𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞
(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)
next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.
a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)
Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.
THEN, 1986.
“Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around.
Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.
“I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.”
“Wha’?”
“Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”
Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”
“Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair.
While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him.
Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him.
The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention.
Someone.
Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side.
Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.
He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.
Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.
They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it.
Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough.
Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie.
He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.
He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.
Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.
And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.
The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.
Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.
With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.
“It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.
If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.
Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.
NOW, 1989
“Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.
“Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.
You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.
Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand.
When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.
Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.
You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.
Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying.
You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job.
You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan.
So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?
Your mother was murdered.
Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.
Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional.
The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.
Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.
And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery.
Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself.
You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.
You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.
Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace.
The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.
Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells.
He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting.
So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.
When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead.
“Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”
It was a little odd, but you did.
When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?
“I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.
“I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”
Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.
The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.
You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him.
You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”
You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’
“Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”
You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.
“Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.
But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”
You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”
What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.
“YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring.
“He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”
You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.
“Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?
“Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”
You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”
You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.”
Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”
Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss.
“I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”
And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.
You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked.
“I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”
“Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.”
You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”
Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”
Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.
“It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.
You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that.
“That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.”
Didn’t feel like it.
Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”
You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.
“No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”
Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”
“Are you sure that’s not cancer?”
“You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”
Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands.
“And I can. Please, let me do this.”
You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.
After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.
You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.
You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.
You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.
“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”
Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.
Your step-sister had been apologizing since.
“It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it.
You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.
“So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject.
“It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university.
Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.
“See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?”
You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat.
“Okay, spill.”
Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.
“Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!”
This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile.
“Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush.
“Steve Harrington.”
“STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.
“Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.
“He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”
“Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”
You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”
“Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.”
You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.
“And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again.
“Does he flirt with you?”
“No.”
“See him flirt with any girls?”
“Nope.”
“Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”
“Looks more voluminous than poofy.”
Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”
You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”
“He’s on the spectrum?”
Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”
It got quiet for a few moments.
”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”
You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most.
She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.
”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”
“Reefer Rick?”
“Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”
Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”
Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”
Munson.
You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”
You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”
Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”
“I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”
“How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.
“Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”
You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.
Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.
Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.
“Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”
“No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.
“How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
“I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”
Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.
“H-He’s your favorite…?”
“Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”
“You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”
You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you.
“Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”
Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”
“He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”
Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”
You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.
You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.
You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea.
“Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”
Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.
Maybe a drink would calm you down.
You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.
“The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now.
“What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.
“Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”
You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”
Oh, shit.
Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.
You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.
”Funny seeing you here.”
You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.
“Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”
You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off.
“It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.
“I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.
“Oh.”
He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”
OH, THANK FUCK.
“Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.
“So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”
“Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”
She could eat shit, his pants were yours.
“Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.
“Hey, Carol.”
Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”
“You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl.
“Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”
“Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.
“You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”
“I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.
Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.
When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.
Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”
“Oopsie.”
But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.
“Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy.
Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.
Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.
At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.
You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.
Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning.
You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.
You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.
You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.
“You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.
“You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?
“Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”
He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.
“You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”
He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.
Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.
“I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”
“Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.
“Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it.
Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.
”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.
“You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”
“Wall.”
“Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”
“Great Wall of China.”
Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.
“Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”
Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense.
Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.
”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.
“Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing.
“Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.
“Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.
And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”
At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.
Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.
Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.
“Does that feel good?”
You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.”
Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”
Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.
You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.
All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.
You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.
To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.
Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.
“I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.
You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.
When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.
The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror
The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within.
She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.
You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.
Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.
“Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”
Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.
You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you.
His right arm was out, palm up.
He was waiting for you.
You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.
Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.
“Sissy. . .”
“Sissy…”
“SISSY!”
You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.
She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect.
What the hell?
“You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”
You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways.
You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.
“It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”
“Oh my god…”
“So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.
You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.
“Ooh, your knees…”
You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…
“I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.
“Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.
Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.
“You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”
Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist.
“Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once.
“Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.
“It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”
“Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”
You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.
“Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.
“It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.
“Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”
“That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”
“Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”
“I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”
You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”
Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”
You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.
“─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”
”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.
“And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing.
“That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”
Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning.
You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.
You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.
But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.
You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.
You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.
“Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”
You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”
“I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.
You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.
“Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”
“THAT WE DO!”
You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.
“What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.
“Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.
“Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”
“Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.
“Mm. White wine?”
It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”
“Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”
You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.
“He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”
You shot him a glare.
“Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”
You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers.
You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.
When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.
Then your eyes snapped open.
Oh, god. You were a loser.
After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.
A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.
“Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.
“Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.
There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.
“Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation.
“She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”
“I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.
“Yes, we got a free soda!”
Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”
You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.
“Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”
Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.
“Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.
“Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”
“You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.
“All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.”
“Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”
“I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”
“I bet you can.”
After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.
You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.
Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.
You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house.
Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder.
And it was coming from outside your front door.
You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.
Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home.
You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.
