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robinsno1lesbian · 1 year

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older!nancy who is the mother of the reader’s best friend and after getting to know each other after the readers frequent visits to her house, they end up getting closer than you think 🙈

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒, 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒, 𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐒𝐄 - 𝐍.𝐖.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when your best friends leaves to go to college, and you’re left behind in that little bookstore you run, you're surprised to see nancy wheeler there. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4487

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content! (MDNI), implied age gap (reader is 18+!!), mention of teen pregnancy, period typical homophobia, bottom!nancy wheeler & top!reader, vaginal fingering, oral, nancy is really inexperienced, scratching (?), first time with a woman on nancy's end, not proofread (let me know if i missed anything!)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: aaaah @cinnamoncunt i love your requests!!! i promise the professor!robin headcanons are on their way! anyway i didn't really get into the friendship between reader and nancy's daughter because this was written in a bit of a rush lmao- i hope you don't mind <3 (especially the ending. i might edit it later today-) also i kind of added some stuff to it because I'm currently reading "last night at the telegraph club" and i couldn't stop thinking about that book somehow lmao

the weather is keeping customers away, which leaves no one but you in the bookstore. it's your mother's, but she can't take care of it all by herself. this is why you stayed in hawkins, even years after graduating: to help her.

you know she can use all support she can get.

looking back at it now, you're thankful that you've stayed; running a bookshop is better than you had imagined. it gives you the perfect opportunity to ramble about your favorite hobby and you get to know the people in town better. you've even met your best friend in your store.

she's a couple of years younger than you and still there was something intimidating about her: she did not seem like the girl you would normally befriend. if anything, she seemed like the type of person who would've made fun of you back in highschool. turns out you were wrong.

she came around more often, buying a new book from you every time. eventually, you began talking more until her visits became annual hangouts in the store, which led to the two of you hanging out at your or her place at least three times a week.

and then she left to go to college.

of course you don't blame her for leaving, even though you admire her for doing so. you will probably always be here, in the small town of hawkins, stuck behind the window of your bookstore as the world goes on somewhere outside.

you flip to the next page of the book and shake away the thought of your best friend, who is somewhere at the other end of the country. maybe one day you will find the courage to leave too. you're about to start the next chapter, but the familiar noise of the bell at the entrance rings through the store. you get up from your spot between the shelves in the back to see who is crazy enough to leave their house to go book shopping with this kind of storm going on.

it catches you by surprise to see nancy wheeler in the doorway.

she's your best friend's mother and even though you never interacted much, you could never deny the fact that she is absolutely gorgeous. she had her daughter at a young age and raised her all by herself, that you do know. but she never talked about it much, and you didn't want to bother her with questions about this.

now nancy wheeler is standing right in front of you, water dripping down her soaked jacket.

"ms. wheeler" you greet, your voice thick with surprise that you try to oppress.

the brunette is wearing a wide coat and a light beige blouse underneath; one that's been entirely soaked by the rain and hides little from your eyes.

no, you remind yourself, no, no, no. stop that right now.

"y/n, hi" she smiles quickly. "i- uhm-" nancy glances through the store. she's never been here before, at least not that you can remember.

"i didn't have anything to do today so- with how much my daughter told me about this place, i thought why not go there myself"

you wonder if nancy ever gets lonely these days. the absence of your best friend has already settled heavily in your heart. you can't even imagine what it's like for a single mother who only ever had her daughter around.

"oh of course" you nod. "well...nancy-" her first name feels odd on your tongue but you try to go with it. "are you much of a reader?"

you could punch yourself right then and there. what kind of question is that? and why did you choose to focus on that, out of all things?

"oh" she raises her brows. "well...in the past months i didn't really have time to read that much but now- i think i'd like to read a bit more, yeah" she fumbles with the button of her coat. is she nervous? flustered? you wish you could tell. "okay" you nod. "well do you have any preferences? any genre you like?" "oh- uh- i didn't think about it that much" her cheeks flush a soft shade of red.

she's definitely nervous, that much you know now, but you can't seem to figure out why.

"you can look around a bit if you like" you offer. "I'm always here in case you have any questions"

she nods with a tight-lipped smile and steps toward one of the many rows of shelves but turns on her heel just before she can reach it.

"what do you read y/n?"

that question catches you off guard, especially since the erotic lesbian fiction novel is still hugged to your chest. you think of the shoebox that you have hidden underneath a loose floorboard in the back of the store. of all the books that are stacked up in there, each one of them carefully annotated and marked by your own hands.

books that could probably get you killed in this town.

now it's your turn to blush.

"ms. wheeler- uhm- nancy- i don't think you would like the books i read" you mutter. "oh but how would you know silly?" she chuckles before nodding her chin in the direction of your crossed arms. "what's that one about?"

"this? oh it's nothing i- i was just..sorting it in...back there" you look over your shoulder, to the corner where the floorboard is still laying around carelessly, leaving a gap in your floor. one that contains the filthiest lesbian books in all of hawkins. you send a quick prayer to whatever higher power there might be that nancy won't go there to check.

"well" she reaches out her hand. "i think i'm gonna take that as a sign" "nancy i don't think that's a good idea" you warn.

but she is determined, puts one hand to her side and furrows her brows. you cruse yourself for carrying it with you so mindlessly. "fine, I'll take the risk" the second you hand her the book, regret creeps through your body. this is the end, you think. she'll go straight to the police with that and they will probably raid your store for selling inappropriate content. or worse, they might even arrest you. you've heard of the things they do to people like you. all across the country. you gulp audibly as you watch nancy in horror. she turns it in her hands before reading the backside.

you know the words by heart and by the way her eyes scan the pages, she's about to get to the part that will make your whole world fall apart.

nancy does raise her brows, but the gesture doesn't seem to be one of disgust. she tilts her head slightly and looks up at you, the book still firmly in her hand. her cheeks are reddened in a way that you can't seem to figure out.

"oh- so that's why-" she gasps.

you avoid her gaze. every single nerve in your body seems to be on fire as you try to come up with an excuse, an explanation at least.

"look nancy- i'm sorry- i told you this wouldn't be what you-" she cuts you off and simply says; "i'll take it" "what?" you're taken aback by her answer. albeit you're still extremely flustered her reaction is something you least expected. nancy wheeler, however, just shrugs. "i'll take it" she repeats. "this seems...interesting" "how about that" you offer, knowing damn well this book isn't listed on the register of books you sell. "you can borrow it, and if- if you don't like it you can bring it back?" cold sweat is running down your spine. "deal" she nods.

you quickly check her out, give her a paper bag to carry the book and watch as she leaves.

"it was nice seeing you again y/n" she says and takes your hand in hers for what is supposed to be a shake. except that she doesn't let go immediately. her hand lingers in yours as your eyes meet.

you can't fall for nancy wheeler, you remind yourself. you can't.

⋆

the air has gotten colder over the past few days. a sign that autumn is right around the corner. in the darkness of the night, nancy wheeler can see the condensation of her exhales as she walks.

she's carrying a small paper bag with her, and her heart is racing in excitement. she has spent the last nights staying up late to read the book you have given her. nancy doesn't know what she expected but it hadn't been that. it hadn't been a strange kind of heat coiling in her lower abdomen, hadn't been the strange urge to press her thighs together at the words written on the page.

she has never read something like that before, but she somehow knows that she needs more of that.

she looks down at her feet, her heels clicking against the cold ground. she's wearing a dress that's way too cold for the weather and her coat hardly does anything to warm her at all. she pulls it tighter around herself as she heads in the direction of your store.

⋆ "ms. wheeler" you raise your brows. you were about to close when she shows up. "back already?"

if you're being honest, you didn't think you would ever see her again after she has taken your book with her. but there she is, standing in your doorway, and she is carrying said book with her, packed in the same bag still.

"call me nancy, please" she reminds you. is that nervosity in her voice?

"i- uhm" she steps further into the store and the door falls shut behind her.

"i read your book" now this does surprise you just as much as seeing her again. "my- my book?" "yeah" a smile flashes across her face. "well" you push yourself away from the countertop that you've been leaning against to cross your arms over your chest. "how did you like it?" there is an obvious shake in your voice. "you didn't mention that you read it too" she shoots back. "the annotations are yours, aren't they?" you inhale sharply. "what about it?" "i- i never read anything like this before" she mumbles in thought. "i didn't even- i mean- is it really like that?"

suddenly you understand; nancy must've spent all those years alone. you never heard anything of a boyfriend, let alone a husband in all these years that she spent raising her child. you wonder if she did anything at all in all this time. if she ever even had the chance to explore her sexuality any further.

you look out on the dark street nervously.

"come with me" you say and take the lead to walk her to the back of the store. you're hidden from the view of the street and have a place to sit.

"so" she says as she lowers herself onto the sofa that you have bought in an antique store years ago. "is what really like that?" nancy clears her throat. "being with...a woman" you sit down next to her. you don't miss the way your legs touch hers. the past days felt like torture; not just because you didn't see nancy, but also because you couldn't help yourself but think of her: her brown curls spread out on bed sheets while she's reading, her delicate fingers flipping through the pages. her beautiful back arched while your head is buried between her thighs... "y/n?" her voice snaps you back to reality. "tell me" "yeah" you breathe softly and nod. you're aware of the indirect confession you've made. but somehow you don't think that nancy will judge you. or at least you hope she won't.

"have you- have you been with many women before?" maybe you're imagining it but it seems as if she's leaning in closer and closer as the seconds pass by. "i- uh- no" you shake your head. it's hawkins in the 80s after all. when your eyes glare back at hers, she has definitely gotten closer, her face lingering just inches away from yours. "show me" she murmurs and you can feel her hot breath against your skin. for a second, you just stare at her; her eyes dark while she holds your gaze. nancy's head is tilted sideways just the slightest and if you were to lean forward now you could just... the woman in front seems to draw you in magnetically. and the closer she gets, the more your doubts start to vanish.

until you are so close that you can feel her open mouth on yours and you share a breath. your hands sneak behind her body, and grab her by the back while her fingers curl up in your hair. "nancy" you mumble with your eyes falling shut. "we- we shouldn't" she opens her eyes and nods. "i know"

and then her mouth is on yours. you can taste the sweetness of her chapstick and inhale the expensive scent of her floral perfume. nancy wheeler is filling all of your senses until all you know is the sound of her voice, the smell of her body, and the shape of each letter that makes her name. her lips move in sync with yours, and she only leans back occasionally to get some air. this kiss is so different from anything else you've ever known. her lips are somehow softer, her movements slower. it's like you've never wanted anyone or anything as badly as her. when she parts her lips you gladly slip your tongue into her mouth. you hum satisfied when she gasps at the new sensation. it might've been years since she's been kissed for the last time so you make sure to give it your all. your hands roam her sides and dance over her ribcage while she pushes her body more into yours. eventually, you give in and grip her by the hips. she yelps as you lift her up and sit her down on top of you, her legs straddling your hips. she puts her hands on your cheeks and caresses your skin softly.

