#strangerthingsfic

masterlist

Summary: Dustin Henderson always leaves Hellfire early to keep his older sister far away from Eddie Munson’s obvious crush, but one forgotten character sheet ruins everything and gives Eddie the perfect chance to finally charm her right in front of Dustin’s horrified eyes.

Word Count: 1.5k

There was a reason Dustin Henderson always left Hellfire Club five minutes early, and it wasn’t because he had to make it back for curfew.

It was because you, his older sister,  picked him up. 

And because Eddie Munson, Dungeon Master with a flair for dramatics, had developed a hopeless, obvious crush on you the first time he saw you waiting by your car, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel to whatever song was stuck in your head.

Dustin had caught the look instantly.

“Don’t even think about it,” he had warned Eddie that very first day, grabbing his backpack like it was a shield. “I’m serious, Eddie. She’s off-limits.”

Eddie had only grinned, popping the cap on his marker. “Off-limits? Henderson, she drove you here. She’s literally right there. In the parking lot. Breathing the same air as me.”

“Exactly the problem!”

And so a system was born—one Dustin upheld with military precision. Every campaign night: five minutes early. No exceptions. No stragglers. No chance for Eddie to “accidentally” walk out at the same time.

Until tonight.

Tonight, the dice betrayed him.

A natural 1.

Not in the game, oh no, Dustin had rolled a 20 for that, but in real life, fumbling for his bag and realising too late that he’d forgotten his character sheet somewhere in the mess of snack wrappers and graph paper.

By the time he sprinted back into the room, Eddie was already strolling toward the doors, humming something off-key, twirling his ringed keys around his finger.

And outside—right outside—you were leaning against the car, Hawkins’ sunset painting you in gold.

Dustin skidded to a halt. “No, no, no. Abort mission. Turn around. Eddie, don’t go out there!”

Eddie froze mid-step, eyes lighting up with the slow-building grin of a man who finally caught the monster he’d been chasing.

“Why’s that Henderson, you tryna hide something from me?”  Eddie looked ahead, over Dustin's shoulder, with a large grin on his face. “Ah, someone?”

Eddie didn’t wait for Dustin’s answer. He brushed past him with that maddening, self-satisfied swagger, boots thudding on the linoleum as he pushed open the doors. The warm evening light hit his face, and he squinted dramatically, as if he’d just stepped into some divine realm—your realm. You glanced up at the sound, lifting your head from whatever you’d been scribbling on a notepad, and your eyes met Eddie’s.

He nearly tripped.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly softer, suddenly shy, like someone had reached into his chest and squeezed. “Uh—hi. Didn’t know you were the designated Henderson chauffeur tonight.”

You gave him a small, amused smile. “I’m always the designated Henderson chauffeur.”

Behind Eddie, Dustin groaned loudly, breaking the air. “Oh my god. Y/N disengage, get in the car, and drive”

Eddie ignored him entirely. “Well, lucky us.”

You raised a brow. “‘Us’?”

Eddie cleared his throat. “Uh—me. Lucky me.”

Dustin threw his hands up. “No. Nope. Eddie, abort. Retreat. Go back inside and pretend this never happened—”

You tugged open the passenger door for your brother. “Dustin, it’s fine, get in the car. Let him talk. You never let me meet your friends”

Eddie visibly perked up whilst Dustin visibly died inside.

Eddie placed a hand over his heart, staggering back a step like he’d just been given divine permission to breathe.

“You hear that, Henderson?” he said, eyes shining with theatrical triumph. “Your sister wants to meet your friends. Specifically me. Mostly me.”

Dustin shoved his backpack into the car with a force that suggested he wished it were Eddie instead. “I hate this. I hate both of you. I’m telling Mom.”

“You do that,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure she’ll be devastated to hear that someone finds her daughter interesting.”

Eddie snorted, then tried to disguise it as a suave laugh. It absolutely failed.

You shut Dustin’s door before he could protest again and turned back to Eddie, crossing your arms lightly over your chest. “So. Eddie Munson.”

He straightened like someone had just called his name at roll call. “That is me. In the flesh. In the leather.” He gestured vaguely at his jacket. “And the denim.”

You fought a smile. “Dustin talks about you a lot.”

Behind the rolled-up window, Dustin slapped both hands against the glass. “NO I DON’T.”

Eddie beamed. “Oh yeah? All good things, I hope.”

“Depends what you consider ‘good.’” You smirked. “Lots of yelling. Something about unfair campaigns. A dramatic monologue about you killing his character two weeks ago.”

Eddie gasped, affronted. “I didn’t kill his character. He threw himself into a pit trap after I explicitly told him not to.”

Dustin yelled through the closed window: “YOU SAID IT WASN’T A TRAP!”

“I lied! That’s storytelling!” Eddie shouted back, no longer looking at him, still looking at you.

You laughed, genuinely, bright and warm, and Eddie looked like he could live off that sound for a year. He rubbed his palms against his jeans, suddenly restless. “So, uh… since fate has clearly intervened tonight—thanks for the nat 1, Henderson—I was thinking… maybe… if you’re not too busy sometime, we could… I dunno.” He shrugged, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Hang out? Maybe grab something to eat? Talk without your brother trying to tackle me?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it even though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

“That depends,” you said. “Would Dustin survive the shock?”