“Uuuhhhnng…”
This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!
”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.
You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.
“Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”
You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.
“OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”
Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.
Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life.
“Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!”
You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.
Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs.
You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.
“Stop it!”
“Leave me alone!”
“Go away, I’m just a girl!”
The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.
Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!
You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”
You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.
Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located.
On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature.
You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it.
Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.
The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.
When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.
Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.
His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.
“It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.”
He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation,
“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”
“Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.
“I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”
It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.
He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.
You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.
“Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”
He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.
“Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”
A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.
Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.
“C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”
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Tokyo drifters // drag racer Chris
Warnings: car sex / tit fuck / cum kink / fingering / cunnalingus / size kink / spit kink / enemies to lovers trope / dangerous driving ig (?) / mentions of smoking and brief mentions of alcohol / praise kink
Summary: what do you get when you cross a competitive drag racer with an equally as competitive opponent? Smoke, engine oil and a whole lot of sexual tension, that’s what.
Author’s notes: and so let the obsession with racer fics begin, but with a Chris flavoured twist. Chris strikes me as the illegal, reckless driver type, hence my modern twist on something very fast and furious-esque. Chris x drag racing actually makes me wet u guys I fucking love it, like- imagine him drifting around in a red Nissan Skyline gtr with his black and white leather jacket on, UGH it really just gets me going…
“We could do whatever you want, you could fuck me in the back of your car” - HER, Chase Atlantic
The black asphalt glimmers with a coat of wetness and a pattern of oil spillage slicked over the top of it, the technicolour rainbow greased and worming in the fluorescent lights of the street as the heavy hum of revved engines purr in your ears and echo across the emptied roads.
Beer bottles and cans splash here and there on the dripping concrete with discarded cigarette cases and lighters balanced on top of littered leather jackets.
Illegal drag racing. Bets. Stacks of money shoved into the pockets of the driver that is triumphant at the end of the night.
You’re here because this place is rife with the best of the best. The ones who really soak their hands in the leather of their steering wheels, who breathe the musk of their seats, and who burn the rubber marks of their legacies into the very streets that they rocket through each early A.M.
At present you stand to the side of the pavement, smelling the stench of broiling petrol mingled with the scent of flavoured cigarette smoke.
Your eyes survey the various Suzukis, Mustangs and Toyota drifters, all in different colours and all with different painted decals to signify each of the driver’s unique personality, wrinkling your nose at the lack of female drivers leaning against their own cars.
There are plenty of people here.
The rules are simple, you bet on the driver you wager is going to win and then whatever number of votes the driver receives determines their starting position at the beginning of the race.
As your eyes pass over the mingling people chatting in heaped groups with different drivers, you dismally notice the one person who you most definitely did not want to run into tonight. The only other person who can match your speed.
Great. Well that’s just fucking fantastic.
He is on his own. His lanky figure leaning against his electric red Nissan drifter with sleek black wheels and windows, his raven brown hair dusting his face in waving curls as his hands tuck themselves into his black and white leather racer jacket.
A long white cigarette lies perched in between his lips, smoke lazily oozing out from the lit cherry before dispersing into the cool night air in front of him.
He makes no effort to smoke it properly, simply lets it rest in between the purse of his lips whilst he too, observes his competition.
That is, until his eyes trail their way over to you. Now you’re both looking at each other, and he finds it within himself to cockily smirk, your silent rivalry unnoticed by the rest of the bustling audience here to simply bet and watch the race.
You scoff quietly, pushing your feet into a walk, you’ve got to go and talk to him now.
You gradually make your way across the sopping wet tarmac road, heading straight in the direction of the one man who always knows how to rub you the wrong way.
As you go, you fish one of your own cigarettes out of your cigarette case, and then light it. It sparks, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly whilst waiting for you to reach him.
When you do, you stop and nod at him in greeting, mumbling a curt ‘Chris’ after whipping your cigarette from out of your mouth and resting it within your pointer and middle finger.
To contrast your cold behaviour, your arch nemesis tilts his head playfully, his smugness practically oozing from his figure as he retorts with a ‘hey sugar… ready to lose tonight?’. Your nostrils flare.
The only reason you came tonight to race is because you didn’t think Chris would be here.
You fucking hate racing him, in fact, you hate even being within a close proximity to him. He drives you up the wall, irritates you to no end and most importantly- absolutely chokes you with conflicted feelings.
Because how can someone that you hate this much also be someone you feel so irresistibly attracted to?
Chris always finds the most painful of ways to dig under your skin and clamp his claws around you until you’re gasping for air and practically begging to be let free.
Free from the inescapable prison that coaxes you into constantly thinking about him, even when he’s not around.
‘You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you win tonight, that money is mine’ you spit a laugh, before feeding your cigarette into your mouth and inhaling it to calm your nerves. He makes your fingers twitch, and sometimes you’re not sure if it’s because you want to wrap them around his throat or use them to pull his neck down into a kiss.
