#left hand path tapes
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MORTWIGHT / ILLUMINATOR - Beneath Autumn Stars
#MORTWIGHT#ILLUMINATOR#Beneath Autumn Stars#Left Hand Path Tapes#cassette#tape#dungeon synth#dark ambient#live#instrumental#field recording
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take care of me.
word count: 2.1k
warnings: afab!reader, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, teasing, edging, hyunjin x reader x minho - smut, MINORS DNI
synopsis: hyunho knows how to take perfect care of you. thank you my angel @astraystayyh for giving me this idea i love you endlessly <3
you had an itemized list of reasons why having two loving partners was the best thing you possessed. the never-ending attention, always having a moderator in arguments, twice as much love than you ever thought you deserved.
it comes in the form of little notes taped to your lunch bag telling you to have a great day, gorgeous ;), in hands brushed across your back as they pass you in the hallway, in your favorite snacks always being stocked no matter how busy they are.
it comes in the form of you collapsing into hyunjin’s lap after an unbearably long day, your muscles melting into his body as you press your nose into the space between his neck and his shoulder, the scent of his cologne making your eyelashes flutter.
“one of those days?” he murmurs, tracing his nails lightly against your back in a way that makes your toes curl in pleasure.
“take care of me,” you stamp into his skin with your lips, a sigh taking over your body before you add on a please to the end of your poorly concealed demand.
“take care of you like this?” he moves his hand to run through your hair, nails scratching lightly at your scalp. you melt further into him, your body shivering with his movements.
“no,” you almost whine, wriggling your hips with the last of the energy you had left. he knows exactly what you want, he just loves teasing you, and craves the desperate little noises that he can pull from you like this.
“oh, like this then?” you can hear the smirk in his voice as both of his hands cup your ass, pulling you into him. you can feel his cock twitching in interest under your hips, and you nod fervently, thankful that he relented so easily. “alright darling, go to the bedroom and take your clothes off, i’ll be right there.”
you move with an urgency you didn’t think you had the energy for, stripping and leaving a trail of clothes in your path until you’re flopping down onto the bed. you can hear the shower running from the bathroom as you wait, and you let yourself feel a pang of longing for minho before you shake it away. it wasn’t unusual for two of you to be intimate without the other - the three of you were busy, and any room for jealousy and envy was discarded long ago in favor of respect and trust.
at any rate, you’re sure he’ll join you as soon as he is done, even if he complains about having to shower again later.
hyunjin enters the room in a flurry, dumping a selection of snacks and a water bottle on the bedside table for later. he climbs onto the bed and leans over you, dropping his head down to kiss you. you kiss him back, but when he runs his hands down your chest to cup your breasts you lose focus of it. he takes control, dipping his tongue into your mouth and nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth and you’re already feeling foggy and light-headed.
his hands roam further down, teasing at your stomach and tracing circles against the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. you’re helpless under him, little sounds flooding into his mouth from your throat from his touch. he dips his fingers into your folds just as minho enters the room, a towel wrapped around his waist and his skin still damp from his shower. hyunjin releases your mouth and a wet smack echoes through the room, so lewd that it makes you flush.
“how is it that i just got here and you’re the only one who’s still wearing clothes,” he says, quirking an eyebrow up when hyunjin shoots him a lazy smile. he moves his hands back to your thighs and you whine, letting your legs fall apart in invitation. your gaze flickers back and forth between hyunjin and minho, a pout on your face as you silently plead one of them to touch you.
“awh, she’s so cute,” minho says, reaching his hand towards your chin.
“if you pet me like one of your cats,” you hiss at him, the fog clearing a bit. “i’m leaving this room-”
“must not be doing your job well enough if she’s still talking like this,” minho cuts you off sharply, looking pointedly at hyunjin who was still running his hands along your thighs absentmindedly.
“well, i was waiting for your help,” hyunjin rolls his eyes at minho. “i know you hate it when i eat dessert without you.”
the way they were talking about you, like you weren’t a living, breathing person in the room with them, sent heat sparking along your cheeks and ears. it was embarrassing, it was humiliating, it was turning you on. the fog comes back with a vengeance, clearing your vision of anything except for the two of them.
minho takes his invitation for what it is, and hyunjin moves seamlessly to the side as minho takes his spot in front of you. hyunjin curls his hand under your thigh and moves it aside aside, leaving your legs spread and your pussy spread out for them.
“look at you, all wet for us,” minho taunts, a sharp glint in his voice that betrays his emotions. “you’re only like this for us, right? no one else.”
the gentle possessiveness sends a lick of fire through your body. he knew you would never stray from them, would never even consider looking at anyone else when you had the most perfect men in your possession already, but he never got tired of being reminded of that.
“min,” you whine, embarrassed as he stares openly at your pussy, laid bare for him to feast on by hyunjin’s hands holding your legs open. you try and close your thighs together but his grip is too strong.
“shh,” he moves in close, his lips a fraction of an inch from your folds. “let me have this.”
the first touch of his lips to your clit makes you jerk, and he pulls back with a wicked grin.
“stay still, baby,” his voice is dripping with condescension even as his lips are glistening with your slick. “don’t make me work for my meal.”
he dips back in, lapping at your pussy like a starved man, and it takes every ounce of control that you have left to stop from grinding against his face. he eats you out expertly, forgoing the teasing you knew he loved and if you had any mental capabilities right now you’d be grateful. instead, all you can focus on is the rapid heat building in your core that’s threatening to explode.
wet, slick noises echo across your moans as he eats you out, spurred on by hyunjin narrating to him how good he is making you feel. you tangle your hands in his hair when you feel yourself getting close, holding him against you as your hips jerk in little motions, and he lets you use him. you come on his tongue, your walls clenching and absorbing any sounds of appreciation that he makes.
after a few moments he lets out a little hiss, and you release your white-knuckled grip on his hair with an apology waiting on your lips. he stops you before you can say anything, taking your hand in his and pressing kisses to your fingertips in reassurance.
your orgasm leaves you lax and dazed, and you watch with heavy-lidded eyes as they switch positions again. hyunjin kneels over you, his clothes finally discarded and his cock hard and leaking as he looks at you. minho sits on the bed by your head, and he runs a hand through your sweaty hair.
he’s hard too and you raise a hand towards his cock, wanting to feel the weight of it in your hand, but he stops you.
“we’re taking care of you, not the other way around,” he soothes, his words a sharp contrast to the condescending words he had thrown at you earlier. “i am thoroughly enjoying this, don’t worry.”
he tilts your head towards him to kiss the confused look off of your face just as hyunjin fucks two of his fingers into you, stretching them out. the aftershocks of your orgasm hadn’t left you yet and you can feel your walls protesting him.
“look at you, clenching around my fingers,” he says, amazement in his voice even though neither you nor minho were capable of answering him. “god, you’re so perfect, your pussy was made just for us to ruin.”
you didn’t have the words to tell him that you couldn’t stop your walls from closing down even if you wanted to; the onslaught of sensations left you incapable of controlling your own body, and it felt so good. you could taste yourself on minho’s tongue, could feel each knuckle of hyunjin’s fingers inside of you, and it was overwhelming in a dizzyingly euphoric way.
he loses his patience with his fingers quickly, stumbling in his rush to climb over you. his hair is falling over your face, shrouding you in his shadow and all you can feel is him as he runs his cock through your folds. your eyelids flutter as he presses the head of his cock into you, your mouth going slack against minho’s as you let out a sound you would surely be embarrassed about later.
minho, sending your inability to kiss him back, trails his kisses down your jaw to the side of your neck, right over your racing pulse. hyunjin bottoms out just as minho sucks, and you’re left shaking.
“relax, darling,” hyunjin pets your thighs, “i can’t move if you’re this tight around me.”
“sorry,” you gasp, the word punched out of you from minho’s teeth grazing at your skin.
“don’t apologize,” hyunjin shifts his hips back and you feel a gush of wetness leave you, helping the slide of his cock inside you. “i want to make you feel good. do you feel good?”
“yes!” you cry out when he rams back into you, immediately setting a mind-numbing pace. minutes, hours, days pass as he fucks you, filling you up perfectly in accompaniment with minho whispering into your skin about how you’re such a good girl and only for us, right?
you feel another orgasm approaching too quickly, and you try and clamp your legs to keep it away; it was too much, every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire and if you came you might actually explode in pleasure.
“baby, it’s okay,” hyunjin coos at you, draping himself across your body and tracing along your sweaty hairline with his fingertips. “you’re doing so well. you can give us one more right? just come one more time.”
“ngh,” is all that leaves your mouth when you try and answer, the dual sensation of hyunjin’s cock fucking into you and minho’s lips still sucking at your neck enough to stop any words from forming in your head.
“you’re such a good girl, just one more,” hyunjin nods, like he was making the decision for you, giving you exactly what you wanted.
you didn’t realize that minho was fisting his cock until he came against you, spilling over your stomach. the noise he makes rings right into your ear, a soft whine that was so him that it made you want to cry, and you couldn’t keep the waves of pressure back. your eyes roll back as you come with a cry, your muscles pulling taught like a bowstring as hyunjin keeps fucking you, chasing his own high. he pulls out a moment later, his hand flying across his cock until he comes with a growl, spilling over you.
he collapses by your side and you’re sandwiched between the two men, heavy panting filling the room and your heartbeat lodged in your throat. you feel good, you feel so taken care of that you couldn’t even think past the twitches of pleasure still racking through your body.
minho pulls away first and you let out a soft noise of betrayal, but he comes back just as quickly with a bottle of water pressed to your lips. he helps you drink and in your distraction hyunjin manages to clean your body free of their come. they settle back against you, fitting themselves into your sides like puzzle pieces, and you sigh in contentment.
“how do you feel?” hyunjin asks, looking at you with fond eyes and a soft smile.
“yes,” you answer, fully confident that it was the right answer to his question.
“oh, she feels good,” minho laughs, and it sounds like twinkling bells in your ear.
#stray kids smut#skz smut#stray kids imagines#lee know smut#straykidsland#stray kids drabbles#lee minho smut#hyunjin smut#hyunjin imagines
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@jegulus-microfic | april 26: aimless | 1,276 words | trans! regulus
james does regulus' tape binding aftercare <3
James lingers in the doorway, quietly observing Regulus in their softly lit bathroom.
He's perched on the ledge of the bathtub, seemingly lost in thought, his head bowed and fingers idle and aimless where they trace the rim of it. He's shirtless, clad in only boxers and socks. His bare thighs press against the cool porcelain, causing goosebumps to rise there. Soft, late evening light leaks from the window, casting gentle shadows against his frame.
Outside, the rhythmic passing of cars punctuates the stillness, their headlights casting golden beams that dance across the wet asphalt. The nearby stoplight's red glow mingles with them, creating a surreal mix of colors on the shimmering pavement.
There's a soft rustle of movement as James enters the room behind Regulus, moving to the sink. He sifts through the contents of their vanity, hands passing over their shared face wash and the cup holding their toothbrushes to retrieve the items needed for Regulus' tape aftercare. Deft hands gather oil, washcloths, cotton swabs, and salve before placing them on the bathtub ledge. He approaches Regulus with a tenderness reserved only for moments like these, for him.
"Ready, love?" James' voice breaks the silence with a mellow murmur. He settles his weight behind him.
Regulus turns his head, giving a small nod against his own shoulder. "Yeah," he says, voice crackling from disuse.
James leans in to press a kiss between Regulus' shoulder blades. He lingers there for a moment. This close, he can see the faint dusting of freckles that mark his back. They're spattered across the skin like spray from a wave on sand. Speckles in shades of russet, sepia, and chocolate dance across his pale skin, shifting as Regulus shivers lightly. As James' lips leave his back, the muscles beneath those pretty dots tremble.
James reaches for the oil, uncaps it, and warms it between his hands. He presses both his palms to Regulus, carefully smoothing the oil over the edges of the tape. His touch follows the span of the tape from Regulus' back, under his arms, to the front of his chest. His movements are slow and practiced, designed as much to reassure as to treat. The oil glistens slightly on Regulus' skin, catching the dim light as it begins to soften the adhesive.
As they wait for the tape to loosen, a comfortable silence settles over them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city and their own quiet breathing. James doesn't stop his ministrations; his fingers continue to trace gentle paths along Regulus' shoulders, the back of his neck, following the delicate contours of his shoulder blades. These moments are so special to him; he wants Regulus to feel loved through his actions, to experience the same palpable surge of affection with each pass of his hands that James feels. There is so much trust that Reg offers him in these moments—it's intimate. James is the only person Regulus allows to see the most vulnerable parts of himself, and that knowledge alone makes James' heart swell with fondness and love. He has never loved someone as he does Regulus.
Regulus, Regulus, Regulus.
Sometimes, James thinks Regulus was crafted specifically for him; as if the cosmos themselves conspired to mold him to perfectly complement the contours of James' own body, his own soul. Looking back, it's almost silly to him now—he thought he knew what love was like before him. His heart was already overflowing with it for Sirius, his mum, his dad, his friends. He's always had big emotions, brimming with affection and fierce protectiveness for the people around him. He's always cared deeply and felt profoundly, but nothing could have prepared him for the depth of feeling that Regulus brought into his life.
James knows nothing, nobody else could ever make him feel like this.
He settles his hands on the edges of the tape on Regulus' left side. "Gonna take it off now, okay?"
"Yeah, okay James. Go ahead"
James pulls at the tape gently, easing it from the skin. He's careful not to pull too hard or move too fast, patient as he works. He grabs Regulus' bicep, thumb pressing into the underside, fingers curling over. "Lift your arm up, Reg," he instructs softly.
Regulus raises his arm, holding it aloft as James' hand moves back down to steady the skin being separated from the tape. He can't resist pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his bicep before continuing to peel off the tape there. When he encounters a tough spot, where the tape still clings to his skin, James reaches for more oil. He warms it between his fingers once again before lightly holding the piece back, rubbing it into the seam between Regulus' skin and the tape until it loosens enough for him to continue. He carefully removes the first piece, then works at a second, a third, before repeating the process on Regulus' right side.
There's still a faint trace of leftover adhesive where the edges of the tape once were. So, James takes a cotton swab, dips it in oil, and meticulously traces the outlines left by the pieces. He moves slowly, with deliberate delicacy, mindful of the soreness of his skin.
Once he's satisfied, James fetches the washcloth. He soaks it in warm, soapy water and carefully cleans the area, wiping away excess oil and any lingering traces of the day. Then he reaches for the salve—the last physical part of their routine, though James knows the comfort it brings goes beyond just the skin. Two of his fingers dip into the container, scooping up the soothing balm. James is so careful with him, his fingers so gentle as they spread the salve, taking extra care with the tender skin under his arms and over his ribs. He traces the rungs of them, then the dip of his chest, making sure no skin is left uncared for.
James then grabs what's technically his own shirt—a worn, soft thing that Regulus has claimed as his own, his favorite pajama top—from the ledge of the sink. He helps Regulus slip it over his head, taking advantage of every second he allows him to be so close, to take care of him.
"Feeling okay?" James asks once Regulus is settled.
He trails his hand at the hem of his shirt, slipping it underneath to rest gently on his stomach, careful not to brush the newly cared-for skin or his chest.
Regulus hums an affirmative, "mhmm." Eyes closing and head tipping back as he nods.
"I'm not just asking about your skin, love," James whispers. It's tough for Regulus sometimes, taking the tape off, sitting with his chest. It's a necessity though, for his well-being, despite the discomfort it brings. And James always does everything within his power to make it easier for him. He knows he can't fix everything, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try to.
Regulus reaches back, his palm sliding from James' elbow to his hand beneath his shirt, their fingers intertwining at his stomach. Their faces are so close that Regulus' cheek drags against James' as he turns his head, planting a soft kiss on James' cheek. "I do, I feel okay. I promise," he murmurs, giving James a warm smile.
Leaning back into James' frame, Regulus lets his weight settle comfortably against him. "You make it easier," he breathes out, words floating into the space between them. Another kiss, "Thank you. I love you."
James holds him a moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, heart swelling just a little bit more. "I love you too."
#i wonder if the transphobes in my inbox realize that all that they accomplish is motivating me to write more trans reg sooo#jegulus#regulus black#james potter#jegulus fic#jegulus microfic#marauders#starchaser#sunseeker#marauders fanfic#james x regulus
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I need more 80's slasher!rafe plsss lene!! 😘
ohhhh shureee!!! 💞 sorry if there are any misspellings!
𐦍༘₊ ⊹ warnings! 18+ - p in v, non con, over stimulation, violence, death, spanking, knife play, dark!rafe - ₊˚⊹
"rafe, i'm tired my feet hurt and- i just wanna go home!"
"hey, i took you out on a nice date that you wanted me to take you on!" he yells, clearly frustrated at you.
"i didn't even wanna go on a date with you! i only agreed to go with you because you won't take no for an answer and you'd kill any guy that talks to me!" you shout back. you shift you balance to the other leg making you trip on the uneven road with the stupid little heels he advised you didn't wear, telling you to 'just go comfortable'. you walk away from him when he doesn't answer and just looks at you furrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes.
"HEY! don't walk away from me when i'm talking to you!" he yells back much louder than before, causing you to freeze and almost twist your ankle with the way you halted. turning around to face him, his eyes meeting yours and not looking away as he stalks over to you.
"you better watch your tone with me. don't ever say some shit like that again, take it back," he demands, staring down at you. he grabs your wrist with a bruising grip when you don't answer immediately.
"let go-"
"nah, you know what? im gonna show you somethin'." he wraps his arm around your waist and picks you up over his shoulder, carrying you back to his truck. the silence of the small neighborhood is suddenly disrupted by your loud protests. yet nobody comes out to see what's causing the commotion because rafe has already thrown you into your seat and buckled you in. a knife gripped in one hand as he uses the other to drive, both of you sit in silence as he drives out into the middle of nowhere.
"rafe, where are we goin'?" you ask in a soft tone, hopefully, to get him to soften with you as well.
"shut up." he doesn't look away from the road, eyes still focused straight ahead into darkness being slightly illuminated by the lights of his truck.
rafe finally parks the truck just before the entrance of a dirt path so that the tire marks aren't printed on the dirt just in case. he leans over and unbuckles you, then gets out of the car to go around and help you out.
"rafe i'm really sorry about what i said, i know you just want to spend time with me- but you're scaring me!"
"jus' come with me." he holds onto your hand tightly, guiding you through the dark forest just before a swampy lake.
"why are we here..." you whisper
"i wanna show you somethin', baby look." he points to where an obviously pale dead body of a young man lay floating not too far from where you two are standing, left to be eaten by gators.
"oh my god..." you cover your mouth with your hand, looking up at rafe with teary eyes.
"that's the asshole who'd perv around the girl's locker rooms-"
"oh my god rafe!"
"no hey- i'm not done. he's also the asshole who had creepy little pictures of you taped in his locker, did you know that?" he maneuvers his hands around to grab onto the sides of your face to get you to look up at him.
"i got him to drive here, n'i got rid of him for you babyface, because i'm a good boyfriend right?"
"you did this today?" you whisper.
"right before our date..." he whispers back.
you can bring yourself to do anything, tears rolling down your cheeks, he sighs and lets go of your face, running his hands through his hair. your body acting faster than your mind, taking the opportunity to make a run for it and find a way to call for help not even knowing what you are doing anymore.
"jesus, you better get back here now!!! i'm not in the mood to play around!!" he shouts, pulling his knife out of his pocket and already chasing after you. you run as fast as you really can with the heels, heart beating so loud that's all you can hear.
tripping over your heels again, your knees hit the dirt. you quickly throw off the heels leaving your white filly lace socks to get dirtied.
"little bitch, didn't i tell you not to wear those stupid little heels....hmm?"
you shut your eyes after hearing his voice, knowing it's too late now. he bends down to you on the floor and lifts your chin up with the tip of his knife. tsking when he meets your eyes, manhandling you on your hands and knees, lifting your little skirt, and cutting off your panties making you shiver at how the cold air of the night hits your bare pussy.
"rafe- no! m'sorry...m'really sorry!!" you whimper, closing your eyes shut when you feel his bulge in his pants pressing against your thigh.
"have'ta put you in your place, cause like where the fuck do you get off runnin' away from me like that huh?"