"is it always like this?" nancy whispers. her voice is shakier than usual. "no" you chuckle and bite your lip. "no, it's never been like that before"

"i want you" she admits, carefully watching your face for any reactions. "i want you the way they had each other in your book. i want you to show me"

your mouth falls open slightly and you nearly choke on a moan. her words are clearly enough to drive you mad.

"are you sure?" nancy nods firmly. "i had time to think about it. i- i couldn't stop thinking about you" "yeah?" "yeah" you close your eyes and take in the weight of her words. does she really know what she's asking for? is there a way for this to be right? nancy's hand sneaks its way under your chin and she lifts your gaze upon her. "please" she mouthes. "it's been so long y/n...i need you. please" a sense of desperation is written all over your face. it's the knowledge that you can satisfy this desperation that gives you the courage to continue.

"undress me" she rasps, her own fingers already pushing the first button through its hole. but you push away her hands and make quick work of pushing her coat to the floor and unbuttoning the front of her dress.

she's wearing a light, lacy bra beneath. it hardly covers anything, just a thin layer of fabric over the soft skin of her breasts.

you run your fingers over her chest and lean in to pepper open-mouthed kisses over her jaw, all the way down to her neck. she shivers when your fingers crawl up her back to unclasp her bra. "is that okay?" her head has fallen back, exposing her neck to you, and her eyes are closed. her chest is rising and falling rapidly and she's breathing through her open mouth.

"please" you do as you're told and the item lands on the growing pile of clothing on the floor.

"nancy" you hum. "you're so beautiful...so beautiful" delight and pride wash over you when you see a soft blush creeping up her chest. "am i?" she sounds genuinely surprised by your praise.

"of course you are" you lock eyes with her when you lean in and wrap your lips around her nipple softly. "y/n what are you- oh" her eyes roll back and she moans. "you're absolutely gorgeous" you whisper in between kisses to her bare breasts. the feeling sends waves of heat between your legs.

nancy's hands cage you in when she pushes your face further against her. "oh god" she bites her lip. "that- that feels so good" you don't even have to open your eyes to push the opened dress down her body. it pools on your lap leaving her completely topless. "you like this?" she nods enthusiastically. you take note of the way she grounds herself down on your lap involuntarily the more you suck on her breasts, alternating between her tits. "what do you want?" she furrows her brows and shakes her head. "i- i don't know, i- you-" that is when you remember that she probably never had anyone with the ability to make her feel good. especially not another woman. "it's okay, it's okay" you assure. "i'll show you, okay?" nancy nods her head so hard that her curls bounce around her face. "okay" you smile softly. "get up and take of your dress" she does as she's told, which leaves her in nothing but a matching pair of lacy panties. you're still sitting in front of her and wrap your arms around her lower abdomen to pull her close to you. you press soft kisses to her lower belly until you're satisfied with the goosebumps that have risen beneath your lips. instead of lowering your lips even further, you tap your thighs and gesture for nancy to sit back on your lap. her eyes are glowing with excitement and lust while she wraps her legs around your hips. you can feel the heat that's radiating from her through your jeans and it takes all your strength not to touch yourself right then and there. you crane your head back and nancy's lips are on yours immediately. her palms hold your face as she kisses you hungrily. you gladly let her kiss you the way she wants to until your lips are puffy and sore. "i think- i always thought you were so pretty" she admits. "i just never thought this was possible" "oh we're just getting started" nancy watches you with curious eyes when your fingertips run down her bare spine. "but keep talking" you encourage her. "i wanna hear everything" "i- god-" her hips rock forward again and you grin. "i- i thought of you while i read...of your pretty face and...your hands on me" "my hands?" you raise your brows and, to test your theory, let your index finger slide between her thighs. to your own surprise, you can feel the wet patch of her arousal even through her panties. your index grazes over where her entrance is up to her clit. you hook your finger over the little bud of nerves and nancy gasps loudly.

"like that?" "yeah" her voice is raspier than you've ever heard. "more of that please" you know you could tease her for hours but you choose not to. her wetness is enough to tell you how badly nancy needs this. you press one hand to her hips while you use the other to move her panties aside and gather her arousal on your fingertips. "fuck you're so wet nancy" "fuck" she whimpers her first curse of the night. "more" you're not sure nancy actually knows what she's begging for but you know that you will give it to her. show her. you circle her clit a couple of times and take in the way her legs shake around you. "can i?" you whisper as you move your digits down to her throbbing entrance. nancy wraps her hands around your back and her nails dig into your flesh. her lips are right next to your ear and her sinful whimper of "please" burns itself into your memory forever. it's nothing, whatsoever, to the long and high-pitched moan that leaves her mouth when you slowly push two of your fingers into her. you move them inside her until the first knuckle, giving her time to adjust to the fullness. "y/n" she cries out. her nails scratch down your ribs. nancy's hips ground themselves down on your fingers, taking them all the way in so the base of your knuckles meets her cunt. you carefully watch the way her face tightens in concentration and pleasure. her eyes are still closed but her mouth has fallen agape again.

you stroke her neck and whisper sweet praise into her ear. "just like that nancy. you take me so well..." after a while you pull out her her slowly but she doesn't give you a chance; her hips chase your fingers and she whines desperately. "no please...feels so good" you hush her. "i won't stop, look at me nance" her eyes meet yours and she lets you pull out your fingers until you only have your fingertips inside of her. then, without your eyes ever leaving herm you thrust into her again and she nearly screams. "shhh" you try to soothe her and stroke her hair out of her. "is- is that it?" nancy asks. you can't help yourself but chuckle. "oh no, that's not it yet"

with that you start pumping into her at a quicker pace, the heel of your hand hits her clit and she rocks her hips in the same rhythm of your thrusts.

the sensation of her slick running down her thighs has a wicked idea occurring in your head. you curl your fingers up at a particularly deep thrust and nancy's eyes roll back. "oh my god, there, right there" she babbles. you slowly withdraw yourself from her, leaving her entirely empty this time. "no" nancy whines helplessly. "no don't stop" but you hold onto her and flip both of you over so that she's laying on her back. you kiss down her torso and her eyes widen when she realizes what you're up to. when your kisses reach the hemline of her panties, you hook your fingers underneath them and, with one final nod of nancy, you pull them down her long legs and she kicks them off.

she is beautiful and glistening in the dim lights of the room. you run a finger through her and her body whole shudders. nancy spreads her legs wider for you, giving you the chance to see all of her. oh and you do; gladly taking in every inch of her body. she smiles and stretches arms above her head, making her own back arch off of the sofa. you place a palm on her belly and move it down slowly, feeling soft skin passing by beneath you. finally, your gaze falls upon her needy cunt. the sight of it is enough to make your own pussy throb in your pants. her clit is practically aching for you and who are you to deny her that? you look her in the eyes and lean down, placing your first kiss on her clit. nancy's mouth opens wider and pleasure is written all over her face. without further undo, you dart your tongue out and lick a stripe from her entrance up to her clit. her taste has you moaning for the first time of the night. "fuck you taste so good pretty girl" you mumble with a mouth full of pussy. "that's- that's disgusting" nancy stammers but you can tell by the sound of her voice that she's enjoying this. she's just struggling to find the right words. "no one's ever gone down on you?" you ask and lean back. it doesn't surprise you when nancy's hips buck up and go after your mouth. she shakes her head in the pillows, her fingers gripping the soft, velvet of the sofa right next to you. "n- no- feels so different-" she slurs. "more"

"thought so" you grin and get back to lapping at her cunt. at the same time, you bring down your thumb and rub circles on her clit. her hands find a hold in your hair and she pulls your closer, guiding your tongue to where she needs you the most. but you let her, regardless of the stinging pain in your skull at very hard pulls. "does that feel good?" "y-yeah" she moans. "spread your legs a little wider for me baby" you put a palm on her inner thigh. "and I'll make this even better"

once she has done so, you bring your fingers back to her entrance and focus your tongue on her clit. you lick into her once more before pushing your fingers back in and coaxing another loud moan out of her. you set a faster pace than before but she takes it all, just moaning and whining for more the entire time. your hips move at their own accord, trying to gain some friction from the crotch of your jeans. "it's too much y/n" she yelps. "i feel- feel like- i don't know i-" "it's okay" you look up at her for a second, never stopping your fingers from thrusting into her. obscene squelching noises fill the entire room. "just let go" and then your head is back between her legs and nancy does as you tell her. "fuck, fuck, fuck" she cries out and her walls flutter around your fingers. "fuck y/n-" and then she cums.

you add a third finger just when her orgasm starts washing over her. her back lifts off the sofa and she lets out a beautiful cry of pleasure. you can even see a tear running out of the side of her eye. her cum coats your chin and the sofa below you but you will take care of that later.

for now, you're too focused on licking up as much of her arousal as you can get while she comes down from her height.

you sit back on your knees once you've cleaned her up with her tongue and watch her with loving eyes. she's so beautiful like this. her chest still rises and falls rapidly and the aftershocks of her orgasm make her legs shake but there's a wide smile on her lips. nancy's eyes are still closed when she speaks up again. "i've never felt this good" she admits.

#nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler x reader #nancy wheeler x fem!reader #nancy wheeler x female reader #nancy wheeler x y/n #nancy wheeler x you #nancy wheeler imagine #nancy wheeler smut #nancy wheeler fanfic #nancy wheeler x jonathan byers #older!nancy wheeler x reader #stranger things #stranger things x female reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader

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vanweezer · 2 years

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stoncy week: day 7 - secret relationship / “just tell me why you did it!” “because i’m in love with you, okay?”

alternative prompt: coming out

ending this week off with: steve (pre anything) coming out as "subtly" as he can to jonathan & nancy. i loved participating in this! heres to stoncy!

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duns-writes · 1 year

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*banging pots and pans together*

Hey Jancy nation! Jonathan Byers appreciation club! Come get y'alls fic!