From inside the car, Dustin pressed his face to the window, eyes wide with horror. “PLEASE DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM.”

Eddie placed a hand on the car roof, leaning in closer, hopeful and helpless in the same breath. “I’ll take my chances.”

You cut him off. “Maybe.”

Eddie blinked. “Maybe?”

You shrugged. “Maybe we can hang out,”

Eddie grinned, slow and stunned and triumphant. “I’ll take a ‘maybe.’ ‘Maybe’ sounds like a strong ‘yes’ waiting to happen.”

Eddie’s grin was still stretching across his face, wide and triumphant, when he moved toward your car. He hooked his fingers around the handle like he had done it a hundred times before, although the truth showed in the careful and almost reverent way he pulled the door open. Inside, Dustin snapped his head toward him, eyes narrowed into the kind of death stare usually saved for mortal enemies or, apparently, potential brothers-in-law.

“Don’t you dare,” Dustin warned, his voice high with panic and disbelief. Eddie leaned down just enough to meet the younger Henderson’s eyes directly. The two of them froze, locked in an entirely ridiculous yet absolutely serious battle of wills.

Dustin’s glare promised violence. Eddie’s stare promised trouble.

The tension held for a moment. Then Eddie’s expression shifted slowly, showing a smug smile before he lifted his hand in one deliberate motion and flipped Dustin off right in his face.

“You absolute—!” Dustin sputtered, smacking his palm against the window with enough force to rattle the whole door.

Eddie had already stopped paying attention. When he turned back to you, the mischief fell away instantly. His posture straightened, and he pushed the door open a little more with exaggerated gentleness, almost as if he needed you to know he did have manners, even if he used them selectively.

“There you go,” he said, his voice softer. “Wouldn’t want the designated Henderson chauffeur to deal with any complications.”

You could not help smiling. There was something undeniably endearing about how quickly he could shift from menace to sweet. “Thanks,” you said, sincere despite Dustin’s meltdown.

“Anytime,” Eddie replied. The word came out like a promise, and his grin grew smaller and warmer. He looked like he was trying very hard not to bounce on the balls of his feet.

Inside the car, Dustin made a dramatic noise that sounded half wounded animal and half outraged brother. “I cannot believe this. He flipped me off. In front of you.”

You shut his door before he could work himself up further and moved around the car to take your seat behind the wheel. Through the windshield, you caught Eddie backing away with that same stunned, proud smile on his face. He lifted a hand in a small wave. You returned it before starting the engine.

The moment the car rolled forward, Dustin erupted.

“Why are you smiling?” he demanded. He twisted in his seat with an expression that accused you of committing several crimes. “He insulted me. He flipped me off. He is trying to date you. How is any of this funny?”

You shrugged lightly as you merged onto the road, fingers tapping the steering wheel in a rhythm you did not think about. “I do not know, Dustybun. Maybe because he is sweet.”

Dustin made a strangled noise and slumped dramatically into his seatbelt. “Sweet? Sweet? Eddie Munson is not sweet. Eddie Munson is chaos in denim.”

“It could be worse,” you said with a tiny smirk.

Dustin threw his hands up in complete exasperation. “How? How could this possibly be worse?”

In the rearview mirror, you caught one last image of the parking lot. Eddie was still standing there, fists raised, bouncing on his heels like someone celebrating a long-awaited victory. He looked absolutely thrilled.

“You’re not, it just takes time.” Eddie leaned forward, “here.”

Steve stilled as Eddie’s hands fell over his, guiding his fingers into place.

“Now try it,” Eddie said and his voice was so close to Steve’s ear that goosebumps rose on his neck. Steve strummed the guitar, but winced at what was clearly not the chord Eddie was teaching him.

“Okay maybe you are getting worse at this,” Eddie said laughing. He glanced up and their eyes met for a terrifying, electrifying moment, before Eddie looked away and let go of his grasp on Steve.

Steve felt off kilter, his skin burned where Eddie’s hands had been. “Don’t give up on me now,” Steve said with a humorless laugh.

Eddie’s soft brown eyes found his again, “Give up on you Harrington? Never.”

Tags: Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Magical Tattoos, Womb Tattoo, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Slurs, Mpreg, Hand Jobs, Pregnant Sex, Pregnant Eddie Munson Fluff, Insecurity, Cesarean Section, Birth, Medical Procedures, Domestic Fluff

Words: 14,188 (complete!)

Ship: Mungrove

The people of Hawkins liked to talk. Gossip was popular among the residents - who was seeing who, who was taking what, rumors of plastic surgery or adultery or work difficulties or poverty… They loved it all. Naturally, when Wayne Munson was seen carrying a plastic cradle into the trailer he shared with his nephew, the neighbors began to brainstorm. Had Eddie gotten some poor girl knocked up? Wasn’t it strange that he’d put on weight? Didn’t his stomach look weird beneath his shirt? Was he babysitting for someone? Where had they been for the better part of the week?

Eddie spent the next few months recovering at home. Wayne and Billy helped with bathing him and taking care of Ronnie while he healed, and every day Eddie grew stronger. Billy got a job working with Wayne at the plant to bring in money for Ronnie’s diapers and formula. It got him away from Neil too, so he didn’t exactly mind the work.

It took six months of everyone saving - and Eddie dealing again, though less frequently - but they made enough to rent a proper house. It wasn’t huge, but it had two bedrooms and a finished basement where Wayne could stay. He sold the trailer and they moved in with some help from the Byers and Wheeler families. 