He raises his eyebrows and starts to once again use the mocking lilt to his tone that you know oh-so-well. ‘Oh really? Because last time I checked I’m pretty sure that money had my name on it’. He readjusts his lean on his red Nissan to make himself seem taller, and you grit your teeth at his teasing antics.
You don’t answer, and instead open you mouth. Chris watches the smoke that you had been holding in your lungs come seductively curling out, and he swallows nervously. It mingles between you two like a barrier of attraction before melting away into the damp air above you as you resume your usual grilling.
‘How’d you even find out about this race anyway? Thought you stayed on the South side?’
Chris shrugs and basks in the obvious annoyance your voice contains. He knows he’s in dangerous territory, this is your side of town, and you know the roads way better than him over here. But then again, when has Chris ever backed down from a challenge?
Plus, he fucking loves teasing you. He gets such a rise out of it every single time, in which case it’s worth hauling his ass all the way over to the other side town just for a race.
Just to see you.
He can’t help it, he just can’t keep himself away.
‘Friend of a friend’ he responds vaguely, before deciding to pluck the almost burnt out cigarette from his lips so that he can thrust it to the floor and crush it underneath his sneaker.
You roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. You can’t believe that Chris managed to weasel his way into this race, because it’s definitely going to ruin your chances of going home with that prize money. To say Chris is a reckless driver is an understatement, he’s fucking good, but he also takes risks, risks that bargain with his life and the lives of others, so naturally, when people see his notorious red car pull up to races they panic and stay far behind him.
Not you though.
‘You best count your fucking days Chris because there’s no way in hell I’m letting you win this time…’.
Chris chuckles, his eyes narrowing in a siren-like way before reaching up to your mouth and slowly pulling your cigarette from out of your lips. ‘Yeah…? Well we’ll see about that, won’t we baby cakes?’ he chides, before fully stealing your cigarette and putting it into his own mouth without hesitation.
Your blood boils at his persistence and you spin around in a rage, wishing you could just run him over with your car. At least that would stop the heartbeat from pulsing in between your legs at his weirdly sexual action.
After watching you whisk away, Chris quickly gets into his car and slams his red door closed, satisfied with how flustered you had looked. Revving his engine with a humongous effort to get the race going, he knuckles his leather steering wheel before pulling away from the crowd to let them know that the race will shortly commence.
He is definitely eager to prove you wrong as he observes the way the heavy crowd of people disperse from the middle of the road and let the competitors and their cars through to their designated spots for the countdown.
Engines throttle and rev, starting up and growling like hungry beasts whilst you get into your own car. You then drive to your own assigned spot which had been conveniently placed somewhere in the middle for tonight’s race.
Suddenly, you spot a flash of red roaring up from behind you in your rear view mirror and you resist the roll of your eyes at Chris’ boy racer behaviour.
Chris’ car comes creeping up to level with yours. Slowly, the driver’s window is rolled down and you are faced with his attractive side profile, his nose delicately curving and his jawline popped. Except, now his hair is pulled back by a red bandana, leaving his earrings to glint in the fluorescent artificial light.
He faces forward, but then turns with another smirk plastered to his lips.
You roll your own window down, your engine also screaming to go, but instead of a red colour, your car exudes a violet purple hue, your front and rear lights tinted indigo with plastic filters that make the car in front of you glow a hazy pink.
‘May the best driver win, sugar’
The devil’s smile is concocted between his own teeth, the cheeky glint in his eye echoing the way he mockingly puts his pointer and middle finger up to his forehead to salute you before putting his foot on the gas pedal and roaring ahead to take his privileged place at the front of the line.
᧔♡᧓
Engines growl, their exhaust pipes spitting out puffs of gasoline scented smoke whilst each of the multicoloured cars creep into their places.
An orange car motors past you on your right, and a grey and blue one slides past your left, leaving you in the wet spray that their scuffed tyres kick up, but you’re not paying attention to them.
Craning your neck, your eyes narrow and your jaw grits at the back bumper tail of Chris’ neon red vehicle, the red brake lights glowing like the eyes of a demon as he simply sits stationary.
The city lights glow from the skyscrapers and illuminate the starting route of your racetrack, the wet asphalt making the reflections of the luminescent lampposts shine and bounce about the technicolour array of cars on display.
Chris thinks he’s better than you? Well, you’re just going to have to put that theory to the test then.
You hope that his heart beats just as competitively as yours, his eyes constantly checking for your pink headlights in his rearview mirror.
Finally, reaching into your glove compartment to slide on your black tinted sunglasses, you shut it back up again to listen to the heavily increased revs of car engines. The muffled cheers from the audience provide white background noise whilst the drivers’ exhausts rattle and their pipes growl.
