a sad bitch💔🎀🧸

You weren’t sure if he had a fake ID or if the bartender just hadn’t cared to check, but you’d found him sitting at the bar, sipping something dark that had his nose curling up each time it hit his tongue. He’d looked pretty in the low light, fingers running across the condensation on his cup as he stared off at nothing.

His hair was what caught your attention. Dark, thick and fluffy. Or maybe it was his eyes, almost a matching brown to his hair, soft, wide, like a puppy dog.

You didn’t usually act like this, but hell, you only live once, right?

You’d approached him quietly, not saying anything at first as you took a seat next to him, shifting in the barstool as the bartender turned his attention toward you.

“What can I get ya?” The man, who was currently towel drying a glass covered in water marks nodded towards you.

“Uh- Can I just get an amaretto sour? Extra lemon juice and an extra cherry please?”

The man hummed, shifting away from the two of you to get to work making the drink. You used to be a big drinker, especially in your late teens into early twenties, but you’d toned it back a bit the older you got, especially when the hangovers started lasting longer each time you got wasted.

The man beside you shifted in his seat, lifting his drink to his lips once more, forcing himself to swallow the liquid down, leaving only ice in his cup as he set it back down on the counter.

“What’s your name?” He asked, turning to face you.

You hadn’t expected him to speak first but you quickly recovered, flashing a bright smile.

You shared your name and in return he gave you his. Steve.

It was a simple name, but it fit him well. He definitely looked like a Steve to you.

“So what brings you here on a Saturday night?” He asked, glancing down at the ice in his cup which was rapidly beginning to melt.

You shrugged as the bartender handed over your drink and you handed him a few bills, letting him keep the change.

You sipped from the cocktail straw, humming as the taste hit your tongue.

“Just bored. Not much to do in a small town like Hawkins, huh? You from here?” You asked him.

“Born and raised.” He replied, his eyes trailing down to your lips before looking away.

“I moved here a couple years ago, fresh start y’know? Wanted to get away from my parents, really live my life. Found a cheap house for rent on the edge of town and just went for it. It’s a real fixer upper, doesn’t have any a/c which sucks in the summer, but I’ve got a big fan I plug in and sit in front of when it gets unbearable.”

You weren’t even sure why you were sharing this with him, but it just seemed to spill from your lips.

He just nodded as you continued.

“It’s nothing fancy but it’s mine.” You took another sip from your drink.

“Wish I could do that.” Steve chuckled, shaking his head, some of his hair dipping down to tickle his forehead, his hand quickly brushing it back.

“I work at Family Video, not sure if you’ve ever been but the pay isn’t all that great, not much to live off of.”

You’d been in there a few times to rent movies but you’d never seen him, not that you could remember at least.

“I work as a server at Enzo’s. That one fancy restaurant that’s like–outrageously expensive?”

Steve perked up “I know that place! My parents used to go there a lot.”

“Used to?”

“They aren’t in town much.” He shrugged, looking away from you. He didn’t seem like he wanted to share more about his parents.

“You make good money there?” He asked, trying to keep up the conversation.

“I live off of tips, it’s good when we’re busy, but we’re really slow the beginning of the week, no one ever wants to work those shifts, I usually get stuck with them but it’s fine because I get to take home some of the extra food for free at the end of the night. It’s nice because I wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.”

The bartender came over and grabbed Steve’s empty glass.

“Another?” He asked him, to which Steve shook his head.

“No uh.. Give me a– uh.. Give me whatever beer you have on tap.”

The bartender nodded and then Steve was looking back over at you, fixing his hair again. A nervous habit it seemed.

“Family Video is pretty boring. I work there with my best friend so we’re mostly fucking around the whole shift, it’s the only thing that bearable. The worst is when all the gross creepy men in their forties come in and browse the adult section.” Steve shuddered dramatically, grinning.

“You should see the kind of stuff they check out. And when they return the tapes? We have a special sanitization policy before we stock them on the shelves again.”

You laughed, a genuine, gentle laugh at his words, picking one of the cherries out of your drink and bringing it to your lips. You bit it off the stem, humming softly.

Steve swallowed hard and looked away, cheeks flushing.

The bartender came back with his beer and Steve took a swig, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing, resting his head on his hand.

It went on like that for a while, the two of you chatting, drinking, laughing. It was the most at peace you’d felt in a while, a little less alone.

“Do you want to maybe–uh–” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze.

“Wanna come back to my place?”

You were two drinks deep at this time, head feeling a bit fuzzy but you weren’t drunk. Neither was Steve. There was nothing wrong with a little fun, right? Steve was nice and it had been a while since you’d been with anyone.

“Not uh–I’m not expecting anything. But I’ve got alcohol at home too. Cheaper than the drinks here.” He was pulling out a few bills and placing them on the counter to pay for his drinks before he was standing up, hoping you’d follow suit.

You did, grabbing your purse and swinging your jacket over your shoulder.

“Well, lead the way Steve.”

Steve led you out to his car, a red BMW that just screamed rich. The inside was pristine, not a single crumb on the seats or the floor. You slid in, closing the door behind you as Steve got in the driver’s seat. The engine started to life with a roar as Steve eased the car into reverse, backing out of the parking lot before he was pulling out onto the main road.

His house was a short drive there, the radio turned up, windows down as he drove, fingers tapping out a beat on the steering wheel.

Madonna’s Like a Virgin played through the car’s speakers and you sang along to it, your wind whipping in the cool night air as he sped down the road.

Yeah, you made me feel

Shiny and new

Like a virgin

Touched for the very first time

Like a virgin

When your heart beats next to mine

Gonna give you all my love, boy

My fear is fading fast

Been saving it all for you

‘Cause only love can last

The song ended right as he pulled into his driveway and your eyes widened. His house was huge, fancy, much bigger than your tiny one bedroom house that always seemed to be falling apart in one way or the other.

“Jesus.. Are you rich?” You asked as he pulled the keys from the ignition, the car shutting off

Steve chuckled, shaking his head.

“No, my parents are, but not me.”

He still lived with his parents? How old was he?

Well he had to be at least twenty-one right? He had been drinking in the bar…

You got out of the car, following him up the drive as he unlocked the front door. The house was even fancier on the inside. Decorations sparse, lacking a lot of the love a normal home would have. It still amazed you, the sheer size and layout.

Steve led you to the kitchen, opening what you could only assume was his fathers alcohol cabinet as he gestured to the various bottles with a grin.

“Pick your poison, I’ve got some mixers in the fridge.”

You’d decided, against your better judgement, a fancy looking vodka that you mixed with coke, sipping it as Steve made his own drink. A glass of bourbon with ice.

He grimaced at the taste but downed it, pouring another shot or two into his cup, eyeballing it.

“Do you even actually like that shit?” You asked, gesturing to his cup with your own.

Steve’s cheeks were already warming as you spoke.

“It’s not bad, I prefer beer, It’s what I’m used to, but I like drinking my dad’s shit, especially because he never finds out, it’s my little secret.

You took another sip of your drink, the coke helping the alcohol slide down easier as you eyed Steve over your cup.

You were in for a night of trouble.

—

You’d made the first move, leaning over to kiss him on the couch, drinks long forgotten in favor of exploring each other. Steve froze for a split second before he was kissing back sloppily, hands cupping your face to pull you closer.

It was over from there, the two of you making out heatedly as you crawled into his lap, tasting the alcohol on his tongue.

“W-We should go u-up to my room. If you want to.” He breathed against your lips, panting into your open mouth.

You stood up too fast, the room spinning but then you were focusing on Steve again as he led you up the stairs, tripping on the first step before he caught himself, letting out an awkward chuckle.

His room was sparsely decorated, just like the rest of the house, much different than your own which was filled with little trinkets and knick knacks.

Oh and his wallpaper was absolutely horrendous, blending in with the curtains, the blue collar palette was a bit suffocating.

You closed the door behind you as Steve stood near the bed, pupils blown wide as he looked at you.

He reached for the bottom of his shirt, tugging it over his shoulders and his head before he was tossing it into his laundry basket.

His chest was covered in hair that led down his stomach, tapering off until it met his happy trail, disappearing under his jeans.

“Fuck, Steve.”