Will always watched them with awe, noticing the little touches and smiles they exchanged. Eddie caught him staring once. Billy had slipped his hand into Eddie’s back pocket, thinking the coast was clear. Will’s eyes widened as he lifted a box from the van. Eddie knew that look - it held no judgment, no derision, just curiosity. Eddie winked at him and pressed a quick kiss to Billy’s cheek. Will smiled shyly and nodded his head. He wouldn’t tell. If they could trust anyone with their secret, it was Will Byers.

They had ironed out their story beforehand, in case anyone helping asked. Ronnie was Eddie’s little sister, obviously, adopted by Wayne just like he’d adopted Eddie. And if Eddie and Billy doted on her more than was expected, if they were the only ones seen taking her on walks or buying baby products, no one said anything.

Summary: For as long as you can remember, Billy Hargrove has been in your life. You don't have a single memory of life before him. And for the past year, you've had to make memories without him.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, death

For as long as you can remember, Billy Hargrove has been in your life. You don't have a single memory of life before him. And for the past year, you've had to make memories without him.

Ever since he moved to Indiana, your contact with him has been scarce. Every once in a while, you'd get a phone call from him asking how you've been, and you'd ask about how he was doing—and he'd magically "have to go".

You knew things between him and his father were anything but good, and every night you dreamed of the day that he would be set free of him. You dreamed of a day where he would come back to California and sweep you off your feet. Neither were very likely to happen.

Until one night, when you were having a sleepover with one of your best friends, painting each others nails bright pinks and blues, your mom/dad/guardian knocked on your door.

"Honey, Billy's on the phone for you." They said, causing your eyes to widen.

Glancing down at your best friend, you broke out into a mad grin, your cheeks flushed as you ran out of the room, down the hallway, and to the phone in the living room.

Taking it off of hold, you held the phone to your ear, fingers messing with the cord, "Billy?"

"Hey." He said, nonchalantly.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm your nerves, "Hey, how've you been?"

That's when you heard it. A sniffle. Then a sob. Then radio silence.

You gave him a minute to collect himself before softening your voice, "Billy? What happened?"

He lowered his voice, "You know what happened."

Of course you knew what happened. Fucking Neil happened.

"How bad is it?"

"I'm bleeding. Just a little bit but I'm bleeding," He winced, "And I've got a nasty ass bruise starting on my head. I'm sore everywhere, Y/N. It hurts like a mother."

You pursed your lips, "I'm sorry, Billy. I know there's nothing I can do to make you feel better and that kills me. I wish I could do more."

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

"I miss California."

"California misses you, too."

You swear, just for a second, that you heard him laugh. And you smiled at the thought of bringing some sort of peace to him.

"I'm telling you, baby, as soon as I get enough money—I'm on my way home. To Cali. To you."

He never called you baby. Ever.

"Billy..." You trailed off, the first of many tears falling down your cheek, "Me and Cali will be waiting for you."

Silence.

"Hey, Y/N, I've gotta go. If my dad catches me on the phone, he'll kill me. But I wanted you to know that I love you. Damn, I love you."

"Billy," Your voice cracked, "I love—"

"Shit!" He exclaimed, "I've gotta go. Talk to you soon."

And the line went dead.

You were left in the living room, sitting on the arm of the couch, listening to the buzzing of the phone.

The next time you heard Billy's name was when your mom/dad/guardian sat you down in your room, took you by the hands and warned you to brace yourself before taking out a newspaper clipping.

You took it in your hands, reading "Obituaries" across the top. In small, bold letters, was the name "William Hargrove".

by @mi11even

What happened after Eleven closed the gate??? For some reason, I feel really attached to the concept of what the aftermath of the fall of the Mind Flayer and the gate might have been. Although it tears me apart that we never got to see some period of relieving serenity and exhaustion, and especially a proper Mike and Eleven conversation, it’s interesting to read alternate pieces on it. Tag me in some if you know/have written any!! 

AS ALWAYS DO NOT PERCEIVE MY OR ANYONE ELSE’S WORK TO BE SEXUALISING THESE KIDS!! everything is innocent and adorable please and thank you

word count: 884

summary: Eleven has closed the gate, the Mind Flayer is destroyed, Will is back to himself. After a rushed reunion and a quick goodbye before the chaos,  Mike and Eleven get the chance to take in after a year apart.

-

Jim Hopper gave a tired sigh as he finally pulled into the driveway that led to the Byers’ home. It was a dark path buried in a sea of leaves and fallen twigs, and the night was eerily silent.

His headlights soon shone on the house, the sleepy soft lights that glowed in the windows making the house seem finally at bay. He pulled up, barely turning off the car before the door swung open and Mike Wheeler, illuminated by the heavy blue 4am sky, scurried down the porch.

Mike ran to the car, his hair messy and his eyes glowing, looking never more awake at the hour. He stopped for a moment, his eyebrows pulling together as he eyed the empty passenger seat. He nearly sprinted to the doors. “Where is she?!”

Hopper walked out, shutting his door quietly. He gave a small, tired smile to the worried boy. “She’s in the back, sleeping. Probably will be for years,” he murmured.

“She’s okay, though, isn’t she?” said Mike impatiently, glancing at him, then reaching for the handle and pulling open the door.