"i said i was sorry, please!" you sob, though you don't see him, rafe nods and presses the side of your face down into the dirt and pulls his thick hard cock out to press against your entrance. you scream when you start to feel the stretch, tears continuing to run down your face. to shut you up he stops for a second and stuffs your torn panties into your mouth to muffle your screams, then goes back to pushing himself in balls deep.
"better quit it with the attitude, that's not how good girls are supposed to act. can't you see how much i love you? i kill for you princess and all i get in return is your fucking attitude?!!" he scoffs with a laugh, now starting a brutal pace, pounding into your poor puffy cunt with no time to really adjust to his size.
"jus' want you to be my good girl 'n listen to me cause i know what's best for you."
the only thing heard is the sound of his balls slapping against your clit, his groans, and your pathetic whimpers muffled by the piece of cloth in your mouth. a loud smack then ringing in your ears as he slaps your ass so hard it burns and leaves a sting that lingers when he grips the flesh in his big rough hands. you squeeze your eyes shut and tighten your pussy around him, screaming around the gag. he shushes you with an "easy girl, eaaasy" and smacks the same spot again, feeling how your ass cheek starts to get hot due to his assault.
"you gonna be good now? hm?" he taunts, taking the panties covered in your drool out of your mouth.
"yes-yes! yes rafe, m'sorry." you breathe out, your hands clawing at the grass and dirt.
“i know, i know...thaaaat's my girl, cream all over me." he can feel how close you are and how your cunt is starting to pulse around him harder. he reaches his arm around your waist and brings his thumb to rub fast circles on your clit making your eyes roll back and immediately cum all over his fat cock, squeezing him and leaving a white ring on the base of his dick.
"atta girl." he doesn't lessen the assault on your body, continuing to pound into you and rub your clit to overstimulate you, causing you to weakly thrash around.
"when you struggle it jus' makes your pussy tighter princess." he grips your hips to keep you from moving around too much, feeling like he can barely move at how tight you are clamping down on him.
"stop- no more rafey, no more i can't." you mewl.
"shhhh, juuus' one more i know you can do it baby."
he rams into you, his cock so thick stretching you out, you're moaning at how warm and good he feels in you that your brain just shuts off.
"tell me you love me n' i'll let you cum. wanna hear you say it." he stops rubbing your clit and pulls your hips to be closer to him.
"can't- can't!!!" you whine all cock drunk.
"no, i know you can. c'mon..." he grunts and pushes your face into the dirt, keeping you there.
"i love- i love you rafe, love you so much!" you scream when you feel the bulge in your tummy and his tip kissing your cervix.
"i love you too baby." satisfied he brings his hand back to rub your clit hard and fast. you moan out with your mouth open in an o shape, you cum for the second time. your hear your heartbeat in your ears as he spreads your ass painfully with a rough grip to watch how his cock goes in and out of your twitching cunt.
"such a pretty pussy..." he grins, he pushes in one last time hard and fills you to the brim with his cum. panting he pulls out letting his cum drool out of your spent hole and that's the last thing you remember before losing all feeling and passing out.
#tw knives#tw knife play#tw noncon#tw violence#sexilene'sobx⋆₊ ⊹#lenepilar'sobx!⋆₊ ⊹#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron#rafe cameron prompt#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x reader#slasher!rafe#slasher!rafe cameron#ghostface rafe#dark!rafe x reader#dark!rafe cameron#dark!fic#dark!rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron noncon#rafe imagine#dark rafe cameron#rafe smut#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron smut#80sobx!au#80s!rafe cameron#80s!rafe x reader#80s!rafe cameron!au#obx rafe cameron
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Steve Harrington x fem!reader
PART ONE [35K] another year at summer camp, more broken kayaks, a change of plans, a lot of wondering. meet us in the afterglow.
Tell me that you're still mine
The drive was the same, if not quieter.
The roads hadn’t changed and maybe the trees were taller, the sun was still too bright, too warm, a little mocking considering your mood. Your car was still shit and it still protested when you took corners too quickly.
The sign welcoming you into the forest was the same, a little weather worn, familiar and like home. The car park was emptier than usual, but then again, you’d never arrived this early before. Robin was by a delivery truck, hat on backwards despite the way she squinted into the sun to see you roll to a stop.
She grinned, waving but you saw the confusion there and your stomach dropped and twisted, that same awful feeling that had sat in the pit of your stomach for the last month.
Camp Upside Down seemed far too quiet when you finally opened the car door and set a foot on the old pine needles. Like something was missing.
“Hey,” Robin rushed in with a hug, warm and sweet. “You’re here early.” She gave that same frown, lips set into a confused smile as she looked through your windscreen, at the empty passenger seat. “Where’s Steve?”
You swallowed, the pit in your stomach opening up into a yawning thing, a wide open canyon that swallowed everything nice. It rolled, a storm between two cliffs and it made your bones ache. Acid touched your tongue and it only burned more when you tried to push it back down.
“Uh,” your voice broke, just a little, enough for Robin's eyes to widen. “We broke up.”
——————
“What happened?”
Robin hadn’t wasted much time, closing your car door for you before taking you by the hand. Your bags were left in the trunk and neither of you looked at Hopper’s office cabin, eyes set ahead as you let the girl lead you through the trees.
The paths were the same, worn down and more dirt than gravel, and they twisted through the oak trees in a way you knew like the back of your hand. The lake was on your left, eerily still, the kayaks stacked to the side. Nausea rolled in your stomach like waves.
“I— we— fuck,” you were laughing, a wrecked, desperate sort of noise that didn’t match the way your eyes were watering and Robin looked back at you, more serious than you’d ever seen her.
“C’mon,” she murmured, squeezing your hand. She walked a little quicker, down the path and past a fallen log, through the empty cabins that would be bursting with kids and noise and laughter in two days. “Almost there.”
She already had keys to your cabin, the door opened to air it out, the familiar smell of pine hidden under the mustiness of the last year. There were faded outlines on the walls, marks from sticky tape that would never come off, a reminder of the photos and the postcards that lived there over summer.
You knew if you pulled out your bedside table, there would be etchings on the back of it, lines made from a penknife that wasn’t yours, a name next to your own, a heart drawn around the letters.
The cabin you’d spent five years in suddenly didn’t feel like yours anymore.
But then Robin had you by the shoulders and she looked so worried, brows drawn together and you wondered if you counted the freckles on her nose, that maybe you could stall the conversation that was about to happen. She drew a finger over your cheek instead, catching a tear you didn't know was there.
“Tell me everything.”
[AFTERGLOW BY TAYLOR SWIFT]
You’d know something was wrong when Steve had called you.
It had been late enough that when he asked you to come over, you’d frowned and made a joke about a booty call. But the boy hadn’t laughed and he didn’t answer when you asked what was going on.
So you made an excuse to your parents and said you wouldn’t be too late, slipping out the front door in your pyjama shorts and a camp sweatshirt that had Steve’s name stitched on the front. Your bare feet were stuffed in your sneakers, uncomfortable and too cold despite the way the weather in Hawkins was starting to warm up. Your car grumbled as you drove to Steve’s like it knew something, like it was warning you.
Steve met you in the driveway, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, his hair messier than normal, like he’d been running his hands through it. When you killed the engine and smiled at him through the windscreen, he smiled back, but it wasn’t the same.
Something was wrong.
“Hey,” you’d greeted him warily, hands out to reach him, pushing on your toes to kiss his cheek.
He’d caught you off guard when he turned, your lips skimming over his skin until his mouth met yours with a neediness you hadn’t expected. His nose was a hard press to your cheek, his hand squeezing yours like he was scared you’d disappear, his breath mixing with your kiss in a huff that seemed full of an emotion you really couldn’t place.
“Steve?” You whispered when he eventually pulled back, gaze heavy and brows knitted together. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
He tugged gently on your hand then, taking a step back. “Let’s go sit out back, yeah?”
The lights that came through the Harrington’s kitchen windows let you know his parents were home, an abandoned dinner left on the dining table, half eaten but the wine glasses were empty. You let Steve lead you to the sunloungers, dusted off and taken out of the pool house for the start of summer, the newly cleaned pool pouring out heat and the smell of chlorine, steam swirling in the evening air.
The sky was lilac, a violet kind of twilight that made the first of the fireflies linger at the edge of Steve’s backyard fence, right by the treeline. The hum of the pool generator was the only sound and it set you on edge.
“Steve, what’s wrong?” Your voice came out a little weak, anxiousness creeping up your chest and neck in a dangerous heat, the kind that prickled your skin and made your throat feel too tight.
The boy was sitting across from you, your knees bumping his between the loungers, both of your hands clasped tightly together in your own laps. You wanted to reach out to him, but something told you that you couldn’t, not like you used to.
You’d only seen him last night. A kiss against the side of your car, his knuckles under your chin, sweeping your jaw as you both laughed into open mouths, whispering about how his parents were due back from the airport any minute, how’d they’d catch you both in their drive, lovesick and melted together.
What had happened?
You watched Steve blow out a breath, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he pushed himself to speak. “Uh, my dad got me a scholarship.”
You blinked. “What?”
Steve cleared his throat, his voice rough, like he’d been yelling, like he’d been crying. He leaned back, hands pushed into fists on the seat cushions. “Yeah, my dad came back and told me he’d gotten me into a Finance course. Full ride.” Steve barked out a laugh, like he didn’t believe it.
“What?” You couldn’t help repeating yourself, brows stitched together in confusion. “Finance? That’s— that’s not what you wanted— wait, how?”
Steve made a face, nose wrinkled and he stared at the ground. He shrugged. “He had an old colleague that knew the Dean. He pulled some strings, I guess.”
Your stomach dropped and lurched. A sardonic laugh crept up your throat that you tried to tame, a choked splutter coming out instead. You shook your head. “You mean he flashed his wallet.”
Steve groaned, his hand running through his hair, making more of a mess of it. “Babe—”
“Are you doing it? Finance? Steve, that’s, that’s the last thing that interests you! Why are you even telling me this? You can’t be serious. Tell me you’re not serious?”
Steve dropped his chin to his chest, eyes closing. He looked like he was in pain. “It’s in Arizona.”
You’d always heard the expression, of someone’s blood running cold. You’d thought it silly, a weird and twisted exaggeration. Up until now, anyway. Your body turned icy, a sharp chill that ran through you and it made your bones feel brittle, delicate enough to splinter. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.
“Arizona?” You mumbled it, a clumsy thing in your mouth that didn’t seem like a real word, too bulky to wrap your tongue around. “Steve—?”
“The scholarship is for Arizona State.”
The fireflies on the edge of the yard had gone and the purple skies were inkier, too big above you and despite the lack of clouds, you still couldn’t see any stars. Your throat was getting tighter.
“Arizona? Arizona. Steve, that’s, fuck, that’s the other side of the country. What? You’re not actually considering going, are you?”
“Princess,” he said it without his usual warmth, the affection still there but Steve sounded tired, drained. “It’s paid for. It’s all - shit - my dad’s organised all of it.”
You laughed then, an awful, bitter, nasty sounding thing but it was only to cover up the fact that you were ready to cry. Tears pricked hot in the corners of your eyes and your voice was sharp, biting. “So, what? Daddy’s decided then, yeah? That’s it?”
Steve flinched before straightening up, shoulders rolling as he prepared himself for the fight he knew was coming. You pretended not to see that his eyes were glassy too, matching yours.
“It’s a good opportunity, alright? I can—”
“Bullshit, Steve!” You snapped, rising to your feet because you couldn’t sit there and listen to what was about to leave your boyfriend's lips. “Don’t feed me the same lecture your dad drilled into you, okay? This can’t be what you want. No, I know this isn’t what you want!”
“What am I supposed to do, huh?” Steve’s voice got a little louder, taking over the hum of the pool, the insects that were buzzing from the bushes. “Turn it down? Spend the rest of my life in this shitty town, wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing? Hoping that one day, maybe Keith will be kind enough to promote me to weekend supervisor?”
“I don’t know!” You were pacing, moving away from Steve to walk circles around the loungers, your gaze hardening when you saw his mother at a window, the curtains quickly drawn. “I don’t know, okay? But we were supposed to figure it out, we were supposed to do it together.”
You broke then, a hiccup breaking from your throat that turned into a sob that not even your palm could muffle. Your breath stuttered into your hand and the tears fell hot and fast, salt gathering between your fingers. Steve crumbled, shoulders dropping he was in front of you, hands reaching around your wrist to pull it away.
“Shit, princess, no, no, I know,” Steve blinked, water gathering at his lash line, turning you blurry, the pool a mosaic of blue and white. “C’mon, come here.”
He had you sitting again, nudging himself into the space between your legs, kneeling in front of the sunlounger. His thumbs were frantically trying to catch your tears, his hands cradling your face as he made soft noises, hushing you, soothing you.
“We still can, alright? Listen, baby, listen,” Steve seemed a little frantic now, wide eyed as he tried to calm you, hands cupping your jaw, thumbs stroking under your reddened eyes. “You can come too, we can work something out, we can get a place and—”
“What?” You squinted at the boy, confused. “Steve, I don’t want to move to Arizona. There’s nothing in Arizona! Not for me, not for us! My, my family is here, my job is here, fuck, we were saving up, we were gonna move and get our own place.” The tears were falling again, breath catching in your throat and panic clawed at you, vicious and unrelenting. “A place somewhere pretty, remember? Somewhere by a lake, with— with mountains and a huge garden—”
You broke off as Steve cursed, sniffing and only letting go of you to swipe at his own cheek, doing his best to pretend that he wasn’t crying too.
“You don’t have to go,” you let your forehead drop to his shoulder, face pressed to his chest where it smelled like his cologne, like mint and cedar and home. “You don’t have to leave.”
A splash hit your head, warm, another following when Steve let his face hide in your hair. Tears. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave you.”
“Then don’t.”
“I have to go.” Steve sounded broken, breath ragged and voice cracking. You didn’t dare look up at him. Not yet. “My dad— my parents. They said if I’m not getting myself an education, then I gotta find myself a place to stay.”
You moved them, head ripping back so you could stare at the boy, anger crawling up your chest. It simmered, a burning heat that felt almost unrecognisable. “Then leave, fuck, Steve, babe— you don’t have to sit and be blackmailed into this!”
Steve swiped at his face, broken down and tired, the bags under his eyes becoming more obvious as the evening grew into night and the pool lights sharpened his features. “It doesn’t work like that. Where am I gonna go, huh? We haven’t saved nearly enough, not for a deposit on some shitty apartment, never mind anything else. It’s just— Arizona… it’s the only solution right now.”
You shook your head, face crumpling and you tried not to cry again, but it was no use. Your cheeks felt too hot, vision blurring as you watched Steve sit back onto the other lounger, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.
“You can stay with me,” you sniffed, voice a thick thing, bubbling and sticky with sorrow. This wasn’t happening. This was a bad dream. That’s all. “You can move in with us, until we save. We’ll work something out.”
Steve let out a huff of laughter, sad and a little mean. It landed on the patio between you both and you watched him shake his head. “You know that’s not realistic,” he swore under his breath, lip trembling. “Baby, I want to make this work, I do, but your parents— and you have your aunt staying with you all, and it’s just… it’s not gonna work.”
It felt final, the way he said it.
You stood again, shooting to your feet as if suddenly the idea of sitting too close to the boy was causing you pain. Maybe it was.
“So that’s it?” You laughed through your tears, a sharp, pitched noise that didn’t sound like it was coming from you. You sounded mean, cruel. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop. “Daddy just writes a check and you jump? He has your future planned out for you and you just… go along with it?”
“That’s not—” Steve’s eyes flashed, dangerous. A warning you took no heed of.
“Yes it is, Steve! That’s exactly what’s happening! Fuck me, right? Fuck us?”
Steve reached for you, a hand trying to catch yours but you moved back, head shaking, eyes wide. “You don’t want to study Finance, you don’t want to move to Arizona. But you’re going to ‘cause your dad is a fucking bully and he’s somehow convinced you that you need a piece of paper and some letters by your name to make you a man.”
Steve grinned, a flash of his teeth more than a smile, and he stared right past you, jaw flexed. You hadn’t argued with the boy like this before. Biting remarks and cruel words sure, but not in such a serious way. Not about something that could end you both.
“You think you know?” Steve shot back, “you think you’ve got it all worked out? What am I supposed to do, huh? Yeah, he’s an asshole, but he’s still my dad, princess. He’s, fuck, he’s trying to help, okay? Am I just supposed to stay in this same town and save and save and save until maybe, just maybe! We hit forty and we can leave? Having a college degree will help me. It will. Finance, I don’t know—it’ll at least get me a good job.. One that’ll pay well.”
“That’s your dad talking,” you told him, voice impossibly sad. “None of that ever mattered to you.”
Steve didn’t listen. “This is what’s best, alright?”
“No, it’s not, Jesus, Steve, just listen to me!”
“If— if you don’t wanna move, we can do long distance. I’ll visit, you can come on holidays, we’ll make it work.” Steve sounded as panicked as you felt, talking too fast, like he could fix it if he just kept throwing out suggestions. “It’ll be okay.”
Another sob ripped from you as you spun away from him, head tipped to the sky as you tried your best not to yell. Frustration leaked through the cracks of your anger. “I’m not letting your dad dictate our future.”
Steve paused, breath caught in his throat. You heard him step closer before he stilled. “What?”
You closed your eyes as you spoke, like it would help. Maybe it would hurt less. “I’m not letting your dad decide our lives. Not mine, anyway.” You turned, watching Steve turn blurry from your tears. His cheeks were pink, eyes glassy, his bottom lip still trembling. “You want to be apart? For what, four years?” You hiccuped, sniffed. “Steve, please don’t go. Don’t go. Not for something you don’t want to do.”
The boy took your hand, clasping it tight as it hung from his in the space between you both. It felt huge, the distance, a wide open thing.
“Tell me you want to do this and I’ll support you, I swear,” you told him, choked up but determined. “Tell me you’ve always wanted to study Finance, tell me you’ve always wondered what it’d be like to live in Arizona and get a job at a desk where you punch numbers onto a screen. Tell me all that and I’ll support you the whole way. Tell me this is what you want, not what your dad wants.”
Steve was silent. His cheeks were damp. It was the seventh grade science fair all over again.
“When do you leave?” You whispered.
He let go of your hand.
“August.”
He watched you turn to your car, a five second delay as he realised you were walking away, away from him. Steve chased you across the drive as his parents watched from a crack in the living room curtain, shouting your name with a choked up voice, panic making his words crack and break.
He held you in the driveway, your arms wrapped around each other uncomfortably tight, an alarming fear in the air around you both. It felt awful, heavy, like the end of something that wasn’t yet finished. So you tried again, tears running down your cheeks, pouring openly as you begged, asking him to stay, to try with you, promising him it would all work out and this wasn’t the life that he wanted, you knew that, Steve knew that.
Didn’t he? Right? Right?
But the boy was shaking his head, swiping a hand meanly over his eyes as he brushed away his own tears, trying his best to get you to understand that he didn’t have a choice. He dropped his voice, an agitated whisper as he hissed about families and business, expectations and being written out of wills, written out of a family name, how money was supposed to equal happiness, and maybe his dad was right, maybe he needed to get a job that required a suit and tie, and maybe - just maybe - he could live a life like his parents. Money in the bank, a big house, a fat cheque every month.
That’s what being a Harrington was, right?
Right?
You sniffed, lip quivering, brows raised and your voice mean. “Yeah? Is that what you want, Steve?” You stepped back, a hand on your car door. “You want to be just like your dad? Get the briefcase and the business cards and fly out of town every week? Maybe you’ll pick up a trophy wife in Arizona, huh? Then find a girlfriend in another state and hope your kids don’t find out? Flash your wallet and make problems go away? Have a son and make him feel as shitty and empty as you do?”
Steve was silent. And then, an ugly smile, a smirk that was cold and a little dead. “Sure, princess, that’s exactly what I fucking want. And hey, fuck, maybe I don’t have a choice in this, but at least I’m getting out of this town. Can you say the same? Weren’t you supposed to be saving for college too, princess? What happened to that, huh? Reality is real ugly, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you,” you laughed, angry and sad and in no way amused. “We were supposed to get out together.”