“Do you- do you not like the hair? A-A few of the girls I’ve uh- Most of the girls I’ve been with seemed to dig it?” He winced at his words, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, hands coming up to cover his chest.

You moved forward and pulled them away.

“Don’t hide, I like it.”

“You do?” He asked like he didn’t fully believe you.

To get your point across you swept your fingers through the hair, gently scratching your nails along his chest as he shuddered.

“Okay… Yeah, okay I’m glad you like it.” He chuckled softly.

You pulled your own shirt off then, revealing your simple black bra.

“Sorry, wasn’t really planning on this tonight.” You blushed, trying to resist the urge to cover yourself up as Steve gawked at you.

“You kidding me? You look- You look perfect. Fuck- Can I?” His hands were already reaching out towards your covered breasts.

You nodded and once he had your permission his large palms were grabbing at them, tugging the fabric down so that he could see them bare. He inhaled shakily as his thumbs rubbed over your nipples, feeling them harden as you arched into his touch.

“That feel good?” He asked.

You nodded, humming as you leaned closer to him.

It was hard to miss the growing bugle in his jeans now, much too tight due to all the blood that had rushed south when the two of you had started kissing downstairs.

He shifted uncomfortably, whining as the zipper pressed against him roughly, an unwanted friction.

Steve guided you backwards towards the bed until you sat at the edge, looking up at you.

Steve, in his drunken state swayed back and forth a bit before he was getting on his knees in front of you, parting your thighs so he could scoot between them.

He pulled at your pants and you helped, lifting your hips a bit to get them down your thighs before he was pulling them completely off.

Steve pressed a kiss to your ankle before crawling closer, grasping at your leg, pressing a line of kisses that soon came closer to where you needed him the most.

His nose nudged your panties and he looked up at you with his wide brown eyes, pressing a kiss to your covered mound.

“Let me?” He all but whined. He was whining, asking–no– begging you to let him eat you out.

“Yeah- Please.” You managed to choke out.

Steve ripped the panties down with much more force than he had your pants, letting them rest around your ankles as one finger brushed through your folds, getting coated in your slickness. Steve brought it to his lips, sucking it into his mouth before he was dipping his head down, his tongue darting out to swipe a lick through your folds.

You were so worked up that the simple action had you moaning, tossing your head back between your shoulders. He took it as a sign to continue, pressing himself closer into you, nose bumping your clit as he sucked and licked at you.

Most of the men you’d been with never even bothered to try, but Steve? He was a master at it.

You grasped his hair in your palms, tugging on it in a way that had Steve whining and bucking his hips into the air, desperate for friction.

One of his hands reached down to palm himself, trying to ease the ache just a little bit as he focused his attention on your clit, sucking it gently between his lips.

Two of his fingers slipped inside of you then, causing you to gasp as he curled them just right, causing you to arch against him, resulting in his face getting even messier with your arousal.

He stared up at you as he ate you out and the eye contact almost killed you, his tongue flicking through your folds before joining his fingers in fucking your hole that gushed out a new round of slick, helping his fingers glide effortlessly.

“Taste so good, f-fuck, you taste so good.” Steve moaned, diving back in for more as he popped the zipper on his jeans, groaning as some of the pressure was released.

“Steve- I’m so close, I’m right there, don't stop.”

He had no intention of stopping, thrusting his fingers in and out of you at just the right pace, his tongue back on your clit as he coaxed your release out of you.

You cried out, clenching your thighs around him and he just moaned, slobbering against your pussy as he guided you through it.

He only pulled away once you had started to whine in sensitivity. He looked a mess, hair everywhere, lips, chin and nose covered in your slick, glistening. It was a ridiculously dirty sight that had your pussy fluttering around nothing, feeling empty after he’d removed his fingers.

He stood up, shedding his jeans and boxers in one go, revealing the beast he’d been hiding behind denim.

Your mouth watered at the sight between his legs. Long and hard, thick veins tracing along the length, a thick tip steadily leaking pre-cum and a thick base that settled against a neatly trimmed patch of hair.

“Jesus christ… Is that thing even gonna fit inside me?”

Steve blushed as he stepped out of his pants and you kicked your panties off from around your ankles.

“It’ll fit, I promise. We can go slow.” He seemed so shy about his impressive length and it only made you more curious to know how good he was with it. If it was anything like his mouth and fingers had been, you were in for a treat.

He crawled over you as you laid back against the bed, parting your thighs for him.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked and he nodded, almost forgetting it.

He reached into his bedside drawer, pulling out a small square packet, ripping it open with his teeth before he was rolling it down his length, giving himself a few extra strokes for good measure, hips arching into his touch.

“You ready?” He asked, shifting back over you, notching his cock at your entrance.

“Mmm, yeah, show me what you got.” You had given him the go ahead to be as rough as he wanted but Steve, ever the sweetheart you were quickly learning, eased himself in slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch.

And thank god for that because you really needed it.

It stung a bit, the stretch intense but it quickly subsided once he was pressed flush against you, pubic hair tickling your clit.

“That okay?” He asked, rubbing your shoulder gently, trying to keep himself from moving until you gave him the go ahead.

“Feel’s so good Steve, filling me up so good.”

He whined at the praise, his hips giving a tiny thrust against you, stretching you even more as he got impossibly deeper inside.

Once you gave him the okay, he was pulling his hips from yours, just the tip resting inside of you before he was pushing back in, causing you to gasp, grabbing at his shoulders.

Steve let out a near twin gasp, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of your warmth around him.

“Just like that Steve, you can go faster.”

He nodded, hair falling into his face as he began to thrust a little harder, finding a rhythm.

You brushed the hair from his face so you could get a good look at his expression, the furrow in his brow as he concentrated on the movement of his hips.

You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t the best fuck you’d had and you were silently thanking your past self for getting dressed up and going to the bar this evening. You’d gotten lucky.

You gripped at his sheets under you that smelled like him, masculine, woody with a hint of lavender. It was comforting.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he continued to fuck into you, his muscles starting to tremble with the effort of holding his release back.

“I’m- Fuck, I’m close. Want- I want you to come first.” He groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, panting hotly against your skin.

“I’m right there, rub my clit, please? I’m almost there.” You begged.

Steve didn’t need to be told twice, one of his hands instantly reaching down to circle your clit as he thrust into you, your back arching to get him closer.

You didn’t have time to warn him of your release as it hit you hot and fast, flooding your whole body with euphoria as you shuddered under him, body jerking involuntarily as the pleasure peaked.

Steve was close behind, hips erratic as he moved against you, right on the edge it seemed, you clenching around him bringing him that much closer.

“P-Pull my hair?” He whined against your neck.

You weren’t sure if you’d heard him right.

“What?”

“Pull my hair! Please?” He gasped out.

Your hands carded into his hair, gripping at the root as you tugged like he’d asked.

That was the nail in the coffin and he came with a deep cry, hips stilling, flush against you as he all but collapsed onto you, panting, chest rising and falling heavily.

It took him a moment to recover before he was pulling out of you, pulling the condom off of his cock and tying it off, tossing it into the small trash can by his bed.

It had all happened so fast he hadn’t seen the rip in the tip of the condom, or the fact that some of his release had spilled inside of you as he came.

He laid next to you, pulling you close to him. He was much too drunk to drive you back to your car that you’d left at the bar, and you were much too drunk to convince yourself it would be weird to stay.

You fell asleep in his arms, completely unaware of the release he’d spilled inside of you.

—

The morning after had been awkward. You’d dressed with your back to Steve, face flushed, headache setting in from the alcohol. He’d gotten dressed as well and driven you back to your car without a word, giving an awkward wave goodbye before driving off, speeding down the road in his bmw.

You sat in your car silently for a few minutes, engine running as you stared out the windshield at the trees across the street from the bar, an odd feeling in your stomach.

It was just a one night stand, that’s what you’d told yourself. That’s why you hadn’t asked for his phone number before he drove off.

It didn’t mean anything, you’d just blown off some steam having the best night of your life with him. Even though you’d been drunk, you remembered the majority of last night, especially the memory of Steve between your legs, how his tongue and fingers had felt.

You went home and took a long shower, scrubbing the smell of him from your skin with a shaking disappointment once you smelled like yourself again.

You tried to leave it at that, trying to erase him from your thoughts as you went about the rest of your weekend, focusing on anything else.