“She’s fine, kid,” whispered Hopper.  Eleven lay across the backseat, blankets tucked carefully into her loosely spread limbs. Blood stains were spread everywhere on her face. Her clothes dirty and loose, but she slept immaculately.

“Ohmygod. El,” he whispered, his voice wavering. He smiled weakly at her sleeping face, running his hand across her forehead.

“Let me get her inside,” murmured Hopper, ruffling Mike’s hair. “It’s okay. You’ve got her now. She’s not going anywhere.”

-

Hopper walked in. Relieved whispers were smiled throughout the Byers’ household at seeing Eleven over his shoulder. Mike was on his toes. Joyce ran to the bathroom to run a shower after tearing up, overcome with emotion.

“El,” murmured Hopper, rubbing her back. “Wake up baby, we gotta get you clean.”

It took a few more attempts at rousing her, Hop swaying her on his shoulder, but soon enough she was rubbing her eyes and burrowing herself into his arms.

“C’mon,” whispered Hopper.  “I know you’re tired, kid. The shower’s warm, then you can go back to sleep. C’mon,” he said again, putting her down. She whined but didn’t protest, blinking slowly.

“Mike?” she murmured, looking up.

“Here,” he said softly, immediately coming to her. Eleven sighed sleepily, almost in relief, falling into his arms. “I missed you,” he whispered.

Eleven hummed, her eyes slipping closed. “I’m here,” she breathed. She tucked her head into his chest.

“Okay, come on,” said Hopper, rubbing her back. “You’re gonna fall asleep again. You’ll have plenty of him later.” Eleven pulled away, reaching for Hop’s arm. She clutched it tightly as he turned to lead her to the bathroom. Hopper ruffled Mike’s hair. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Mike gave a weak smile.

“C’mon, sweetie,” motioned Joyce at the bathroom door, wrapping her arm around El.

“Thanks, Joyce,” said Hopper, his tired eyes showing the utmost gratitude.

“I’ll never be able to repay.” she smiled, her eyes glossy.

-

“Mike.”

Mike awoke from the cushions on the floor. They were placed next to the bed in Joyce’s room. Eleven knelt in front of him, her fingers brushing on his forehead.

]Mike knew that there was no way he was leaving her side at a time like this, as did everyone else, so no one stopped him. Joyce gave him as many spare blankets and cushions as possible with a smile, and he hastily dumped them right next to where El would sleep. He knocked out on his makeshift mattress while she was in the shower.

“Hi,” Mike breathed, sitting up. Her clear and immaculate face hit him with nostalgia, and he felt his throat tighten. The black eyeshadow dusting her eyes and the hard, slicked back look of El from half an hour ago was gone. Instead, her face was as soft and clear and she wore one of Joyce’s old t-shirts and-

Her hair.

There was so much. It was clean and also so curly, and the sweetest brown. When he looked up to her eyes, he was looking up to the most beautiful feeling of familiarity in the world. A warmth spreading through him. He felt like crying.

Mike ran his fingers along the tight but soft curls, each one sweetly delicate. He tucked them behind her ear. “So beautiful,” he said, looking up at her. El smiled, and tears ran down her cheeks.

“Hop fell asleep on the couch,” she murmured. “Come sleep with me,” she pleaded. Even though the dark circles under her eyes depicted utter exhaustion, there was a wildness in her eyes that showed that she did not want to be alone.

There was also a wildness in Mike’s eyes; it showed the fear of the possibility that El might be hurting in any way- along with the chance that he could be completely oblivious to it.  It was terrifying.

After coming out, the last place Will Byers expected to be hiding was the closet. Yet here he was, snuggled into the familiar warmth of his best friend’s sweaters. He tried his best to breathe silently, each inhalation infused with the lingering smell of Mike. It intoxicated his brain and sent tingles rushing from his head to his toes. Will cautiously laid his hands on the rough closet doors in front of him and rested his forehead on the door. He closed one eye as the other peered out the narrow space between the white bifold doors. He saw Mike’s room as it had always been. Dark clothing was strewn across every inch, his textbooks thrown carelessly into a mountain at the foot of the bed. Papers of scribbled notes were thoughtlessly scattered across every surface. The clutter never bothered Will. It was almost comforting, like he was seeing the inside of Mike’s creative mind spread across his room. Will was startled as muffled voices approached. He heard the door latch open aggressively, and suddenly the once muffled voices flooded the room with violent volume.

“Richie, I warned you about this!” Mike yelled as he tromped over the clothing, dropping his decaying backpack off his shoulder and discarding it somewhere in the mess. Richie came in following a footstep behind him like a shadow, tripping as his feet became ensnared in a long forgotten sweatshirt. He was trapped in place, cursing under his breath as he attempted to free his awkward limbs. Mike crossed the room with heavy steps.

“Come on, Mikey boy! Chare up. 'av a pint! 'tis not so brutal, me lad,” Richie urged in his Irish cop voice as he shook one lanky leg in an attempt to rid himself of the sweatshirt. Will watched as Mike froze where he stood, stone cold with anger. Mike clenched his hands into fists and locked his jaw with painful strength in an attempt to keep himself from letting them loose on his cousin.