“I told you to come with me!” Steve barked out, sharp, an almost yell. You tried not to flinch. “Fuck, god, you could come with me… we could do this together.”
“It’s not together! Jesus, Steve, can’t you see that?” You were beyond frustrated, hands balled into fists by your sides before they flew up to grab at your head. You were in disbelief. Was this happening? This was happening. “None of this is us! Not for us, not planned by us, not wanted by us! This is all planned by him!” Your hand shot out to the front door of the Harrington’s house, grand and regal and dark behind the window. “He’s dictating it all, throwing money and hoping it lands, just so he can say his son went to college!”
Steve was stone faced, eyes on the tarmac drive.
“I don’t care if you go to college,” you whispered, watery. “I just want you to be happy.”
‘I want you to stay with me.’ You didn’t say it.
Steve didn’t answer but you saw his shoulders shake, miniscule, and then the streetlight caught the tear rolling down his cheek, flashing. He didn’t stop you when you got into your car and drove away.
—————
Robin was wide eyed when you finished, kneeling on your unmade bed with you, the sheets folded and sitting at the foot of it. Her hand was still holding yours, fingers twisted together, her thumb running over your palm. She sucked in a breath.
“Shit.”
“Shit,” you agreed.
“So it’s over?” Robin asked, letting go of your hand when you flopped backwards, head hitting the pillow. Your own one was still in the backseat of your car, a brand new pillowcase on it ‘cause the old one somehow still smelled like Steve. “That’s it?”
You shrugged, staring at the ceiling until the beams of wood blurred together and you sniffed. “I guess, yeah.”
Robin nudged you, crawling up the mattress until you shifted, leaving enough space for her to lie next to you on the narrow bed. You were shoulder to shoulder, head sharing the same pillow and you could smell her sunscreen, the lemon and lavender perfume she always wore. You turned into her, nose pressed to her shoulder, revelling in the comfort it brought.
“When did this happen? How long has it been?”
“Three weeks,” you mumbled into her shirt, the corners of your eyes stinging again, tears making your throat thick. You were shocked you had more in you, all you had done since that night was cry. “Feels like it’s been a fucking year.”
“And you haven’t spoken since? Is he definitely going? Fuck, I can’t— Arizona?”
“Fucking Arizona,” you agreed, sighing. “I tried to call him the night after. His dad answered, said he was in the shower and he’d tell him I rang.” You sniffed again, pressing the heel of your palm to your sore eyes. “He never called me back.”
“Dude,” Robin sounded morose, your pain now her pain and she dropped her head on top of yours. A small comfort, considering.
“Dude,” you agreed. You sighed, world weary and already tired, despite only being awake for four hours. “Do you think I blew it out of proportion? Was I too harsh?”
Robin opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it again, thinking it over before she spoke. She smacked a kiss to your forehead before talking, her voice soft and more gentle than usual.
“I think you’re totally right. Steve doesn’t wanna study finance, or go to Arizona. Shit, he once thought Dustin’s pocket calculator was some kind of gaming console. But I know he struggles with his dad.” Robin sucked in a breath, wary. “And I know his dad is a certified asshole, but that little scrawny version of Steve at the science fair? He's still there, y’know? And he probably still wants to make his dad proud.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I know. I just don’t get why.”
Robin shrugged. “Me neither, but that’s on growing up with somewhat normal parents, I guess. I know he loves you though. A lot. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
You were openly crying now, tears soaking Robin’s shirt sleeve, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her lips were against your hair when she mumbled, “You don’t wanna go to Arizona with him?”
You sat up, chest heaving, hands swiping clumsily at your face to rid yourself of your damp cheeks, your swollen eyes. Your breath stuttered, a gasping, awful sound because it hurt being told that Steve loved you. It ached to be reminded. “No.” You were final about it, voice softening only when you continued. “Fuck, I thought I’d follow him anywhere you know? We were saving up, working stupid shifts and we had this stupid map and— and I would laugh at him ‘cause he’d circle these weird places no one had heard of, said we’d buy a house there and get a dog and… if I move to Arizona with him, we’re just starting a life that’s going to be dictated by his dad.”
Robin looked sad as she gazed at you, listening quietly, her feet resting against your knees as she curled up by the headboard. She nodded, knowing.
“Because Steve will graduate, right? And then his dad will be the one to set him up with interviews and jobs, and fuck, maybe this new Steve will even join the family business - which, by the way, I know he doesn’t wanna do.” You sucked in a breath, wide eyed at the possibility of this kind of future. “We won’t get a dog, ‘cause his mom says animals don’t belong in a house, and I’ll be left at home to press all his suits, with like, six kids that all look like the husband I don’t even get to see anymore, because he’ll be on business trips with his dad and dudes called Tony and Chase and he’ll meet a girl with a name like Britney, and you just know she was head cheerleader when she was in college and—”
You were cut off abruptly, Robin’s hands pressed to your cheeks, squishing them a little as she stared at you, concern in her eyes. “Babe. Breathe.”
You blew out a shaky breath and tried to smile, but it was watery and weak. “So what’s been happening with you?” You tried to joke.
—————
The rest of the staff arrived in drips, Eddie’s van parked dangerously close to Billy’s shiny Camaro, Eddie cackling and flipping the other boy off when he snarled obscenities about his paintwork. Nancy and Robin had picked up Chrissy on the way, Argyle following in a new VW bug, sunflower yellow with giant, green plants painted on the side that he told Murray, ‘s’just nature, my dude.’
There wasn’t any sign of a maroon BMW.
And then eleven o’clock came and everyone had to pile into Hopper’s cabin. The man was sitting behind his desk as usual, already looking tired as he watched you all trail in, taking up too much space. You’d managed to squeeze yourself on the old sofa between Robin and Nancy when the door opened at the last minute. Eddie trailed in with a guilty smile, another boy behind him.
Steve.
You felt Robin tense beside you, patting your knee when you slouched into the couch cushions a little further. The soft smile Eddie sent you as he passed told you that he knew everything too.
The two boys sat across the room, perching on the windowsill and Steve didn’t look at you. In fact, he didn’t look anywhere but the old carpet, his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked as tired as you felt. His hair was a mess, like the wind had caught it, one curl sticking up from his forehead and you wanted to reach out and fix it for him, stand between his legs and let him touch you, let him give you a kiss as thanks.
Fuck.
Everyone shuffled awkwardly, glancing from you to Steve and back again, each staff member wondering why you weren’t sitting together like you normally would. Even Murray was frowning, holding an open bag of trail mix, peering at you over his glasses. You looked away.
“Okay, welcome back, glad to see some of you have managed to avoid jail time for another summer. Congrats!” Hopper stood with his clipboard, shooting a glance at Eddie, who grinned, smug. “You all know the drill by now, so let’s get into it. I’ve got a five ton delivery of Lucky Charms that nobody asked for to deal with.”
Murray took front and centre then, busying himself with paperwork and staff files. “Okay you bunch of delinquents, look alive, roll call!”
It went like it always did, Murray listing off familiar names, assigning them back to their usual stations, reminding them that they needed to hand in their up to date first aid certificates and that staff uniform was mandatory and not a matter of opinion.
Billy, lifeguard duties. Robin, kitchens with Bob. Jonathan, photography - and if he had time, could he help Hopper work on the website design for the new summer? Argyle, wood shop. Nancy, crafts and more time in the office with Joyce, so she can learn the ropes with admin stuff. Jason, lake games. Chrissy, gymnastics.
“Edward,” Murray announced, turning to hand the boy some sign up sheets. “Music. We’ve moved you to a bigger cabin for your lessons this year, we got way more sign ups than anticipated. Keep it up.” Murray clicked his finger and pointed at the boy, like he’d almost forgotten something. “Oh, and tell your girl we’re all proud of her. An architectural internship in Philadelphia is no small feat.”
Eddie grinned, chest puffed out, cheeks pink and looking full of pride. “Right?” He agreed. “She’s gonna be running her own firm in no time.”
“Harrington, Hawkins, you’re both on games—”
You couldn’t help it, it rose up like panic, acidic and bitter, bile in the back of your throat. “Can I be placed somewhere else?”
Everyone stared. Murray choked on a piece of trail mix, a too big pumpkin seed that hit the wall near Argyle.
Your eyes met Steve’s and you saw the flinch of hurt there before his brown eyes hardened and his jaw tensed. He stared hard at the floor, toeing at the carpet.
Murray looked confused, scanning the list of staff members to see if it were possible, but Hopper interrupted, frowning. He was gruff about it, gesturing to the schedules in the other man’s hands. “These have been written for weeks kid, we’re not fucking about ‘cause of a lovers tiff, we’re all adults here—”
“Actually,” Murray interrupted, gaze flicking from you to Steve and back again. He levelled you with a stare that looked like a challenge, a dare, a question. Like he was testing you. “We could do with someone else on the lake this year. More kids. You’ve been on life guarding duties before, right?”
Oh shit. You nodded.
Beside you, Robin exhaled, a curse under it as she pulled her cap down low, hiding under the brim of it. Across the room, Nancy stared at you, wide eyed. “What’re you doing?” She mouthed.
“Up to date on first aid? CPR?” Murray continued, ignoring the tension in the room.
You could hear a pin drop. “Yeah,” you muttered.
Eddie swore.
“Great!” Murray was too cheerful, whacking his pen off of the clipboard. “Congrats, Hargrove, you’ve got a buddy for the summer.”
It was awful, the way your stomach sank, the way Billy cackled, white teeth flashing as he made a show of looking you up and down. It was gut wrenching, the way Robin looked at you with sympathy, the way Steve was tugging a hand through his hair and looking anywhere but at you.
Everyone filed out, back into the sun, collecting new staff shirts and sets of keys for the gym, the music room, storage cabins and equipment cages. Hopper held up a hand to stop you, gesturing to the couch. You sat back down, heart racing as he did the same to Steve, not speaking until the last person had left.
The jar was still on his desk, sticky label over sticky label, each one with a new name on it, everything from ‘kayak money’ to ‘therapy cash’ a scribbled out note from Eddie that said ‘lovebird fundz.’ Your stomach tumbled over, a sticky, hot nausea creeping over you when Steve sat down too, right up against the other side of the sofa.
Hopper leaned against his desk, already looking world weary. He sighed, running a finger and thumb over his moustache before pointing at the obvious space between you both. “Listen, I don’t make a habit of getting into my employees personal lives, and I don’t need to know what happened but—”
“I’d be interested in hearing, actually,” Murray interrupted.
Hopper ignored him. “All I wanna know is that you’ll be working together like professionals, when the situation calls for it, alright? No funny business. No arguing. No fighting. No breaking anymore of my goddamn kayaks.”
Steve was picking at a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt and you were staring at your nail beds but when the man cleared his throat, sharp and jarring, you both nodded.
“Good.” Hopper nodded, “get going then, get settled and all that. I don’t wanna hear any trouble.” The man made a point of glancing at the empty jar on his desk, a fresh piece of tape on the front, yet to be labelled.
It took two seconds for Steve to round on you, your shoes barely hitting the grass outside, Eddie, Nancy and Robin bearing witness to the explosion. They stood off to the side, sat balancing on the porch railing of the medical cabin, pretending they couldn’t hear.
So Steve made sure his voice was loud enough to reach. “Really?” He all but yelled, “lake duties, huh? A summer with Billy fucking Hargrove? That’s what you’d rather deal with than me?”
You were quick to fire back, a familiar fuse lit inside of you as you snapped, eyes flashing as you went toe to toe with Steve. It made your heart hurt, knowing this argument was going to end without a kiss. “Oh, grow up, Steve! You really wanna spend all summer with me? Wanna hold hands and tell me all about Arizona? Show me your class schedule and talk about the weather there?”
The words were nasty tasting as they left your tongue, metallic and coated in invisible armour, meant to protect you more than hurt the boy. But it did the latter more than the first, Steve’s jaw clenching as he stared at you.
‘You didn’t call me back,’ you wanted to say. You wanted to yell it, sob it. ‘Why didn’t you call me back?’
“I’ve to grow up? That’s real cute, princess, you’re not even gonna try and be civil about this? Go back to being friends?”
You wanted to laugh at that, but the tightness in your chest might’ve been tears and you weren’t willing to let those out in front of Steve. You couldn’t stop. Poison dripping from your tongue, costing your teeth, sharp and barbed. You just kept talking. “Yeah, like we were friends before.”
Steve scoffed, nodding. “You’re right. We were never friends, were we?” He backed away, his eyes trailing over you like a reflex, like he couldn’t help it even now. “Have fun with Hargrove, princess, enjoy your summer.” He stalked off, sunlight hitting off his shoulders, making his hair turn auburn. Eddie jumped off the railing to trail after him, both boys heading towards the lake as Eddie sent you a regretful look over his shoulder.
Nancy and Robin approached as you did your best to even out your breaths, a pain catching between your ribs that felt all too familiar, an ache that had lived weeks for weeks now. It had wrapped around your heart like weeds, vines with thorns, squeezing at you until you wanted to cry. You sniffed, head ducked from your friends view.
Someone’s hand pressed between your shoulder blades and you looked up to see Nancy, a sad smile there. “I’m supposed to be working on the cabin groupings, but, uh,” she raised her brows at Robin, “I have a couple of bottles of wine hidden in Jonathan’s trunk. Why don’t we grab a few and pretend we’re not on the clock…”
You nodded, pretending there weren’t tears nipping at your eyes as you watched Steve’s retreating figure, the boy kicking angrily at a rock on the ground.
Tell me that we'll be just fine
You didn’t see Steve again before the kids arrived.
The two days before the official start of camp were spent hauling out the equipment, dusting off crash mats and kayaks, pumping up the sad, deflated balls and hoping to god the old dock would last another year. The June weather came with the usual force, blue skies, cloudless after sunrise, burning away with the morning haze until all that was left was an endless heat that lingered into the night.
Camp Upside Down without the kids was fireflies by the shoreline, feet in the lake after lunch, breakfasts in your cabin, stolen banana muffins and fresh peaches, music that toed the line of too loud before bed.
It still felt like home. But it was a house with a room missing. Steve’s lack of presence hurting like an open wound. You caught glimpses of him here and there, between the trees, on the edge of the lake, helping Eddie lug amps and drum kits from one cabin to another.
Jealousy flared when you saw him talking to Chrissy outside the gym, a friendly distance between them both but it twisted in your stomach like a knot, sickly and unwelcome. Robin had dragged you away by your elbow, telling you that you were being stupid and, shouldn’t you go talk to him?
“If he wanted to talk, he would’ve called me back, remember?” You reminded her sullenly, walking towards the middle of camp together to prepare for the hoards of buses and cars that were soon to flood in.
You stopped talking as you joined the cluster of staff members at the unlit fire, the unofficial heart of the camp. The logs were already arranged around the pit, ready for s’mores and stories. Steve was standing between Eddie and Jonathan, staff shirt sunbleached and loose around his frame, his jeans cuffed at the ankles to get some relief from the morning warmth that would only climb higher.
Chrissy was with them, ponytail bobbing animatedly, smiling too pretty. You’d never had a problem with the girl before, in fact, you’d even call her a friend. But she reached out and slapped playfully at Steve’s arm when she laughed at something he said, and suddenly you were wondering how deep the lake was.
Maybe Steve would sense that you were staring, maybe he still knew when you were near, ‘cause his head shot up and his gaze found yours immediately. He didn’t look away and neither did you, but he frowned when you lifted your chin, defiant.
“Hey, uh,” Nancy appeared by your side, looking uncomfortable as she said, “you know you’re wearing his sweater, right?”
“What?” You looked down, the forest green sweater suddenly swamping you as you realised it definitely wasn’t your own. Steve’s name was stitched on the front, small and neat across your heart. You felt your cheeks burn. “Oh, for fuck sake.”
That’s how you ended up arguing via the kids, the campers arriving in a flurry of colour and noise, yelling about lost rucksacks and the youngest crying as their parents drove away, consoled by Joyce and some animal crackers.
Max Mayfield found you in the midst of the chaos, tapping your shoulder as you turned around with your clipboard, interrupted from taking note of Will Byers new allergy medication.
She was holding Steve’s sweater, looking at you unimpressed. “He said he doesn’t want it,” she sighed, already bored of the back and forth.
“What?” You squinted at her, disgruntled and confused as to how Steve could reject his own sweater. “Why?”
The redhead rolled her eyes, shrugging. “I don’t know! He said that you should keep it.”
Panicked, you shook your head, coaxing the girl back into the crowd. “No, nuhuh, tell him I don’t want it. Lucas, hey, Sinclair!” You waved down the boy, confiscating the slingshot that was sticking out of his pocket as you did. “Go with Max, it’s important.”
And while you got rid of two kids, another came barrelling from out of nowhere, arms wrapped around your waist. You caught the attacker with an ‘oomph,’ your hand on the back of a familiar head of curly hair. Dustin Henderson stared up at you, a little taller than last year, but eyes just as innocent and earnest.
“Is it true?” He whispered, shell shocked. “Steve said—”
You groaned quietly, eyes closing briefly because this was exactly what you didn’t want. You nodded, smiled tight and tried to look sympathetic, patting at his head. “Yeah, listen, it’s just—”
“I’m a child of divorce!” He wailed, interrupting whatever explanation you were about to give him and garnering far too much attention from bystanders.
Before you could peel Dustin off of you, Max and Lucas reappeared once more, Steve’s sweater still with them. You sighed, wondering if this was how the entire summer was going to feel.
“Yeah, he won’t take it,” Lucas explained and you groaned when Max tossed it over your shoulder. You hadn’t worn it since the night you’d walked away from him, throwing it in your case instead of yours, an accidental nightmare. It still smelled like Steve, you weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed before. “Steve says he doesn’t want it.”
Over the heads of the kids, you found Steve, uncharacteristically stone faced as he listened to something Joyce was saying. He was nodding, not really listening, ‘cause his eyes were on you and he watched you take the sweater off your shoulder. You couldn’t bring yourself to let it drop to the forest floor, you just couldn’t. So you tied it around your waist and tried to pretend it wasn’t there.
—————
[WORK SONG BY HOZIER]
Eddie found you bright and early on the dock the next morning, a carton of orange juice offered.
You smiled and said your thanks, knocking shoulders with him as he stood next to you, the water lapping at the old planks, the sun making the sky tangerine. “Her majesty has risen early,” he quipped, not looking at you as you both pierced your straws through the little carton. “Can’t sleep?”
You shrugged, staring out at the lake, hoping the day would be quick so you could fall back into bed. You craved sleep, longed for your head to hit your pillow each night in the hopes that you wouldn’t dream about a summer before where you could spend it with Steve. It hurt more waking up in a place so familiar, so important to what you once had with the boy.
“You could say that.” You smiled, but there wasn’t any humour behind it. You could feel Eddie watching you from behind his curls, big brown eyes earnest, worry rolling off of him in waves. “How’re you, Eddie? How’s your girlfriend? Missin’ her yet?”
Distract distract distract.
The boy nodded, sucking noisily from his juice box, citrus in the air. “I’m good, yeah - we’re good,” he added. “Got an apartment downtown together, we’re getting by. Hop let me use the phone yesterday, let her know if arrived, y’know? She’s doing good…”
Eddie nudged you again, an affectionate touch. “Are you okay?”
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, your throat too tight. So you bit down on your straw and waited until the carton was empty, orange juice tasting too bitter against the toothpaste still on your tongue. “Yeah,” you sounded tired. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart,” Eddie said kindly, his voice still quiet, matching the morning. “You volunteered to spend the summer side by side with Hargrove, I don’t think you gotta lie to anyone.”
You blinked, not surprised when tears blurred your vision. The sky melted into the lake, white-blue into peach, pink clouds nothing more than cotton candy, the lake reflecting it all back. “It would just suck, you know?” You explained, whispering. “To be with him all day and not—”
Touch him, kiss him, hold him.
You swallowed, the motion a struggle. “—it just, it would hurt. And I don’t want it to hurt any more than it already does, so…”
Eddie didn’t say anything, not right away. But he let his free hand drop between you both, covering your own. His fingers didn’t twist between yours the way Steve’s did and his rings were cold against your skin. It didn’t make your stomach summersault and there wasn’t a scar on the back of his hand when your thumb touched it, but it was nice all the same.
Kind, caring. Worried.