—

A week passed and you felt exhausted but brushed it off as stress from work, coming home and almost immediately falling asleep in your bed, unable to do much else.

The exhaustion didn’t fade no matter how much sleep you got. It was a mild annoyance but it wasn’t truly affecting you so you just ignored it.

Two more weeks passed and you started feeling a bit nauseous, mostly in the mornings, unable to stomach much more than buttered toast and water. Still you didn’t think much of it, you were always a bit nauseous when you started your period and you were due to start any day.

Except, you didn’t start, but continued to feel sickly.

You knew something was wrong when the smell of the fancy pasta at Enzo’s one evening while working had you running to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet as you wretched.

You went to the drug store closest to your house that night after work, still in your serving clothes, your cash tips stuffed into your bra as you walked down the aisle, feet dragging along.

You grabbed one of the small boxes, feeling sick to your stomach as you took it up to the register. The woman eyed you curiously as you passed over the test for her to scan, but didn’t say anything. Once you’d paid you’d bolted out of the store, plastic bag clutched tight in your grip.

Your hands trembled around the stick as you read the directions on the back of the box.

You settled yourself on the toilet, dipping the stick between your legs as you peed before you put it back in the wrapper and set it on the bathroom counter.

Wait three minutes.

Three minutes ended up feeling like an hour, your eyes constantly darting towards the test.

You’d taken a few pregnancy tests in your life, mostly for the hell of it, not because you thought you might actually be pregnant.

You were sure you were just overthinking it, there was no way you were pregnant. You’d specifically remembered Steve using a condom.

Three minutes.

Three minutes finally wrapped up and you grabbed the test, taking it out of the wrapping, facing it away from you.

You took a deep breath before you flipped it over.

Two pink lines.

Not faint either, quite visible.

Your heart sank, tears filling your eyes. You were pregnant. With Steve’s child.

—

You weren’t sure if it was a bad idea, but you found yourself driving your old beat up car to Family Video three days after the positive test. You’d gone out and bought several more tests just to confirm what you knew was already true. You were definitely pregnant.

Your heart was in your throat when you pulled up, stepping out of your car and making your way inside.

Steve wasn’t at the counter, instead a woman with short-ish brown hair greeted you with a big smile, her name tag reading ‘Robin’

“Welcome in! Can I help you look for anything?” She asked, leaning over the counter a bit, finger nails tapping against it, chipped polish covering them.

“Uh- Is Steve here?” You asked shyly.

Robin groaned, turning around.

“Ohhhhh Dingussss, there’s a pretty girl here asking for you.” She said in a sing-song voice.

Steve came out of the back a few moments later, holding a handful of tapes that he set on the counter.

His eyes met yours, recognizing you instantly.

“Oh, H-hi! What’re you doing here?” He asked, tilting his head like a puppy.

You crossed your arms over your chest, inhaling nervously, trying to keep it together.

Robin rolled her eyes at Steve before she was moving from behind the counter, taking his pile of tapes and walking to the nearest shelf to stock them.

“We- Can we talk?” You asked meekly.

“About that night? I uh- I had a really good time.” He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks just barely flushed as he smiled.

“M-me too, but that’s not why I’m here. Well I am it just uh- You.. You used a condom, didn’t you?” You whispered the latter half and his eyes widened.

“Yeah, uh I was kinda wasted but I definitely remember using one. Don’t really y’know-” He motioned with his hands, one hand creating a circle as he stuck a finger into it, miming sex.

You knew he had used a condom, you weren’t going crazy.

“Why? You didn’t- Uh do you have like–some sort of disease I should be aware of?” He asked so innocently and you just sighed.

“I’m pregnant.” You blurted out.

The store fell silent, Robin peeking out from behind the shelf she was stocking to stare at the both of you, mouth agape.

“It- And it’s mine?” He finally asked.

You just nodded, tears welling in your eyes.

“Oh shit…” He brushed a hand across his face, back into his hair as he sucked in a breath.

“Great going, Harrington, you knocked someone up?” Robin finally added her two cents, much to yours and Steve’s irritation.

“Rob-”

“You can’t have a kid, Steve! You’re literally nineteen!”

Your heart dropped in almost the exact same way it had when you had seen those two positive lines three days ago.

“NINETEEN?!” You asked, eyes wide as you stared at him. You had figured he was like- twenty three, but nineteen?

Steve winced at your volume.

“But you- You were in the bar, you were drinking!” You reasoned, pointing at him accusingly.

“They don’t ID there.” Steve gritted his teeth, looking at you like a kicked puppy.

“You- Oh my god you’re really nineteen?”

“How old are you?” He asked, eyes almost as wide as yours.

“I’m twenty-five.”

Steve’s jaw dropped and he tried to fix his face as quickly as he could.

“Oh.. Oh okay I uh- I figured you were a little closer to my age, but that- That’s a bit- No it’s fine, it’s not a big deal.” He tried to reason.

“It is a big deal!” You shouted again.

“You are nineteen years old and you knocked me up!” You weren’t sure if you should laugh or cry.

Steve just stood there, behind the counter in his polo and work vest, his name tag hanging crooked.

“Are you gonna keep it?” Robin asked.

“Robin!” Steve hissed, turning around to glare at her.

She put her hands up in surrender and walked away backwards, going off to busy herself doing something else.

“You’re really sure it’s mine?” Steve asked again.

“I’m positive, Steve, unless it’s some sort of immaculate conception, it’s yours.”

Steve nodded, biting his lip between his teeth.

“Okay… Uh, okay. And you- You’re gonna keep it?”

“Steve, where am I gonna get an abortion in Hawkins, Indiana?” You hissed.

“I didn’t mean like- an abortion! I meant like- after it’s born? You won’t put it up for adoption right?”

“Why do you care?”

“It’s my baby too.” He said shyly, as if he was worried you’d yell at him again.

You softened a bit at his tone, nodding.

“I want to help you, you don’t have to do this alone.” He glanced at you nervously.

He was such a sweet guy, it really was a shame he was as young as he was, it ruined it a little bit for you.

“You’re so young, Steve…”

“I’m mature though, I promise. I want to be there for the baby, I got you pregnant, it’s my job to step up now, right? That’s how it works.”

You swallowed hard. You weren’t sure how he was going to react, but he seemed almost eager to be a present father?

Another group of customers came in, the bell above the door ringing, sounding their arrival. Steve looked past you at the group, cursing under his breath.

“Shit- okay, let me- Can I give you my phone number and I’ll swing by later?” He asked.

“You want to… come to my house?” You asked, wincing.

“I figured we could talk a little more, without –like– interruptions? I’m sorry-” Steve grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling his number down before handing the paper over to you.

You took it, shoving it into your jacket pocket.

“But my house is a mess, it’s not like your house, Steve…”

“That’s okay, I don’t care. I swear.” He looked at you with such sincerity that you believed him.

“Just-uh-give me a call if you need anything and I’ll come by after work, promise.”

You just gave a little nod before you left, the bell announcing your departure as you got back into your car, staring at Steve through the window as he checked out a man with a very large pile of tapes.

You took a deep breath, starting your car and turning up the radio as you made the drive back to your house. The radio blared, almost too loud as you got lost in thought as One More Night by Phil Collins played on the radio.

Oh, one more night

‘Cause I can’t wait forever

I know there’ll never be a time

You’ll ever feel the same

And I know it’s only words

But if you change your mind

You know that I’ll be here

And maybe we both can learn

Give me just one more night

——————

Taglist: @kissalready @borhapgirlforlife19

Even if Eddie does hate the sun and the sand, just hanging out with him around the hotel or making fun of the touristy bullshit in town would be more than enough to make it worthwhile. Group trip or not, it’s the longest vacation you’ve been on together since you started dating, and something about it feels so close to honeymoonish in your mind that you’ve had relentless butterflies in your stomach ever since you started packing. 

The first day was a little rough. You nearly missed your flight, some ridiculous mix-up with the hotel reservation meant that you and Eddie had to wait over an hour longer than everyone else to get settled in, and all of that mixed with general travel restlessness and hunger pains had made you both a little grouchy until you got a good night’s sleep. 