“Stop doing that!” He burst, pivoting on one foot to face his rival. “Richie, all you’ve done since you got here is open that fucking trash mouth of yours. You made El uncomfortable, and when I asked you to tone it down you just got worse. I told you not to provoke Troy, and what did you do? I told you to leave Will alone, and you decided that meant to flirt and toy with his emotions.” Mike ranted. Richie suddenly dropped his composure. His ribcage collapsed and Will could see he was just awkward, guilty Richie for a moment. Mike took a deep breath, rolled his eyes and added, “And I told you to stop fucking smoking in my room!”

Richie dropped one hand to his side and rubbed his neck with the other and began uncomfortably, “Well, you know-”

“Yeah, I know,” Mike cut him off, “You and your voices.” Mike looked at the ground and shook his head, his voice calming as he ran out of steam to argue. “Your stupid voices,” Mike muttered to himself as he crossed his arms. Mike closed himself off in that moment, disappointment and frustration burning out his energy to be present in the argument. Even staring at the brown curls at the back of his head, Will could feel the hurt welling in Richie’s eyes.

“Well it’s not my fault your friends can’t take a joke!” Richie claimed defensively, finally kicking away the navy sweatshirt he’d been trapped in. Will watched as Richie stumbled forward, trying to get to Mike. He reached out a hand and Mike spun around stomping toward the exit. The tension between the two boys was unbearable. They both meant well, but they interacted with the world in such different ways. While Mike took control of the world around him, the silent and gentle leader, Richie yelled ill-advised humor at it. They both had their share of pent-up anger for everything life had unfairly thrown at them, but they dealt with it in such contrasting ways.

Will jumped back from the closet doors, shrinking back into the soft clothing as he saw Mike stampeding in his direction. Mike irritably mumbled with no direction, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Mike, wait,” Richie plead as he did a little anxious hop where Mike had previously stood. He began to chase after Mike once again, tripping over the mountain of textbooks in the process and falling onto his hands with a loud smack. “Mike!” Richie called as he blundered back to his feet. “Mike you can’t-” Will heard the door slam shut again as the voices hurried away. He took a deep breath to cleanse his racing mind. Once again the smell of Mike made him woozy. Will stood frozen in the closet for a moment, attempting to comprehend everything he had just been through.

Just like every Friday, the party had intended on meeting at Mike’s after school, and just like every Friday El was stuck late in class because she just had so many questions to ask. She was a few years behind the rest of the party, but she never stopped learning. She was fascinated and stuck on every detail. It annoyed her teachers more than anything, but she wasn’t caught up on conventional knowledge like the rest of the class, so every assertion the teacher made was followed by a contradictory question from El, and every contradictory question from El was met by an irritable sigh by her teacher. She meant no harm, she just had a different way of understanding the world, one that no classmate could begin to comprehend. Mike stood casually outside the door of El’s class to wait for her. Meanwhile, Max was out in the high school parking lot bravely skating through the after-school traffic and yelling insults at Lucas and Dustin who were pretending they weren’t desperately searching the ground for the car keys they’d lost. So just like every Friday, Will turned up to the Wheeler household early.

Though ill-advised, Will knew from experience that the Wheelers rarely kept their house locked. To be fair they lived in a nice suburban neighborhood, and the threats in Hawkins tended to be a bit more supernatural than thievery. So Will calmly turned the fancy golden door knob and let himself into the pristine front entry of Mike’s home. He unfastened the velcro strap at the ankle of his knock-off sneakers and began to loosen the black laces, as per the rules of such a well-kept home. His shoes that had once been white, but now were yellowing with age and love, seemed such a stark contrast to the clean entry as he kicked them off with his toes. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Richie came violently bounding down the stairs only to stop in his tracks with one arm behind his back when he saw Will. Richie’s eyes were wide in the magnification of his coke bottle glasses as he stared at Will, his loose Hawaiian swinging forward around his frozen sides with the sudden change in momentum.

“Oh, it’s you,” Richie stated simply with a shrug before starting right back upstairs as quickly as he had come down. Will slowly finished kicking off his shoes as he stared at the stairs in confusion at the strange interaction he’d just encountered. His daze was broken when Richie called down in his British butler voice, “Pip pip, cheerio. Won’t you join me, my good lad?”

Will shook his flustered head and blinked a few times. Though he was unsure, Will was intrigued, and he slowly began dragging himself up one stair at a time after Richie. The first thing that caught him was the smell wafting down the stairway, making his nose itch. When he reached the top step, Will found Richie standing in the doorway of Mike’s bedroom. Richie leaned on the doorframe with his arms crossed, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips and one leg propped up behind him. Richie examined Will for a moment, looking him up and down before simply walking into Mike’s room with no explanation. Will hesitated to follow. Richie could be unpredictable, and Will wasn’t sure if he could trust this Derry boy. Will could feel the blood rushing through his veins, his pulse heightening as he considered just ignoring Richie and heading back down to wait for his friends. Will nodded to himself, nibbling at his lip in contemplation. That seemed to be the safe decision.

“What? You go back to the fucking future, Marty McFly?!” Richie obnoxiously yelled out from the bedroom.