“He’s hurting too, you know,” Eddie murmured, fingers squeezing gently around yours. “I know you’re mad at him, that you hate he’s leaving—”
You bit down on your lip at that, hard enough to taste metal, glassy eyed and turning to Eddie. You shook your head, suddenly feeling a little manic. “No, no, fuck,” you sucked in a breath, trying not to cry. “Well, yeah, I hate that he’s leaving but— Eddie, shit, it’s his dad. He’s letting his dad decide his future and he’s doing everything he used to say he hated and- and I don’t know why.”
Eddie’s brows knitted together as he watched your lip tremble and he nodded, scrubbing the hand that held his squished juice box over his face. “I know,” he admitted, “I know. I asked him, but he’s just talkin’ bullshit. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Says it’s best for him, or some shit, keeps talkin’ ‘bout six figure salaries and, well, fuck if I know.”
“S’like he’s been brainwashed,” you mumbled, feeling very much like one of the younger campers as you said it, juicebox in hand. You wanted to stomp your feet and cry, you wanted to yell at Steve until he snapped out of it. “Like his parents came home and suddenly managed to convince him that he needed to do everything he hated.”
Eddie’s lips twisted, downturned and sad. “He said he’d get thrown out the house. Cut off. Sounds like emotional blackmail more than brainwashing, sweetheart.”
You sniffed, turning back to the lake so you could swipe at your eyes. “Yeah,” you croaked. “It does.”
You stayed with the boy until the sky turned blue and the clouds rolled away, the tannoy signalling it was time for breakfast. The camp came alive minutes later, kids clambering out of cabins, half dressed and with one shoe on, racing for a seat with their friends, hoping they’d be lucky enough to get some pancakes before Bob ran out.
Then Billy was sauntering towards the lake, already shirtless, red shorts and a whistle around his neck. He grinned as he approached, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, biting noisily into an apple.
“Been waiting long for me, darlin’?” His voice was a drawl, raspy from the morning, from the cigarette he probably hung out his cabin window to smoke before his shift.
You rolled your eyes and didn’t gift him with a response, silently thanking Eddie with a bump of your hip to his. Eddie seemed to puff out his chest a little as he passed the other boy, his smile anything but friendly as he narrowed his eyes at him.
“Piss her off, and we’ll have a problem, Hargrove,” Eddie’s voice was soft and lilting, an almost sing-song, but the warning was clear.
Billy merely grinned wider though, sharklike as he brought his hand to his chest, feigning innocence with a gasp. “Who, me?” He tsked, frowning at Eddie. “Don’t know what you’re gettin’ at, Teddy bear. And besides, she’s not your girl.” Billy turned to you and smirked. “In fact, last I heard, she’s not anyone’s girl, seems like fair game to me.”
You shook your head at Eddie who’d taken a step back towards Billy in response. ‘Not worth it,’ you mouthed.
So Eddie glared instead, his gaze only softening when he turned back to you one final time. “I’m in the music cabin all day, if you need me,” he said, “and Steve’s gonna be by the pit.”
The rest was unsaid, but understood. Loud and clear. ‘If you need him.’
You didn’t argue, you just nodded.
Billy didn’t speak again until Eddie was out of sight, a few kids racing towards the dock for their swim lessons, for their turn being taught how to control a kayak. He grinned at you as the small stampede started clamouring around him for life jackets.
“We’re gonna have fun together, princess, I can already tell.”
—————
You and Billy, in fact, did not have fun together.
The boy was boorish and mean to the kids, lazy when it came to actually working and he constantly made jokes about letting the campers drown. He spent much of the morning and afternoon on a deck chair, legs spread wide and his eyes closed behind his glasses, his skin growing more tan by the hour.
“Why do you even work here?” You’d eventually snapped at him, exasperated and breaking your vow of silence.
“Money ain’t bad, free food and well, I get to spend my time with you, babe.” He’d winked at you, sliding his glasses down his nose before pushing them back up again.
You somehow managed to stop yourself from kicking his chair into the lake.
The rest of the day went like that, ignoring Billy and the murderous thoughts he invoked, all while attending to the kids and making sure they didn’t swallow too much lake water. And when the session was coming to an end, Lucas had convinced you to jump in too, the water warmed only slightly by the sun, the skies above it turning back to tangerine as evening set in. So you jumped off the end of the dock, sandwiched between kids, El’s hand in your right, Suzie’s in your left.
And when you let the water roll over your head, feet barely touching the bottom, you wondered if you’d be okay soon, if by some miracle, you’d wake up tomorrow and the ache in your chest would have stopped. And if it hadn’t, you wished someone would tell you when. And maybe that same person could tell you what you were gonna do with your life too.
Your hair was still damp when you walked into the mess hall for dinner. Most of the kids were finished, running past you with yelled ‘hello’s’ as they made their way back to their cabins, pockets stuffed with treats they’d no doubt hide for midnight snacking.
One table was still occupied, most of the staff tired and lashing across the benches, just starting their dinner. Steve was between Robin and Eddie, a few slices of pizza on his tray that he didn’t seem interested in. You thought about turning around, going to bed hungry. You thought about being entirely pathetic and sitting at a table all on your own, preferably on the other side of the hall. But Nancy caught your eye and waved you over as Bob handed you your plate with a smile.
It was awful, the way the conversation trailed off as you approached, eyes flicking between you and Steve and back again. But the boy kept his head down, nodding at something Eddie was saying, and Jonathan slid closer to Nancy for you, letting you sit next to him.
“Did we mean to go for a swim or was the idea of a watery demise better than working with Hargrove?” Jonathan joked, his eyes kind as he smiled at you.
You snorted, picking off the greasy pepperoni that dotted your pizza slices, grimacing when Eddie held out his own plate for them. “The kids wanted me to join them,” you explained, “but now that you mention it, lake sludge and the possibility of a leech or two seems better than another day with Billy.”
Robin frowned, concern knitting across her features. Her nose was already a little burnt, her afternoon off spent napping under an old oak tree behind the gym. “He wasn’t too creepy, was he?”
Your eyes met Eddie’s over the table and you shared a look. He shrugged, letting you know he wasn’t going to say anything. Not that it would have mattered, you decided, Steve hadn’t looked up since you sat down, his fingers busy making knots out of a paper straw wrapped.
“Nah, no more than usual,” you assured her.
You took a bite of your pizza, if only for something to do, the awkward quietness making your anxiety gnaw at your chest and your bubbling stomach made you wrinkle your nose at the pools of grease the pepperoni left behind. It seemed more unappealing than usual.
Jonathan noticed. “Oh, here,” he pushed his own tray towards you. “I have Hawaiian leftover if you wanna—”
“She’s allergic to pineapple.”
The voice came before you could speak, ready to explain the same thing. Everyone turned, looking at Steve as he looked at you, a small frown on his face, as if he was annoyed that no one else seemed to know that.
“Oh,” Jonathan looked horrified, quickly pulling the slice away from you. “Shit, m’sorry, I didn’t kn—” he was talking to Steve more than you, because you still hadn’t said anything, too busy looking at Steve with your mouth agape.
But it didn’t seem to matter, ‘cause the boy stood up suddenly, eyes just barely finding yours before he tossed his own tray on top of the trash cans and headed outside. The huge doors slammed shut, echoing in the silence.
No one spoke, glancing between each other and the tabletop as you groaned, your hands covering your face. You weren’t going to cry. You weren’t.
And then, breaking the silence, Robin: “So, we’ll plan a meal schedule then, yeah?”
—————
The first week of camp quickly bled into the second, the days going by slow and lazy by the lake, the older kids happy to be watched diligently as they paddled around on the kayaks. Each boat had been checked over for any cracks and splinters that might’ve occurred the year before. You held a sandcastle competition with the younger group on a hot morning, lakeside in the grainy sand that was more in-depth than you imagined it would’ve been.
You ignored Billy throughout, leaving him on his deck chair with his sunglasses and whistle, pretending you didn’t hear him scoff when Steve walked by, your eyes tracking him with his own group until he disappeared behind some trees or another cabin.
The summer got hotter and you felt lonelier, longing for the familiarity you felt when Steve was nearby. You missed his touch on your back, a hand there when the kids were around, chaste enough that no one squealed and yelled about cooties.
You missed spending nights in his too small bunk, music playing low, feet touching under the sheets.
You missed seeing him across the camp, surrounded by kids who loved him, waiting for him to lift his gaze to yours, ‘cause no matter what, he always seemed to know when you were close. You missed the way that even after two years together, your stomach would dip and swirl when he inevitably winked at you, boyish and charming, a promise of a kiss later when he could get his hands on you.
Now, you either ignored each other or argued with each other, egos in the way, stubbornness winning over silence when you both fell too easily into your old ways. You both found that winning a fight against each other was much harder to do when you couldn’t make the other person concede with a kiss.
But at the end of the second week, a whole new kind of emotion took over when you saw Steve and his group come back from a hike, a smile on his face as he chatted to the camp counsellor next to him.
Strawberry blonde hair, tied up in a bow, pink this time.
Chrissy.
It was awful, watching them together, hands swinging side by side, not touching in the slightest, but far too close to it for your liking. You watched Steve say something, making Chrissy laugh, a musical giggle that had your teeth set on edge. You forgot what you were supposed to be doing, new logs for the fire pit frozen in your stagnant arms. Nancy must’ve noticed, ‘cause she looked up from the pit at you, face screwed up in confusion.
“What’re you doing—? Oh.” She watched your face fall, eyes studying every move as the two led their kids back into camp. “You know it’s not like that, right? Steve and Chrissy… it’s not— it’s nothing.”
You heard none of it, logs clattering to the forest floor, a mumbled excuse to Nancy about how you’d be right back and then you were taking off across the pathways, heading for a cabin that you hoped would be empty. The crafts room luckily was, the door shutting behind you, the tables clean and void of glitter, for once.
[DON’T LEAVE BY FAITHLESS]
You perched there, collecting yourself, wondering once again when it was going to stop fucking hurting so much. But your thoughts weren’t yours for very long, interrupted by the door opening again. You were ready to tell Nancy you were fine, that it was just a headache, a bee sting, anything. But Steve walked in instead, wary as he looked at you.
No one spoke, the silence deafening and the closer Steve moved, the more you could smell his aftershave, the same one still lingering on the sweater he refused to take back. He was more tanned already, cheeks freckled from the sun, flushed from his hike. He was staring at you like a wild animal, scared to get too close.
So he stopped a few feet before you, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, the cuffs of them a little dust covered from his hike. He looked good, awfully so, as pretty as the night you left him in his driveway and it fucking ached to look at him.
You wouldn’t cry.
“Uh, Nancy said you were upset.”
You blinked, his voice reverberating through you like a fifty watt amp. You buzzed with it, forgetting what his voice sounded like when he wasn’t yelling, arguing, when he was talking only to you.
You sniffed and lied. “I’m fine.”
Steve knew better than that. He looked like he wanted to come closer, one heel digging into the old carpet, debating on stepping forward. He didn’t. “Look, Chrissy and I—”
“I thought you were supposed to be hiking with Argyle?” You interrupted, unapologetic. You sucked in a breath, heart on your sleeve, openly vulnerable and waiting to be hurt. “The rota said Argyle.”
Steve shrugged, cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah, I was.” He looked at you, eyes nervous. “But Chrissy showed up at the safety meet, said she’d swapped ‘cause she wanted to plan something for a gymnastics competition the day she was scheduled.”
You just stared at the floor.
Steve whispered your name, a crack in the middle of it, his voice awfully familiar. He sounded so much prettier when he wasn’t trying to hurt you. “It’s not like that. It’s not.”
You shrugged, staring at a piece of broken off crayon that had been squished into the floor forever ago, a sickly green that wouldn’t come out. You stared at it until it blurred. “It’s not any of my business, Steve, it’s fine.”
You practically heard the boy frown. “What do you mean it’s not your business, prin— I’m not interested in Chrissy. You’re— we only broke up a couple of weeks ago, I’m not exactly looking for something new.”
It hurt to hear him say it, even though you knew it already. But something about Steve’s words made it seem more real, more final. So you tried to keep your expression neutral as you finally lifted your gaze to meet his.
His jaw was set tight, brows ticking up to meet in the middle, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Are you still going?” You asked, and god, you sounded small, scared. You hated it. “To Arizona. Are you still going?”
Steve nodded, jaw tensing.
Something inside of you shattered all over again. You blew out the breath you’d been holding, smiling tightly, like it hurt to look happy. “Well, don’t let me stop you from another summer fling, like I said, it’s nothing to do with me—”
“Another?” Steve's voice hitched up, confusion and anger leaking in. “What do you mean another? Is that all we were, is that what you think? A two year summer fling? That’s real cute, princess.”
He said the pet name the way he used to, sarcasm mixing with malice, no affection behind it and it made you square your shoulders. It was like a battle call and you were ready for action.
It hurt less to fight.
“I didn’t say that,” you bit back, “don’t twist my words, Harrington.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you wanted to work with Billy, huh?”
“Oh my god, get real,” you laughed, sliding off of the table so you could shove past the boy. “You really think that little of me?”
Steve’s hand caught your elbow as you tried to head for the door, a touch you knew well. He wasn’t rough about it, but he pulled you back with ease, your body against his as he set you with a look. You knew he was mad, you’d pushed too many buttons and this time, you couldn’t kiss his anger away, you couldn’t push yourself up against him and whisper pretty apologies as you loved on him.
Fuck.
“You started this,” he reminded you, “clearly you think I’m ready to forget all about you and jump into Chrissy’s bunk so don’t—”
You slipped up then, unable to help it, ‘cause Steve was staring at you with hard eyes and all of a sudden you couldn’t help but imagine him with Chrissy in her cabin, the lights off as he pushed her against her desk, moaning when she wrapped her thighs around his hips and gasped out his name…
“Please don’t.” It ripped out of you in a sob, tiny and cracking. You pressed your lips together so no more noises would come out, eyes turning glassy even though you tried to stave off the tears. “Please don’t do that. Don’t jump into someone else’s bunk.”
‘Please don’t forget me,’ is what you really wanted to say. ‘Please don’t forget about us when you leave.’
You felt too warm, exposed, blinking back tears and trying not to show the hurt but it was too late. Steve knew what you meant, read between the lines and watched tears gather at your lash line. You were too stubborn to let them fall but he softened, the anger leaving him in a rush of adrenaline until he felt tired, sore with it.
Steve let your arm go, hand trailing down until fingers brushed your wrist. He stepped back, eyes on the wall behind you, blinking until his own eyes stopped watering.
“I won’t,” he promised, words coming into a soft gasp, like he was shocked that you think he could’ve.
Words unsaid hung in the air, glittering with the dust motes in the sun, slipping between the shadows from the trees across the walls.
I miss you, I’m sorry, don’t leave me, I love you.
You sniffed again, eyes on the floor, shoulder to shoulder with the boy and not wanting to move away. “I have your sweater,” you whispered.
Steve shrugged, wondering if you could hear his pulse, how it seemed to thump in his neck, his chest. It was an awful thing, heartbreak. No one told him it would ache this much to see you, to be so close and not hold you.
The boy’s gaze dropped to your lips, saw the shine there and wondered if you’d still taste like cherries, or if even after so little time, that had changed too.
“S’alright,” he mumbled. “I have an extra one.”
“It’s yours,” you replied, your bottom lip wobbling again. Steve didn’t know how to stop it. He looked away. “I shouldn’t have your stuff anymore.”
He frowned, knowing you were right, hurting all the same. “Did you bring yours?” He knew the answer, knew how you could get disorganised when you packed, bleary eyed in the early morning hour before camp. You shook your head. “Keep it. In case you get cold.”
And then he left.
The second week went by the same, melting into the third with climbing temperatures and the threat of rain that never actually fell. You stayed away from Steve, tried to smile civilly when you did get too close, bumping into each other at mealtimes, on walks with the kids as you passed each other on the trails.
Will Byers was a little taller than last summer, but he still took your hand at the front of the crowd, looking up at you with a sad smile. “My mom always says it gets easier,” he told you, whispering it like a secret. “Eventually, you don’t have to think about it too hard anymore. She says it’s like maths.”
You laughed at that, a watery thing that made you smile and squeeze the boy’s hand. And that night, around the campfire, you snuck him an extra marshmallow for his s’more, winking when he beamed at you.
Even when I lose my mind
The staff party was an impromptu thing, thought of by Jonathan and Argyle, encouraged by Robin, alcohol run courtesy of Eddie and his van.
You hadn’t wanted to go, thinking there couldn’t possibly be anything worse than spending your time off the clock with Steve in a small cabin, or huddled around a fire by the lake. But Robin insisted and the promise of wine lured you in, the idea of numbing the ache that still hadn’t left more inviting by the minute.
Then Nancy was at the cabin door, a staff shirt swapped for one of her boyfriend's sweaters, bottles of wine in her hands. She gave one to Robin, twisted your fingers with her own and then you were being led through the woods, to the split in the shrubs that only the counsellors knew about, the tiny, hidden trail that led to a patch of sand that was far away from the dock and Hopper’s office window.
There was a fire going, a pile of shoes by the rocks, people treading water up to their ankles, music playing from a boombox that crackled with static at the same time the flames popped on the logs.
It was fine until it wasn’t. It was nice until the wine became too much and the lake started to blur with the sky and suddenly, there were stars on the sand, fallen and forgotten and everyone danced over the top of them, left feet tripping over right.
You swayed, head pounding to the beat of the bass and the forest seemed to tilt on an axis as you left your shoes behind and slipped off into the night. You were tired, tongue coated with tequila that Eddie made you shoot with him, stomach swirling with bad beer and jealousy whenever Chrissy wandered close to Steve.
Nothing happened. Just like Steve said. But you wanted to drop yourself in the boy’s lap and press your nose to his neck, find the spot that made his hands grip your waist a little tighter, dozing there until he’d laugh at you, sticky sweet and fond, telling you it was time for bed.
So you took yourself there, unnoticed by the rest of your friends, all of them too busy, too drunk. The shadows between the trees were dark but the lights on each porch led you home, back to your cabin that smelled like lavender body spray and spilled vodka, the raspberry remnants soaked up with a bath towel, forgotten on the floor.
You tripped up on it in your mission to get to your bunk, bare feet cold and hazily. You wondered where your shoes were. But you stripped, struggled with your sleep shorts and dug under your pillow for the sweater you knew you’d folded there.
It was forest green and too big, and it smelled like the boy whose name was stitched on the front. You hiccuped and pulled it on, asking yourself with a mumble, why was the cabin spinning? You thought maybe it was the pizza rolls you had instead of a proper dinner, ‘cause it certainly wasn’t the alcohol.
Of course it wasn’t.
And then, teary eyed and suddenly overwhelmed, you gasped, a heaving breath that stuttered into a sob. You groaned, eyes closing, your head thumping on the cabin wall as you fell back into your pillows. Your stomach gurgled, rolled and dipped.
You absolutely were not going to be sick. You hated being sick.
You were not. Going. To be. Sick.
Your body made a sound of disagreement.
“No,” you whispered to yourself, sitting up to take some deep breaths. It didn’t really help, a too hot flush rushing over your chest and up your neck, settling over your cheeks until it was so warm you were cold. “No, no, no.”
You didn’t really think about how much time had passed since you left the party. It could’ve been twenty minutes, maybe two hours. The night was still dark, with the morning not in sight, the skies above just as inky as before. But when you opened the cabin door, there weren’t any stars on the ground, not anymore.
You didn’t know how long it had been since you left the beach, but you knew it had been five long weeks since you walked away from Steve Harrington and his backyard.
So you went looking for him.
Bare feet, cold and damp in the moss, sticking to the wilder parts of the woods, drunkenly complaining when you stood on something with thorns. You would’ve been a sight, a sure way to receive a warning if found by Hopper or Murray, but you found you didn’t really care. You wondered if the boy was still at the lake, if anyone was.
The moon was still high and the stars were back where they should be but when you stopped too long to look up, the world swayed a little, your stomach jumping with it.
You groaned, mumbling a little about the toadstools by the trees, how you needed to not squish them, ‘cause Argyle would be mad. And then there was a familiar cabin set back from the path, the lights off and cloaked in silence. You walked up the porch steps anyway, remembering to knock, not walk in, even when the alcohol made everything cloudy.
