth opening and closing like he had words but couldn’t form them. “Why… why… you?” he managed, voice ragged, disbelief and agony mixing into a single, haunting sound.

You stepped back from Steve, watching him crumple to the floor, chest heaving, eyes wide with shock. Mike’s small body pressed against yours, shaking, his sobs echoing in the small room.

For a moment, the world was silent—just your own ragged breathing and the distant, relentless pounding from Eddie outside. Then, almost casually, you reached for the lock on the door. With a twist and a soft click, it slid open.

Eddie’s grin widened before he even stepped inside, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. He strode in, slow and deliberate, soaking in the chaos you’d orchestrated upstairs.

“You made it easy,” Eddie said, voice smooth and low, like a predator savoring the kill. “I mean, really. Having all of you under one roof? I almost didn’t have to do anything.”

You glanced down at Steve, still gasping, half on the floor, half trying to push himself up. “It was too easy,” you murmured, voice calm, almost detached. “All I had to do was… nudge things along.”

Mike’s whimper turned into a shriek. “You… you’re not supposed to be doing this! You’re supposed to—” He broke off, tears blinding him.

Eddie stepped closer, looking at you with something that almost resembled admiration. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be so… cooperative. But now? Now it’s perfect. All of them, right where we want them.”

You let your eyes meet his, a chilling smile tugging at your lips. “Exactly. It was too easy. Everyone thought the killer was one of the others… but we were always two steps ahead.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, Mike trembling between you, Steve’s groans punctuating the silence, and Eddie’s presence filling every shadow. The trap had closed, and the two of you had orchestrated it perfectly.

Hours earlier, the night was still young—or maybe it just felt that way, in the warped glow of anticipation. Eddie’s van rumbled down the quiet road, tires crunching on gravel, headlights slicing through the darkness like knives. You sat beside him in the passenger seat, knees brushing, heart thrumming with the pulse of what was to come.

“You ready for this?” Eddie asked, voice low, his hand brushing yours in a way that sent shivers up your spine. There was a grin in his tone, dark and sharp, like he could taste the chaos before it even happened.

You smirked, leaning close. “More than ready. Tonight… it’s going to be perfect.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, I still can’t get over it… your handwriting on the note we left for them. Seriously, ‘Y/N writes in cursive’—that’s cute, but also terrifying. You make even a threat look pretty.”

You laughed, leaning in, letting your forehead rest against his. “Pretty? That’s the idea. They won’t see it coming.”

“God… you’re going to make this fun,” he murmured, teeth flashing in the dim dashboard light. “I like that you even care about style while we’re… you know, planning murder.”

You leaned in again, brushing your lips against his ear, voice low and teasing. “It’s not just style. It’s intimidation. They’ll trust us… and never know it was you and me all along.”

The van idled at the edge of the driveway, shadows stretching long across the lawn. Outside, the quiet house waited, oblivious, as the two of you shared one last, heated kiss before stepping out. Hands entwined, hearts racing, the thrill of the night pulsed through your veins. You both knew—it had all been too easy.

Steve’s eyes widened, disbelief and pain twisting his face. “Y/N… why…?” His voice cracked, each word a mixture of betrayal and anguish.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stepped back, watching him slump to the floor, struggling to catch his breath. Mike’s hands trembled as he reached for you. “Y/N… what are you doing?”

Eddie’s grin stretched wider, eyes glittering in the dim light. He moved closer, brushing a hand across your cheek. “See? Told you it’d be fun.”

Mike shook his head, panic overtaking him. “No… no! You can’t—”

You tilted your head, knife gleaming. “I saved him for last,” you said softly, voice almost playful. “Those sad, trusting eyes… I wanted to remember them before it was over.”

Eddie leaned in, pressing a brief, cruel kiss to your lips. “Perfection,” he murmured. “It really couldn’t have gone any better.”

The room reeked of terror, the silence after the chaos thick and suffocating. Steve’s shallow, ragged breaths were the only sound that reminded you he had ever been there, fighting for them all.

Mike’s scream echoed as he realised the betrayal, your calm detachment cutting deeper than any blade

The last echo of screams faded into an unbearable silence, broken only by the shallow gasps of Steve on the floor, taking his last breaths. Mike sat frozen, knife still trembling in your hand, eyes wide with disbelief and terror.

Eddie leaned casually against the wall, slipping his jacket on, his grin sharp and unrepentant. “Well,” he said, glancing at you, “that was easier than I thought.”

You wiped the blade clean on the carpet, your expression calm, almost serene. “All of them… gone. Just like we planned.”

Eddie clapped his hands together softly, almost like applause. “Come on, then. Let’s get out of this hellhole.”

You followed him to the front door. The night air hit your face as Eddie swung the door open. His van was waiting outside, lights off, engine idling, shadows stretching across the lawn.

“You think anyone will ever catch us?” Eddie asked, glancing at you, his grin wicked.

You shrugged, knife still in hand, eyes on the fading lights of the town. “Not a chance. We’re untouchable, baby,”

“Your so sexy with a knife in your hand, god I love you,” Eddie breathed. You leaned over, placing a kiss on his cheek.

The van disappeared into the darkness, carrying the two of you—and the night’s horrors—far, far away.

The road ahead was endless. And so was your freedom.

[nightmaredazzling]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 😂☠️🗡️