Will looked down at his orange vest, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about it. He wasn’t sure if it was the shame or just his own irresistible curiosity that drew him in, but he found himself quietly obeying the demands of Richie. When he stepped into Mike’s room, Will saw Richie sprawled across Mike’s bed, blowing smoke up into the air. Will grabbed at his own forearm anxiously as he tentatively sat beside Richie. The peculiar boy clumsily sat himself up beside Will. Richie held out the cigarette lazily toward Will, and Will pinched his eyes shut tightly, cringing as Richie exhaled sweet smoke into his face. Will opened his eyes cautiously and found himself staring at the cigarette in fear. It wasn’t the cigarette itself that petrified him. His mother had smoked his whole life, and though he had never thought of doing it himself, Will saw no problem with the matter of smoking. It was that it was Richie’s cigarette that sent shivers down Will’s spine and froze him in terror. He chanced a glance up at Richie, who silently responded by raising his eyebrows and shoving the cigarette closer to Will. To his surprise, Will watched his hand reach out and linger at Richie’s offering. It was as if he was watching someone else control his body. Will took the stick, trembling so violently that he nearly dropped it as he slowly brought it to his mouth. He closed his eyes tightly and inhaled deeply. He opened his eyes wide as the realization of his mistake hit him, the feeling of black poison swirling in his stomach. He attempted to stifle his coughing fit in embarrassment as Richie watched on laughing. 

“You don’t swallow it, dickhead. Here,” Richie began, leaning over and took the cigarette from Will. “You’ve got to breathe it in shallow, like this,” Richie brought the cigarette to his smooth lips and inhaled blissfully. He took the stick away from his mouth and after a moment blew the smoke at Will like he was blowing a kiss, smirking behind the mischievous grey cloud. “You just kind of hold it in your mouth for a minute, and then let it go,” Richie explained casually as he shoved the cigarette back at Will. Will carefully took the cigarette in his steadying fingers, his terror suddenly replaced by his irrational determination to redeem himself. He did as Richie taught, sucking in the smoke as if it were a straw in a coke. He paused a moment, waiting for the cloud to cool in his mouth before carelessly breathing it out toward the floor. Will stared at the bedroom door, his head off in space as he handed the cigarette back toward Richie.

They continued like this for a while, silently passing the dwindling cigarette back and forth until Will felt a jolt of confidence and comfort. He turned toward Richie and blurted out, “Why are we in Mike’s room?”

Richie shrugged, not meeting his eyes. He huffed out smoke like dragon’s breath, immediately going for another desperate drag. “I’m disposable,” Richie explained. “Already got kicked out of my own house. Probably better if I don’t lose this one too. Aunt Karen’s never going to let Mike go now that Nancy’s left for college, so who’s it gonna hurt if she thinks Mike’s smoking instead of me?” Before he could stop himself Richie added, “And Uncle Ted doesn’t have the first fucking idea what goes on in this house,” as he handed off the cigarette to Will. Will nodded, taking another blissful drag. He felt it invade his body, valiantly breaking apart the tension and fear in every nerve and calming him with a nicotine lullaby.

Their calm was interrupted when they heard the front door struggling to be opened. “Shit!” Richie spat out, jumping off the bed and turning to Will. “Warden’s home.” Richie snatched the last of the cigarette from Will’s grasp and shoved him toward the closet, effectively knocking Will over in the process. Richie quickly and carelessly put the cigarette out on the closet door, leaving a  disturbing black scar on the white paint. He opened it in desperation, vigorously gesturing for Will to get in. Will wasn’t sure why he allowed himself to follow every command Richie gave him, but he clambered to his feet and walked into the closet without argument. Will watched fearfully as Richie closed the doors on him, shutting Will off from the rest of the world.

Will was jolted out of his reverie when the closet doors clattered about, opening to reveal Richie struggling with the contraption. Richie kicked stray clothing out of the way in an attempt to free Will from the comfort of being alone in the small closet. “They’re in the basement,” Richie commented passively as he grappled with the door. Will nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for reasons he couldn’t understand. He took small steps and stared at the floor as he exited the closet, walking past Richie who was ushering him out of the room. Will reached the top step of the stairway and nervously glanced back to see Richie slamming his bedroom door behind him, loudly shaking his obnoxious metal signs. In the center lived a red and black “Keep Out” sign, below which was an old, beat up street sign that read “Neibolt”. Both signs were weathered and Will had half a sense to say Richie was mischievous enough to have stolen them right off their posts. They were poorly nailed to the white door that used to house Nancy’s bedroom. It seemed much less welcoming now, Will concluded as he turned back to the stairs.

He felt relief wash over him like a fresh rain when he laid eyes on his friends in the basement. Lucas had Dustin in a headlock while Dustin swung his arms around wildly trying to get free. Max rolled her eyes at them as she closed the mini fridge and crossed the room with a can of soda in either hand. She tossed one to El who was snuggled up to Mike on the couch. El’s eyes locked on the soda and she mentally guided it to the table in front of her. She smiled in pride at her accomplishment while Max threw herself down on the couch next to El. Will smiled at the misfit behavior of his friends as he finished descending the stairs into the warmly lit basement. He was greeted with excited cheers of his name and familiar smiles from each of his friends. 

“You’re late!” Mike teased as he gestured Will over to the couch with the hand that was not wrapped around El. “Normally you’re sitting here waiting for us,” Mike elaborated, a flash of concern flying across his face. Will sat next to Max on the couch attempting to stumble out an excuse.

“Well I-“

“Have you been smoking?” Max blurted out as she furrowed her fiery eyebrows at Will. “You reek.”