You waited, stomach churning, breath bated, lips turned down into a too dramatic frown, but you had decided you didn’t want to be drunk anymore and you certainly didn’t want to be alone. The silence stretched on, loud enough that it buzzed and you hiccuped again, tummy jumping in protest. You hushed yourself, curling the too long sleeves of the sweater into your fists, ‘cause you decided you needed something to hold onto.
You absolutely were not going to fall.
You wobbled, bare feet standing on top of each other, toes squished, a curse on your lips. Steve opened the door.
He said your name, surprised but warm, fond like he used to, the way you wanted him to. Your gaze shot up, toes forgotten about as you took him in, soft and sleep, hair a riot, chest bare.
“Hi.”
“What’re you doing? Are you okay?” He’d noticed your absence soon after you’d left, your shoes forgotten on the sand. But Robin had disappeared too, so he assumed you’d left together. The lake didn’t hold much interest for him after that. “Is something wrong?”
You wanted to laugh at that, you wanted to tell him everything was wrong.
But instead, you hiccuped, nose wrinkled. “I feel sick.” Another hiccup, a small groan to accompany it. “And I don't wanna be sick.”
Steve frowned, that soft kind of grumpy where his brows crinkled together and he looked at you with too much concern. His hand cupped your elbow, too gentle, like he wasn’t sure if it was allowed. But the world righted itself again with his help and when you stumbled, just a little, Steve sighed.
“Okay,” he said, mostly to himself. “C’mon.”
He led you into his cabin, the space still dark and smelling like boy, like his aftershave and Eddie’s, the tangerine peels that Steve had left at lunch, the cherry twizzlers Eddie stashed in his desk drawers. Steve flicked the lamp on, a flicker that turned into a dim glow, too weak to make your eyes hurt but you squinted anyway.
“I’m gonna be sick,” you complained and you sounded panicked, the floor dipping and tilting as you walked.
Steve’s hands found your shoulders, wide and warm and taking up so much space. He led you to his bed and sat you on the edge, his sheets still warm from where he’d been lying, half asleep and thinking about you.
“You’re not gonna be sick,” he told you, pushing you back until you were comfy, kneeling before you to scrub at your poor, dirty feet with a towel. He fussed, inspecting your soles for injury. “Jesus, you could’ve cut yourself, you dummy.”
“I might be sick,” you replied, morose. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do,” Steve huffed back, keeping in the laugh he wanted to let out. “You’re never sick. S’like your superpower.”
You paused, as if remembering. He was right. But still, you felt unsettled, skin too warm and clammy, but the idea of taking off your sweater - Steve’s sweater - wasn’t an option to you. At least, not to drunk you.
You blinked as the boy rolled socks over your feet, too big and sporting a soccer team logo that you hadn’t cared to remember. You wiggled your toes, eyes still a little unfocused.
“S’like I have clown feet,” you murmured and Steve rolled his eyes.
“Alright, stay there.”
He disappeared only to come back seconds later with a bottle of water, not quite ice cold, but cool enough that you chugged it with enthusiasm, gasping when you finished it. You blinked again, lashes fluttering until the cabin came into a clearer view, if only just. Steve was leaning against his desk, arms folded and smiling like he couldn’t help himself.
He’d slipped a t-shirt on when you weren’t looking, a threadbare thing that was stretched out at the collar and you knew from wearing it to bed too often, that there was a hole in the hem. He looked softer than ever, that kind of sleep mussed that you loved, where he looked like summer and Sunday mornings, long lies and breakfast in bed, toothpaste kisses and the promise of a day being lazy.
Your heart hurt as much as your stomach.
“Better?” He asked.
“A little,” you nodded, head feeling too heavy to be on your neck. You slumped, socked feet curling under yourself, your head falling to the foot of Steve’s bed. His sheets smelled like him and you groaned like it was an awful discovery, your eyes closing in protest. “M’sorry.”
Steve didn’t acknowledge your apology, but he did come to sit by you, up by his pillows where he could watch your chest rise and fall, lips parting as tequila flavoured sleep tugged at you.
[COPING ALL ON MY OWN BY BELUGA LAGOON]
“Why’d you come here, princess?”
You were sure you smiled at that, the soft way he said his name for you. Maybe you hid it, maybe Steve didn’t notice. He definitely did. “Didn’t feel well, Stevie.”
“No, I know, but—”
“Wanted to feel better,” you sighed, as if it were obvious. Maybe it was. You yawned, cheek rubbing against the comforter, the cloying, sickly heat you’d once felt slowly disappearing. “So I needed to come see you.”
Steve didn’t say anything. Didn’t think he could, not when his throat felt tight and you were stretching a leg out, bare and with an already bruised knee from doing god knows what. His fingertips brushed over your ankle and he received a soft sigh from you in return, lips curling into a sleep smile as you felt your eyes shut.
“You always make me feel better,” you added, feeling the need to explain.
Steve’s hand wrapped around your ankle then, warm even through his socks. You hummed, a sleepy, upset sound, soft enough that it made Steve’s heart stutter and he clung to you a little tighter.
“M’so sad that you’re leaving, Steve.”
He heard his heart break, he was sure of it, the boy sucking in a breath as he tried not to let his emotions out. It wouldn’t have mattered, you were drowsy, still too drunk, face pushed to his sheets and your foot in his lap. But you didn’t look as peaceful anymore, brows stitched together, lips downturned.
“I don’t want you to leave me.”
The boy sniffed, lips parting with a gasp because he was crying before he realised, silent tears rolling down his cheeks that you couldn’t see and he nodded, swallowing hard to keep himself in check. “I know, princess,” another heaving breath, “I don’t wanna leave you either.”
Your face crumpled a little more then, leg stretching out until your toes dug at the soft of Steve’s stomach and he smiled, watery eyed but just so pleased that you were close. That he could touch you.
“Then why are you?” You asked him, quiet and gentle and so much softer than you’d asked before. There wasn’t any yelling. It felt more dangerous this way. “Why’re you leaving?”
Steve swept a hand up your calf, careful and wary, waiting to see if you shoved him away. You didn’t, you curled into him instead, pushing your leg into his touch, seeking out more and you sighed when he tucked his thumb behind your knee. He drew hearts there, on the sensitive skin, and smiled when you shivered.
“My dad,” Steve explained and his voice sounded a little wrecked, croaking and splintering.
You hummed again, knowing, your eyes still closed as you said, “Don’t tell him, but, I don’t like him that much.”
The boy snorted at your honesty, not seeing much point at reminding you that he was already very aware of that fact. You’d never tried to hide your dislike for the man, speaking politely when spoken to, but keeping it short and civil. You always made a point to place your hand in Steve’s under the table at dinners, squeezing his when his father droned on about futures and business deals and how spending six weeks at a camp in the middle of nowhere didn’t get people places.
“I don’t like him all that much either,” Steve whispered back, like it was all some sort of secret. “In fact, I don’t really like him at all, right now.”
You opened your eyes then, blinking at Steve in the low light. You saw his flushed cheeks, his red rimmed eyes, the tears that he’d not yet managed to swipe away.
“Steve,” you mumbled his name like you were going to cry too, fumbling clumsily to your knees so you could make your way up the bed, letting him catch your hands when you reached for him.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, not questioning it when you folded yourself into his arms, his face finding the crook of your neck like he always did. Your hands knitted into the mess of his hair and the boy wasn’t sure how someone could feel so happy and so helpless all at once. You were in his lap now, bundled there with his socks and his sweater, smelling like campfire smoke and you. “I’m really fucking sorry, princess. I don’t know if I said that yet.”
You shook your head, tequila and wine colouring your edges but Steve had his arms wrapped around you tight and he still smelled the same, like cedar and mint and sunscreen. “I miss you,” you mumbled, voice wavering as you blinked away tears, not noticing how they fell into his hair anyway. “I really miss you and m’sorry too, I— I don’t know what to do.”
Steve nodded, like he knew what you meant. Maybe he did. Maybe he understood all too well what it was like to feel lost, to be somewhere that felt more like home than his house did, yet still feel like it wasn’t the same as it used to be.
He wrapped his arms around you tighter. He shouldn’t have said it, knowing that tomorrow you’d both wake up and he’d still be leaving for Arizona in less than two months. He shouldn’t have suggested it, even with Eddie’s empty bed, the boy probably passed out in a hot boxed van with Argyle and Jonathan.
He shouldn’t have said it but he did.
“Stay?” His breath stuttered, a messy thing, as he pulled back and gazed at you. He wanted to lean in, rest his head against your own. But that was too much, too dangerous. “Stay tonight?”
He only meant to sleep, to lay next to each other and let the other be held, maybe for one last time. The idea of it stung, but the way you nodded and lay your head against his chest felt better, an overwhelming surge of dopamine that tricked you both into thinking everything would be okay.
Maybe that was just the tequila. Maybe it was just the feeling of being close again.
So he shuffled you both until he was against the pillows and you were against him, legs tangled and head on his chest. You hands made fists in his soft shirt, fingers twisting there like you were scared to let go. Steve thought maybe you were. So held you a little closer, his hand cupping the back of your neck and his nose skimming over your hairline, the closest thing he’d get to kissing you. He couldn’t cross that line, you were both drunk and god, he’d never recover from it.
He wouldn’t be able to leave you if he got to put his lips to yours again.
“Alright?” Steve asked, a whisper that stirred the baby hairs by your forehead and you nodded.
“Feel better now,” you slurred tiredly, nuzzling your cheek against his chest, sleep dragging at you. “…hey, Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you call me back?”
The boy frowned, wondering what you meant. Call him back? When? When did you call? “What?” He tried to crane his neck to see you, but you’d pushed your face into his shirt, lashes fluttering. “When? What’re you talkin’ about?”
You didn’t answer, breath evening out into soft puff, your body lax against him.
“Princess?”
You were asleep.
—————
You woke up before Steve, slipping out of his arms and his bed before he could wake, the early morning hour and last night's beer keeping him pressed into his pillows, eyes closed, lips parted.
You stood aimlessly in the middle of the cabin for minutes too long, Steve’s socks sliding down your ankles, his sweater smelling like him more than ever.His chest had been pressed to your back all night, his nose buried in your hair. Eddie’s bunk was still empty, a sigh of relief leaving you your lips as you realised that there was one less person to explain to.
Robin was going to have an aneurysm.
Your face crumpled all over again as you watched Steve one last time, heart beating too fast for such an early morning hour. He’d taken to hugging a pillow in your absence, nose pushed into it, eyes closed and lashes fluttering, like he was dreaming. His hair was a mess, wonderfully so, and you fucking ached to run your hands through it, to sooth back the strands that fell across his forehead, to kiss the skin you revealed underneath.
You didn’t. You couldn’t. It would hurt too much.
So you left.
The pain behind your eyes distracted you just enough from the fact you still didn’t have shoes. Steve’s socks gathered pine needles and dirt as you tried to tiptoe down the pathways, hobbling past any particularly muddy areas. The camp was still asleep, only the birds just waking up, that ultraviolet morning light creating navy shadows between the trees, birdsong starting from above the canopy.
You guessed it was about six o’clock, maybe earlier, maybe five. There was no sign of anyone stirring, the curtains in each cabin still closed against the rising sun. So you paused at one of the crossroads, looking left and right as you decided what you wanted to do.
It would be mean to wake Robin, your cabin door far too old and squeaky to allow a silent entrance and honestly, the idea of your own bed didn’t entice you nearly as much as Steve’s had done. You wondered if Bob was in the kitchen yet, if there was food to be scavenged, something that would soak up the tequila and beer that was rolling around in your empty stomach.
Unsure, you headed towards the lakefront instead, socked feet trailing through the damp grass, morning dew collecting at your ankles. You were seriously rethinking your life choices, swiping a hand over your face as you tried to bring yourself back to life. You should go back to your cabin.
You should go back to your cabin and tell Robin you fell asleep in your car, or something, fuck, in a tree, you didn’t care. You should go to bed and sleep it off and never talk about how you ran to Steve Harrington ever again.
He was your ex. He was leaving. You were only going to keep getting hurt.
The other side of your brain told you that it wasn’t his fault, that he was trapped, stuck, as helpless about the situation as you felt. You remembered him telling you that he missed you too and that he was sorry.
There was a really fuzzy recollection of him whispering that he didn’t wanna leave you.
You kicked a stone, groaning through pressed together lips as you realised too late - you still didn’t have any fucking shoes.
“Hawkins.”
Fuck.
Murray stood in neon gym shorts and the most ancient camp staff shirt you’d ever seen, sweatbands around his wrist and his glasses hanging from a beaded chain around his neck. His socks were pulled way too high up his legs but shit, at least he had shoes.
“Murray. Hi,” you waved a little awkwardly, toes pushed together and hands dragging at the hem of the sweater as if you could hide the fact you were wearing sleep shorts and a top that was most definitely not yours. “Nice morning for a run, huh.”
He stared at you blankly, eyes catching your lack of attire. He sighed, turning around and waving for you to follow. “C’mon.”
It was surprisingly easy to follow Murray to the mess hall, his keys clinking together in the quiet as he unlocked the kitchen door. The place was still empty, the metal worktops gleaming, the overhead lights humming to life when they were switched on.
Murray turned to you, shrugging, his arms held out to the full refrigerator, the large cooker, the overflowing pantry. “Pancakes?” He asked and there was a small smile on his face when you nodded.
It was even easier to tell the man everything, perched on a countertop as Murray donned one of Bob’s white aprons, the material tied in a bow over his running shorts. He listened and nodded as you ranted, flipping pancake after pancake, stacking them on the plate beside you, only interrupting to coax them into your hands.
And when you were finished talking and your socks were almost dry, Murray nodded to the fork in your hand, the still full plate of food. “You done?” He asked, not meanly— just, well, just like Murray. You huffed, nodding. “Good, eat.”
So you did as you were told, dipping your breakfast into the puddle of syrup, eyes closing briefly as you chewed, the hit of sugar helping the impending hangover. You both ate in silence, Murray leaning against the kitchen sink and when you were both done, he handed you a large glass of water and waited until you drained the last drop from it.
“So, you want my advice?”
You stared at the man, unsure. Did you?
“Couldn’t hurt, right?” You shrugged, defeated and tired. It couldn’t ache anymore than your head, or the hole in your heart. “Lay it on me.”
Murray smiled and shook his head, rinsing off the dishes as he spoke. He was serious about it, surprisingly so, his voice losing that usual sarcastic cadence, his gaze set on the sticky plates before him.
“You love him, right? You don’t have to answer that. It’s fairly clear to see.” Murray sighed, like telling you this was tiring, like this was all old information. “And he loves you - that’s even more obvious. And I don’t know a lot about what you guys get up to back at home but… I’ve met Steve’s dad before.”
You frowned, confused. “You have?”
“Years ago,” Murray noted. “Think it was Steve’s last year as a camper. Think he’d come second in the relay race or the boat contest, or something. Anyway, before pick up, we did an award ceremony. Steve came up, got his little plastic medal, waved out to the crowd. His parents were actually there - usually it was some nanny in a black car, y’know?”
You did know. You’d see the same woman at school, handing Steve his backpack and lunch, kissing the spot on the crown of his head where his mom should have.
“Kid was proud as punch. Ran over to his parents waving this stupid medal around. His mom gave him a hug. His dad saw that that little piece of plastic was silver and not gold, and well…” Murray trailed off, a furrow between his brow as he remembered. “I think the chief had to go over and remind Mr Harrington that it wasn’t the time for a family dispute. And that his son had worked hard and was a damn good kid.”
It sounded so familiar, so much so that it hurt. You’d seen that kind of thing before, even now when Steve stood as tall as his dad. “What did his dad say?” You asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
Murray turned and smiled at you, but it was sad, coloured blue by the story, the memory. He wiped his hands on a towel and sighed. “He said he wasn’t interested in a second rate kid. That Harrington’s were winners.”
You didn’t say anything, you didn’t need to. You were left with the stickiness of maple syrup on your fingertips, on the flat of your tongue, but something still tasted bitter, a sensation that made you wrinkle your nose and frown.
It tasted like guilt.
Tell me that I'm all you want
You didn’t see Steve for the rest of the day. In fact, you didn’t see him until the next afternoon, late into the Sunday, once the sky was pink and purple and the kids were eating s’mores around the fire.
You felt awful for leaving him in his bed alone, the covers thrown back where you’d slipped from his side and snuck out the door. Murray’s words had only made you feel worse as the hours stretched on, but you had convinced yourself it was the hangover, the sour taste of last night's beer. And when Robin had finally cornered you, you avoided her gaze and her questions, letting her shake her head and tut at you until the bell for dinner rang.
And the next day went the same, turning corners and weaving through woodland paths in the hopes that Steve wasn’t around the corner. Because you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know how to fix it. Maybe he wouldn’t be mad, maybe it didn’t really matter - because he was still leaving, right? This didn’t make a difference, did it?
But then you saw him by the fire pit, head and shoulders taller than even the oldest of the kids, handing out Graham crackers and telling Max she wasn’t allowed to play with the fire. You caught his eye without meaning to, unable to pull your gaze away and you thought about smiling, you thought about going over, you thought about saying sorry.
For everything. For all of it.
Until Steve’s pretty face contorted into a scowl, his eyes narrowing into a glare that you hadn’t seen directed at you in years. He looked pissed. Worse, he looked hurt. But he was doing his damn best to cover that upset with anger, lips curling at you until you glared right back.
“Jeez, did we travel back in time?” Mike Wheeler appeared at your elbow, his hand held out for the giant marshmallows you were supposed to be handing out to your group. “Why do you and Steve hate each other? Again?”
“That’s none of your business, Wheeler,” you replied witheringly, making sure you squished his marshmallow as you handed it to him.
“They don’t hate each other,” Dustin materialised at your other side, melted mallow dripping down his fingers, sticky sugar coating his hand. He looked up at you from under his curls, wide eyed and earnest. “Right?”
You looked down at the boy with sad eyes, a smile that was even sadder. You shrugged and pulled at a curl, watching as it bounced back. “Right,” you told him, even if you weren’t sure you believed it yourself.
“My mom says that all couples go through their differences,” Suzie joined your group, two sticks at the ready, waiting to spear her marshmallows on for roasting. She grinned at you toothily, one missing after an incident with Max and a dodgeball. “She said it’s normal. But then she drinks a lot of wine and sleeps a lot so she forgets in the morning.”
You didn’t really know what to say to that, so you stared at Suzie with a strained smile and nodded anyway. “Sure, exactly. Yeah.”
“I heard Steve’s moving away,” Mike chipped in again, blissfully ignorant to the way your frown returned at his words. “Will he work at a new camp in Arizona?”
“What?” Dustin was aghast, chocolate dripping to the forest floor without him realising. “No! He can’t!” He spun back to look at you, as if you could fix it all. You wish you could’ve. “He can’t, right?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, you stood amongst the kids and stared at Steve through the crowd. He wasn’t smiling, shoulder to shoulder with Eddie as they continued to hand out snacks, and whenever the boy looked up and caught your gaze, the furrow between his brows reappeared. You thought about Steve in a new state, across the country in a dorm room that had a bed you’d never sleep in, one that was open to other girls, girls you’d never know about.
Maybe there would be another camp, there’d certainly be another job. And there would be classes and lectures, campus coffee shops and student bars, all overflowing with new people to meet. Maybe Steve would find someone there, someone he didn’t hate at first, someone who he could flirt with, someone who didn’t know about his parents, his past, his daddy’s influence.
Maybe he’d be happier there. Without you.
Dustin was still looking at you, waiting for a response. You tried to smile, you did. But it was tight and watery, and not believable at all. “I don’t know, bud,” you shrugged. “It’s… whatever.”
If Steve could decide that he didn’t care anymore, that he could go back to glaring at you across the forest, you could too. What did he expect you to do? Wake up in his arms and suddenly decide that you were okay with moving to another state? That you were happy to obey his fathers orders, just like he was?
It didn’t make a difference. Nothing would change. It didn’t matter. If Steve wanted to play enemies again, fine. You’d give as good as he did.
—————
When Dustin and El found you later that day, you were glad for the distraction. The lake had been quiet after swimming classes, the forest shrouded in shadows after heavy clouds rolled in, hiding the sun. The two had run towards you from the centre of camp, sneakers kicking up dust as you watched them, ignoring how Billy was trying to edge closer, fingers teasing at the straps of your swimsuit.