A woman in sky-high stilettos then comes walking into view with a white flag raised above her head.
The crowd suddenly silences, all on the edges of their seats with anticipation.
Without another moment to lose, she quickly swipes down the flag, the white fabric fluttering as she goes before engines shriek and cars jerk forward, each driver putting the pedal to the floor. This forceful way of starting roars the inner workings of their cars whilst they frantically try to switch gears.
Coloured machines weave in and out of each other as the gods of drag racing look down upon the fast-paced urgency of the race, drivers testing one another and pushing their bodies to the limits as they zip and swerve about the road.
You keep your eyes locked upon Chris’ monster of a car though, because it easily pulls out in front and his drive forward quickly clears of any other cars. They just can’t keep up with his intricate drift work and very readily fall behind him.
You’ll admit, his turn of the wheel is masterful and his eye for the surroundings is impeccable as he nearly just shaves around corners and obstacles whilst keeping a steady track of the pathway ahead. However, this only increases your desire to win more.
You find your foot gently feathering upon the accelerator, your car rattling within your ears as the wind from your open window beats against your face and whips your hair around your neck.
You have already overtaken a handful of cars by now, with tyres screeching and smoke exuding from the rubber.
The eyes of every racer competing constantly zip about, just to check for lurking police cruises whilst traveling down the racer’s route through the nearly abandoned city road.
Your beasts for machines rocket past alleyways, giving homeless people a show as your paint jobs flash by their eyes in a juvenile blur.
Gears click as both yourself and Chris constantly press down on the clutch to drift around tight corners, your teeth gritting as you realise that you are now only a few competitive cars behind him.
Chris, meanwhile, frantically looks through his wing mirror to count how many cars lie between yourself and him.
But, then he widens his eyes and has to adjust it in confusion at the infuriating sight of your purple car hightailing it up the road to try and catch him. Already?
This always fucking happens whenever he gets a head start.
He rolls his eyes, stepping on his gas pedal even more to makes his car groan and jerk away on in front once again.
His bandana stays secured onto his head whilst he chews irritably against a fresh toothpick selected from out of his own glove compartment that also contains random junk such as cherry cigarette packets and condoms.
‘Fuckin’ woman’ He spits underneath his breath before aggressively jerking his wheel to the side and rounding another corner perfectly. His car skids and his wheels screech over the asphalt, centimetres away from hitting the curb before he’s straightening his steering wheel up again.
This time though, he can see the finish line in the distance, the small crowd of spectators gathering like little observant ants, watching as his car comes racing towards them from the mist of the city horizon.
However, you come in straight behind him with your engine roaring and your gasoline bubbles popping. Soon, your window reaches his, and you look to your left to see his side profile.
His jaw is clenched with his eyes narrowed and his eyebrows sitting in a glared furrow. His pupils then quickly flit to your car, and you pass each other a challenging look, hate spiralling within your gazes.
And everything is passive between the two of you, that is, until Chris decides to fight dirty.
His lips purse and he yanks his neck to face forward once again, before turning his wheel aggressively. His drifter then swerves near your wheels, nearly knocking you off to the side and sending you skidding into the curb. You frantically have to straighten back up again after only narrowly avoiding the crunch of his front bonnet.
That fucker.
‘HEY!?’
You yell to him with your window down, but he puts his own one up in response, his lips twitching up into a mischievous smile as he tries to tango with you upon the stretch of your own battlefield containing engine oil and concrete road strips.
He goes in for another direct hit, your tyres dangerously close to each other’s as his machinery tries to ram into yours.
Worryingly, you realise that Chris probably isn’t going to stop this dangerous teasing because of his determination to win. So, through your better judgement, you slow yourself and defeatedly allow his cocky red bumper to cut in front of your bonnet.
Chris beats you by a second, his wheels screeching over the pathetic make-shift line drawn in squiggly black graffiti.
You’re practically seething at this point.
After you angrily jerk your steering wheel, your car drifts to the side and it expels hot smoke from the grind it has against your back tyres before coming to a sideways halt.
You put your car in park, take off your seatbelt and speedily open your car door.
As you step out, you see that Chris has also stopped and gotten out himself, his sneakers crunching against the wet tarmac and his leather jacket squeaking whilst he slams his own car door shut behind him.
You clock eyes with each other and immediately find yourself storming up to his victorious figure that yet again leans against his car door suavely.
Whilst making your way over, someone sidles up to him and hands him a thick wad of cash that he stuffs right into his conniving little pockets with a mean smile of his face, aimed directly at you.
As you reach him, you just can’t help yourself, and before you know it you’re knuckling your fists into his leather jacket and yanking him right down to your face. His breath hitches in shock as he sees your lips close enough to claim that you are practically kissing.