Will shrunk under her accusations, suddenly very aware of the smoke laced in his clothing, hair, and every inch of exposed skin. “I- Um.. it’s just…” Will stuttered, looking around at the concerned and critical expressions on each of his friend’s faces in horror. “I-”

“It was Richie,” Mike vomited, cutting off Will’s pathetic rambling. Mike stared through Will’s eyes and straight into his soul with a look of hurt confusion. Mike’s eyes didn’t leave Will’s as he added, “Must have drifted down here when Will came in.”

Will felt guilt welling up in the pit of his stomach as his best friend covered for him. Mike’s eyes searched Will’s face for any sign of life, but Will just looked so dead all the time. Will couldn’t tell if Mike knew for sure what had happened, but he’d be a fool if he couldn’t read the suspicion plaguing every feature of Mike’s face. The room was awkwardly silent as the group stared at the invisible tension between Mike and Will. Will was afraid to close his eyes, but all he wanted was to blink it all away. The answer to his prayers came when Dustin piped up.

“You guys will never guess what I brought,” Dustin claimed using his arm for emphasis as he backed away from the group. He turned around and excitedly unzipped his backpack to reveal his multitude of video game cartridges crammed in amongst the decaying textbooks.

“Sweet man, what’ve you got?” Max asked excitedly as she jumped up from the couch and crossed over to him. They began sorting through the pale grey cartridges together as Lucas turned to make judgements about each game Dustin owned. Eleven stood up in her gentle way and floated over to where the decisions were being made, leaving Mike and Will alone on the couch together. Will chanced a glance to his right, and regrettably Mike’s confused stare had not moved from Will’s face. Will looked down and nervously pulled at each shaky finger on his hand. He wasn’t sure why he felt so guilty. It wasn’t like he had done anything wrong. Whether or not he chose to smoke was none of Mike’s concern. Smoking in Mike’s room was a little uncalled for, he’d give Mike that, but Richie was going to be smoking there with or without Will. He knew Mike, though not Richie’s biggest fan in the world, wouldn’t ever judge him for who he hung out with. Will supposed it was himself that he felt guilty for, or rather his lack of existence. He was so numb and so dead to the world all the time. Quite simply, Will had nothing left to live for. That’s the kind of thing PTSD can do to a person he supposed. When every waking moment is a custom-made torture poisoning your brain, there’s not much point in existing. Will breathed as he began to understand. He had nothing left in the world to wake him up but cheap thrills.

“You have the new Super Mario Brothers?!” Max exclaimed, her warm hair drifting behind her as she ran across the basement with the hunk of grey plastic. She shoved it into the Nintendo Entertainment System that lived below the boxy television set, bouncing with excitement. Max sat in awe as the pixel filled screen lit up her face and reflected in her bright blue eyes.

“Me first!” El exclaimed in her child-like glee, running to the lively television. Her earthy plaid shirt flowed behind her like a cape as she plopped herself down next to Max, who was scooting back to view the entire television, tiny grey controller in hand. Max started the game, then casually passed the controller off to Eleven, who began bashing buttons passionately as the 8-bit figure fought it’s way across the blue screen. Her tongue poked just slightly out of the corner of her mouth as she bit it in concentration. El leaned closer to the screen as the obstacles became more difficult as if she could will the characters to do her bidding with an intense stare.

“Jumpjumpjumpjump!” The entire party erupted as a tiny pink enemy raced toward El’s character.

“Look out!” Max screamed, pointing a finger at the screen as the two figures clashed. Eleven’s character began flashing on the screen as she huffed and passed the game controller to Max. The party continued to change turns whenever someone lost a life, all laughing and screaming at each other as their eyes locked onto the fast-paced action on screen.

so I was reading @heyailin‘s fic (check it out!) and it reminded me of this oneshot I was meaning to write back in the day, before I had this idea, so despite my hurt wrist, I set to write it as part of my prompts challenge. hope you guys enjoy!

this is covering prompt #7. you can send me a character/pair + number and I’ll write something for you, check the list.

also available on ao3 and FF.net

The clock's arms moved awfully slow for a class that prioritized numbers. Bored out of her mind, El would glance at it every eternity, but it always came up only a couple of minutes top ahead of the last time she checked.

Whoever said that school was great was an idiot.

"What's up with you?" Dustin hushed at her. He was the best of math out of all of them, so it was nice of him to sit by her side (since she still had a bit of a hard time sometimes), but mostly, El just wanted to be out of there.

Mike Wheeler still couldn’t believe it. Any moment now he expected to be jolted awake inside Eleven’s tent in his basement, disappointed once again that she was no longer around. But yet here he was, walking cautiously through the woods at dinnertime to see her. Eleven. Finally.

It had been a week since El closed the gate, saved Hawkins and came back to him. To her home. He still remembers every vivid detail from that night, the fear of almost certain death as the faces of those demodogs as Dustin constantly calls them, to the all-consuming feeling of elation when Eleven walked through the Byers’ door and saved them.

The happiness in her face when they made eye contact, the way she reached for and clung to him, and the broken cry in her voice when she choked out his name will stay with him forever. From that moment, it had been a complete whirlwind of emotions from learning Hopper was hiding her to the gut wrenching realization that he might lose her to the gate once again just minutes later. But she promised. They promised. And friends don’t lie.