You’d told him to leave you alone, you’d told him to fuck off. You’d even tried to ignore him. Every option only made the boy grin wider. So you left your post on the dock and made your way towards the kids, smiling up until you saw their worried faces, panic in their eyes. You moved faster, meeting them by the shoreline, concern growing like a knot in your stomach.
“What’s wrong?” You asked, already searching over their heads for some kind of danger, for an emergency.
“Will needs help!” Dustin urged as El grabbed your hand, tugging at you, waiting for you to follow.
“What? What’s wrong? Where is he?” You were already running with them, following them past the mess hall, past the gym, towards where the cabins grew older, damp and unused, overgrown with vines and weeds.
“Uh, an allergic reaction!” Dustin yelled.
“Asthma attack!” El told you at the same time.
You slowed, just a little, your pace stumbling at each answer. You looked down at the girl, her flushed cheeks and wide eyes, wondering if you’d heard them both right. “Wait, wha—?” But then Dustin was grabbing your other hand and pulling you with determination, feet tripping over fallen branches until a cabin came into view.
Lucas and Max were standing outside of it, waving their arms like they were trying to flag you down, as if you could miss them.
“He’s in here!” Lucas told you, worried scrambled with what you thought was panic. “We think it’s a snake bite. Maybe a tarantula!”
Again, you stopped, looking between the four kids with confusion wrinkling your features. “What? A tarantula? Guys— shouldn’t we get Hopper? Someone needs to—”
“Mike and Suzie are getting him,” Max assured you, smiling too sweetly as Lucas and El placed their hands on your back, pushing you towards the door.
The cabin was dark, most of the windows boarded up, broken glass on the forest floor. Why the fuck was Will in there? Before you could ask, you were shoved one final time, the door slamming shut behind you. You made a sound of protest, turning to wiggle the handle but it was already locked.
“Guys! What the hell!” You thumped on the door with a fist, rattling the wood until the old hinges squeaked in protest. It wouldn’t budge. “Are you kidding me?”
There was nothing but the sound of birds, insects that buzzed and the distant sound of kids on the lake. “Guys! Dustin! I swear to god, you’re gonna be in so much trouble. I know this was your idea—”
The rusting of leaves, a twig snapping and then more voices. Hushed whispers that were interjected with another voice, an older one.
Male and annoyed.
No.
The cabin door opened abruptly and before you could barge your way out, another body was shoved inside, clumsy and disorientated. The figure was tall, broad shouldered and wearing a camp counsellor shirt, the forest green cotton sun bleached and faded. The boy’s hair was a mess, his cheeks already freckled from the sun, his brown eyes squinting into the dim light as he adjusted out of the sun.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“What the fuck?” Steve stood in the middle of the empty cabin, scowling at you even through his confusion. But the door had already been slammed shut again, the metallic clunk of a deadbolt sliding into place. “What’s going on? Those little shits told me they found a fucking bear cub.”
You rolled your eyes, stomping over to the door to bang on it again. “There’s no bears in Indiana, Steve, we’ve been over this.” You huffed when Steve swore and suddenly the cabin felt five times as small. “Dustin! Max!”
Silence.
“Then how’d they get you here, huh?” Steve spat, marching over to one of the boarded windows, doing his best to push the planks free of the rusted nails. “Did they tell you Hargrove was wet and waiting or something?”
You stared at him, gaze withering as you attempted to ram your shoulder into the door. It did nothing but bruise your arm and your ego, the wood refusing to move. “Get over yourself, Steve. Just because you’re happy to let Chrissy follow you around with her pom-poms out, doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump the next guy I see. Lucas! I know you’re still there! El, open the door!”
The space outside the cabin was silent and for a horrified second, you were almost sure the kids had left.
“I told you, it’s not like that,” Steve growled, slamming his palm into the board one more time.
“Yeah, well, despite me being repulsed by Billy Hargrove for the last five years, you don’t seem to get that it’s not like that either,” your voice was poisonous, your glare just as deadly. “So let’s not play that game, Harrington.”
Steve let out a bitter laugh, forgetting about his escape plan to round on you instead. “Oh, so it’s Harrington again, is it?”
[EXILE BY TAYLOR SWIFT FT. BON IVER]
It felt awfully familiar, the sharpness in his tone, the mocking laughter, the way he glared at you. ‘Cause despite the anger, the annoyance, the frustration, a tension was still there that you’d recognised from your first year at camp with Steve.
A feeling that followed you home to Hawkins, one that greeted you every time you bumped into the boy in the supermarket, every time you spotted him at the pool, the arcade, the bowling alley. A tension that fizzed and popped, your own personal storm that crackled everytime Steve Harrington was near.
Except now - just like the beginning - you weren’t able to do anything about it.
“I can think of names that are a lot less nice than that,” you snapped back, turning away from the door to face him. “Take your pick, I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you would, princess,” Steve was closer now, toe to toe, another achingly familiar position. You could smell his cologne, his sunscreen. You could see the way new freckles had gathered across the bridge of his nose. “No need to get bitchy about it though.”
All thoughts of kissing him, of lunging forward and pushing your lips to his to try and end this mess - to fix it - left your head at his words. You gaped at him, anger rising, blood boiling. Steve looked at you like he knew he’d overstepped.
“Bitchy?” You repeated, your voice getting higher in pitch and volume. “About it? It?”
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
“What’s ‘it’ Steve?” You steamrolled him, arms crossed over your chest as you took another step forward, your converse kicking at the toes of his sneakers. “Our breakup? I'm not to get bitchy about that?”
“Hey, you’re the one who broke up with me,” Steve shot back, an accusatory finger pointed in your direction. “So don’t act all high and mighty about it.”
“I broke up with you?” You scoffed, letting the annoyance buzz at your skin like a swarm of wasps, anything to stop yourself from crying. “You’re leaving, Steve. You’re leaving me, remember?”
“You left me the other night!” Steve burst out, throwing back his response like it was suddenly a competition, a contest to see who hurt the other more. To see who’s heart was the most broken. “You left. I woke up, and you were fucking gone, so don’t start yelling about being left alone.”
You weren’t sure who was winning.
“You’re moving across the fucking country!” You yelled, finally snapping, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “You’re really, really leaving me.”
You took a step back then, and another and another, clumsy through the cabin until your back hit a table. Steve’s hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach out, like he wanted you to hold onto it. He didn’t move.
“What do you want me to do?” Steve said, his voice more serious than you’d ever heard it. In fact, he sounded a little like his dad. “You want me to say no to him? Huh? D’you want me to say fuck it to the last opportunity I’ll probably ever get? Want me to stay unsuccessful with a shit job and a shit wage and just hope one day I can do enough for you? For us?”
Your eyes turned watery at that, despite the anger his words ignited in you, the frustration. “You’ve always been enough for me, Steve.”
The boy came closer then, like he’d wanted to. His footsteps were unsure, nervous and slow, but when he realised you weren’t backing away, you weren’t running, he was suddenly toe to toe. He was taller, tall enough for you to have to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and you didn’t try to hide your tears. You held your head proud instead, refusing to look away. Your stubbornness made the boy smile, a little knowing, a little sad. ‘Cause he wanted to wipe your eyes, sweep his thumb under your lash line and pull you close.
“So what do I do, princess? Rip up the acceptance letter and mail the pieces to my dad? Hope he doesn’t kick me out of the family? Hope I have a bed to go back to? Do I get down on my knees for you here? Do I beg for you? Do I ask you to be mine again and hope to fuck that what ever comes next works out for us? Do I go back to Family Video and wait for you to work out what you wanna do with your life too?”
Steve wasn’t teary eyed like you were, but his expression seemed worse. His brows knitted together, his gaze helpless, sad, worried. But his hands were frantic, suddenly on your waist and pulling you close, chests bumping, his fingers twisting into your shirt.
“Do I kiss you now? Do I fuck you over this table and call you princess? Tell you that-- that,” Steve choked on his words, shaking his head at you like you were the one asking for him to say it. To admit it. “To tell you that I love you and it’s gonna be fine no matter what?”
You could help but feel the pull in your stomach at his words, the hook there that seemed to be tied to the way Steve kept his hands on you, your body pressed against his. He leaned in and you kept your eyes on his, noses bumping, lips hovering. It seemed so long since you’d last kissed him, years and years and years. You wondered what would happen if you gave in, if you pushed yourself onto your toes and pressed your mouth to his. Would it fix things? Would it change his mind, would it change yours? Would it make you feel better, even just for a second?
“Are you happy?” you asked the boy instead and you watched his bravado crumble in front of your eyes. “Are you happy about Arizona? About college? About finance and your future and leaving?”
Steve let go of you and stepped back, his warmth and the smell of his cologne fading. You should’ve stopped talking, you should’ve pulled him back and kissed him one last time, let him pull off your clothes, clumsy and desperate, you should’ve begged for him to make you come one last time, you should’ve made him feel so good that he’d never forget the way you felt wrapped around him.
“Would you be happy if I came with you? If I let your dad buy us some condo in Phoenix? If I went to college too, to study a major I didn’t want? Maybe get a job in an office where I gotta wear some tight, little pencil skirt and too high heels, but shit, it’s good money, right?” You were breathing harder now, trying not to cry, trying not to give in and say fuck it to all of it. “Would that make you happy, Steve?”
‘No,’ he wanted to say. ‘No it wouldn’t.’ He wanted to tell you that he wanted none of that, that none of that would make him feel any better. He wanted to yell out and kick the wall, kick the door. He wanted to grab you and pull you close, ask you to kiss him until he felt better, until he had enough courage to tell his dad that he wasn’t fucking following his rules. Until he felt brave enough to take your hand and let the pieces fall where they may.
Instead, he turned and made his way to the door, opening it easily, like the kids had heard enough and realised that this wasn’t going to work. Steve stopped then, his back to you as he paused in the doorframe, the forest empty and quiet before him. Like it was waiting for him, like you were.
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Steve murmured sadly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“I just want you to be happy, Steve,” you whispered back. “I want you to do what makes you happy.”
Steve walked away.
—————
Steve didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed to get away from the cabin, from you, from the way you looked at him, the way you sounded. Like you were broken and hurt and it was all his fault.
Like he couldn’t do anything about it.
He passed the kids who were lingering by a broken log, kicking stones and looking guilty. Steve didn’t say anything, just tried to smile a little sadly at Dustin when he mouthed an apology, eyes wide and sad.
The wild roots and the overgrown bushes eventually gave way back to the normality of the camp, well worn pathways and the sounds of the lake. If you’d followed him, Steve didn’t know, he didn’t hear, he didn’t look back. His father’s voice was in his head, an echo from weeks before, a mantra about what it took to become a man, six figure paychecks and the white picket fence dream.
He didn’t want to go to Arizona. He didn’t want to leave you.
Steve kept walking.
A fast car, an office with a view, a mahogany desk, a custom leather briefcase, a pretty wife and a prettier secretary. Kids you didn’t talk to, a cheque book you could bargain with, a house that was bigger than your neighbours, a pool out back that was deeper than everyone else’s.
Steve kept walking.
A promotion, golf on the weekends with your boss, business cards with your name embossed in gold. Arguments at Christmas, couples therapy on your tenth wedding anniversary, a secret email address for the woman nobody knew about.
Steve kept walking.
A life like his dad’s, his parent’s.
“Is that you, Harrington?”
Steve groaned, turning to see Billy walking up the dock and towards him. The kids in Billy’s swim group were just leaving, variations of soaking wet and shivering as they all ran past Steve with towels bundled around their shoulders, greeting him with enthusiasm.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Steve huffed, levelling the other boy with a glare that told the other counsellor that he was less than pleased to see him. Steve waited until the last camper ran past them, stumbling towards the mess hall with wet feet. “Don’t cream your pants.”
Billy grinned, that wide spreading smile that made him look more dangerous rather than friendly. He was spinning his whistle from one finger, shirtless and tanned, sauntering towards Steve like he had all the time in the world. “I’ll try not to,” he snarked, eyebrows raised. “But word on the street is you’re the one who’s not gettin’ any.”
“Get fucked, Hargrove,” Steve snarled, immediately on edge, shouldering his way past the other boy so he could continue walking to god knows where. Maybe he’d find Eddie. Maybe he’d let him sulk in the corner of the music cabin.
“Always trying,” Billy answered gleefully, ignoring Steve’s bad mood. “What about your girl?”
Steve stopped.
“My bad, she’s not your girl anymore, is she?” Steve didn’t need to turn back around to know Billy was still grinning. He could hear the laughter in his voice, the pleasure at his twisted words. “Either way, I’m pretty sure she’ll be gagging for it by now, right? You guys were always at it. In the gym, your cabin, fuck— I bet she’ll jump on the next guy who offers—”
If Steve was surprised he let Billy talk that long before launching himself at him, well, so was Billy. Steve’s fist landed on the other boy’s jaw with a crunch, a satisfyingly, sickening noise that only urged Steve on. He managed to grapple at the boy pushing him over until Billy tumbled into the dirt, skin smeared with wet sand and pine needles.
It didn’t take much for Steve to land on top of him, anger and frustration coming out as quickly as the blood from his knuckles. He managed to aim one more blow at Billy’s nose before the boy pushed him back, the breath knocked from Steve’s lungs as a fist caught his cheekbone, a crack resonating through his face, making his head buzz, his ears ring. He let out a yell as he tried to bring his knee up, catching Billy in the groin with it, pushing him back even as Billy tried his best to push Steve’s head into the forest floor, pine cones piercing his shoulders, his neck, his cheek.
And then the pressure was lifted from his chest as Billy was hauled away, tattooed arms lifting the boy off of Steve, Eddie yelling obscenities as Billy thrashed.
Steve scrambled up, launching himself forward without a care, ignoring Eddie’s warnings as he raised his arm again to try and land another hit but Jonathan caught his wrist, wrenching him backwards.
“Fuck, man. Let it go, yeah?”
Steve was panting, blood on his knuckles, a split in his cheek that was angry and red, pine needles and sand on his shirt and in his hair. “You didn’t hear what he was saying,” the boy managed to ground out. “What he was sayin’ about, about—”
“She’s not your fucking girl, Harrington,” Billy yelled, cursing when Eddie elbowed him in the side, never letting go of the hold he had on him. “The only person you’re gettin’ fucked by now is your daddy—”
Steve managed one more hit, a crack to Billy’s nose that Eddie winced at but said nothing. Unfortunately, Hopper had a lot to add to the conversation as he marched towards the group, yelling before he was even within hearing distance, moustache twitching as the campers that Steve didn’t even see, parted as he got closer.
“Harrington! Hargrove!”
Eddie and Jonathan stepped back from the accused, hands raised to show their intact knuckles, how their hands were clean, not bloodied.
“My office! Now!”
—————
Eddie jumped up from where he was lying on his bunk when Steve finally entered the cabin. The boy was flustered looking, knuckles wiped clean of blood but the cuts on his fingers and face were angry looking, red and fresh.
Hours had passed since Hopper had led the two boys into his office, both covered in blood and pieces of the forest floor, glaring at each other as they walked into the cabin.
Steve stripped off his dirty shirt as Eddie eyed him warily, dropping the comic he’d been reading in order to sit at the end of his bed and wait. When Steve finally pulled on a clean staff shirt and sighed, Eddie threw him an ice pack that he’d managed to wrangle from Joyce’s office.
“Did he fire you?”
“He offered me a job.”
Eddie blinked. “What?”
Steve groaned, letting himself fall onto the bed, his hands scrubbing at his face, hissing when he caught the Billy inflicted cut on his cheekbone. “He offered me a fucking job, dude. Didn’t even yell.”
“Like, a new job? An actual job?” Eddie moved to the end of Steve’s bed, shoving at his friend's legs until there was enough room for him to sit. “What the fuck?”
“He dealt with Hargrove and told him to walk it off,” Steve murmured, wincing when he brought the ice pack to his face. “Then he sat me down and asked me what the fuck I was playing at. He wasn’t even mad about the fight, he told me he’d heard about Arizona—‘bout my dad.”
Eddie just waited, breath held as he wondered where this was going, if Steve was going to crack.
“He said it was a real shame I wouldn’t be back next summer and that it was an even bigger crime that I was listening to Michael Harrington.”
Eddie’s mouth fell open and he picked at the bedspread, suddenly feeling awkward. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Shit. Told me he knew my dad from school, apparently they played football together or somethin’. Said he was sad that I was doing something I didn’t wanna do.”
Eddie paused then, waiting. Waiting for Steve to admit it to him the same way he’d get to admit it to himself. “What did you say?”
“Nothing at first.” Steve shrugged. “But he sat and stared me out like some kinda cop and fuck, I dunno. I started rambling.”
With raised brows and an expectant expression, Eddie waved his hand at the boy. “About?”
Steve squirmed, pink cheeked and embarrassed. He stared at the bedsheets, shrugging. “Everything, I guess. Anyway, he said he and Murray have been planning to open this kids club thing for a while, some kind of community centre. S’open seven days a week, all through the year. Not just summer.”
Steve stood up then, pacing, his hand going to his hair to pull ag the strands and Eddie had to turn to watch him, up and down, up and down the cabin.
“He wants me to run it.”
“Shit,” Eddie was quiet, shocked.
“Shit,” Steve agreed.
“Like, a manager?”
“Yeah, like a manager. Full time.” Steve let out another sigh and he sounded tense. Stressed. “It’s in Shelbyville.”
Eddie let out a low whistle, flopping back onto the space Steve had vacated. His head hit the pillows and he smiled, unable to help himself. “That’s near Hawkins, right?”
“‘Bout a half hour out,” Steve confirmed.
“Hell of a lot closer than Arizona, huh?”
“Yeah, sure is.”
“So, he offered you it, just like that?” Eddie snapped his fingers and stared at the beams across the ceiling, not sure how far he could push Steve. “No degree needed?”
“No degree needed,” Steve repeated. He sounded dazed. “Good pay, healthcare, dental, pension. Everything. Hop said he thought I’d be really good at it. That he couldn’t imagine asking anyone else.”
Steve didn’t say anything about how his manager’s words made him realise that his dad didn’t know him at all. Less than he’d originally thought.
Silence took over, just for a few minutes and Steve did the same as Eddie, flopping down onto the other bunk with a soft ‘oof’, his arms stretched out the mattress and his eyes trained on the ceiling. In the quiet, he could hear the kids by the lake, wrestled into order by another staff member, someone who sounded like Nancy. A whistle blew, shrill and sharp and then splashes, happy shrieks. Steve lay until the sun warmed his face, until he had to squint and sit up, the cabin filled with that golden kind of light that only appeared around dinner time.
The same light hit off Eddie’s rings, silver turning even brighter and rainbows bounced off of them, tiny and scattering across the walls when Eddie moved. He sat up when Steve did, both boys peach and pink coloured in the sun.
“So, what’re you gonna do?” Eddie finally asked. He said it softly, like he was scared to ask, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
“I’m not sure,” Steve replied honestly and he didn’t try to hide the distress on his features. He felt tired, too heavy. A little lost. “But I don’t want to fucking go to Arizona.”
PART TWO
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader smut#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington one shot
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𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒₊˚❀₊˚.
— 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬
How the men of the Spiderverse ask you to be their date for prom. Based on this request.
paring: Hobie Brown × Fem!Reader, Spider Noir (he's 19 y'all) × Fem!Reader, Miles Morales (earth 1610) × Fem!Reader
genre: Fluffy drabbles & headcanons, SFW
notes: For this headcannon I will mainly focus on teens and younger characters as they are closer to the age range for prom.
*ೃ༄ 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐢𝐫
Noir is old fashioned, so he will definitely be the type to pull out a bouquet of roses, a romantic letter, and maybe even a box of chocolate for his promposal. He will ask you directly as he thinks it shows his sincerity and love for you more (and he also thinks that it is not proper to ask someone indirectly for an event as grand as this).
"Ah thank you for escorting me home tonight Peter," you said sweetly as you walked the final steps of the staircase to your apartment complex.
Peter nodded, silently trailing behind you. It is midnight, a dangerous time for young high school girls such as yourself to roam around the streets (albeit you are eighteen and an official adult, he does not trust men).