Tagging @beef-a-ronie, @jonathanssweatercollection @jancys-blue-bayou in case you're interested. If anyone wants to be tagged or untagged, let me know!

----

Music and laughter, and we're young and alive

CW/TW: Very Temporary Character Death, blood, injury, pain, hospitals, mentions of child abuse in later chapters

In which Jonathan gets hurt, and the people who love him realise just how much he's taken on.

Chapter 1: Take Me Out Tonight

Jonathan dies on a Tuesday.

They're in the back of a van. Speeding towards the only clinical space that's still functioning, the FEMA field hospital just outside of town. (Argyle is doing a surprisingly good job of driving both double the speed limit and safely.)

She'd watched and waited in the final showdown, building the strategy so that all they had to do (ha!) was get to Vecna and strike him down. The demodogs and bats had been neutralised, radio communication turned off, and Jonathan (against everybody's wishes) had volunteered as the distraction. ("Will and El are going to need you two, and Mike and Holly need their big sister.")

Time had stretched and warped like taffy, but they could still recognise it was taking too long. Something wasn't right, but what? She and Joyce had stood close to one another, the chief peering out into the ash and smoke, until-

Will had stumbled through the gate bloodied under his nose, tripping on the rubble. "Vecna's gone, but Jonathan's hurt! I can't pick him up on my own, I tried, but El's too drained to help!"

All three had thrown caution to the wind (nothing new there). They'd gone carefully through the gate itself, but dashed after him toward the ruins of the Creel house. Jane was knelt over a prone body, and-

Her knees wobbled.

Jonathan. His shirt-front slick with blood, stretched out like a pieta. Gazing up at El, breathing something as she gripped him, her tears making trails in the grime on his cheek.

Of course. Of course he would try to comfort her.

"*Gasp*-you're gonna be al-*gasp*-right. 'S all gone. You an' Will are-*rasp*-be okay. Find-hnngh-find out what makes you hap-happy. M'kay?"

His breath gurgled in his throat.

El had managed to pull together a watery smile, then glanced up, seeing their rescue party. "Look! They will help us get you out. You will be okay too. You-you just have to stay awake a little longer!"

He'd visibly shaken himself awake, corners of his mouth turning up as his brother had laid his hand on his shoulder. Reassuring someone else again.

Moving him had broken the spell.

"We have to stop the bleeding from these cuts, we need bandages." (Joyce had pressed the shredded remains of her shirt into the chief's hands, a few knotted together into a skein. She'd had to do something with her hands while they waited.)

"This is gonna hurt, kid. And you don't hold it in. Making noise is a way of dealin' with pain.'

They'd met gazes briefly, before Will was lifting Jon's shoulders and Hopper was winding the bandage around his torso. A tiny nod, then the chief pulled it taut, and a wail of agony ripped itself from the boy's chest. Jonathan was insensible for a few seconds, fighting against their hands like a rabbit in a snare, only stilling when Will's fingers began to soothe through his hair. He whimpered, tears rolling into his hairline.

"Shh, it's okay Jon. You're gonna be okay, just let us help you..."

He'd made a guttural noise when they arranged him across their laps, El curled up and watching from one of the jumpseats. Hopper knelt beside him, keeping pressure on as many wounds as his hands could stretch to. Argyle was grim in the driver's seat, following Joyce's directions.

They were almost at the gates when Jonathan's hand had gone limp on top of Will's. The tips of his fingers, dipped, gracefully, to the floor.

A tiny gust of breath had escaped his lips, and those warm brown eyes fixed themselves on a spot far into the distance, and then-

There's a low moan of "God no, not again, please-" and the teary young-man's-voice of Will urging him to "Breathe, Jonathan. Come on-".

Jane is stone-silent and still.

Nancy shuts it out. She shuts it out, because she has to. Has to move, has to fight, has to win, has to survive. To compartmentalise means to live. Maybe it even means he gets to live.

(Her own talent for detachment scares her sometimes. Jonathan is the only one who can break her out of her Frozen-Charlotte state because Barb is-)

Don't think about it don't think about it don'tthinkaboutit-

She seals her mouth over Jonathan's between Hopper's rhythmic pounding on his chest. Watches while the open-and-shut of his ribcage flares and sinks. All the while, she consciously blurs the sound around her. His soft, slightly chapped lips are all she can feel.

The world comes back in a rush, like breaking a swimming pool surface. Her heart gets hauled out of her hands, whisked away on a gurney.

The running mass of people turns the corner, and he's gone.

#jonathan byers whump #hurt jonathan byers #blood and injury #stranger things #jancy #jonathan byers #jonathan byers is a young carer and we recognise that here #jancy fic #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler x jonathan byers #jonathan byers x nancy wheeler #with a bit of jopper too #jonwill brotherly feels #duns writes

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prettybillycore · 2 years

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Every Part of You || Steve Harrington x Plus Size!Reader

Pairing(s): Steve Harrington x Plus Size!Reader ; Minor Jonathan Byers x Nancy Wheeler ; Minor Billy x Plus Size!Reader

Universe: Stranger Things

Summary: You are a friend of Billy and the new girlfriend of Steve Harrington. Little did either of them know, Tommy has been fat-shaming and bullying you for years. When they find out, they step up to protect you and steve admits something you never could have expected this soon into your relationship.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: fat-shaming, bullying (aimed at the reader) from Tommy, self-deprecation, protective!billy, swearing, PDA

Read it on AO3

Or right here on Tumblr! (under the cut)

You knew in the grand scheme of life, that Tommy Hagan’s opinions did not matter. However, it was sometimes hard to ignore his blaring, bullying voice. He was just so loud.

“Hey Y/n, lookin extra round today.”

“Maybe you’d have a date to prom if you weren’t so pudgy.”

“You’re such a pig!”

He was laughing . He was laughing at you. You were sitting in the lunch room, just trying to eat in peace, and he had the audacity to say that last one while walking by with his lunch tray. You were so tired of his shitty behavior, but you still didn’t say a thing. You just ignored him and pretended that you didn’t hear him. Steve would be here any minute and he would take your mind off of Tommy’s words. Fortunately, your bully never said anything to you while Steve was around. While they weren’t friends anymore, Tommy didn’t want to get into a fight with Steve over you; you knew that. He just wanted to be able to make fun of you when it was easy and he knew the easiest times were when you were alone.

In years past, you would have been sitting with Jonathan or Barb, but times had changed. Barb was gone and Jonathan was dating Nancy. You liked Nancy; you all had gotten caught up in the mess of the upside-down last Halloween together, but you felt awkward being their third wheel. You and Steve had bonded while watching all the kids that night; you even threw a punch at Billy Hargrove to protect him. You two had been close ever since, and even started dating a few days ago. You had made peace with Billy and he did call Tommy out on his shit when he overheard it, but he wasn’t always around either.

“Hey did you hear me?” Tommy asked. “I said you’re a pig. Maybe try having less for lunch.”

You sighed, but didn’t turn to face him. “Just–”

“What the fuck did you just say to her, Tommy?” Steve.

“Oh hey, Harrington,” He said. You could hear the nervousness creeping up his spine. “I was just giving her some advice about her appearance.”

Steve slammed his tray down on the table next to you. It startled you and you turned to face the boys for the first time. “Oh bullshit, Tommy! I better not ever catch you saying that shit again or–”

“Or what? You’ll beat me up? Please, the freak’s brother kicked your ass last year. I’ll wipe the floor with you.”

You gulped and looked between the two of them. You hated to be in the middle of their disagreement, but you had no idea how to properly interrupt it. “Hey! Hagan!” It was Billy. He was a few tables over, leaning out into the aisle.

“Quit startin’ shit! Even if you’re not scared of fighting Harrington, you should be damn scared of fighting me. Leave the girl alone or next time it’ll be me who steps in.”

You smiled faintly at him. You found it quite endearing that he was willing to stand up for you. His friends were never happy when he did, but he didn’t seem to care. You mouthed, Thank you, as Tommy walked away from you and Steve.

Steve puffed out his cheeks in annoyance as he watched Tommy walk away. You reached up and tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. “It’s okay, sit down, Steve.”

Steve blew the air out and you watched him closely as he sat down next to you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders gently and kissed your temple. He was still looking past you at the jock’s table. His blood was absolutely boiling. You took his free hand in yours. “I can’t believe he said that shit to you.”

“It’s okay, love.”

He huffed. “It’s really not.”

“Steve, it’s been going on for years. I’m used to it at this point, though, truly, thank you for standing up to him. I think between you and Billy he’ll be leaving me alone for a while.”

That was the moment Steve looked at you. “He’s… He’s been saying things like that… for years ?”

“Yeah… since we started high school.”

“Oh, sweetheart… I’m so sorry I didn’t notice sooner. Even back when I was friends with that dickhead, I don’t remember him saying like that with me around.”

“He tries to do it when I’m alone and he’s not with a bunch of his friends. As you saw, Billy doesn’t think it’s funny either. And now that we’re dating he’s been extra sure that I’m alone before he says anything. He does it for his own laughs, but I think he’s ashamed really, and that’s why he doesn’t do it when we’re with people.”

Steve’s grip tightened on you. You leaned your head onto his shoulder. “Still, I’m sorry. If I had heard stuff like that coming from him before I would have stepped in sooner. I hate that he’s been saying things like that to you. You are beautiful, you know? Like just the way you are. You don’t need to change anything.”

You smiled, shifting slightly to kiss his neck sweetly. “You are too sweet to me, darling Steve.”

“It’s not too sweet, Y/n. I love you. I love every part of you, including your opinion. Screw Tommy for insulting you. If he ever does it again I’ll–”

You pulled away from him. His eyes were glazed over with adoration. “Steve?”

“Yeah, Y/n?”

“Did– did you just say ‘I love you’ for the first time?”

A blush finds its way to his cheeks as he chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“I love you too. I know we haven’t been together for very long, but I am in love with you Steve Harrington.”

He smiled widely before removing his hand from yours and grabbing your chin. He kissed you; your lips parted and you melted into the feeling. It wasn’t long, but it was the first time you had kissed at school, and you felt your heart going wild. He pulled away after a few seconds and his grin came back. “As you can tell, I am completely in love with you too.”