Instead of actually kissing him however, you spit out a ‘what the fuck are you playing at?’ with your eyes narrowed and glinting frostily in the city lights.
They travel over his face, scanning him with scepticism whilst little strands of his raven brown hair curl out from the hold of his red bandana, no longer combing the shorter ones back and just letting them freely swish about his eyes in the wind.
‘Listen honey if you want me to pay for any scratches I gave to your paint job no can do, told you that money was mine…-‘ he cheekily retorts, using one of his ridiculously irritating nicknames for you to further worsen your drumming heart beat.
You didn’t realise you had pulled him this close until now.
This makes your nostrils flare with anger and you quickly release him, seemingly in denial of your own feelings as you listening to the way the zips of his leather jacket jingle at the force of your strength.
You scoff, sticking your nose up and further voicing your discontent at him.
‘Chris- you fucking cheated?!’ You shout with a small laugh in disbelief, your arms crossed over your chest as you refer to his illegal drag collision.
‘No proof? Didn’t happen, sweetheart’ he sassily bites back at you, which makes you falter, but your glare only harshens after he immaturely pokes the centre of your chest.
Does this man just make it his mission to piss you off as much as humanly possible?
Both of you maintain tense eye contact, your chest heaving whilst Chris’ eyes subtly flick downwards to soak in the look of your body.
As more coloured drifters cruise past the finish line, the silence gets awkward, awkward enough for you to spontaneously shouts a shaky ‘I want a fucking rematch!’, not really sure what provoked you to voice this random request. Usually, you couldn’t bear to be around Chris for more than 5 seconds at a time.
So why did you all of a sudden have the urge to be alone with him?
The way you look at him prompts Chris to suspect that this request probably isn’t just about having a rematch, that in fact it’s something much deeper… what that is, he doesn’t know yet, but he’s prepared to find out.
Clearing his throat, he slips a box of cherry scented cigarettes from out of his leather jacket whilst looking around wearily. You swallow, and watch him in silence as he puts one into his mouth and flicks on his lighter. Holding it up to the cherry, it sparks, and a small wisp of smoke puffs out from his pursed mouth.
He opens the door of his Nissan once again before sliding inside.
The scent of maraschino cherries diffuses across his ride and melts into the white leather seats as he shuts his door before using his hand to turn on the ignition. Then, he rolls down his window to thankfully still see you standing there expectantly and waiting for an answer.
Chris simply sits back in his seat, watching the wind comb through your hair as sickly sweet cherry flavoured smoke finds its way up into your nose.
‘Well?’ You raise your eyebrows and snap at him, your hip cocking sassily. But even though your exterior front looks confident, your insides panic and your mouth becomes dry at the very much tangible sexual tension within the air.
Chris looks forward for a second, leaving the both of you in silence once again so that you can take in the far away laughs and clinks of beer bottles from the left over straggling gamblers that are now only talking about Chris.
He squints his eyes with his cigarette still in his mouth, deep in thought, before crinkling his nose and sniffing, reaching his hand out to twist the keys of his car in the ignition properly. His car rumbles to life as he takes out his cigarette, resting it in between his two fingertips.
That arm decides to leans itself on the car door as his wrist and hand dangle out of the window.
‘Meet me at Carolina Point at 3am’
He mumbles to you, as if not wanting anyone else to know about this secret little rendezvous before he’s pushing down the handbrake of his car and it’s lunging forward.
He motors away with a singular hand gripping the steering wheel, turning it smoothly and leaving you with the remnants of his car exhaust fumes, his cherry cigarette butts and the smell of his black and white leather jacket.
᧔♡᧓
It’s 3am.
And music quietly hums from your radio as you pull up next to Chris’ parked car, the glittering red paint job a flashy eyesore when matched with the dark background of the skyline.
Carolina point overlooks a section of the city that is well known by racers like him and yourself and so it provides a nice backdrop for the strange meeting that you two are about to have. Chris sits on the bonnet of his car, looking down to the veins of his city before twisting his neck to observe the way you get out of your own car.
A small smile ticks at the side of his lips before he quickly wipes it away and stands up from his bonnet, the machinery creaking and the suspension bouncing upwards after being released from his weight.
‘Surprised you came’ he muses, before spitting the old toothpick from in between his lips into the long grass.
You roll your eyes and meet him halfway, already nervous about being alone with him in such a close proximity, especially after what had already unfolded between you two beforehand.
‘Course I did, you cheated’ you muse spitefully, and stop right in front of his taller frame. But Chris edges a little bit closer after you had come to a halt, which makes your palms sweat.
You try to keep your composure, fully intent on getting on with the business of the rematch you had wanted, until you fail when you physically watch the way Chris’ eyes dilated at the sight of you.
It makes you nervous to see his body react to you in such a way, and that nervousness only gets worse after he intentionally lowers his voice to purr a quiet ‘oh yeah? An’ how are we gonna fix that hm?’. His head tilts and his tone is as smooth as caramel, the tease almost belittling in manner.