Mike was pulled quickly from his thoughts when he spied the familiar old cabin coming into view. He slowed his walk, letting out a deep breath, realizing that Eleven was just a few feet away. All he had to do was go up to the door and face Hopper. The man who hid Eleven from him. A shiver ran down Mike’s spine as he recalled the screaming and pummeling he had given to Hopper after that discovery, only for the man to hold him while he cried about it. They hadn’t seen each other since, not even the night of the Snow Ball, although Mike was so grateful Hopper let Eleven go. That was such a magical night, she had looked so beautiful. It almost made up for what Hopper did.

Gathering his courage, Mike walked confidently up the path, careful of the trip wire near the front door. Keeping up the safety precautions for the next year would be annoying, but Mike would do anything to keep Eleven safe. He was just happy he finally got to see her again. Not seeing her face or even hearing for voice for 353 days had been agony.

Mike stopped in front of the door and punched his fist on the door three times. There was a small movement behind the door, a flicker of someone moving in front of a light, followed by the squeaky sounds of locks being undone, before the door swung open to reveal Hopper.

The intimidating Hawkins Police Chief stood there with his eyes trained on Mike, two hands on his gun, before realizing there was no threat. Mike stood there, not moving, his eyes on the gun, before allowing a small smile and a quick head nod towards the man holding it, their eyes meeting.

“Hopper,” Mike spoke assertively, not looking away, until the man frowned at him slightly. “Sir,” he added quickly.

Upon hearing Mike speak, Hopper lowered the gun and simply said,” Hey kid,” with a quick head nod of his own. “You were supposed to use the secret knock. Forget next time and you can’t come in,” Hopper added before moving aside to let Mike in as he nodded furiously.

Mike entered the cabin and glanced around before his eyes landed on El, standing there next to a red table, in a makeshift kitchen. Her brown hair was curled slightly, not as much as at the dance. She was wearing a simple T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers just like him, but as always, she looked beautiful.

Eleven gave him that small smile from the Snow Ball that he adored. He honestly forgot to breathe when she looked at him like that. His cheeks already beginning to hurt from the smile forming on his features in return. They both stood there staring for seconds, minutes, hours, Mike last track. At least until he was broken from that trance by Eleven glancing behind him, cocking her head slightly, eyes fixed like she was about to use her powers again.

Mike turned slightly as Hooper curtly said,” Right. I need a smoke. Outside.” He paused as Mike made eye contact again, Hopper looking quickly between Mike and Eleven. “Ten minutes tops. I mean it,” he demanded, before exiting the small cabin, the door banging loudly.

Mike turned back towards Eleven, who was now beaming at him just a few feet away. “I have a surprise,” she revealed, a happy twinkle in her brown eyes before she turned to look at the table, or the large upside-down bowl on it. “Yeah?” Mike replied, quickly walked towards her, surprise on his face at her words, his eyes taking in the large, white bowl for this time. Eleven sat down in the chair and Mike mirrored her movements as she patiently waited for him. Again, they just stared for a few seconds, a calm contentment falling over them for simply being in the same space together again.

“Ready?” Eleven spoke softly, a childlike excitement in her tone that suited her perfectly. “Let’s see it!” Mike answered almost immediately, his hands gesturing to the bowl in front of them in the hopes he would stop wringing them together and reveal his nervousness. Mike slowly watched as Eleven looked down at the bowl, concentrated, and lifted the bowl with her powers and placed it right side up next to the plate it was covering.

“Surprise.” Eleven said with a full smile, happy at the look of complete surprise and awe on Mike’s face as he stared. Mike had truly no idea what kind of a surprise to expect from El, but of course, it had to be this. “Eggos!” Mike exclaimed as he stared in shock at El favorite food stacked in a sort of tower in front of them. He laughed quietly to himself, glancing up at her bright eyes as they shared the joke of El’s love for Eggos.

El leaned forward slightly in the chair, keeping eye contact, her smile wide and happy. “Triple decker Eggo extravaganza,” she revealed, as they both glanced down at the culinary surprise together. Mike's mouth formed a smirk as he took in the dish. Four Eggo waffles were apparent, separated by fluffy white whipped cream at every layer. A variety of jelly beans, chocolate chips, and various leftover Halloween candies were added haphazardly, given it a dash of color.

Mike was impressed. It looked delicious. He leaned in to examine the dish closer, taking in the effort it had been to made and assemble it. “I made it,” El said, a proud but quiet tone in her voice as she also looked over the extravaganza.

“Did Hopper teach you?” Mike asked with a quirk of his brow. El nodded quickly, looking up into Mike’s eyes again. Mike nodded. “He’s Papa now,” El continued quietly, watching Mike’s eyebrows raise at her words, staring at her in disbelief.

El slowly reached across the table and took Mike hand in hers, their eyes never leaving each others. “Home,” she said, confirming the unasked question in the room. Mike grasped her hand more firmly in his, nodding once, a lump forming in his throat. “Home,” he repeated. They stayed like that for a moment, before he watched El’s other hand reach for a fork. Mike reacted quickly to grab the other fork on the table, before staring at the Eggos in front of them with a focused gaze.

“So, how do we eat this?” Mike asked seriously. “Do you want to figure it out?” El quipped slowly, a smile creeping onto her face, the familiar saying settling between them like a familiar joke. Mike smile again at her mirroring his words from the dance, leaned in towards her again and said softly, “Together.”