_________________________________________

A/N: to my fellow mid and plus-sized fans of ST. I love you, and you are worthy of love. Never let anyone like Tommy get you down <3

Plus Size!Reader Tags: @thatonegirlwhowrites @pennyllanne

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jancys-blue-bayou · 2 years

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The Tapes (Nancy/Jonathan + Nancy&Karen fic)

Finally @jancyweek2022 is here! For day 1 I went with the Lyrics theme. This one features Jancy, ofc, as well as some Nancy and Karen. Spawned from a random old dumb idea I had of Jonathan accidentally turning Karen into a Bowie fan.

Preview:

Soon as she’s dropped off Holly she as usual pops the Smurfs tape out again. She doesn’t need to hear another second of it, it’s all Holly wants to listen to in the car nowadays. Halfway through her regular motion of switching over to the radio she stops herself. Normally she always tunes into 105.5, WBAT plays so many nice ones from the 60s. But that song on Jonathan’s tape for Nancy… it’s not what she normally listens to, but it had something. And why must she always do the same thing? She drives the same way, doing the same errands, listening to the same stuff every day. Why not just mix it up a little? She puts the tape back in.

Read on Ao3 or FFNet!

#jancyweek2022 #jancy #jancy fic #jancy fanfic #jancy fanfiction #st fic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #nancy wheeler x jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #karen wheeler #stranger things

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kittyloft · 1 year

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transfem nancy this, transmasc jonathan that.

what about transfem!jo(nathan)???

#also lesbian nancy #because it’s true #jancy #stranger things #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #trans jonathan byers #trans nancy wheeler #st #nancy wheeler x jonathan byers #her name is Joanna Byers and she curb stomps cishet men for fun

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ijustwanttoreadfanfiction · 1 year

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#stranger things #stranger things playlist #jonathan byers #jonathan byers playlist #nancy wheeler x jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers x you #charlie heaton #jonathan byers imagine #Spotify

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 1 month

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Robin: Okay, I know how you can choose between them. Okay, if you had to choose, which one of them would you save first? Jonathan or Steve?

Nancy: Oh, that's easy. Jonathan!

Robin: *slaps Steve on the back* Sorry, buddy.

Nancy: . . . Then Jonathan saves Steve, and we both take care of him because knowing Steve, he probably got hurt again trying to be a hero.

Jonathan: And we never let him out of our sight because of it. It's either that or we wrap him in bubble wrap.

Dustin: *snickers* So, I guess that makes Steve a kept man.

Steve: You say that like it's a bad thing. I would happily be kept by both of them.

Nancy: So, it's decided. . .thanks, Robin, that actually helped.

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quixoticall · 5 months

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This Could Get Ugly Track 1: Before the Beginning

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w.

warnings: It's the Daisy Jones and the Six!AU, Enemies to friends to lovers, Love triangles, sex, drugs, rock and roll, etc., fake relationships, bad parents all around, era-typical misogyny and sexism, mentions of reader's looks (as being very beautiful), partially interview format, no use of YN

AN: Hi, if you're a longtime TCGU reader, please read this note from me explaining this new format. If this is your first time coming across This fic, welcome! Please enjoy my attempt at a Daisy Jones and the Six!AU with some Fleetwood Mac-messiness thrown in.

MASTERLIST🎸

Prologue 🎤

WC: 8.6K

***

STEVE: Right, so I just start talking into this microphone thing?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, but you need to introduce yourself first.

STEVE: You know who I am, we’ve known each other for—ah, okay, okay sorry. I’m Steve. Harrington, obviously. Former lead singer and guitarist of The Downsides. So, uh, where do I start?

INTERVIEWER: The beginning—tell me about how you first got involved with music.

STEVE: Right, okay, I can do that. I grew up kinda lonely. My dad was this big real estate investor but we lived in Indiana of all places, so he was always traveling. I don’t think I remember him ever being home for more than a month straight growing up… and my mom was there but she wasn’t there, ya know? She drank a lot and spent a lot of time in bed, that sort of thing.

***

1962-1972, Los Angeles California

Your childhood is a lonely one but it’s also a boring and predictable one.

Born in sun-soaked LA to a movie director father and his much younger model wife, two people who didn’t know each other well enough to either love or hate the other. They maintained a similar distance in their marriage as the one they tried to uphold in their individual relationships with you, their child.

So, your infancy was spent in a rotation of different nanny’s arms with your parents’ presence only dotting the periphery of your life. Who could blame them, after all? Infants are so contrived and boring compared to the big, wide, world of art that was Los Angeles in the 1960s. Your parents were far too busy trying to cement their legacy in the art they created and inspired to spend too much time looking after you.

(Much later in life, you would find yourself wondering if your parents ever saw the irony in the fact that your art ended up eclipsing their entire existence in the end and their only legacy was that of being your parents.)

As a child, however, you spent little time thinking of legacy and instead spent your time trying to feel less lonely.

***

STEVE: When I was a kid I would wonder why my parents even had me. Sorry, that’s like a total bummer thing to say during an interview. But it’s true. And you said to tell the truth. I never felt wanted by them. Until I got famous, and even then… but that’s not new, a lot of kids grow up feeling lonely, right?

***

The employees who raised you were nice enough, but they saw you for what you were: a means to an end. A paycheck with big, sad, beautiful eyes that may beget sympathy, but they couldn’t get too close to. The children you came to meet at your elite California private school seemed palatable enough at first, but the more you interacted with them, the more you found yourself at a loss. It was like they spoke a secret language you did not know—a language of price tags, and ever-changing hierarchies and thinly-veiled insults. One that your mother spoke perfectly, but never bothered to pass down to you.

You end up turning to books instead. The home library your father kept up for appearances’ sakes became your favorite room in the house and your teenage growth spurts were fed by any and all novels you could get your hands on from historical biographies to soapy romances, you read them all. You loved them all, but you loved poetry the most— emotive and raw in ways you were unfamiliar with. You liked the way the syllables rolled gracefully into one another and how each word served a purpose—compact with meaning and so unlike the people around you who were so careless with their words.

As you began to age, and the meaningless mess of childhood shifted into the sharpness of adolescence, you began to write yourself. One day, somehow you had the idea of putting your poetry to music. If you could write songs good enough to be played on the radio then maybe you could earn people's adoration through your art like your parents had, you reasoned. Maybe you could even earn their adoration. You beg your parents for piano lessons, and they scoff at the thought. “But what’s the point of having one if no one can play it?” You ask, referencing the piano in the grand foyer.

“That piano is not meant to be played,” your mother explains, slowly, “it’s meant to be admired by our guests.”

She walks away from the conversation before you can even protest.

Instead of giving up, though, you went to the library and borrowed all the books you could on music and piano playing and slowly began to teach yourself. You were not very good, at first, and both your parents made a habit of reminding you whenever they were around to hear you practicing. Luckily, they were rarely around.

***

STEVE: My parents signed me up for every single activity and extra-curricular you can think of: karate, basketball, pottery. The one that really stuck though, was guitar lessons. Soon, that was the only thing I wanted to do it was something I was actually good at. Not something I had potential in, not something I was passable at. It was something I was good at. My dad did not like the idea of me going into music at first—he wanted me to take on a “manlier” hobby—but even he couldn’t deny that I was talented, and he sent me to this specialized music school in Indianapolis. That’s where I met Robin. That’s when I stopped feeling so alone.

ROBIN: Robin Buckley, brass, bass, and synth for The Downsides.

I met Steve when we were thirteen, I think, at this fancy music school in Indianapolis. I was there on scholarship. I’m not going to lie, he was obnoxious, but most thirteen-year-old boys are. Even then, though, there was something about him that made everyone want to be his friend. He was also really talented. He never had to work very hard to be good at something, but he worked hard anyway. I hated him at first, but he wore me down and we eventually became best friends.

***

1978

Your music became a good outlet for all your loneliness and anger and disappointment, but it was not a cure for any of those things. You craved friendship and commonality and to be liked beyond the surface.

One day, when you were towards the end of seventeen, you decided to go exploring. You had heard Emily Cooke whispering salaciously in the girls’ bathroom at school about sneaking into the Whiskey A Go-Go to see The Six playing and an idea began to blossom.

Your home was only a walking distance from the Strip, the aptly named piece of street that was lined with clubs and musical venues, so that day, after hearing Emily’s plan you decided to try your luck at the Whiskey. You loved music, after all, and you wanted to be good at it, like the musicians that played there. Plus, there were others that shared those interests and the was a chance that some of them would be more tolerable than Emily Cooke.

You waited in line, by yourself, donning an outfit that you hoped made you look older than you were in an organic, cool way. When you made it to the doorman, you smiled trying to look more confident than pleading. His eyes raked over your body once, then twice and you resist the urge to flinch away. You had known then that you were beautiful—mostly because it was the only thing your mother valued in you— but what you hadn’t known was how far just being beautiful could get you. The doorman had let you in the club, not even questioning when your voice wavered while you had told him you were older than you actually were.

***

ROBIN: Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Steve was my first kiss.

INTERVIEWER: Uh, Robin?

ROBIN: Oh, right…. Well, whatever, Steve Harrington was my first kiss. He was also the first person I told that I liked girls. I knew from a really early age that I didn’t find men attractive but when Steve kissed me at our high school dance I had this immediate realization and I sorta burst out, “Steve, I like girls.” It was a really great moment of self-awareness for me—growing up as a girl, they always try to put you in this box of like feminity and being whatever men wanted you to be, including an object to be looked at or pawned over. I didn’t know how being gay fit into all that, until that moment.

I don’t think it was that great of a moment for Steve, though.

STEVE: She told you about that? Well, for the record, it wasn't that I wasn't happy for her, it's just when you're a teenage boy and if your first crush admits she's a lesbian moments after you kiss her for the first time, well, it does not do your ego any favors, does it?

***

The moment you walked through that door, your life became severed in two: the before and the after. You watched, from the fringe of the crowd, as Billy Dunne crooned soulfully, and the audience sang his own words back to him.

You briefly imagine yourself on the stage, being someone that people would actually want to come see, someone that people would listen to. Someone people would love.

***

STEVE: I always knew I wanted to be in music. It was the only thing that ever made sense. Wait, no, that’s not right… It’s the only thing that ever made life make sense. So, I started working at it, like seriously working it at, when I was 16. I bought as many records as I could, figured out what I liked, what I could do, and I practiced all the time. Like all the time. Robin did, too. I would play the guitar and sing, and she was insane on the trumpet and bass. I don’t think we ever sat down and had a conversation about whether we wanted to form a band or even what we wanted for ourselves in the future. We just always knew it was going to be the two of us, and we were going to be making music. Of course, you can’t have a band with only a guitar and a trumpet, so we had to start looking for more members.