Eddie woke up groggy, unusually low-energy, and was clearly, on some level, having second thoughts about the whole ordeal, so you obliged him with a slow and lazy day, interrupted only by complimentary full breakfast and some gentle exploration of the resort itself. And now that his mood has pretty solidly improved, you’ve successfully convinced him to let you drag him down to the pool.

But first, you get to reveal the surprise you’ve been planning for him.

“Hold your bangs up,” you tell him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Eddie smooths a hand up and over his forehead to put it on clear display for you, slightly shiny from sweat. Sitting pretty in his lap on top of the bed, you dab little blobs of sunscreen all over his face and neck and then set the bottle down to rub it in vigorously. Eddie slackens his jaw and makes a low, monotonous sound just to hear the way it gets distorted by you squishing and dragging his face every which way, smiling gradually as it goes on. When you’re satisfied, you hold him by the cheeks and smack a kiss on his mouth.

“All done,” you say. “Remind me to reapply some on your nose later.”

“It smells bad,” he complains, a toddler. He lets his bangs fall back down, and you fix the hair back in place for him.

“So does burning skin, buggie.” 

You climb off of him and hold your hands out, tugging him to his feet before picking up the bottle again and squeezing a fat dollop into your palm. Eddie knows what’s coming, so he holds his arms out for you and he watches with an amused twinkle in his eyes as you smear protection over them with just as much zeal, taking care not to stain the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“I do have some fine motor skills, y’know,” he reminds you as you anoint the skin on either side of his watch.

“Sure you do,” you tease, smiling as he narrows his eyes and pretends to growl at you like a dog. “...I know. I just like doing it for you. And you never rub it in well.”

You finish with his arms and grab the bottle again, prepared to kneel down so you can coat his lower legs, (exposed by the exceedingly rare choice of shorts—cut from a pair of old jeans that were close to falling apart on their own) but Eddie wraps two strong hands around your biceps to stop you short.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, snatching the sunscreen out of your hand while he’s at it. “I’ll slop up my legs, you go put your swimsuit on.”

“Fine,” you sigh, stepping towards your luggage instead. “But do it properly.”

“I’ll do you properly,” he threatens on reflex, then snorts at himself. You turn back to give him an unimpressed look over your shoulder, and roll your eyes at the corny eyebrow waggle you get in return.

Crouching over your suitcase, you dig your teenie-weenie surprise out from its hiding spot, wrap it in the less conspicuous fabric of your cover-up, and scurry into the bathroom to change.

Worried about psyching yourself out at the last minute, you get out of your clothes and get into your swimsuit without once looking in the mirror. After you’ve slipped your cover-up over your head, you turn to face it, checking your hair, fixing a ruffled eyebrow.

You’ve never been a big fan of your own body. It’s been a while since you’ve been at war with it outright, but it wasn’t until you started seeing Eddie that you’d seen it loved so effortlessly and tirelessly, with words and hands and hungry teeth, that you almost had no choice but to foster some appreciation for it yourself. Before him, you probably would’ve died before showing most of your skin off on purpose. Now, with fluttering nerves and an overactive heart, you plan to show him just how well he’s loved you.  

“...Have you seen my sunglasses?” he calls out distractedly as he hears you emerge, crouched down to look under the bed. “I swear, I just had ‘em.”

“Hey, buggie.”

He glances back at you, looks you up and down—the thin yet unrevealing fabric of the coverup swallows you down to your knees. “...Hey,” he answers, a little uncertain. “You’re not gonna swim in that, are you?” 

“Nope.”

You grab it by the hem, tug it over your head, and toss it onto the bed, revealing the first and only bikini you’ve ever owned in your life. 

Eddie’s face falls outrageously dumbstruck and seems to get stuck that way. Big brown eyes owlishly wide, jaw dropped slack like it’s slipping from its hinges. Looking close to a halloween mask, he gawks and gawks and then, without hardly changing anything else, he smiles.

“...Where the fuck did you get that?” he asks; the most important question in the world.

Dizzy off his reaction and still jittery with nerves, your giggle comes out a little hyper. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it? Do I like it? You’re out of your mind.” 

Sunglasses entirely forgotten, Eddie stands up and trudges a few steps closer, shaking his head in disbelief. If he stretched his arms out to grab you, he’d look just like a zombie. 

Smiling painfully hard, you do a spin for him. He clutches either side of his head and groans embarrassingly loud—enough that if any of your neighbors happen to be in their rooms, there’s no way they didn’t hear it—like the sight alone is tearing him limb from limb, and another manic giggle springs out of you. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says. “Fuck the pool, come here. I’m gonna fucking eat you for dinner.”

He reaches towards you, flicking his fingers to signal you closer, but you clutch your hands behind your back, taking bashful little steps away from him.

“No, Eddie, I wanna go swimming,” you insist, feigning a pout.

“Forget about it. You’re crazy. We’re not leaving this room for three hours, minimum. If ever.” 

Even more zombie-like, he starts advancing on you very slowly, a downright fiendish look in his eyes. You almost squeal as you try to slip around him, climbing over the bed to escape, but he grabs you by the hips and drags you back, lays himself on top of you to pin you there. In spite of all his promises, he just holds you, pressed into the mattress, planting a couple sweet kisses to your neck and shoulder.

“You’re so goddamn pretty, baby, it kills me,” he murmurs. “...What am I gonna do with you?”

You do in fact end up at the pool, but not before Eddie takes the opportunity to personally and thoroughly ensure that every single inch of your exposed skin is well protected from the sun. With no desire whatsoever to swim himself, he sits at the edge of the pool to watch while you do and babysit your things. It’s hard not to feel self-conscious outside of the hotel room, constantly checking and adjusting your swimsuit to make sure it stays in place, holding your stomach compulsively at the feeling of any eyes on you, but as time passes, it gets easier to ignore. Gliding freely through the water and returning to Eddie every couple minutes to hoist yourself up for a kiss, or hear him tell you how beautiful you look and call you his little mermaid, it’s hard not to feel like something natural and cherished.

Only, eventually, when you make your way back to Eddie, you find him fiercely distracted.

“Buggie?” you call, frowning up at him from the water.

He doesn’t even blink. You can’t tell what he’s looking at, so you let yourself sink down and then surge right back up, twisting to sit yourself on the ledge beside him. The water you bring with you soaks into the side of his shorts, staining the dark fabric even darker.

“Eddie,” you call more insistently, sort of freaked out. “What are you—?”

You follow his line of sight and freeze down to your bones. 

“...Is that—?”

“Margo,” he completes stiffly. “Yeah.”

Eddie’s ex-girlfriend—the one he dated before you. Tall and lithe and somehow showing even more skin than you are; strewn with dark tattoos, her wild, choppy hair pulled back in a ponytail. You only met her a few times back when you and Eddie were just friends, and it always turned your lovelorn stomach to see how perfect she looked by his side.

“...I thought she was in New York,” you say. You aren’t sure why you’re still feeling nauseous now that he’s yours. 

He doesn’t respond. He’s just staring again, and this time, your heart stutters to find that she’s looking right back at him. She doesn’t spare you so much as a glance.

“...Eddie.”

You grab his arm and squeeze. His head turns towards you, passively attentive, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of her until you call his name again. When they land on you, you realize they’re sort of shaking. He almost looks wired.

“...Are you okay?” you ask, scanning his face with concern.

He swallows, nods. “...Yeah, I— I’m good, that’s, um… I’m alright.”

“Do you wanna go back to the room?”

Something changes. He blinks himself back to earth, looks around like he’s only just remembered where he is. 

“...You don’t wanna keep swimming?” he asks.

You almost laugh, but it comes out sounding like a scoff—he isn’t the only one that’s been abruptly put on edge.

“We have four more days to go swimming, Eddie,” you remind him. You stand up and grab the towel he’s been keeping for you, giving yourself a rushed pat down and then yanking the cover-up back over your head. “Let’s go.”

He isn’t fully with you as he lets you help him to his feet, barely paying attention as you give his legs a quick pat for him as well. As you thread your hand through his and guide him towards the exit, your other arm curls around your stomach. You’re too scared to look back at him—to find out where his eyes are—until you’re back inside the building.