Your chest expands with a stuttering deep breath, the smell of cherries tart on his tongue and overwhelming as the scent stains his jacket too.
Your heart quickens in pace the closer Chris’ head gets to yours, but you don’t move back, even though every siren in your body imaginable screams that this is so terribly fucking wrong.
You blink up at him, almost forgetting why you’re supposed to be here before dumbly stuttering ‘b-by having a rematch…’.
Chris looks at you so hungrily… so primally, and you hardly even get the time to finish your sentence before your mouth is being engulfed by his. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and neither do you.
His lips are soft and buttery as they rub against yours, your whole entire body stiff and your eyes wide, before you ever so slowly melt into his embrace.
Chris utters a quiet whimper of content and the noise almost makes you squeeze your thighs together. You didn’t even realise Chris was capable of making a noise like that.
Your lips smack together after Chris pulls away, saliva wetting the moist pink skin.
You’re trapped within a daze, utterly stunned and drunk on the taste of his mouth. Chris’ eyelashes feather, and he bites his lip in nervousness, testing the waters of what he’s just done to you. But you look as though you’re absolutely enamoured by it and so he grins in satisfaction.
He goes back again, this time more aggressively, to suck and pull on your lips, and you freely let him, not a single thought behind your eyes apart from the way his teeth pull on your flesh.
‘I- I want a rematch’
Chris pulls away just once for you to voice this timid defiance, however his only thought is concerned with how deliciously red and juicy your lips look. He acknowledges you only by dipping back in and pressing another soft kiss to your peachy pillows, humming a little ‘mhm’ in agreement but also not really listening to you as his face twists and his nose brushes against yours.
The wet sound of his lips sucking your plumper ones into his mouth makes your panties dampen.
‘What if I wanna make it up to you in some other way?’ He daringly mumbles against your lips which wets the skin even around them with his saliva. The arch of your back is subtle, but it’s still fully there as you weight up the pros and cons of this situation. But really… are there any cons aside from the afterthought of knowing that you let your sworn enemy touch your body in the most intimate of places?
At the present, it seems like such a small price to pay within the delusion of your lust. And Chris’ hands already feel just so magical when their big impressions carve their way down your waistline, sliding over the bumps of your hips.
Fuck they’re huge in comparison to yours. And that thought alone makes you wet, your folds becoming even slicker at the motion of Chris using his hands to force you up against the hard side of his car.
The metal and glass behind your back makes you shiver and the machinery is freezing cold in the already frosted mountainous air of Carolina point.
This cold suddenly brings you clarity, and for a second you have to fully stop and pull away from his intoxicating tongue, just so you can voice a stupid ‘wait- what are we doing…?’.
Your mind goes reeling and your eyes look like saucers when remembering just who you are kissing… and who is pushing you up against his car.
Your chest heaves and your voice sounds fully strangled, the vision of making out with Chris plaguing your mind and turning it rotten.
But Chris only gazes at you, understanding how weird this must feel, because it feels weird to him too. However he can’t help it, one taste was enough for him and now he’s hooked.
He pushes back into you with haste, his thick hips greedily pinning you to the side of his car as he groans an ‘ugh- fuck it, who even cares anymore?’.
It’s almost like he’s jointly voicing this to his own self control, because he then allows himself to messily paw at the side of his vehicle, frantically looking for the door handle to his back seat whilst fully enthralling himself within your kissing lips.
Your tongues twist, and it’s messy, but you love it just the same. Especially after feeling Chris beneath his baggy black jeans, thick and throbbing for you when he moans in approval at the touch of the door handle.
He curls his fingers into it and yanks it open, the suctioning sound of the door making your heart gallop tenfold because of the connotations that come with Chris forcefully pushing you into the backseat of his car.
Are you two really about to do this? What even happened to get you to this stage?
It all seems like such a blur now, the spontaneity of your actions helping to numb the idea of regret. An idea that you know you’re defintely going to feel in the morning.
But not tonight… tonight is about wandering hands and careless affections, between two people who just so happen to supposedly ‘hate’ each other.
He grabs you with a growled laugh of ‘c’mere’, his large palms splaying underneath your thighs as he hoists you into his arms and walks you around the sharp edges of his red door.
Practically throwing you inside, he’s eager to clamber in himself and restart his torturous decent of your luscious neck skin.
So he does, and he slams the door behind him whilst doing so.
Meanwhile, you spread your legs to let him into you, your ass sinking into the plush white leather of his seats as your back comes to rest against the opposite side door.
Now you’re seeing a completely different Chris, that hovers over you and gives you that toe curling gaze he’s perfected over the many months of first competing with you.