***

1980

From that point on, your life had purpose.

You began to study everything about music—obsessively. You collected records, you played the piano until your fingers became cramped and sore or until your mother yelled at you to stop.

You filled notebook after notebook with lyrics, some good, many bad.

But you also kept your eyes on the tabloids and the gossip rags and the fashion magazines. To be a successful musician, you had to be good of course, but you also had to be well-liked. Growing up in the environment you did had given you a very unique perspective on this. Since infancy, you had seen hopeful artists-to-be approach your father for a chance, or ask your mother for advice. The most successful of them were not always the ones who had the best things to say, but those who said what they had to say in the best way.

You practiced giving fake interviews in front of your mirror and in the shower. You stayed on top of trends and bought the best-fitting clothes. And most importantly, you tried to associate yourself with all the right people.

By the time you turned 18, you were well-known, even beyond the Strip. Photos of you standing next to the bass player/drummer/guitarist/lead singer of whatever band might have been riding a momentary wave of popularity at the time began to appear in tabloid magazines.

Most of them were men. Most of them wanted something out of you. You became a master in the art of giving just enough for them to think they had a chance with you if it meant that you could learn from them or convince them to listen to one of your songs. But every time you would even mention the idea that you wrote music, you would come hit a wall of patronizing, feigned interest followed by a grab at your chest.

Then came Jason Carver. Lead singer of the Letterman’s, Jason Carver. You dated him for a few weeks, right after you had turned 18. He was 25 and just charming enough for you to overlook his frequent condescension. Plus, he had promised that he would teach you a few chords on the guitar.

One day, you had come over to his apartment and he was getting all worked up because the band’s label was on his ass about writing a song and he couldn’t quite get it right. He needed to write a love song, something introspective and sweet but Jason could only churn out party anthems and songs meant to be played in dive bars.

Eventually, after hearing him gripe for what seemed like an eternity, you sent him off to take a shower and in the meanwhile compiled all of his shreds of half-lines and began to work filling in the gaps. Forty minutes later, you had a solid chorus and first verse to present to him for a song you thought should have been called “All At Once”. You thought that this would’ve made him happy, after all, you had gotten him one step closer to a possible song. (And maybe, you had secretly hoped, in all of his gratitude he could be swayed to give you a writing credit on the song). Instead, he laughed at you like you were a child pretending to do an adult task and asked you to leave with a hasty promise that he would call you later that week. He never called. The hurt you felt was only a pin-prick. Six months later, you heard The Letterman’s on the radio: a new song by them called, “All At Once”. You tried to convince yourself for a moment that there would be no way that Jason could blatantly steal your song after having mocked you for even trying to write. But, boy, were you wrong. Those were, in fact, your lyrics, on the radio. Yes, the band had added another verse but, ultimately, your lyrics were all there. The same lyrics Jason had so easily dismissed six months prior.

That was when you realized if you were going to get ahead in the industry, you were going to have to play dirty, like Jason Carver.

***

ROBIN: We met Argyle in Chicago. Once we graduated high school Steve and I started working as subs for small bands in the Midwestern circuit. Yes, it was as grim as it sounds, but it paid the bills and helped us meet people. Argyle was the drummer of some Reggae band that needed a bass player for a few weeks when their bassist got arrested on possession charges. I subbed in and was immediately super impressed by his skills. People always underestimated Argyle, to this day, because of the whole vibe he gives off, you know? But he’s smart and adaptable. Anyway, when his bassist lost his case, the band broke up indefinitely and I tried my best to convince Argyle to join Steve and me. There were two of us, we’d never played an official gig, and we didn’t even have a name, but Argyle said yes. Next was Nancy. We held open auditions for a keyboardist once Argyle was onboard. After five passable auditions, Nancy Fucking Wheeler walks in in this long skirt and bows in her hair. She had a book of Debussy sheet music for God’s sake. I almost burst out laughing when I saw her because I thought she must have been lost but then, in true Nancy Wheeler fashion she blew us all away. Ugh, was that woman talented. And gorgeous. Steve’s jaw had to be crane-lifted off the floor, it was love at first sight.

STEVE: It was not. She’s exaggerating.

1980

Ironically, you met Murray Bauman at one of your parents’ parties.

You knew he was a music producer for Starcourt Records because he kept loudly boasting to his date about it. The same Starcourt Records that the Letterman’s were signed on to.

You waited until he was two gin martinis in and standing alone admiring your father’s latest art purchase before you approached.

“Hello,” you said, brandishing a dazzling smile, your whole body angled and ready to perform this familiar dance.

“Aren’t you the producer for the Letterman’s?”

He shot you a grin that borders on swarmy and said, “why yes, I am and you look like you’re out past your bedtime.”

You didn’t react to his statement and instead marched onwards, “I loved their latest song, ‘All At Once’ right? It’s so romantic.”

“Between you and me, I’m not sure how Carver popped that one out, he’s a bit of a meathead if you catch my drift.”

He didn’t wait to see your reaction before laughing at his own joke.

“Yeah, actually, I’m not surprised to hear that considering I dated him,” your eyes flashed in a way that you hoped came off as dangerous, “and that I wrote that song.”

He regarded you for a moment before breaking out in a laugh. When he saw your expression remained unchanged, he stepped back in assessment.

“Oh shit, you’re being serious.”

You only nodded grimly.

“Okay, well that’s a new one. Usually, girls come up claiming that one of those idiots impregnated them, not this.”

He regarded you again, searching for a trace of a lie. He sighed, “So let’s say that you did write the song, which, knowing what I know about those Neanderthals, I am willing to entertain the possibility of this being at least partially true, then what does that mean? You’re going to blackmail Starcourt? Do you want money?”

You gestured vaguely behind you, sure that he must have known who your parents were. “I don’t need money.”

“Then, what is it?”

“I write music. Obviously. I want to write for your label.”

A grin broke out across his face, “Oh, boy.” He started to laugh: a deep chuckle that floated up from his belly.

“You and every other Joe Schmoe in Hollywood, sweetie.”

“But not every other Joe Schmoe wrote a song for one of your most popular bands.”

Murray regarded you again, he gave you a look you’re all too familiar with. One that says he did not expect such a fight in such an unassuming package.

“Here’s the deal,” you start, taking his brief lapse to pounce, “all I want is for you to take my demo tape and listen to it, like actually listen to it. Do that and we never have to mention this again.”

“And if I say no to your little proposition?”

You smile at his question before offering a small piece of paper, “Then here’s the business card to my lawyer he’ll be reaching out.”

This, puzzlingly, makes the man burst out laughing once again.

“Let me get this straight, you just want me to listen to your tape? That’s the grand blackmailing scheme? No record deal, no music video?”

You shake your head in response, “No, I think my music speaks for itself. I just need to get it in front of the right person.”

Murray’s still chuckling to himself as he extends his hand out signaling for you to drop the tape you are now holding in his hands.

“Fine, but you are one shitty blackmailer.”

You were signed to Startcourt Records a month later.

***

STEVE: Once Nancy joined, we were a band, and so we needed a name. I suggested the Steve Harrington experience but the girls shot me down like, right away. We ended up fighting about names for like an hour. It was actually Argyle who ended up coming up with our name. The Downsides, he had said, since we were all so negative about everything. He had said this after Robin had said I was 'all hair and no brain'. Not the best of origin stories, I guess. But we liked it and that’s how we became The Downsides.

***

NANCY: Nancy Wheeler, former keyboardist for The Downsides.

I had been playing piano since I was eight, it was just one of those things my parents signed me up for to make me more well-rounded for college applications but I ended up loving it more than they had hoped.

I auditioned for the band on a whim, I was going to Indiana State at the time, getting my teaching degree but I loved playing the piano more than I would ever love being a teacher. To be honest, when I auditioned, I didn’t think they were going to take me, not even after I saw they had another girl in the band. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I had the talent for it, I just didn’t necessarily give off Rock and Roll vibes, but they accepted me anyway.

I had a feeling Steve liked me from the moment we met, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him then. He’s Steve Harrington for God’s sake. Girls had posters of him up on their walls for the better part of the 80s. I just—I didn’t want people to think I got the spot because I was involved with the lead singer. I wanted people to know that I earned my place through talent. Steve was really disappointed when I turned him down, but he was always really respectful about it.

That didn’t mean he stopped being interested or that I didn’t feel his eyes on me during every rehearsal in the summer of ‘81.

1981

Of course, you knew that when you had been signed to Starcourt Records it wasn’t completely because of your talent.

You had started to wonder, however, if Starcourt had given you a shot because they didn't want to risk litigation or maybe because those record execs had seen your name floating around in a magazine or, more importantly, your picture.

The more you thought about it, the more insecure about your place you had felt, like an imposter among others who had earned their spots. But, after one week of rubbing shoulders with the musicians over at Starcourt, you realized that to be able to make it, you were going to have to ooze confidence, even if that confidence was fake.

***

NANCY: We started playing gigs together around the Midwest. In the beginning, we mostly played covers but eventually, we started writing our own music. I’m not a great songwriter and, to be frank, neither is Steve, so a lot of the stuff we were coming up with was pretty simple but it worked for us. We went from playing weddings to actually getting gigs that paid money. I mean it was barely enough to cover gas to get there but it was something. I guess, for the sake of transparency, there is one more thing I have to talk about while we’re talking about this time in the band’s life.

Steve and I spent a lot of time writing music together. It was great, being able to get close. I thought we were becoming friends. He was still a bit hung up, though and one night, when we were up late writing at his tiny apartment, he kissed me. And I kissed him back.

The next day, I told him that that couldn’t happen again. I gave him my reasons and he respected that but still, I could tell he was crushed. I think that between the kiss and us having this talk, he had begun to hope that something would happen between us.

I think that’s what made me and Jonathan hurt him so much more.

1982

You didn’t necessarily like Murray when you first began to work with him but you did trust him. In the professional capacity at least. He never tried anything with you, which you appreciated although that bar was abysmally low.

You hadn’t known what to expect on your first day in the studio but you had a feeling that as far as the music was considered, you were in decent hands.

Boy, were you fucking wrong.

The moment you had stepped into the studio, Murray had handed you a stack of music, all unfamiliar and definitely nothing you had written.

“What’s this?” You had asked, eyes crinkling in confusion.