You and Eddie have been seeing each other for the better part of a year now. Eddie and Margo had been together half a year before that. You don’t know much about how their relationship was, but you assume they ended on fairly poor terms. When you asked why they had split after three full years together, all he’d said was that she left and it “just wasn’t working out,” and he seemed sort of queasy for even revealing that much. If it upset him to talk about, you didn’t need to know more than that. She was gone, he was more than happy to have you, and that was that.

As the trip goes on, her presence is hard to forget about. Though you’re too embarrassed to try and explain why, you don’t wear your bikini again, opting instead for your less revealing back-up. You catch glimpses of her in and around the resort a couple more times, with Eddie or with the others, and each time it spoils your mood and ruffles your stomach for a couple hours afterwards. 

Robin is the only one you confide in about your troubles, splitting off alone for a bathroom (and general rowdiness) break during your day at the boardwalk, and though she recommends you be honest with Eddie about the insecurity you’re dealing with, you’re reluctant to make his ex’s chance appearance about you—especially when he seemed so shaken to see her, too.

-

Eddie’s been gone a while, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

Your room is on the fourth floor, but on the first, hidden in a far off corner down three bends of a hallway, there’s a secret treasure trove of vending machines. You discovered it together as part of your leisurely explorations on the first day, and Eddie’s gone back for an evening snack run every night since. 

And on top of that, he might’ve gone out for a smoke, or to procure a couple beers like he did on the third night, or maybe even to pop in on Steve and Dustin before bed for whatever reason.

He left while you were in the shower, and you’ve been waiting for him since you got out, laying across the bed in nothing but your damp towel.

…He’s been smoking more often than usual. 

Not to a concerning degree or anything, just…more than usual. You figure it has to do with travelling, being away from home, or even being rattled from the unexpected run-in with Margo, but if he doesn’t want to talk about it, you don’t want to make him. Or, at least, you’ll wait until after the trip to ask about it. Maybe it’s nothing at all—just a little extra indulgence while you’re on vacation.

Eddie bursts back into the room with an abruptness that makes you jump out of your skin. If you didn’t know him as well as you do, you’d probably think he was in a panic, as opposed to just chronically impatient. He stops at the side of the bed, tossing a handful of little snack bags onto the bedside table and staring down at you with warm, crinkled eyes.

“...Whatcha looking at?” you ask, smiling at the attention.

“My pretty baby.”

With a quickness that pulls a gasp out of you, Eddie leans over to hold you by either side of your jaw and kiss the breath out of your lungs, humming against your lips, mashing his face into yours excessively. It’s so obnoxiously affectionate that you can’t help but laugh into his mouth, and when he finally pulls away with an exaggerated mwah!, he starts planting ticklish little pecks all over your face, cheeks and forehead and nose and eyelids.

“What are you doing?” you ask, flushing hot from the attention, floating on a stream of giggles.

He smushes one last wet kiss onto your nose and pulls back to look at you again. “I missed you, sweet pea.”

“You did?” It tickles you pink—you can feel your face light up. “You were only gone for…”

You trail off cause you aren’t really sure, and Eddie must not know, either. Turning away, he throws an arm over his head to yank his shirt off, tossing it over a chair, and then gets to work on his belt. You raise yourself up onto your elbows to watch him.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, kicking his pants off on the way to the bathroom, “and when I get out, you’re getting cuddled within an inch of your life.”

“Just cuddled?” you ask, innocent as can be.

Hand on the door, he squints his eyes and shoots you a nasty grin before he closes it behind him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Flopping back down, you rub and knead at your cheeks, but you just can’t seem to wipe the smile off of them. He’s so dreamy, you could die. You hear the water turn on, and your fuzzy mind tries to retreat into love-struck daydreams while you wait for him, but it doesn’t last long.

Eddie’s only been in the shower for a minute or two when the phone rings.

It scares the shit out of you. Frowning at the interruption, you roll onto your stomach and shimmy over to reach for the phone, holding it reluctantly to your ear.

“...Hello?”

“Shit,” Robin says, breathing your name, and the outright panicked tone of her voice makes your abdomen tense up instantly, a startled chill running down your spine. “I don’t know if he’s with you right now, or—still down there, but I saw him, and I don’t think he saw me, but—”

“Who, Eddie?” you ask, hushed on instinct, stressed by her energy. “He’s in the shower. What’s wrong?”

There’s a pause.

“...This is fucked,” she says. “I’m sorry, this is so fucked, but I saw him kissing her.”

You don’t react to the information because it doesn’t make sense to you. Your mind can’t wrap itself around what the words mean, what the hell she could possibly be talking about.

“...What?”

“He kissed her,” she repeats. “The ex, what’s-her-name, down by the vending machines. I mean, he kissed her! You know I wouldn’t make something like that up, I swear to God, I saw it—”

You hang up the phone. 

Robin’s right. She wouldn’t make up something like that, and she wouldn’t be this freaked out about it if she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of what she saw, either.

Your ears must be ringing through a couple layers of fog. Either that, or some far-off bomb siren just started wailing in the distance.

You stand up, and get dizzy enough that you almost fall right back down. Your heart is racing, and you really don’t know what to do. You barely know where you are.

You get dressed. Urgently, nearly tripping over yourself as you yank pants up your legs, throw the first shirt you find over your head. You stuff all of your clothing and other belongings within arm’s reach back into your suitcase, rip the zipper shut, slip on your sandals, and rush to the door.

…You can’t even open it. 

Breathing deep and unsteady, you sit back on the bed with your suitcase beside you and wait. Soon enough, the water turns off and Eddie comes out with wet hair and a towel around his hips. Your quiet, hazy stupor is finally pierced by a flash of searing agitation.

“...Uh, hey,” he says as he sees you, clearly puzzled. “...Going somewhere?”

It takes effort not to grit your teeth together. “I keep telling you that you shouldn’t wash your hair before bed, or at least to blowdry it first, but you never listen. And then you wonder why it’s always frizzy and splitting at the ends.”  

He just stares at you, alarmed by your energy. “...I know,” he says carefully. “I keep forgetting, but you’re right. …Are you okay? Why’d you get dressed?”

Every inch of you feels like it’s screaming, and you’re sort of scared that if you open your mouth again, it’ll be the only sound that you can get out.

“...Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asks. Coming closer, face twisting with worry. “Did something happen?”

He takes another step, but you don’t want him any closer until he admits it.

“Did you see her?” you ask. Quiet, muffled in your throat; with a rapt, incisive stare.

He blinks at you. “...See who?”

“Margo.”

He eyes you for a moment, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Uh…you mean, yesterday?” he asks. “In the lobby? I mean, we both saw her—”

You feel a twinge in your jaw. “Did you kiss her, Eddie?”

His mouth falls open, choking on a clipped syllable. “...What?”

“You heard me,” you insist. 

You’re blinking too fast. You already know what’s coming. Eddie just keeps staring at you like he’s completely and utterly lost—like you’ve lost your mind and started speaking in tongues.

He tilts his head away, doubtful. “I…don’t follow.”

You shake your head, utterly disbelieving, your heart sinking low in your chest. Horrified to find your loving boyfriend has been bodysnatched and replaced with something dishonest.

“Robin saw you.”

Every ounce of frantic confusion and worry in his expression falls loose at the ends and slips right off his face. The sight of it makes your blood curdle; your stomach twists around itself, sick and angry.

“...Alright,” he mutters, resigned, and wipes one hand down his face. “...Fuck. I can explain.”

Feeling a sting behind your eyes, you shake your head even fiercer as you grab hold of your suitcase and start towards the door. Eddie stretches his arms out, trying to stop you, to block your way, but you just push past him. It startles him so much that it works.

“Baby, just wait a second, let me—”

“No!” you spit, nearly hysterical. “You just lied right to my fucking face!”

The smoke breaks, the snack runs, every other hold-up and sidetrack and be right back—you don’t know anything anymore. You pull the door in, but it slams back closed just as fast, Eddie’s hand holding it shut. He gives you a pointed look, open-eyed and sober.

“Let me explain,” he asks, softly enunciating.

You just look at him, struggling to glare with eyes more sad than angry. He takes a deep breath, bare chest rising and falling.

“...I love you,” he says, big, earnest eyes boring into you. “I’m fucking crazy about you, sweetheart. I only…kissed her to prove to myself that I don’t want to anymore, alright? That I’m over it. It didn’t mean anything. I only want you.” 