"So, I will just go in now," you pointed towards the door, "I will see you next weekend."
"Wait," he suddenly stops you.
Peter pulls out from his coat pocket an envelope and from behind his back a bouquet of fresh red roses.
"Would you be my date?"
You gasp. "Why of course Peter!"
You jump into his strong arms and he swings you around.
Once you are put on the floor again, you peck him on the lips to which he responds passionately, gnawing your tender flesh and hands all over your body.
His touches are ticklish. Your sounds of laughter resonates through the building, and Peter chuckles along with you.
You suddenly stop, seemingly realizing something.
"Wait, how did I not notice you got a whole bouquet of roses right behind you?"
Peter looks away.
"Um... that does not matter."
♱‧₊˚ 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧
Hobie would ask you out in confidence and style. He will plan a surprise for you for his promposal, and it will be extremely prepared and ready. He is not exactly the lovey-dovey type but he has a way with words and that pulls you in.
"Oh what is this?" You asked yourself as you entered your apartment.
The space is decorated strings strings of lights in the ceilings and a path of scattered rose petals leading to the kitchen — all obviously the works of your boyfriend Hobie.
"Hmm..?”
You follow the path into the room to a wall with a blue note taped to it.
"Go to the study room," you read, "Oh," You notice something.
Below the note on the desktop you see a small box wrapped in patterned paper. You quickly open it.
In it, contains a brand new copy of the ring that you had lost on your first date with Hobie. You had told him it is an important item left by your mother, you did not expect him to actually remember it.
"Oh my god."
The heartfelt present roused your interest for what would come next, and you quickly follow the clue and goes into the study room.
You arrive in front of your office table and sees a yellow note taped to it with a red box placed beside it.
You open it, and pick up a phone decorated in stylish stickers.
Examining the work more closely, you take notice of the additional buttons and pieces cleverly induced into it, probably made for applications of sorts that normal phones could not achieve.
Chest filled with happiness, you grab the note and reads out the next clue.
"Go to the bedroom."
You do so contently.
On your bed scatters a variety of bags and boxes of snacks that you love. Against the headboards sits a cardboard sign with words written in colored marker: ___ would you go to prom with me?
A large cut-out arrow below the text points towards the balcony, and you scream as you noticed who is there.
Hobie, dressed in posh couture, stood cross-legged leaning against the railings. He has a bouquet of flowers in his hand, seemingly freshly picked.
"Since when did you get in here?"
You went to hug him, and he pulls you closer for a peck on the forehead.
"Not too long ago."
"You surprised me."
"I know."
He kisses you again on the lips this time, passionately.
"So what's the answer huh?" He murmured against you, "I prepared so much for this."
"It's a yes, obviously."
“…Hmm I want to celebrate this, with something more physical."
You give him a look, and he stares at you right back mischievously.
"Come on, is your acceptance not worth celebrating?”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬
Miles would be so adorable when asking you out, like he will be dressed up in his best shirts and kicks, and would definitely be the type to be nervously knocking on your door. He thought about asking you on text before because he knows he will probably be super nervous, but he feel like that will show that he is not sincere, so he asked you in person instead. He's awkward, but in a cute way where you just could not reject him.
Maybe he should go. Maybe he should head back, lay back onto the comfort of his bed, and just take his time to make a well-written text message to ask you out.
But he is already at the steps of your door. He has flowers and gifts. And he knows you would not be satisfied with just a text. (who would?)
He rings the bell once more.
Miles only realizes how heartdropping it is to ask someone to prom just now. His heart is thumping, his belly is flipping, and despite years of athletic building as Spider-Man, his legs felt like two wobbly sticks of clumpy jello.
The door opens. His breath stops.
"Who are you?"
A man appears in the doorway, looking at him up and down.
"Um, I am here for ___,” Miles reports.
The man nods and turns back and calls out your name.
You quickly run down the staircase and meets Miles on the steps.
"Would you like to go to prom with me?"
He hands you the flowers and the card and the chocolates.
You look at him in a daze.
"I-um of course."
You watch the edges of Miles's lips slowly grow upwards.
"Nice."
#miles morales fanfiction#miles morales#miles morales headcanons#miles morales fic#miles morales x reader#miles morales fluff#spiderman across the spiderverse#miles morales x reader fluff#hobie brown#hobie brown x reader#spider punk x reader#spider punk x y/n#spider punk#hobie brown fluff#spiderman fanfiction#hobie brown fic#hobie brown headcanons#spiderman into the spiderverse#spider noir x reader#spider noir#spiderman noir x reader#spiderman noir#spider noir fluff#fluff#spider noir x you#spiderman headcanon#request#miles morales imagine#hobie brown imagine#spider noir imagine
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your touch
eddie x female reader
summary: eddie survives the “earthquake” but has a hard time adjusting to changes, thankfully you are there
“This thing… fucking itches.”
He stood in the mirror. Harsh glow of sickly green fluorescent lights accentuating his mauled torso. Scrutinizing himself, hating what looked back at him.
“It’s only temporary,” you try to reassure him, speaking with a calm voice gently stroking soft hands over his hips, “just for a few—”
“Years babe!” He says hotly, irritation bubbling beneath his temples as he stares back at your eyes in the mirror, “a few years—you say it as if it’s not a big deal, like it’ll be over tomorrow.”
‘86 wasn’t Eddie’s year.
What was supposed to be filled with celebrating graduation and possibly a trip to LA to find a recording studio who would take him and the band seriously, ended in a week's time over Spring Break.
A week that brought new turmoil, hatred, fear and devastation to Hawkins— starting with a dead cheerleader, ending with a come-to-life DnD monster wreaking havoc across the small sheltered town.
Many people died. And if you asked any living member of Hawkins besides a select few; Eddie and yourself were also considered dead.
You stroke the back of his neck—small circles scratching lightly against bare skin, stubborn stubble peeking through showing itself off.
“Honey,” you purr with lips to his back, looking at him in the same mirror he hated more and more everyday that he had been here. “You know what the other option was.”
The town wanted Eddie dead and Owens agreed that having him be just that on paper would be the safest option. A little hush government money, a silly new name— Eddie was cool with that, almost excited.
“I know, I know..” he groans, fingers raking through the thick brown beard on his chin, defeated. “But this—” he says tugging harshly, “itches and.. and fuck—”
His appearance had to change.
Hawkins wasn’t satisfied with the claims that he was dead from the earthquake, they wanted to see a body, churchgoers going medieval, calling for his head on a stake in the middle of town.
Not wearing his rings made him feel like he was naked. He hated the feeling of it at first. But what really put the nail in the coffin was when he had to cut his hair, and “possibly grow a beard if he was able to” per Owen’s requests.
You work your fingers through the tufts of his beard, gently untangling the coarse hair and massaging his chin. “You’re still handsome.”
When Eddie got down on himself he stayed there in the wallowing depths, barely above water for weeks. Finding no joy in things he used to, some days even refusing to eat.
“I’m scarred up…don’t even look like my— I can’t fucking do this.” His frustration gets the best of him, letting a fist fly into the mirror—shattering it into pieces that clank loud in the sink, some tinkering down the drain and across the tiled floor.
He curses loud as blood flows angry and crimson from his knuckles, pit pattering onto the ceramic sink. He watches it slide down into a collecting path, pooling into a mass before it deepens, staining the floor entirely.
Minutes pass, and you haven’t said a word, giving him the space he needs. Eddie cleans himself up, bandaging his hand carelessly as he scrambles trying to piece the mirror back together, maybe if he had some tape he could fix it for you.
“I’m sorry baby,” he mutters around a fresh flock of tears, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.. I’m so fucking sorry, please don’t leave me.”
He feels your hands wrap around his waist again. Cold as silk, stinging like a frostbite, comforting him the only way you could.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie hears, feeling your icy hands trace around his heart, “I’m always here.”
Sanity left him long ago, the barred enclosure taking its toll on his mind, his body. The others couldn’t understand—maybe didn’t want to understand why.
Why the inmate talked to his mirror.
a follow up to this story, the raven told me of you, is linked here
#eddie munson#eddie munson drabble#eddie drabble#eddie imagine#eddie munson fanfic#eddie fanfiction#eddie fan fiction#eddie fanfic#eddie angst#eddie x you
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𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗕𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗦 (𝗦𝗢 𝗗𝗢 𝗜)
KINKTOBER ACT II, eric northman x fem!reader
summary: 2.7k
“You smell fucking amazing,” he groans and his teeth drag against your pulse point. Before you can make any sort of comment on that, you feel his teeth puncture into your skin just as two of his fingers sink into your cunt. His incredibly long and devastatingly thick fingers that are already stretching you out as they slowly thrust in.
or the one where eric has a specific taste for blood. yours.
warnings: not beta’d, smut, significant age gap (eric is like 1000, r is early 20s), dub-con, mind control on the low, blood drinking, high sex (eric's blood/v), smoking
masterlist | taglist | kinktober
When vampires had first come out of the coffin, you’d been barely above the age of seventeen, and their integration into the mainstream had been a whirlwind you’d been utterly unprepared for. Being from the south, your parents had instilled a deep sense of distrust in your fanged counterparts. Or, in your own words, fear.
Your parents had nearly tried to keep you out of college because of it, claiming you’d be much safer here at home, but you’d nipped that in the bud fairly quickly. Still, that didn’t mean you were going to let it slip to them where you were going on your evenings spent at home over the summer. All they needed to know is that you’d be home in the morning.
Your friends had been begging you to go to this bar across town with them for ages. They’d been going for years, but, being the only one in the group not willing to get a fake ID, you’d been left out of all the fun. Now, though, that you were over the legal drinking age, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to check it out seeing as your friends seemed to like it so much. Or, as you came to find out, seeing as they apparently liked the owner so much.
“You’re gonna freak when you see him,” Rachel says, looking over at you from the driver’s seat. You’d been friends with Rachel for forever, longer than you can remember. She’d gone off to school somewhere in the northeast–a liberal arts college with less than two thousand total students–and it’d been ages since you’d last seen her.
“I don’t get what’s so special about him?”
“Are you kidding me?” Rachel squeaks. “About Eric fucking Northman?”
Anyone who’d been west of Baton Rouge knew the name Eric Northman. It was undeniable. Someone could whisper the name in a corner of a packed ballroom, and a hush would fall over the crowd.
And, yet, somehow, despite living in Shreveport since your conception, it hadn’t crossed your path.
“Yeah?” you drawl. “He’s probably just some guy.”
“Some guy,” Gina scoffs.
“He’s quite literally the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen,” she says as she fiddles with her engagement ring. “He’s a fucking god.”
“Sure,” you say, rolling your eyes.
It isn’t much longer before you’re pulling into a shady parking lot behind a vacant liquor store. There’s a couple other cars in the lot, mostly what your father would call shit-boxes that have either been sewn together with duct tape or have bumpers that have been left to drag the ground. Slamming the passenger door shut, you reach into the pocket of your jacket to take out the pack of cigarettes, stamping one on your bottom lip as you dig further in the pocket to find your lighter.
Your friends have already walked across the lot to step into line when you finally get a light, shoving your materials back into your jacket as you jog over to where they are at the back of the, thankfully, fast-moving line.
“Really?” Rachel asks.
“Just be glad I didn’t do it in the car, okay.” You offer a squint of your eyes in a pseudo smile.
“Whatever,” she sighs.
The bouncer lets the three men in biker jackets ahead of you in and stops to examine you. She seems to recognize your friends and nods at them to follow the men, only to stick a manicured hand out in front of your chest as soon as you take a step.
“I’m with them,” you huff, tapping the ashes out of your cigarette.
“Sorry, sweetie. I’m gonna need to see some ID,” she drawls. The sweetie comes out in a sharp bite that has you taking a step away from her outstretched arm. She grabs the butt from between your lips and stamps it out beneath her stiletto’d heel.
“Fine,” you say. Digging in the other pocket of your jacket, you grab your wallet and hand over your driver's license. You’re thankful you’d just recently gotten your ID updated and have the horizontal one now, or you’re sure she would’ve kept you back. Where, you’re also sure, your friends would have left you to sit for the rest of the night.
“Have a good night,” she says, handing it back to you and allowing you to step into the crimson bar. As soon as you’re through the door, you dig your pack out and light a new cigarette. Bitch.
Your eyes gravitate toward the stage. A very large throne sits to the side of it, flanked by two overgrown men with their eyes scanning the small dance floor at the foot of the stage. The man in the throne is bigger. Much bigger. Large to the point that he dwarfs the chair you think would swallow you whole. You watch as he sits up, spine straightening as he looks the crowd over.
You don’t think anything of it until his gaze falls on you. He seems to smile, and it’s then that you see the sharp canines extending out of his gums.
You suppose coming to a vampire bar should’ve made you mentally prepare to come into contact with a vampire or two.
The man on the throne appears before you in an instant, fangs retracted as he gives you a softer smile than he’d had previously. It unnerves you, still, with the way his eyes seem glazed over and his body hovers over yours. You glance back at the stage, eyes flickering nervously back and forth as if it’d just been a trick of the lights and you’d catch him lounging there again if you blinked hard enough.
“You are… a pretty thing, aren’t you,” he says, voice growling in a register lower than you’d been expecting. It sends a shiver down your spine. He’s tall. Frighteningly, inhumanly tall in a way that has you cowering beneath him. Even seeing him on the stage before, it’s much more shocking up close. “It’s a shame you feel the need to taint it with that.”
He gestures to the stick between your lips with a flippant gesture, plucking it from your mouth to stamp it beneath his boot. What’s with everyone stealing your cigarettes tonight?
“Hey-”
“Still,” he leans down until his nose is inches away from your jaw and inhales. You don’t have the time to push him back before he’s returned to his full height.
“Who the fuck are you?” you ask, attempting to take a step back only to bump into one of the bustling–and fairly sweaty–bodies behind you. The man raises his brow in surprise.
“My, my,” he says. “Coming all the way out to my little bar and you treat me this way?”
“Eric,” you exhale. Your friends were right. He’s beautiful.
“And you are?” You give him your name in a huff.
“Follow me,” he says.
“I don’t know-” His fingers come up beneath your chin to tilt your face so that you’re like him in the eye. Something swirls within them, something you can’t place. You do your best to ignore the dull throb emanating beneath your dress.
“Follow me.”
Your legs seem to move of their own accord, hand reaching up to take his as he leads you across the dingy floor towards a door beside the bar. You dodge bodies crumpled together between tables and chairs and slink behind him as he nods at a bouncer guarding the door. Once it’s open, he gestures for you to enter first.
It’s a small office looking room. Various pictures and files line the walls and every surface is drowned in boxes and other small objects. You don’t have the time to get a good look at any of them, though, before Eric is spinning you to face him once again.
You can see the way his lips twitch as you meet his gaze, nostrils flared. His hand lands on your shoulder, dragging down the side of your arm as goosebumps sprout in its wake. You want to blame it on the fact that he’s freezing, on the fact that he’s got fangs. On the fact that he owns this whole bar and now you’re standing in his office with the door locked. Not on the fact that he’s probably got decades of experience. Or, god forbid, centuries.
“Why did you bring me here?” you ask. It comes out in a whisper, voice hoarse from swallowing hard. Breath hitching, your knees do their best not to buckle as Eric steps into you, forcing you back until your ass hits the edge of his desk. His leg comes to press between your thighs. With a nudge, his knee would be pressing directly against you, and you’re thankful he gives you the space. You inch up the desk until you’re halfway sitting on it. There’s no reason for you to be as hot as you are right now, and less of a reason for him to know about it so soon. Honestly, he can probably smell it on you.
“Why do you think I brought you back here?” he asks, hands falling against your thighs. There’s no pressure, just their presence.
“I don’t fuck random guys in bars,” you say.
He stalls, hands crawling up to rest on your hips.
“I’m the owner.”
“So I was right,” you say. “You lured me back here just to fuck me.”
He hums. You can’t tell if it's in agreement. His knee presses into you fully and you hope he chooses not to comment on how you’re pulsating against it.
“Would you like that?” he asks. He brings his hands down again, this time to the hem of your dress. He begins to push up. Slowly. Oh, so slow, you barely register it until it’s bunched up at the tops of your thighs. You’re not sure why you nod. You think if asked you at a different time, a second before or after, you would have shaken your head and allowed him to lead you back out to the patrons, to your two friends who would lose their minds if they knew where you were right now.
His mouth finds yours as he pushes your dress the rest of the way up. You can feel the way you’re leaving a damp spot against his pants and try not to whimper as he applies more pressure with his knee. You don’t succeed in that venture. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss. It’s not nearly as rough as you had expected it to be, but it’s far from soft. His tongue is in your mouth, licking at the flats of your teeth. His fingers dig into your skin as he thumbs at the seam of your panties, pressing it to the side enough to gather the wetness coating your slit and drag it up to your clit. Your hips jump against him.
He disconnects your lips to trail his kisses down the dies of your face and down your neck. Pulling back, he draws your eyes up to look, and the dark swirl from earlier returns.
“Don’t scream,” he says. “Unless it’s my name.”
Before he re-attaches himself to your neck, you watch as his fangs click out, and you feel the cold rod of fear as it slides down your spine.
“You smell fucking amazing,” he groans and his teeth drag against your pulse point. Before you can make any sort of comment on that, you feel his teeth puncture into your skin just as two of his fingers sink into your cunt. His incredibly long and devastatingly thick fingers that are already stretching you out as they slowly thrust in.
“Eric,” you squeal. You’re already dizzy, his tongue laving at the skin of your neck. Finally, he pulls back and you feel seconds away from passing out. His fingers are still inside of you, massaging your walls. His free hand comes up to his mouth, and you watch as his fangs pierce the skin there and he’s holding his bloody palm up to your mouth.
“Drink,” he says. You oblige and suddenly you’re dizzy in an entirely different way. Every touch feels heightened, every item in the room seems to glow, and Eric truly, honestly, looks like a fucking god. The open wound on your neck stops aching and you swear you feel the holes close up.
“Eric, please,” you whine. He tugs your panties down first, balling them up in his fist and tossing them somewhere behind his desk. Then his belt comes undone and he’s yanking his pants down just enough to pull his cock out of the confines. And if you thought his fingers were big before.
“That’s not gonna fucking fit,” you gasp. He jerks himself until he’s fully hard.
“Trust me, sweetheart. It will,” he says as he notches himself against your entrance.
“No, I swear, you’re gonna rip me in half!”
“Trying hard not to do that, already,” he says. He pushes in with one solid thrust. Even only halfway in, you can feel him in your throat. “Feel even better than you taste.”
Your ankles link around his back and your feet dig into his ass in an attempt to get him to move, to push into you until you can feel his pelvis against yours. He does. One thrust, then an agonizing pull back before he slams back in.
Every part of you trembles as his pace picks up.
“Oh my god? Oh my god,” you squeak.
“Just me,” he quips and his head falls back. He’s fucking you at a superhuman speed, hips snapping into yours with so much force you think he’s close to bruising your cervix. And still. It feels good. It feels so fucking good. Every touch leaves you tingling and you think you’re going to explode with his hand finding your clit again. He pushes your legs open wider, allowing him to press into you further.
You’ve never been this wet in your life. Not with your vibrator, not with any of your boyfriends, not even with the one you swore you were in love with when you were a sophomore in college. The squelch of his cock driving into you rings in your ears and you don’t think you’ll ever forget the sound. A coil within you begins to wind tight, your body on the precipice of turning into jelly in Eric’s hold.
“I want you to cum for me, sweetheart,” he growls and it’s enough to send you flying. You clench around him, walls fluttering and throbbing as you feel his dick twitch in you.
As soon as you’ve regained your consciousness enough to offer him a weak smile, he’s pulling out of you and spinning you around so that the front of your hips are against the desk. He thrusts into you swiftly once more, never once faltering from the ruinous pace he’d started up previously. Your back arches into the desk. Your pussy feels raw, overstimulated, melting into the pleasure he’s driving into you. Another orgasm is sure to follow. And quickly.
“You are mine, whether you agree to it or not,” he growls. His thrusts begin to grow sloppy, cock twitching with every pump of his hips. With a final push in, he cums and offers you the first bit of warmth he’s been able to give you all night. You fall down the same rabbit hole moments later. Your entire body twitches as you do and you can barely feel anything as he pulls out of you.