“A few contenders for an EP. The team over at marketing came up with some branding concepts and this is what we landed on.”

He then pulled out a thick folder overflowing with pictures of what you assumed the studio had wanted to mold you into. It was all bubblegum and teased hair and not at all what you had envisioned.

“Wait, Murray, I don’t understand. I have a brand, one that I've spent a lot of time curating along. This isn't me and this is definitely not my music. You said I could sing the music that I’ve written.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Murray hummed, condescendingly, “I never said that.”

“Well, if I can’t sing my music then I just won’t sing at all.” You were the full image of a petulant child, arms crossed and lips dangerously close to a pout.

Murray feigned concern for a moment before hunching down so that he was at eye level with you.

“You signed a contract,” he spoke slowly, “Starcourt owns you, and if you don’t like it, then talk to a judge.”

He turned away from you, leaning against the mixing console. He speaks again after what seems like an eternity.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m not saying it’s ethical or right, but if you want to make it in music, you got to play the game. You can’t come in here, swinging your metaphorical dick around, calling the shots when you haven’t proven you can rake in the dough.

“Sure, you’ve got talent, but who doesn’t? Right now, there’s a line of girls around the block who can sing and write and are probably better at following directions, waiting to take your spot.

"Plus, I read the songs you sent over, you have some good lines but there's not a single song worth attaching Starcourt's name to. Take this as an opportunity to learn, to be better, to actually work for something for the first time in your life. You have nothing right now, so nothing is below you, not even this pop dribble they're giving you to sing.

"I’m not saying it’s always gonna be this way, but you have to prove to them that you can play before they take you seriously, and then if you got what it takes, you can start writing your own music. Hell, if you make them enough money, they’ll let you play the fucking didgeridoo and go out in a nun’s habit… well, maybe not the habit, but the point stands. So, can we stop acting like the spoiled princess we are for just one afternoon and get to rehearsing?”

You snatched the book of songs from his outstretched hand and with a smile on your face, tore it down the middle before stomping off.

It had taken five days of Murray, along with various other executives at Starcourt, pounding on your door at the Chateau Mormont—the hotel that was your permanent residence since you had turned 18— before you had even considered setting foot in Starcourt again.

All it took was a gift basket full of Champagne and half a dozen threatening letters from their legal team.

***

NANCY: Jonathan came on as our second guitarist. I remember when he came to the audition he was this quiet, super shy kid who barely managed to make eye contact, but once he had a guitar in his hands, he had this way of coming alive. He wasn’t a showman like Steve, but he was electric when he played.

We—I never meant for things to turn out the way they did but with Jonathan, it wasn’t much of a choice. I know this sounds so cliche, but we were drawn to each other. I remember, during rehearsals, even before we really knew each other, he and I would lock eyes from across the room and I would know exactly what he was thinking.

Soon, we were sneaking around together. We were getting more and more serious, it was only a matter of time, honestly, before the others found out. Jonathan wanted to come clean early on, he could tell it was causing me so much stress, but I didn’t want to tell anyone else. Part of it, was Steve, of course, but also, what Jonathan and I had felt precious and personal and ours. I wanted to stay in this bubble we had built for ourselves.

Of course, it was Steve and Robin who eventually caught us, making out in Jonathan’s car after rehearsals one day.

To say that Steve took it hard is probably an understatement. He skipped rehearsal for five straight days and when he showed up he had this new song he had written, this ballad called, “Regret You”.

“If I never had you, then why can’t I forget you / I hate myself because I could never regret you.”

Yeah, that was an awkward one to rehearse but, to his credit, it was a great song. It was the song that got us noticed.

1982

You had spent months recording your first EP, a five-song collection the studio had decided to name “The Setlist”. It was meant to be a play on your groupie status, or at least that’s what some intern over in the marketing department had claimed, a little too proud of himself for your liking.

While you couldn't ignore the sense of accomplishment that bubbled below the surface, you mostly felt empty.

The whole thing made you think of your father, whom you hadn't spoken to in years but had a very staunch view on artistic integrity. He despised artists who 'carelessly churned out poor imitations of real art for money'. "To make art is as close as one can get to being god," he had explained to you once, with self-important tears in his eyes, "why would anyone sell that off? Art should mean something to the artist. Otherwise, they are a peddler of fake divinity."

Your father had never had to worry about money a day in his life.

That empty feeling was only exacerbated when, the Friday after you had officially finished recording, Murray had invited you to lunch with a particular proposition in mind.

“No, Murray, not gonna happen. Over my dead body and all that,” you spat from across the table.

“Listen, I don’t want to pull the contract card on you, but I will,” he warned with no real heat as he swirled his gin martini in one hand.

“Nice try,” you mirrored his pose, martini and all, “but the contract doesn't cover this, only original work. Not duets. You know that, I know that, so why don’t you try again and give me one good reason why I would even consider a duet with The Letterman’s.”

Murray gave you a look you had come to familiarize yourself with—one that was equal measures of pride and annoyance. It was the look he gave you whenever you bested him.

“How about the fact that they’re one of the hottest acts right now and being on a track with them would guarantee you a spot on the charts which is a great place to be at any point in time, but especially when you’re about to release an EP?”

Your face dropped in the way it only did when you knew Murray was right about something you didn’t want him to be right about. A look he had been starting to familiarize himself with.

"Fine, I’ll do it, but I want to spend as little time as possible with Jason. He’s a pompous ass.” “No disagreements there, sweetheart.”

The day you were scheduled to record with Jason and the rest of his band, he was an hour late. You hadn’t doubted for a moment he had done this on purpose.

When he finally had shown, he pretended not to know you, a game you had quickly caught on to, and made sure to respond with, “It’s so nice to meet you, Jackson” after he made a show of introducing himself to you which made the rest of his band and Murray guffaw.

Jason narrowed his eyes at you, his voice struggling to stay level, and said, “Watch it. We’re the ones doing you a favor here, remember?”

“I did you one first,” you responded, your eyes meeting his gaze, “remember?”

It had taken 20 minutes for his bandmates to calm him down, but eventually, the two of you got into the booth.

Your only priority had been to do your best job in as few takes as possible because you did not know how much longer you could tolerate being in Jason’s presence.

In the end, after a two-hour session, Murray had sent you both home, either happy with the finished product or at his wit’s end with the tension. Either way, three weeks later you had a duet with The Letterman’s called “It Was You” and just as Murray had predicted, it was quick to climb the charts.

You were getting noticed.

***

NANCY: Not long after Steve wrote “Regret You” we got noticed by a scout from Starcourt Records. I think at first we thought it was some sort of scheme, but it was legit. They had us record a few demos and in something like six months, they moved us to a house in Culver City.

The whole thing had felt like some sort of fever dream. I had to quit school and tell my parents. They didn’t even know I was in a band. Or seeing anybody. Needless to say, they didn’t take any of it well. When we got to LA, we did more test recordings and they even had us playing some shows at a few clubs on the strip.

Like I said: total fever dream.

But, when you’re under the thumb of a label like that, there are certain stipulations. One of the first things they told us was that they wanted to make our sound more modern and pop. We kinda

had an alternative, experimental sound back then. They said synth was going to be the new thing so they wanted Robin to learn how to play the synthesizer which meant that on certain songs, Jonathan would have to take over for bass. Also, they wanted Steve to be more of a frontman and less of a guitar player. Steve could always work a crowd, and they wanted to use that, especially with this new sound they had envisioned for us. All of this meant we needed another guitar player and, believe it or not, the label already knew who that was going to be. Eddie Munson.

***

EDDIE: Okay, here we go.

I’m Eddie Munson, lead guitar for The Downsides.

I grew up trailer trash in some town that no one’s ever heard of. My mom died when I was eight and my dad was in and out of jail pretty much my entire life--well, until those royalty checks started rolling in, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

People always use the dead mom/jailbird dad thing to either turn me into a sob story or villainize me, so I generally tend to avoid talking about it but since it's you, I'll say this: the thing I remember most about my mother is her absence and there is not a single redeeming thing about ole' Munson Sr. but I don't think they're responsible for any of the ways I've fucked up over the years. Nah, kid, that was all me.

Let’s get to the good stuff, shall we?

At the tender age of ten, I was gifted an old beat-up guitar by my uncle. Clearly, something he had picked up at the local Goodwill to try and keep me occupied and out of trouble. The neighbors hated us after. They hated us, even more, when it turned out that I could actually play.

When I was 18, Uncle Wayne got the idea that I was ready to commit to a life of indentured servitude over at the factory and that did not sit well with me, at all. I wanted to be a musician. But, instead of talking to him about it, you know, like a rational person? I just ran.

I sold my van and got a one-way ticket to LA. The metal scene was starting to pop up on the strip and music—metal—was the only thing I was good at, so I thought, ‘what the hell!’ and booked it. I slummed it for a few months and then, through some stroke of luck, I heard about a band that was auditioning for a new guitar player since their last one got hitched and quit. The Metal Gods smiled down on me the day of the audition because that same afternoon they called me back and told me they wanted me on as lead guitar.

1982

“It Was You”, your duet with The Letterman’s peaked at number 6 on Billboard’s Top 100 in October of 1982.

Suddenly, everyone wanted you to be featured in their songs. Your EP did well enough, but it didn’t even crack the top 30. That didn’t keep you from being the hot new thing on the scene and a

huge part of that was your reputation.

Of course, people knew who you were because of your groupie days, and you unintentionally built a reputation for being romantically involved with different musicians. So, when you broke out on the scene with a romantic duet, people started talking, and the tabloids began to spin stories about you and Jason being romantically linked which only caused a buzz for the song. You, of course, hated this and vehemently denied being involved with Jason to anyone who would listen. Jason, meanwhile, played it coy with the press, only fueling the rumors and your rage.

“Listen, I hate the guy as much as you do, sweetheart, but you got to respect the strategy,” Murray had said after hearing you gripe about one particularly salacious headline.

Before the year was through, you had been featured in five other duets. All with male artists. All resulting in more and more outlandish dating rumors. And all enjoying a lengthy stay on the top of the charts.

Starcourt had begun to push you to take it a step further and Brenner had asked for Murray to arrange outings between you and whatever male artist you were collaborating with. The meetings—you refused to call them dates—were always somewhere that was strategically public, somewhere where there was always at least one paparazzi with their cameras locked and ready. The pictures they would take would always make it to at least one gossip magazine, which resulted in even more publicity for the song.