It pushes you over the edge. Your face contorts awfully as tears well up and start to fall, crushed and overwhelmed by his confession.

“...You mean, you didn’t know already?” The words hardly make it out of your throat.

Eddie’s face shatters, dropping into pure shock. Stunned by your tears or by your question; the depth of your hurt or the utter failure of his excuse. He falters, words blocked up in his chest.

“...I wasn’t enough?” you go on, near blubbering. “Kissing me…hundreds of times, touching me—fucking me, didn’t prove to you that you were over her? You needed to kiss her?”

You can see his mind racing, eyes shaking over your face. He’s freaking out almost as much as you are. “No, honey, that isn’t… I knew that—”

“What if you weren’t?” you cut him off with a sniffle, wiping ticklish tear trails off your cheeks. “Huh?”

“What?”

“Over her,” you say. “What if you kissed her, and it was…everything you ever fucking dreamt of? What were you gonna do?”

He has the nerve to look taken aback. “No, fuck, I wasn’t—! That wasn’t even an option, sweetheart, I’m trying to tell you. I fucking love you, and—”

“Then why did you need to kiss her?”

…He can’t answer the question. His wet eyes just dance over your face, wavering, unsure and distressed about it.

“...You don’t even know,” you breathe. “...Jesus Christ, Eddie. Maybe you should go fuck her, too. Just to make sure you aren’t missing out on anything.”

It makes him wince, his head shaking pitifully. He swallows and tries again to reach you.

“Listen to me,” he asks, a little wobble in his voice. His other hand raises as if you cup your cheek, maybe brush your tears away, but when you flinch back from it, he stops, lets it fall. “...It was…a stupid fucking thing to do, I get that. And I’m sorry that I hurt you—”

“You’re sorry you got caught.”

“—but I chose you, honey, I’m still choosing you. Nothing changed. I don’t feel a goddamn thing for her anymore, I promise you. I swear on…every fucking thing that I own, baby, I only want you.” 

Everything has changed. You don’t know how he doesn’t see that. 

“Even if I believe you…you weren’t sure, Eddie.” Your voice warbles humiliatingly, and your face burns hot at the sound of it. “...And I have never been more sure of anything… of anyone, in my fucking life.”

Eddie looks as close to horrified as you’ve ever seen him. “...Baby, I—”

“I’m sleeping in Robin’s room tonight,” you say. Every part of you hurts. You’re done for tonight.

There isn’t much of a standoff. Eddie looks pained, fighting to be stubborn, to try harder, but in the end, his hand slips off the door. You pull it in and drag your suitcase out with you.

“...I’m sorry, baby,” he says. A poor, remorseful puppy, dripping wet and trapped within the bounds of the doorway. “...I never—”

“I’m glad you managed to sort things out for yourself, Eddie,” you say with one last sniffle. Too heartbroken to be angry, to give it the acid it deserves.

As you turn and start your way down the hall, Eddie doesn’t say another word.

-

super secret surprise extra author’s note to further upset you: the origin story for reader calling him buggie that i made up in my head but couldn’t find a reasonable way to incorporate directly is that she started calling him edbug and he thought it was funny but didn’t like that it sounds exactly like bedbugs which are NOT cute. so her compromise is to call him a further diminutive and thus. buggie. it’s an endearment within an endearment. and he SQUANDERED IT!!!! p.s.: i had itsy bitsy teeie weenie yellow polka dot bikini stuck in my head while writing this so. if you’re familiar with it, hopefully it is now stuck in yours as well 💞

“I am going to his house.”

Robin grabbed the returns basket with a sigh and, ignoring Steve, began scanning the tapes one by one. Movie titles flashed across the computer screen, each paired with its corresponding customer file. Blade Runner — rented by Mark Halloway. Apocalypse Now — rented by Linda Carver. Raiders of the Lost Ark — rented by Tammy Thompson (she nearly choked reading that one). Soon enough, the counter was stacked with blockbusters, all ready to be rewound. The tapes remained untouched.

Robin rolled her eyes and, for what had to perhaps be the fiftieth time since their meeting at Starcourt, cursed Dustin Henderson.

Contrary to popular belief, Monday mornings at Family Video were anything but quiet. If customers were indeed not roaming the aisles, shamelessly ruining the carefully arranged alphabetization, they were still eager to dump their Saturday night rentals into the return boxes.

It already took a full two hours to put everything back in order when there was two of them. What would happen if Robin had to handle all of it alone because Steve Harrington was too busy having a panic attack?

While scanning Risky Business, Robin glanced at the man in question. He was pacing the aisle between romance and horror movies, hands planted firmly on his hips. By now, the gesture was pure muscle memory: whenever Steve thought about his kids, he ended up looking like the exhausted mother he truly was.

“Or I could park outside his house and wait until I see him come out,” he muttered under his breath.

Great. Now he was talking to himself. A sharp mix of pity and irritation pushed Robin to jump over the counter. Maybe she could talk him into actually working in exchange for some sound advice.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

“Do you honestly think Claudia Henderson goes a single day without knowing exactly where her precious son is? If Claudia—you know, his actual mother—is not panicking, then Dusty Boo is fine.”

“You don’t know that,” he shot back immediately. “The kid’s smart. Maybe he’s lying to her to protect her. That is what he's been doing since 83.”

Steve’s eyes widened.

“Oh my God. What if it's got something to do with the Upside Down? Robin, we have to help him. I am calling Hopper.”

Robin snatched the receiver from his hands and slammed it back onto the wall before the first ring could even sound.

“Did you ever think that maybe the kid just wants to be left alone?”

Steve stared at her as if she had lost her mind. Robin threw her hands up and went back to the counter, where the tapes had not moved an inch. Steve might not be willing to work, but there was no way she was staying late tonight. She could not miss orchestra rehearsal (read: the chance to see Vicky).

“No, wait. Forget Risky Business for like two seconds and listen to me.”

He yanked the cassette from her hands and tossed it over his shoulder. Something clattered in the store. She stared at him as if he were crazy.

Steve ran a hand through his hair.

“Robin, we have to find Dustin.”

“Dustin is fine, Steve,” she repeated for the umpteenth time.

“I asked Max, Will, Mike, Lucas, Little Sinclair. No one has seen him in days. I even called Munson and, between two rants about abusive parental authority, I figured he has not seen him either. Whether Claudia is panicking or not does not matter. Dustin is gone, Robin. Gone. And I will not relax until I find him.”

Robin sighed.

“What’s the plan?”

“We go to his house. We investigate. Now.”

“We’re at work, genius.”

“Tonight then.”

She shook her head.

“Nope. I have rehearsal.”

“Then tomorrow. Please, Robin,” he begged.

“What? Steve,” she protested immediately, “I am not skipping class to spend my Tuesday in your car, staring at the Henderson house and hoping to see the little shit at his window.”

The next morning, Robin found herself sitting in Steve’s car, with her arms crossed and pouting. The car was parked just down the street from the Henderson house. Steve, binoculars in hand, had not looked away in twenty minutes.

“So, what now?”

“We wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“I don’t know, Robin. Anything. A clue. You should be used to this by now. Did getting kidnapped by Russians teach you nothing?”

“Sorry I was too drugged to take notes. And besides, Dustin—”

But Steve was not listening anymore.

Robin slumped back against the seat with a sigh.

Two hours passed in silence.

Robin ate just about everything she could find in her bag—chips, chocolate bars, lukewarm soda—and tried to keep herself occupied as best she could, while Steve never took his eyes off the house, except to scold his best friend for her lack of seriousness.

When the front door finally opened and Dustin Henderson appeared on the porch, Steve gasped before tightened his grip on the binoculars.

The teenager looked around, then mounted his bike. Robin leaned forward to watch him, searching for a detail, anything at all. But she saw nothing unusual. He was still the same Henderson. Healthy. Nerdy. Completely Fine.

She rolled her eyes and gestured toward him with both arms at Steve, who still had not moved.

“There. Your kid is alive. Now can we g– Jesus Christ. What are you doing?”

Steve turned the key. The engine roared. Robin grabbed the door as he lurched the car sharply onto the road.

In front of them, Dustin was already riding toward downtown.

“I’m following him.”

“You’re what? Steve, we’re right outside his house. In a red car. He’s going to see us.”