The gaze is reminiscent of the first time you two ever raced together, with a hint of attraction and chemistry there, until you started to hate each other as soon as it became more of a competition to see which one was better.
This Chris is so astronomically different in comparison to the one you had grown to absolutely despise, the two of you stuck in this viciously competitive cycle of building up tension after tension until all of it just burst and ended up with Chris’ head right in between your legs.
He yanks off every single article of clothing wrapped around your lower half, trying to resist the urge of snapping open your underwear and making a mess of the delicate red lace as soon as he sees it.
Fuck. You’re even wearing his racing colours.
‘These for me?’ He teases and raises his eyebrows whilst simultaneously slipping off your panties and lifting them to the side of his face.
Without knowing any better, you smirk and nod, guessing that it’ll drive his narcissism absolutely crazy. And you’re right. Because soon after, he scrunches up the soaked panties into his fist and throws them up to the front of the car. They messily then land on the dashboard.
He smirks down at your shining red cunt, wet stickiness practically drooling from out of your hole already.
‘Imma drive with your panties on the dashboard all the way home so that anyone who seems them will know how good I fucked this pretty little pussy…’
You swallow a pant at his crude language, not being able to help the shake of your hands or the blink of your eyes. ‘Do it… for me?’ You coquettishly breathe back, and it only drives Chris up the wall further. With this being said, he obeys and darts his head down to your centre, wasting no time in peppering small suctioned kisses against your inner thighs.
They quiver as soon as his face gets closer to your centre, and you know he’s just about to put his tongue on you because he smirks, gearing up to say another filthy thing.
‘M’sorry I cheated baby’ he pouts boyishly, before giving your clit an open-mouthed kiss.
You whine and buck your hips up into the firm hold of his rough hands, that have slid around to force you down and keep you from squirming away at his stimulation. ‘Forgive me?’ He speaks with his head tilted. Then a thick globule of spit comes tumbling from his mouth to plink onto your throbbing heat.
It greedily rolls down your pinkness and Chris goes in for another heavy kiss, this time closing his eyes to eat you like his life depended on it, licking around you clit and even dipping himself into your hole. He’s not sure when he’ll next get the chance to fuck you like this and so savours it with as much fever as he possibly can.
All the while, you lie with your back propped up against the opposite door, looking down at him with your calves smoothly slung around his shoulders.
You hypnotically watch how your thighs twitch at every opportunity Chris gives you, his tongue rolling over several pleasure points in an effort to get you to come.
‘Mmm-okay’ you moan before bitting your hand and mumbling through your teeth ‘I forgive you, please- please just let me cum’.
He had been savouring this for a while now, leisurely dipping his tongue in and out of you whenever he felt like it as he pressed his other palm over the thick bulge in his jeans, trying to suppress its ache by kneading it downwards and squeezing himself.
He struggles not to openly thrust his hips into his hand at the tiny whimpers you make, because you sound so pretty trying to reach your high.
He sighs before giving you one last rolling kiss. ‘I guess that’s only fair, alright I’ll let you cum sweetheart’.
Straight after he says this you let out a heaved ‘Jesus Christ!’, your cry brandishing tears within your eyes as one of Chris’ long fingers unexpectedly slide right up into your throbbing cunt, your precome already acting as natural lubricant to coat his skin.
It’s almost mouthwatering how good it feels, for both you and Chris. His finger seems to fit in there perfectly, and so he adds another, stroking your walls and curling them upwards delicately.
‘Can you fit three in there baby…? Please let me put three in… you look pretty when you’re drooling for my fingers’ he whines, his voice high pitched and begging for you to allow him the pleasure of three.
‘Fuck- yes, please, please put three in. I can handle it!’ You moan in desperation, not really knowing what to do with your hands, so one feeds itself into his luscious brown locks whilst the other one curls around the white leather headrest of the back seat you’re sitting on.
You white knuckle it when Chris effortlessly coos ‘there’s a good girl… gonna make you feel so good’ whilst inserting his third finger, its length making your back arch and the windows of the car fog up.
‘Look at you… fucking up the back of my car, needy girl’ Chris muses whilst observing the way some of your wetness leaks out and blobs onto his nice white leather seats, the condensation of your horny breath staining the windows and your hand practically clawing at his headrest whilst his fingers work inside of you.
‘S-shut up. You wreck the outside of my car, I’ll wreck the inside of yours’ you bite back sassily, your whole entire chin tipping back in ecstasy as you feel your orgasm clawing beneath the lining of your gut.
Chris’ fingers speed their pace at this, and the squelch of them working past your screaming orgasm nearly makes him cum all over himself within his pants, especially after hearing your continuous moan at the motion his harsh fingertip thrusts.
After you calm, you careen forward to grip onto the wrist of his hand, tapping out immediately in overstimulation. He pulls his sopping wet fingers from out of your core and then lollipops them into his mouth.