Your partners—you refused to call them dates—were, at their best, cordial and business-like, one or two of them even asked for your permission before holding your hand. At their worst, though, they were handsy, entitled, and rude. None of them ever tried to ask you out on a real date and you weren't sure what that said about you.

Soon you were racking up duets and notoriety in equal measures. Radio DJs would make jokes about you every time they would play one of your songs—and they played your songs a lot. Once, while you were walking around Rodeo, a woman stopped you in the middle of the street and told you, very brazenly, that you needed to stop sleeping around so much. Before you could even tell her off, though, she proceeded to gush about how much she loved your duet with The Letterman's.

It seemed like everyone seemed to see you in a similar light though: they thought you were some sort of despicable maneater but all they wanted was more of a reason to talk about how you were a despicable maneater.

Murray had his work cut out for him, “We just need to find a way for you to have this same buzz all the time.”

***

EDDIE: Things started to pick up with Corroded Coffin. We were playing shows pretty much every night. As I said, metal was on the rise and we were at the forefront. Eventually, record label bigwigs had no choice but to acknowledge that.

Some of them got smart and started poaching bands early on, like Starcourt. Corroded Coffin signed with them in ‘82. We thought we were hot shit after that.

There’s a certain lifestyle that goes along with that, though, you know? A reputation that you have to uphold.

I'm not trying to make excuses for myself here, trust me. I'm just...trying to explain myself.

People always love to talk shit. They'll call you all sorts of names before they see you as an actual person. Trust me, I would know. But, these interviews are an opportunity to set the record straight, to finally be seen as an actual person.

So, there I was, a nineteen-year-old kid from Bumfuck nowhere, finally making it big, finally feeling like I belonged somewhere--like for the first time I wasn't a freak whose mom died or some trailer trash high school dropout--of course, I was gonna get swept up in it all. Of course, I was going to start picking up the bad habits and doing drugs. There was no one there to tell me otherwise.

It started out as something to get us through the madness that was our schedule: between the live shows and the studio time, we needed uppers just to keep us on our feet. Then, obviously, you needed the downers so you could fucking relax because the uppers made you so tense.

I stopped enjoying the drugs pretty early on, but at that point quitting wasn't something that I was willing to put that much effort into.

1983

The first time someone asked for your autograph, you were at a show at Whiskey a Go Go. Murray, acting as a sort of manager, had set up a photo opp with Charles Riva, your latest duet partner. He hadn’t shown that night but you never walked away from a live show.

Two girls, not much younger than you, appeared behind you as you were ordering at the bar and tapped you on the shoulder.

“See, I told you it was her,” the shorter one, a strawberry blonde with severe bangs whispered excitedly to her friend, a taller brunette.

Before you could ask either of them exactly what they wanted, the strawberry blonde spoke again, “Can we have your autograph?”

You could only nod dumbly as they handed you a cocktail napkin and a pen. You tried to think of something meaningful to write, but in your shock, could only come up with “Best wishes, xoxo”. You didn’t even ask them their names. The best you could do was offer to buy them a drink, which they happily accepted.

You regretted the offer as soon as you registered how young they looked underneath all that makeup, an observation that made you unsettlingly sad. You were reminded of your first days on the Strip: lonely and young and wanting someone to notice you for the right reasons.

Your thoughts became too heavy to deal with at that particular moment and you abruptly excused yourself, leaving the two confused girls behind. A shame, you thought to yourself, in another life you might’ve all been friends, but no one really wants to be your friend these days. They just want to tell people they’re your friends. Walking away saves everyone the disappointment.

You needed a drink.

By the time the main act had taken the stage, your vision had started to haze at the edges as a result of the multiple drinks you had procured for yourself. You watched, half-interested as a band you’d never heard of, Corroded Coffin took the stage, your eyes tracing after each member, eyeing the things only a fellow musician would: the models of equipment they had, the way the band queued each other up.

You didn't know enough about metal yet to know whether you'd consider yourself a fan or not but even with the little familiarity you have, you can tell this band is good. Their playing is unpolished but overflowing with energy and the crowd is feeding into it, screaming the lyrics along with the lead singer.

All of it reminds you of your first show at the Strip—what seemed ages ago—and that memory summons a whole other thought entirely: the reason that you had gotten into music was to actually make music you liked, not to be a topic of discussion in a gossip magazine, getting no say in the music you created.

You don't even remember the last time you had even written a lyric.

You think to yourself that maybe you should wander backstage after the show, like you once did and talk to the band. Maybe you could pick their brains about songwriting. They clearly didn’t care about mass appeal if they were making metal music which means they were probably doing it for the art.

At the very least they probably had a decent stash of pills.

Either way, it would be worth it.

***

EDDIE: It was pretty much love, at first sight, the moment I saw her in the crowd that night at Whiskey a Go Go. I remember seeing her for the first time halfway through our set and it was like I went blind for a moment. I had completely forgotten what I was doing, I think I even missed a cue. After the show, I made a beeline for the bar where she was standing, trying to act as cool as I could but I was shitting it.

***

Once that band had wrapped up, you made your way to the dressing rooms. You maneuvered to the dressing rooms like you had dozens of times before, but the band wasn’t there.

You milled about for a bit, before growing bored and leaving wondering if maybe they had seen you coming and left.

***

EDDIE: I ordered a drink just as an excuse to get closer and it worked. She was even more beautiful up close and so, so kind. Told me she loved our show and even pointed out specific guitar solos of mine that she liked. She always had a way of making you feel special like that. Chrissy Fucking Cunningham. Even her name was perfect, not a syllable too few or too many.

I asked her for her number that night and we went on a date two days later, I could hardly keep it.

together having to wait two days to see her again. Then, after a few weeks, we were going steady, as the kids say. It was perfect. I never really had anyone to myself, you know? She was the first person that ever made me feel seen and cared about.

I remember one time; she was hanging out at my place while the band was in the studio. When I came back, she had done all my laundry. When I asked her why she had done that, she just said “I dunno, just because” then, all of a sudden there were tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like that for me “just because".

My life had never been better--so of course, I fucked it up.

***

While you did not manage to meet Corroded Coffin, you couldn’t stop thinking about them, even days later. It was like seeing them play had awoken you from a daze you didn’t even know you had been in.

You spend a few days getting incredibly drunk by the pool after that. But no matter how much you drank or how many pretty dresses you bought yourself or how many pill you took, you could not shake the feeling.

A few mornings later, you had called Murray, “This stops now, Murray. No more duets or features or whatever else. I want to meet with Brenner. I want to do this my way.”

Murray, not used to being awake so early, gave a weak attempt at talking you down.

“No,” you urged on, “you said once I started making money, I could have a say. Well, now I’m making money and I’m tired of Starcourt just using me for that. So, I want something permanent and I want to write my own music, got it?”

“You have a contract,” Murray parroted back, half-heartedly.

“Yes, I do, and I plan to honor that contract but so help me God I will make life a living hell for you and for Brenner and any other exec that tries to get me to do another duet with Jason fucking Carver. In fact, I will find a way to lose Starcourt money if you don’t get me out of this. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Great, I’ll see you at lunch Murray.”

He signed, “See you then.”

***

EDDIE: My drug use was getting more out of hand. Chrissy hated it, but I couldn't bring myself to quit. Especially the things that I thought I needed to make it through the day.

Chrissy was a saint throughout the whole thing, until one night when she caught me in the dressing room of Whiskey with a girl who was not her. She walked away and I don’t really blame her. Out of all the regrets of my life—and trust me, kid—that was one of the biggest.

She moved out that day and refused to take my calls, moved in with one of her friends and I spent days just calling her, sending her flowers, the works.

She told me she wouldn’t budge unless I got clean. So, I checked myself into rehab. She was a good enough reason to quit. 45 days later, I checked out, clean as a motherfucking whistle.

Chrissy was gone though, I had no clue where she had disappeared to, but wherever she went, she didn’t want me to find her.

On top of that, my band was fucking pissed. I left the band for 45 days without telling anyone, right as we were finishing recording our debut album. Yeah, they weren’t happy. I was in something called “breach of contract” with the suits over at record label and they wanted to take me to court, and not the Star kind.

I definitely didn’t have lawsuit type of money back then, so it was in my best interest to work something out with Starcourt and jump back on fulfilling my contract. Problem was, Corroded Coffin didn’t want me back anymore, even though the guy they replaced me with wasn’t half as good as I was.

I thought that because my old band didn’t want me, that meant that I would be free of my contract. I was wrong. What actually happened was that my fate was then put into Starcourt’s hands and they could place me in whatever podunk production or band they wanted. They owned my ass.

And that’s how I ended up with The Downsides.

PLAY NEXT TRACK

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Eddie Munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson #steve harrington #rockstar!eddie Munson #past!eddie x chrissy #nancy wheeler x jonathan byers

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red-in-every-sense-of-the-word · 1 year

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Of Scars and Shared Trauma: Volume 1 and 2

#Milady's Playlists #Milady'sPlaylists #MiladysPlaylists #Jancy Playlist #Jancy Playlist Vol1 #Jancy Playlist Vol2 #Jonathan Byers x Nancy Wheeler #Nancy Wheeler x Jonathan Byers #Jancy #Jonancy #Jonathance #Spotify #ThePhotoandTheGun

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munsonson · 1 year

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𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏『••✎••』

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘜𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): 𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘯/𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘰𝘯/𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.4

This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

Things could’ve ended far worse than they actually did. Hell, most of the couples in their school tended to make breakups as dramatic as possible, normally painting one half of the relationship as some kind if irredeemable monster, if not to paint them as this sympathetic martyr, than just to save face that it actually hurt.

In her case, Eddie Munson told her they just weren’t a good match and he wanted to be friends again instead. That was as healthy as they could possibly get. And in the best case scenario, too, she’d still be able to have him be a part of her life. She didn’t think she could stand the thought of seeing him in the halls and not being able to acknowledge him.

She’d fallen hard and fast for Eddie, embarrassingly so.

Given the heavy duty of designated driver for the little hooligans she’d somehow decided to adopt with Steve Harrington, she’d gotten accustomed to waiting in the high school parking lot, her nose pressed into the creases of her current novel while she waited for them to finish their important campaigns, all procured from the brilliant mind of Eddie Munson.

She’d known him before then, too, but only in passing. He’d often make a big spectacle of himself in the cafeteria just to bug the other students, and he held the record as super senior. But she’d never even talked to him until she saw him walk the boys out after a seemingly successful campaign, his arms wrapped tightly around Dustin and Lucas’ shoulders as he praised them.