“No, he won’t. And if he does, he won’t get far. I’ll get my answers.”

Dear God, help me.

Dustin Henderson had always wanted a sibling. When he was younger, he had begged his mother for one, but that dream had quickly been buried beneath the metaphorical trees of his childhood.

Good ol’ Walter had held the shovel in his violent hands and dug the hole with rage, leaving little Dustin no choice but to grieve something that never was.

The years had passed. Friendships had formed. But the idea never truly disappeared. It lingered while his friends complained about Nancy, about Erika, about Jonathan. They told him he was lucky to be an only child, but Dustin was never quite sure that was true.

One day, in Mr Clarke’s class, they had talked about phantom limb syndrome. That was exactly what Dustin had been feeling for years: the sensation of something that should have been there but was not. Someone.

For a time, he believed that someone would be Steve. Then Eddie. But neither of his older friends ever managed to fill that precise space, right next to his heart. The space that grew painful at night, when he came home to his large, empty, silent house.

His wish came true one October evening on Commerce Street, of all places. And it took root in pain.

His bike tire had blown out.

Dustin could already hear his mother’s scolding, and Steve’s too. Like everything that had nothing to do with the Upside Down, he had pushed the problem aside until it caught up with him. And it chose that night to do so, when he braked a little too hard while turning onto Commerce Street, his front tire bursting with a dull sound and sending him tumbling on the sidewalk.

“Shit. Shit. Shit! Fucking bike!”

He groaned as he wiped the blood from his knee with his sleeve, then kicked the cursed bike. The chain rattled in the black night. A crow cawed. Dustin lifted his head and looked around, a shiver running down his spine. Commerce Street, full of life during the day, was draped in nocturnal silence, its darkness pressing even against the lifeless shop windows.

Dustin squinted at his watch. When he finally read the time, he winced. He had not realized it was so late. He was coming back from Mike’s place. Their D&D campaign had lasted longer than expected. Again. He had remembered his mother asked him to buy milk and had taken a detour downtown, convinced some store would still be open.

He glanced once more at the inert street.

Clearly not.

“Fuck.”

Dustin looked down at his bike.

If he did not find a solution fast, his mother would kill him. Whether over the milk or his lateness, he did not know, and he honestly did not want to find out.

With a resigned sigh, Dustin started to walk toward the phone booth on the corner. Before he could even take a step, however, a bell chimed behind him.

“Hey kid, are you okay? I heard some noise.”

Dustin startled. His body reacted before his mind did. His shoulders tense. His fists rose to chest level, clenched so tightly his nails nearly pierced his palms. His heart pounded.

For a split second, he saw nothing but a silhouette. It moved and, for just an instant, he thought he saw a flower-shaped head.

“Are you okay?”

The voice cut through the fog. The Demogorgon’s head vanished. Dustin blinked, and reality slowly reclaimed its place. Across the street, leaning against the door of a shop he had never seen before, stood a young woman, worry written plainly across her features.

The first thing he noticed, almost immediately, was the sign above her head. The letters looked freshly painted. Streaks ran down from the P, stretching it into infinity.

HAWKINS BOOKSHOP.

Dustin frowned. That was new. Hawkins did not have a bookstore, only the sad volumes of the library, wrapped in yellowed plastic, thumbed, dog-eared, annotated, worn down to the spine by entire generations. Nothing like what he could glimpse behind you.

Through the window, partially covered by torn tarps, brand new books lined wooden shelves. Some were already full, others half empty, leaving uneven gaps. Dustin noticed cardboard boxes stacked around the shop, some open, colourful spines and crumpled pages spilling out.

“Do you need help?” you repeated.

Dustin shook his head.

“It’s fine, really.”

He took a step back, a reflex forged by years of extra-dimensional encounters, and only asked whether he could use your phone.

You smiled apologetically and explained, slightly embarrassed, that you did not have a phone line yet.

“Oh, but wait!”

You dug into the pockets of your jeans, pulled out three coins, and handed them to him, pointing toward the booth on the corner. Your gaze fell to the bike lying on the cracked asphalt, its front tire scattered across the road.

“Do you want me to take a look at that while you call your mom?”

You nodded toward the bike.

“You don’t have to,” he replied immediately.

Damn was this kid stubborn.

“I don’t mind if I am offering, kid,” you answered, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced at his bike and sighed.

“Alright,” Dustin finally gave in.

When he reached the phone booth, slipped the coins into the slot, and dialled home, Dustin had to pull the receiver away from his ear as Claudia’s shrill voice burst through the line.

“Dustin Henderson, you are in so much trouble!”

After several long minutes spent trying to calm his mother down—not without difficulty—they finally reached an agreement. Claudia would come pick him up.

When, a few minutes later, he hung up and headed back toward the bookstore, Dustin wondered—in retrospect—how he could ever have missed it. It was the only storefront still lit. A lighthouse in the night.

His bike was no longer where he had left it. It now waited patiently, leaned against a flickering lamppost, the wheel straight and its tire brand new. You watched his reaction as you wiped your grease-covered hands on an old rag.

“Had a spare tire in stock,” you explained.

“How does a bookseller know how to change a wheel?”

You rolled your eyes and did not bother answering. Dustin cleared his throat, suddenly embarrassed for reasons he could not explain. Dustin Henderson was never embarrassed. He was the embodiment of confidence.

“My mom is picking me up.”

You nodded, glanced over your shoulder, seemed to think for a moment, then turned back to him with your arms crossed.

“Do you want something to drink while we wait? My friends say I make a mean hot chocolate.”

“I thought you did not have electricity,” he asked, suspiciously.

“I do. Just not a phone line. Yet.”

Inside, you quickly handed him a steaming mug, topped with marshmallows. Dustin took it carefully, still wary, but his shoulders relaxed despite himself as his eyes drifted across the titles lining the shelves.

“Did you move here recently?”

“Yesterday,” you replied, nodding toward the cardboard boxes.

“Why Hawkins?”

You shrugged and explained it was more coincidence than choice. Your grandmother had died and left you the building, which had been a drugstore before you arrived. Dustin vaguely remembered an old lady and a cluttered shop. His mother used to go there often, he realised. Until Starcourt opened and the small downtown businesses died, that is.

He supposed the “fire” had done some good. Commerce Street had regained its life and its colours, far from the neon lights of the mall but just as beautiful. A bookstore only added to its renewed charm.

“And not having to buy an apartment has its perks,” you concluded.

Dustin nodded and continued sipping his hot chocolate in silence. In the corner of the room, something caught his eye. Near what would probably become the counter, a cardboard box served as a table, topped with a stack of books that were still poorly organized. The one on top looked familiar. He leaned closer to read the title.

Volume Three of The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction and Fantasy by Donald Tuck.

Dustin’s eyes went wide. He nearly spit out his drink.

“Fuck, how did you get this?” He rushed toward the book, and you hissed as the wave of hot chocolate came dangerously close to the rim of his mug. “Do you know how hard it is to get this in Hawkins? I’ve been begging Ms. Marissa to order it for years. Eddie even tried to go to Indianapolis to get it, but it is always sold out there too.”

If you wondered who Eddie was, you did not say a thing. You simply took the mug from his hands before he could burn himself or, worse, stain the book.

“Not for sale, kid. That one is from my personal collection.”

The disappointed look on his face tightened something in your chest. Without being able to explain it, you now knew you would do anything to make this kid smile.

“But I could lend it to you, if you want, once I am done reading it.”

He beamed. You melted.

A flash of red broke the moment. You frowned and knelt in front of him, patting your thigh.

“Now let me see that knee.”

You disinfected the wound, covered it with an Ewok bandage, and lent him the encyclopaedia—making him promise not to leave with it—so he would have something to do while waiting for his mother.

At that exact moment, the old trees of his childhood grew. They took root again, their branches growing and slowly wrapping around you. Dustin adopted you without you knowing it or having any say in the matter. You had that same indefinable je ne sais quoi that Steve had, that Eddie had. And yet, you would be inexplicably more than either of his two best friends had ever been. He knew it.

So, the next day, when Lucas and the others suggested going to Family Video to rent a movie for the evening, he refused. Instead, Dustin took his bike with its brand-new tire and pedalled to Commerce Street, where he spent the afternoon helping you unpack and organise the rest of your boxes.