As you sit there and regain your breath, your cheeks redden impossibly further at Chris’ quipped demand of ‘take off your top’, still with his fingers bitten in between his teeth.
You do as he says, watching him pull his hand back out of his mouth with hooded eyes as you peel off the tight fabric.
He doesn’t even have to tell you to take off your bra either, you just do it, giving him the gorgeous sight of your tits resting on your chest.
‘This good enough for you?’ you tease, letting one of the straps from your bra slide down your pointer finger before tossing it next to your already discarded panties that sit upon his dashboard.
Chris blinks at your devilish action in shock, before putting a smirk back onto his handsome face.
‘Oh I am going to fuckin’ destroy you’ he cackles playfully, before curling his hands around the backs of your thighs and pulling your body to lay down horizontally.
You gulp as you tilt your chin upwards, watching the way he pulls his jeans and his underwear down with his gleaming cock springing up to hit his lower abdomen.
Licking your lips, you have to squeeze your thighs together at the sight of it as he then turns towards you and advances forward, with his lower half bare and his racer jacket and black t-shirt still in tact over his top half.
His pulsing cock stands on end, and he bites his bottom lip whilst clambering over your thighs to get to your stomach, much to your utter confusion.
That is, until you realise why he asked you to take your top off in the first place.
Planting his knees on either side of your underarms, they sink into his plush leather as he towers over you, grinning at your heaving chest. From his height advantage, he gathers a jewel of spit into his mouth and tips his head forward, allowing it to ooze outwards and splash against the valley in between your tits.
You swallow at this, watching as he then shuffles downwards and leans the head of his dripping prick onto the puddle of saliva he had created.
‘Push your pretty tits together sugar’.
Now when using this nickname, it sounds sickly sweet instead of full of malice, coated with a thin layer of cherry sauce as his cheeky grin perfectly mirrors the cheeky action of him using his hands to help you squeeze the sides of your tits together.
Your skin feels sticky with Chris’ spit and Chris lets out the ungodliest of groans when pushing his tip forcefully into the crack between them.
You hiss in pain at the feeling of Chris’ cock wedged against your tits, but bite your lip and ignore it in favour of watching the way he fucks his hips into them.
His pink head disappears in and out of the top opening and he has to fall forward and grip his hands onto the door to keep himself steady. He ruts himself faster with the added security and his car begins to shake at the aggressive motion.
He had done the majority of building up his orgasm whilst eating you out, so now all he had to do was finish it off, and what better way to do that than with his cock buried in between your tits?
‘Fuck Chris-’ you mumble with your mouth dropped open and your eyes glued to the way small drips of precum already leak out from his cock onto the flushed skin of your chest.
‘Ugh- I’m… I’m cumming- fuck- open your m-mouth’ Chris moans into the air, squeezing his eyes shut as the elastic band of his orgasm snaps and forces cum to come squirting out of his head, some of the sticky white liquid coating your chest, but the other half of it finding its way into your open mouth.
You wait for Chris to milk himself dry, your tongue still out expectantly, until he sees that you’re wanting permission to swallow it.
To help you, he reaches out one of his tremouring fingertips to gather up the cum smeared over your chin, then he slides them into your mouth.
You suck on them, swallowing all of what he has to give you with a tired but appreciative hum as he looks down at you with glassy eyes of complacency.
What the fuck just happened between you two… and why did he feel like he wanted to do it all over again?
᧔♡᧓
‘You still really not gonna pay for any of the scrapes you gave my car huh?’ You speak up into the awkward silence as Chris shuts the back door of his Nissan, leaving the smell of sex to permeate within his car.
He lights one of his cigarettes and snorts, trudging his way around to the front of his car before yanking the door open, your bra and panties still resting on the dashboard and yourself still very much naked underneath your regular clothes.
‘In your dreams sugar’.
There’s another silence as the two of you just look at each other, not knowing if whether or not you’ll ever see each other in that kind of vulnerable light again.
One thing is for sure though, no one can ever know about what happened here tonight.
Chris looks almost hesitant to go with his face softening and smoke tumbling from out of the red cherry of his cigarette. He blinks to snap himself out of it though.
‘Cya at the next race baby…’
He tips his head and then slides down into his car as you look at him wantonly.
‘Yeah… cya’.
᧔♡᧓
Author’s notes p.2: hot. RIVAL RACERS AND ENEMIES TO LOVERS TROPE OH YEAHHH. This is defintely the longest fucking thing I’ve done so I apologise for that lol. And I’m also equally sorry for the ridiculously long wait omg, I’ve been hyping this up too much so I’m sorry if it’s not that great bc most of it was written on major sleep deprivation haha. Also guysss exciting stuff is happening as I’m almost at 2,000 followers and me and @luv4kozume have got something really fun planned for us both hitting 2k!!
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