He’d acknowledged her when he got to her car.

“My fair maiden,” he’d said, “I apologize for the delay.”

She’d blubbered out some kind of half-hearted response, good enough to make him laugh, and that made her heart go a million miles a minute.

It didn’t take long before she’d gotten the courage to ask him out, even if it was just for coffee. He was surprised, but he agreed.

It had been nice, he even drove her home after. She probably should’ve seen the signs then because he didn’t suggest a second meet up, she had instead. And he’d agreed.

It was about a month before they made themselves official, in Hawkins High language, practically married. But it really just meant she got to hold his hand between classes and get quick kisses goodbye when it was time to separate, somehow always on her cheek than her lips.

She’d thought their dates were fun; it was a lot of pressure since he always left it up to her, never having any other idea than lounging about her home and just watching TV. But she was the one who thought of renting movies for horror marathons, figuring it was up his alley. She thought of bowling and drive-in theaters and picnicking near the quarry for its desolate atmosphere, another thing she figured was right up his alley.

But things came to an underwhelming end when Eddie approached her at her locker on some random Thursday to tell her things just weren’t working out and he wanted to stay as friends. Despite how much even that had hurt, she agreed. She didn’t want to make him do anything he regretted.

She could still be friends with him, happily so. That meant she could still sit with him at lunch, hear his outlandish tales, and be able to admire him from afar, even if she was no longer able to touch him and hold his hand.

“Be honest,” she’d heard Gareth say as she approached with her tray, “what really happened? You know, most guys woulda killed to be able to take her out, the fact she stuck around for months is surprising enough.”

Eddie shrugs, chewing absentmindedly on a pretzel he’d brought. She would pack him lunches when they were together since he always forgot and resorted to eating prepackaged things instead. Since they broke up, it seemed like old habits really did die hard.

“To tell you the truth,” he starts rather dramatically, “no substance. Pretty face, nice voice, real sweet, but God, boring as all hell.” He runs a hand down his face. The other boys seemed surprised. Dustin and Mike share a look, but say nothing, clearly waiting to hear more. Because there was no way it could be just that. There had to be more. They knew her better than anyone, had been through so much with her. What could be the real reason Eddie broke things off?

“And?” Dustin coaxes.

“And what?”

“Dude, seriously?” Mike scoffs. “She wasn’t interesting enough for you?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Look, she’s a great gal. And I know you guys are super close, which is awesome, but we just weren’t the best match. And I felt like shit that she was putting in all of the effort when I wasn’t interested. Now she’s free to...I dunno...find someone boring, too.” He sniggers, elbowing Jeff beside him trying to get him to laugh, too, but he could see how upset Dustin and Mike were.

Luckily, for her sake, they didn’t notice her standing there, having overheard everything. Spinning right back around, she’d ditched her tray onto one of the trash bins before leaving the cafeteria completely before there was a chance anyone could see her tears.

God, it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, she thinks again. He was more than welcome to have his own opinion, but why did it have to be something like that?

He was right, she wasn’t exactly Chrissy Cunningham or Heather Holloway, being this huge spectacle that made every new day more exciting than the last. All things considered, sometimes too much excitement frightened her. Having risked her life at least once a year for nearly four years now made her yearn for the more simple things. It was stupid of her to think Eddie would want the same. Eddie Munson, who liked to make scenes in the cafeteria and rock out in a bar with his band. He didn’t crave the simplicity of life like she did.

She didn’t go back into that cafeteria for the remaining of the lunch period. In fact, she’d decided to skip the rest of the day completely, knowing she shared three periods with Eddie and right now she really didn’t want to see him. She just wanted to get away, leave herself to her own thoughts to try to calm down.

Well, that really only lasted for ten minutes because she found herself pulling into the small parking lot into Family Video. She spots Steve’s car at the far end and knows he’s inside. It was childish of her to go running and crying to Steve Harrington, who she knew would take her side and say all the cruel things about Eddie that she couldn’t bring herself to because she really just needed someone on her side right now. Aside from Dustin and Mike, of course. She wouldn’t forget how they jumped to her defense.

The little bell rings at the top of the door as she walks in, startling Steve into consciousness, who seemed to be snoozing on the edge of the counter, drool pooled across his forearm. He wipes feverishly at his face and blinks unfocused in her direction, trying to situate himself quickly into his customer service face.

“Welcome to Fam-Jesus, you scared me,” he cuts himself off when he at last realizes it’s her. Confused, he turns to glance at the clock hung up on the wall. “Don’t tell me school’s out already? You beat Robin here.”

“No, I’m playing hooky,” she shakes her head, unsteadily moving towards the counter.

“What? You? I’m sorry, am I still dreaming?” Steve asks dramatically. “Since when do you, of all people, ever skip class? I’d sooner believe Nancy doing it than you.”

“Just...needed a break s’all,” she says with a shrug, looking around. “Keith not here?”

“Nah, he’s off today. Something about a new graphic novel he’s been dying to get. Says he’d have to wait overnight just to get one of the first editions. I don’t know, I don’t really listen to him unless he’s handing over my check,” Steve said. She leans up against the counter, trying to act casual. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t things be okay?”

“Well, for one, having to clarify that things are supposed to be okay when asked if everything’s okay is a pretty big indicator that things aren’t, in fact, okay.” Steve says with a laugh. “So everything’s not okay, then?”

“Everything’s okay,” she lies. “I just...can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

She isn’t sure how to come out and say it without sounding stupid. Better, she can’t figure out a way to come out and say it without sounding completely pathetic. But this was Steve, he was the king of asking her embarrassing things. He even called her once at three in the morning to ask how long you were supposed to leave cookies in the oven for. The follow up question was how to get the burnt smell out before his mom came home.

“Am I boring?”

Steve tilts his head. “Huh?”

“Am I boring, Steve? Am I boring?”

“No? Who gave you that idea?” Steve snorts, like he thinks it was a foolish thing to ask. “Whoever it is clearly hasn’t seen you handle a crowbar.” He was referencing when she’d nabbed a crowbar from the junkyard lot to fend off the demodogs with him, all to protect the little ones in the bus. She doesn’t want to remember that right now, not when it makes her feel cold inside.

“Nobody, I just...I dunno, I just think that maybe I’m not as exciting as, like...you o-or Rob or Nancy or, hell, even Jonathan.”

“Nonsense, you’re a badass! True story, you know I wouldn’t say that about just any...” Steve trails off, finally really looking at her. “Hey...hey, why are you really askin’ me that? Something happen? Someone say something to you?”

“No, Steve, I was just asking.”

“You’re lying,” he accuses. “Who was it, was it Byers? Nancy? Not Robin...”

“No! No, Steve, they didn’t say anything, please just drop it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Steve’s face eventually relaxes, having realized he knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Munson.”

She shakes her head. “Stop it, Steve.”

“What did he say? I thought he just wanted to be friends, where’s all this coming from?” he asked. There were too many questions being thrown at her. She doesn’t want to cry, especially not in front of him, but as soon as she feels her cheek dampen that was it. Soon she was burying her face in her hands and trying to stop the little whimpers from coming out.

She doesn’t notice Steve leap easily over the counter. He pulls her close, shushing her quietly.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset,” he says. She sniffles, wrapping her arms around him. He’s petting her hair, kissing the crown of her head, trying his damndest to get her to calm down and talk to him. He was the perfect person to come to, she now realizes. Her subconscious knew Steve was the answer.

When she finally stopped crying, he at last let her go, giving her some space.

She rubs the tears from her eyes and wipes the tears on her jeans.

“Want me to kill him?” he asks jokingly. She laughs. He smiles again. “What happened? Can you tell me now?”

She told him what Eddie had said, the real reason he’d broken up with her and how she ran from the cafeteria and came here. Steve was reasonably upset, but he didn’t want to make it all about pounding Eddie into a pulp, he knew she needed her friend right now and he was prepared to be just that.

“Hey, screw him,” Steve scoffs, throwing an arm over her shoulders and pulling her back into his chest. “You’re far from boring, believe me, and honestly if you ask me you could do so much better than Eddie Munson. The guy picks his nose. I saw him once. It was gnarly.”

She’s laughing again, playfully hitting him.

“Thank you, Steve,” she says, “I’m sorry to dump all this on you, I just needed someone to talk to, you know?”

“Well, you came to the right guy. I can’t tell you it gets much better from public humiliation, but I can tell you that you find much better shit to focus on. Like this obviously stellar job. Robin. My new stereo I saved up for. And...well, you.” He playfully flicks her nose. She wrinkles her nose and swats his hand away. “Eddie doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. But I know he’s gonna kick himself in the ass when he realizes he lost a girl like you.”

“Yeah, you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re my friend.”

“Not true, I also wanna bug you for your famous cookies.” Steve winks.

“I can bring them to you tonight, then.” she said, patting his arm. “I should get going. Um...you clearly are very busy and I don’t wanna keep you from doing your job.”

“I know, such a bad influence. The gateway rebellion was skipping class. Now it’s job defiance,” Steve chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, um...if you want, when you come by tonight, maybe you could stick around? Was gonna rifle through the back, borrow some flicks to waste my evening away. Free to join me if you want? Robin flaked out on me, says she’s doing some band practice with Vicky. Didn’t ask for details.”

She thinks about it and smiles. “Sounds like fun. Girls’ night.”

“Invitation rescinded!” Steve shouts, turning away.

“No, I’m kidding, I’m kidding, stop!” she protests, giggling. “I’ll bring cookies and pizza, Steve. I’ll be there.”

“Alright, then,” Steve said. “Um...hey, don’t worry about Eddie, alright? He’s just being a dick. And honestly, apart from his relationship with the rugrats, he’s still gonna be a dick. He missed out on a girl like you. Clearly he’s a martian.”

“Doesn’t mean much when I’m from Hawkins. But thank you, Steve. I’ll see you tonight,” she says, squeezing his hand and finally leaving the store back to her car. She left feeling much lighter than she had going in. He was right. Forget Eddie. If he thought she was so boring he clearly didn’t need her around him. She had other friends, friends like Steve.

Smiling to herself, she climbs into the driver’s seat and turns the key into the ignition, hearing the engine roar to life.

Things would be just fine.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #steve harrington angst #jane hopper #eleven #max mayfield #jonathan byers #series

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