Very quickly, Dustin abandoned Family Video, the drama room, and even his own bedroom, to spend all his free time at Hawkins Bookshop.

Today was no exception.

Dustin barrelled onto Commerce Street, did not even take the time to lock his bike as it clattered onto the sidewalk, and shouldered his way into the bookstore while trying to pull a magazine stuck in his backpack.

The bell rang, drowning out his curse as the cover caught in the zipper and tore at the corner. You looked up, interrupting your conversation with Mrs Hopkins—one of your best customers—to smile at Dustin, before resuming as if nothing had happened. You were in the middle of recommending something that looked suspiciously like a Jane Austen novel. Ugh, boring.

Dustin dropped his bag onto the cushioned armchair beside the history books and waited as best he could, bouncing with impatience. The conversation felt endless. He nearly cheered when you finally scanned Mrs Hopkins’s copy of Emma and accepted her bills.

The second she stepped outside, Dustin pounced.

“You are not going to believe this,” he said without preamble. “Someone created a program that makes your computer crash when you open it. They’re calling it a virus.”

He shoved the magazine in your face.

“It’s already affected over a thousand computers. A thousand. That is insane. That means—”

He barely paused to breathe, eyes bright.

“Why would they do that, though?” you cut in, wrinkling your nose. “What do you gain from making a computer stop working?”

“Don’t know,” he shrugged. “It’s fun, I guess? Anyway—” He dropped the magazine onto the counter and hoisted himself up on it. You stepped back as his beaming face came very close to yours. “Is it here yet?”

You smirked and rummaged through your drawers before pulling up a copy of The Dragon in the Sword.

“Got it this morning.”

As his hand moved to grab it, you pulled it back. He groaned.

“What is the magic word?”

“Dustin Henderson!”

The door burst open. Dustin winced. You simply raised an eyebrow at his expression, the ghost of a curious smirk already tugging at the corner of your lips, and Dustin seemed to falter even more at the sight.

The Dragon in the Sword was quickly forgotten, left beside the cash register. Something else had become far more interesting.

Dustin and you turned toward the entrance at the same time.

Steve Harrington had burst into the small bookstore like a bull in a China shop. The ‘B’ section trembled dangerously. For a brief second, Dustin thought Kindred by Octavia Butler might fall on his head. He prayed for it, in fact, but Fate did not oblige, and Steve charged straight toward him.

“Do you have any idea how worried we all were—”

“Mostly you,” Robin cut in, because of course Robin was there too.

“All of us,” Steve repeated, shooting her a dark look. “You cannot just disappear like—Oh. Hi.”

Steve faltered when he realized Dustin was not alone. He ran a hand through his hair as his cheeks flushed.

Even if Steve was not his older brother, he was still his best friend, and Dustin knew the expression crossing his face all too well. When Steve bit his lip, eyes fixed on you, Dustin slid off the counter immediately.

“No.”

The teenager shoved Steve by the chest, pushing him toward the door, nearly knocking over a stack of the new Stephen King novel. The scene seemed to amuse you. When you giggled, Dustin felt Steve melt against his palms and cursed.

“No, no, no, no, no. Out. Leave. Don’t come back.”

Dustin’s voice snapped Steve out of it. He blinked and remembered why he was there. His expression shifted instantly. He planted his hands on his hips and glared at Dustin.

“You cannot just vanish like that, Dustin Henderson,” he started. “Do you have any idea how worried everyone has been?”

Dustin sighed and realised—with cruel and belated clarity—that he should have let Steve admire you a little longer. It would have guaranteed him peace and quiet, at least.

“I did not vanish. I’ve been here this whole time.”

“And no one knew about it.”

“Mom knew.”

“But I did not.”

You frowned and stepped closer, an apologetic expression on your face.

“I didn’t know people were looking for him,” you said, giving him a look that strangely reminded Dustin of Steve’s. The comparison made his skin crawl. “That’s my fault. If I had known, I would’ve asked him to call.”

Steve shook his head immediately.

“No.” His voice was too loud, and he cleared his throat. “No,” he repeated more calmly. “This isn’t your fault. It is his.”

Dustin made an offended noise, but Steve and you had already forgotten him. He turned to Robin and gestured toward you as if to say are you seeing this shit too? but she only shrugged, her innocence face ruined by the mischievous smile painted on her lips.

“Hey,” Steve said suddenly, “could I get your number? To call you if there’s an emergency with Dustin.” He rushed to explain. “Nothing else.”

“Steve,” Dustin growled. “You’re not my mom. And she doesn’t have a phone line anyway.”

“About that…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “The electrician came last night. So—”

Dustin stared at your shy expression in horror. Your gaze slid toward Steve. You grabbed a piece of paper from the counter, scribbled your number on it, and gave it to Steve, who accepted it with a blush.

Oh no.

Dustin blinked, but your eyes remained fixed on Steve. The boy went pale.

Oh no.

“This is a nightmare,” he muttered.

You were both whispering now. Dustin’s eye twitched when your shoulders brushed. Talking logistics and shared child supervision did not require physical contact. Why were you standing so close? Steve leaned in to hear you better, a soft smile on his lips. He held your number against his chest like a Renaissance painting: The Lovestruck Admirer, c. 1986.

“What have I done?”

A hand landed on his shoulder.

“Dude, I just heard the craziest rumor.” Dustin grinned, slamming his lunch tray – filled with what looked like non editable food – on the table, occupying the seat next to Mike.

“What was it?” Eddie asked, not tearing his gaze from you as you happily waved to him from the other end of the cafeteria.

“Someone said you were dating y/n.” He laughed and he nudged Mike roughly in the shoulder and rambled to Gareth about something.

“What a stupid rumour.” Mike scoffed.

“S’not a rumor.” Eddie murmured, giving you a small wave back.

“Very funny Eddie, Ha. Ha.” Dustin replied, resisting the urge to groan at his lies.

“S’not a rumor.” Eddie blanked, giving you a hand signal to come to his table.

“That’s bullshit.” Mike butted in, glancing up to see you wandering over to Eddie.

“Woah.” Gareth blurted.

“No way she’s coming over here.” Mike murmured.

“Holy shit!” Dustin exclaimed, giving a pearly grin as you shyly smiled back.

The whole cafeteria's eyes were on you but you couldn't give a shit.

“Hey.” You smiled, as he embraced you in his arms, making you giggle, spinning you around and making sure to cover up your tiny skirt.

“Hey sweetheart.” He grinned, cupping your jaw and giving you a soft kiss as you heard surprised voices in the background but not paying any attention to them.

“Hey, missed you Ed’s.” You giggled, trying to keep the smile off of your face but failing.

“You absolutely beautiful in your uniform, I-I mean you always look beautiful I just—“ He rambled nervously.

“Thank you baby, you too, the shirts very sexy.” You giggled seeing how cute he got when he was nervous.

“Sit down with me?” He blushed, as you felt the material of his shirt, hands sliding up his sides as he played with the green ribbon in your hair.

You nodded eagerly, wanting so badly to meet all of Eddie's friends that he always talks about.

“Y-Yeah.” You whispered, sitting down on the open seat next to Eddie as a couple of faces stared at you with astonishment all observing what just went down.

“Hi.” You laughed, seeing how starstruck they were as if you weren’t a regular girl.

“You’re y/n.” Gareth exclaimed.

“That I am.” You giggled, putting your hand out for him to shake.

“But you’re like the most popular girl at school.” Mike questioned.

“And she’s my girlfriend.” Eddie grinned.

“And how exactly did this all happen?” Dustin asked, curiously.

“I accidentally went into hellfire club instead of cheer practice and it all kinda just started there I guess.” You smiled, playing with eddie’s untamed curls as the boys all watched.

“I can’t believe you actually came over here.” Dustin grinned proudly, liking yoy already.

“Yeah, I doubt a cheerleader has even sat here on purpose.” Mike remarked.

“Well I like it a lot more than the jocks and snotty girls.” You muttered not bothering to stare back at your old table.

“You’re really pretty.” Gareth uttered, earning a glare from Eddie.

“Thank you.” You replied, feeling eddie’s hand clutch yours under the table.

“Gareth, dude.” Eddie warned.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ˚ ༘♡

like, reblog and comment if you enjoyed !!

part two??