He gives you a minute to catch your breath, to gather yourself and spin around to face him as you tug your dress back down your thighs. You’re panting, still, as he wipes the semi-dried blood off of your neck and brings it up to his lips to lick clean.
“No more cigarettes,” he says. “I can’t wait to see how you taste when you’re… pure.”
“I don’t know if I can promise that,” you say.
“You will.”
He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll be seeing you.”
He’s gone before you can ask what he means by that.
#eric northman#eric northman x reader#eric northman smut#alexander skarsgard#alexander skarsgard x reader#true blood#kinktober#kinktober 23
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How do we feel about a one shot with “Dress” with a little smut here and there😏
Only Bought This Dress So You Could Take It Off
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F!Reader
Summary: Written for The Taylor Swift Tapes: Tommy Shelby - based on ”Dress”
Word Count: 2.2K
Warnings: 18+ only, minors dni. Smut. Not beta-read.
A/N: Thank you so much, Anon. I love this song and I was hoping someone might request it!
“Your hands are shaking, love.”
The sound of Tommy’s deep voice tears you away from the paperwork in your lap, a handful of important documents that require your signature - ostensibly, the only reason for your presence here tonight.
“I didn’t think they were ever going to leave.” You glance across the dimly lit office, towards the doorway through which Polly, Michael and Arthur have finally disappeared.
Like your hands, there’s an audible tremor to the words as they leave your painted lips. Business with the Shelby family often seems to be a drawn-out affair, with evenings like this proving to be a lesson in patience. What could have been a fifteen-minute meeting has stretched out into the early hours of the morning.
But finally, the two of you are alone.
Tommy offers you a cigarette across the desk, but you decline, choosing to watch instead as he lights his own. The brief glow of the flame illuminates the sharp angles of his face, his expression remaining calm. Neutral. It never fails to amaze you - the apparent ease with which he maintains the illusion of control.
“It’s killing you that much, eh? The anticipation?” The twitch of his jaw confirms your growing suspicion. He’s finding this amusing.
“It’s been hours, Tom.” You scowl, shifting in your seat and pressing your thighs together. A woman’s patience has its limits.
Tommy takes a long drag of his cigarette. When the smoke clears, his blue eyes are fixed on you. “And it will be worth the wait.”
“Is that a promise?”
The ghost of a grin flickers across his face, alarming in its rarity. He really should smile more often. Thomas Shelby has always been an undeniably handsome man, but when he smiles he is devastating.
“Are you going to sign them anytime soon?” He nods to the documents clutched in your hands. Right. Now he’s waiting on you.
Without hesitation, you reach over for his pen and hastily scrawl your name along the first dotted line.
It had been a curious twist of fate that had seen the Shelby family thrust back into your life almost twelve months ago. When your ailing uncle with no children of his own had granted you joint power of attorney over his growing liquor empire, you hadn’t expected to find yourself returning to your hometown of Birmingham, let alone landing directly in the path of your childhood best friend.
Six years had passed since the last time you had seen Tommy Shelby on the streets of Small Heath - six long years since the outbreak of The Great War. The conflict had irrevocably changed a lot of things; Tommy and his brothers were no exception, the horrors they had witnessed and wrought turning them into shadows - demons - of their former selves.
But when you first found yourself standing before Tommy in his shiny new office on Watery Lane, it quickly became apparent that no amount of time or turmoil could quell the stirring of desire that had begun to blossom between the two of you in the months prior to him leaving for France.
No distance could erase the mark his friendship had left on you, an invisible tattoo.
By all accounts, it was nothing short of a miracle that had brought the two of you back together, and if this was simply borrowed time, neither of you planned on letting it go to waste.
“All done,” you declare, dropping the paperwork onto the desk with a small smile.
Tommy gathers the documents towards him before leaning over to pluck the pen from your grasp, his fingers lingering for a beat too long against your own. As he swiftly countersigns the agreements, cigarette poised between his plump lips, your pulse quickens.
Hopefully, this is the last distraction of the evening.
With excruciating care and clearly testing the bounds of your patience, Tommy shuffles the paperwork, straightening the pages before sliding them into a leather bound folder and locking it away in his drawer.
“Now that business has been taken care of…” He rises slowly, extinguishing his cigarette in the expensive bronze ashtray. “...we can attend to more important matters.”
“What did you have in mind?” You fight to hide the excitement in your voice, equally resisting the urge to stare at his muscular thighs as he rounds the desk to stand before you, hands resting casually in his pockets.
You’d hate to give him any more satisfaction when you’re already confident he knows just what effect he’s having on you; the master of planning and strategy, indeed.
“That’s a pretty dress,” Tommy observes roughly, blue eyes dipping leisurely to the swell of your chest.
Before you can respond, he offers a hand to pull you to your feet and proceeds to twirl you around, gaining an even better view of the dress in question. It had been a calculated purchase on your part and so far, the expensive silk number seems to be well worth the investment.
Apparently pleased by every angle, Tommy stops you abruptly when your back is turned to him, silently stepping closer until you find yourself pressed up against his chest. A large hand lands on your waist, keeping you anchored against him - inescapable, not that you would ever want to try.
As he inclines his head to whisper into your ear, his warm breath tickles your cheek. “But I thought that I might take it off.”
Your own breath hitches, your blood turning to molten desire as the reality of his words sinks in. “I was hoping you would say that,” you admit as his other hand begins to trail a warm path from your wrist, up to your shoulder, eventually reaching the edge of your satin sleeve. Ever so gently, he tugs it down.
“Here?” You struggle to hide your surprise, biting your lip as his mouth brushes over your exposed skin. With privacy so important to the two of you, Tommy usually takes great care to ensure you won’t be disturbed - a suite at The Midland Hotel, or at least a locked bedroom. “What if they come back?”
“They won’t,” he mutters into the crook of your neck.
“But Polly-”
The sound of your name, murmured softly into the shell of your ear cuts you off, and it’s as if everything else simply stops.
Time stands still.
The fear of reproval should either family find out about the two of you fades away as Tommy’s capable fingers slide to the fastenings of your dress.
“We’ve waited long enough,” he reminds you.
Despite this, Tommy still takes his time undressing you; a small part of you is grateful. After all, you really like this outfit, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d destroyed articles of clothing in his haste to get the two of you naked. Buttons torn from blouses and shredded stockings, his passion in the bedroom more than matching the power of his machinations in the boardroom.
After helping you step out of the dress, he turns you around, lips parting as his eyes dance over every inch of your bare body. His pupils are blown wide with lust. Along with his quiet confidence, his reaction is more than enough to chase away any lingering doubt about being so exposed here in his office.
With his attention still focused firmly in your direction, his hands rise to the dark straps of his shoulder holster but you step forwards and take his hand, effectively stopping him in his tracks.
“I’ll do it,” you tell him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Because two can most assuredly play at this game.
Tommy stands perfectly still as your fingers brush along the corded muscle of his biceps, sliding the leather straps of the holster over the sleeves of his crisp white cotton shirt before discarding the item on his desk.
One down…
A muscle in Tommy’s jaw ticks as you meet his eye again, before giving his waistcoat equally attentive treatment. You can feel the beat of his heart, pounding furiously within his chest. A thrill runs through you to know that your touch has this kind of effect on such a man.
Two down…
Once his waistcoat has fallen to the floor, you make a start on the buttons of his shirt, but Tommy growls, grabbing your wrists.
“Enough.”
It seems his patience has finally run out.
Without warning, he lurches forwards, sweeping the contents of his desk to the floor.
Before you can even begin to anticipate what comes next, he lifts you by the waist, depositing you unceremoniously onto the edge of the now-empty desk. You gasp as he swiftly parts your thighs, placing himself between them and pressing the hard length of his body into that sweet spot at your centre.
“Tommy,” you moan, shifting your hips in the pursuit of much needed friction.
Countering the rough and sudden behaviour of just moments earlier, Tommy releases your waist and his hands rise to cup your jaw, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he gently tilts your head towards him.
“No more waiting.”
He punctuates the command with a claiming kiss, the kind of kiss that ignites the smouldering desire beneath your bare skin until every cell in your body is keenly attuned to his presence, his own desire evident as you continue to rock against him.
“No more waiting,” you agree, muttering the words against his mouth without breaking the kiss, sharp teeth grazing his lips. At the same time, you reach for his belt buckle, fingers fumbling to free him from the confines of his slacks.
Once he’s stripped from the waist down with only his half-buttoned shirt still remaining, Tommy splays a hand across your lower back, the heat of him a burning brand against your sensitive skin. Meanwhile, you clutch his broad shoulders for support, readying yourself for what comes next.
With his other hand, he lines himself up against your core.
Tommy doesn’t waste another second - not another word - before he’s breaching your slick entrance, burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust. His name is torn from your lips, this time in the form of a strangled cry, but he dips his head, quietening you with another kiss.
It’s a brief reprieve, though. Just long enough for you to relax around him, to catch your breath. Because he knows better than to be patient and gentle now - knows that, just like him, you enjoy the pressure. That you crave the burn as he stretches you to your limit and beyond, over and over again until you lose yourself to pleasure, until you find yourself hurtling towards your release.
In the amber light of the office - darker now since the lamp clattered to the floor - Tommy’s skin is flushed, his ocean blue eyes almost black. But not once does his intense gaze waver as he fucks you over the desk. Like he’s afraid that if he looks away you might vanish - that this might all have been a dream.
Overwhelmed by both his attention and the way he angles his hips to hit that sweet spot deep inside, you rapidly find yourself shattering around him.
As always, he doesn’t let you fall too hard, holding you close as you ride out the wave of your climax.
“I’ve been thinking,” Tommy grunts suddenly, his pace finally faltering as he smooths a strand of hair from your sweat-slick brow.
“Should I be worried?” you pant, struggling to focus on his words. The room is still spinning. You're drunk on him.
Ignoring your teasing question, he presses his lips against your breast, driving his hips deeper one final time as he spills inside you.
“I’ve finally woken up,” he rasps.
It’s so unlike Tommy to speak in riddles that you find yourself tensing beneath him. Roughly, you grab his face, forcing him to look at you. “What are you talking about, Tom?”
He stills, lowering his head until your brows are touching. There isn’t an inch of space between you and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You're the only person who knows me - who believes in me. In my worst times, you see the best in me. And even with my worst lies…you always see the truth in me.”
Concerned, you pull back from him. Clearly, his sex-addled brain is not functioning correctly. “Tommy, what are you-”
“I love you.”
Silence fills the room. It’s so unexpected, his admission, that you freeze. Imaginary walls fracture like glass around you.
When this thing between you and Tommy started up months ago, there had been an unspoken agreement that it could be nothing more than lust. An added benefit of your business transactions. Your family history, not to mention the relationship between your two companies, is far too complicated for anything more.
Love was never part of the deal.
But as much as you might want to believe that he’s simply not thinking straight - that he’s as intoxicated by your body as you are by his, you realise he is right. You see the hope - the truth - reflected back at you in those beautiful blue eyes.
Tommy Shelby has fallen in love with you.
Even if you wanted to, there's nothing you can do about it.
Tommy Taglist: @a-reader-and-a-writer @crysxtal @simpforbuckyb @shynovelist @amberpanda99 @globetrotter28 @iammrsrogers @dragonsondragons @butterfly-lover @sunshineyourethebesttime @that-sarcastic-writer @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @breezy2and2freezy @fia-thefirst @dreamy-caramel @trixie23
#tommy shelby#cillian murphy#peaky blinders#peaky blinder fanfic#tommy shelby x reader#taylor swift#thomas shelby#thomas shelby imagine#song fic
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bloodletting
you're kind of dead. but so is Eddie, just in a different way.
"Oh, you were a vampire, and baby, I’m a walking dead."
Contains: Vampire!Eddie x Zombie!Reader, gn!zombie!reader, Eddie owns a record store, you’re newly (un)dead and still figuring it out. No use of y/n, no description of reader’s appearance, use of pet names but no gendered pronouns.
Warnings: mentions of death and descriptions of anatomical parts, both of which may be a little gross. Allusions to murder, though nothing is shown. Eddie drinks blood.
Word Count: ~5,000
Not sure if this has been done yet; I've seen vampire!eddie and zombie!eddie, but I don't think I've come across this particular x reader combo? so hopefully I'm not stepping on anyone's toes here. anyway - hope you enjoy!
The summer heat is miserable, suffocating; large swaths of shimmering air hover above the sticky tar pavement, beckoning you from a distance like a teasing portal to another dimension, always in sight but never in reach.
You plod down the crack-ridden sidewalk, eyes cast downward. Dregs of once-lush moss and sprays of weeds poke through the shattered valleys in the concrete, now brown and withered beneath the cruel sun.
You admire those tiny plants. How they survive. How they find a way to live, against all odds, in the most unlikeliest of places.
They remind you of yourself. Especially now, on the verge of their death.
You continue on, shuffling aimlessly. Each step is halting, just the tiniest bit broken. And there’s an odd grinding noise that emits from your left knee if you take too large of a stride. You suppose that it would probably hurt, if you could feel pain.
But such sensations tend to be lost on you these days.
You glance skyward, the sun a winking yellow coin directly overhead. You’re not sure how it may affect your strange flesh — you haven’t quite worked out all the particulars of your condition yet. Some parts of you are lost, utterly lifeless; and yet, your sentience, amongst other random physiological capabilities, remain. You imagine your trillions of cells to be stuck in some kind of purgatory, hovering on the equatorial line between life and death.
Can the sun hurt you? Have your cells gone far enough down the path of their programmed death so as to be rendered impervious to the ultraviolet rays, or are the thymine dimers still forming, creating mutinous clumps in your DNA? Or, would you react like a corpse left to rot in the desert, internal gasses bubbling up through your gut that will make you bloat and split, ripping you open like a spoiled piece of overripe fruit?
You’d rather not find out.
The strip mall you’re treading through is mostly deserted. You suppose that everyone is at home, waiting out the heat within the cool confines of air-conditioned houses. Only you, to whom the temperature changes barely register, are out and about.
You duck into the nearest shop without checking to see what store it is. You just need to kill some time, wait for some cloud cover before venturing back out. There’s a cheerful tinkling of bells when you push the door open, an inviting sound to welcome you inside.
Hovering at the entrance, you stare unblinkingly around at your new surroundings — a record store.
Here, it’s dark and cool. The walls are painted black, and only just visible beneath the hundreds of posters plastered overtop of them. There are rows and rows of vinyl records and cassette tapes on display, and one corner is sectioned off for t-shirts and band merchandise, along with a table offering a small selection of horror novels and VHS tapes. No one seems to around, though you figure at least one employee must be lurking somewhere. An unknown song crackles through the speakers, some band with a wailing guitar and an even louder singer. It’s not bad.
You take a deep breath, although you’re not sure what the action does for you, exactly, and move down an aisle to start browsing in. Your fingers pop at the knuckles when you stretch your hands out to file through the records, and you frown when you notice one of your fingernails has broken off.
Is that gonna grow back, or…?
“Help you find somethin’?”
You look up, careful not to move your head too quickly, lest it snap right off of your neck.
The store employee — Eddie, by the title on his nametag — is standing very close to you, much closer than you would expect him to be, considering that you hadn’t seen or heard anyone approaching at all. Your eyes rake over his figure.
He has dark, tangled curls that hang all the way down to his chest, and his eyes are so brown they’re nearly black. He’s wearing a denim vest over a black W.A.S.P. shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing thick, tattooed arms. He gives you a serene, close-mouthed smile that dimples his cheeks, full lips stretching widely across his pale face. If you could still flush, you probably would, but blood flow seems to be at a very minimum, if it’s even happening at all. He’s hot.
Well. Interesting to note that that part of you hasn’t changed.
You cough. “J-just looking.” Your voice is dry, raspy; you sound like a sixty-year-old chainsmoker. But if it surprises Eddie, it doesn’t show.
He points at the album you’ve paused at. “You like The Cramps?”
You nod carefully, not trusting your rusty larynx.
He hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the merch section. “We got some cool shirts of theirs over there, too, if you wanna take a look.”
“O-okay.”
There’s a mild shift in his expression, a slight shadow crossing over that customer-service smile, causing it to fade from his pretty face. He stares at you curiously; you swear you see his nostrils flaring.
You take a cautious step back.
“Well…if you need anything, just holler,” he tells you, disgruntled. As he turns and walks away, back to the register, he casts a backward glance at you, brow furrowed. If you weren’t so nervous, you might have marveled at how silent his footfalls are.
With shaky hands, you continue perusing the selection before you, though all you can really focus on is the feeling of Eddie’s eyes glued to your back from across the store.
Some of your senses might have been dulled, but you still know when you’re being watched.
Would it be too suspicious if you just dropped everything and made a break for it? You haven’t technically done anything wrong. Your only crime is being dead. And really, what can he — or anyone — even do to you?
Kill me?
You snicker.
Then, to your horror, in between Smell of Female and Off the Bone, your left pinkie finger falls off.
Immediately you lurch forward to hide the offending digit from Eddie’s prying eyes, hunching over the display rack. The damn thing has been threatening to come loose for days, kept in its place with the help of a little surgical tape and some superglue — but you’d hoped that the remaining ligaments would be strong enough to prevent this from happening.
Desperately, you plunge further into the display box, jamming your lifeless hands down between the records, groping blindly for the missing finger. You glance back at Eddie, who’s staring at you unabashedly, face a mask of blank confusion. He rises from his seat behind the checkout counter.
Finally, your hand closes around the lost pinkie, and you pull it back out of the display box, keeping it hidden within the confines of your fist. You just manage to spin around with your hands clasped behind your back by the time Eddie manages to make his way over to you again.
He stands with his feet firmly planted on the ground before you, his hands on his hips. “Everything alright over here?” he asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Yessir,” you chuckle drily.
He’s unconvinced. “Whatcha got back there?”
Panic bolts through your ruined insides. “N-nothing,” you rasp.
His dark eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “No? Prove it.”
He waits expectantly. You try to moisten your lips with your tongue, but the muscle feels like a dehydrated slug in your mouth. Reluctantly, you move the finger so it’s in just one of your fists, and then hold your other hand out to him, flat so he can see your empty palm, smiling weakly.
It’s stupid, but it’s all you’ve got.
Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs, but before he can say anything, your body betrays you once again. Your grip is none too strong anymore, and the missing digit slips through the web of your other, still-intact fingers, dropping to the floor with a tiny thunk.
Both you and Eddie stare down at the freestanding pinkie, sitting in the center of a white tile near your feet, mottled and sickly-looking. Neither of you say anything.
Suddenly his dark eyes are boring into yours again.
“Uh…I can explain.”
“I knew you smelled wrong,” is the first thing he tells you in the back office of the shop, as he rifles determinedly through the desk drawers.
“Wrong?” you ask, alarmed.
He shoots you a look, a reassuring smile on his lips. “Not bad — just different. Like…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Like green. Earthy, I guess.”
You wonder if it’s worth mentioning that you crawled out of the ground a week ago.
“It’s not how people usually smell,” he says casually, face turning triumphant when he finally finds what he’s searching for. Eddie holds up a pocket-sized sewing kit in a plastic case. “I keep this around in case one of my patches falls off. I gotta say, emergency finger-reattachment surgery is a first for me.”
You’re still stuck on his previous statement. “H-how do people usually smell?” your voice quivers, and you wonder how he can act so nonchalant despite your decidedly-undead condition.
“Oh, like lots of different things,” he muses, selecting a needle from the kit. “Some people are flowery, some are fruity.” He wrinkles his nose. “Some people have harsher smells, like…crude oil, or something. And then there’s some that are so sweet it actually burns my nose.”
Eddie holds the case out so you can peer inside at the contents. “Here. Pick a color for your stitches.”
You opt for a tiny spool of dark green thread.
He gestures towards the rolling chair behind the desk. “Have a seat.”
You do as you’re told, plopping unceremoniously down onto the cushion. The chair moves several inches back across the floor from the force of your graceless fall.
Eddie snips the thread, and pops the end in his mouth to wet the frayed fibers, smoothing them into one even strand. Then he threads the needle quickly with an expert hand, tying it off with a knot when he has a decent amount of string to work with.
He kneels down before you, gently taking your pinkie-less hand in his. “Lemme see…do you think you can hold it in place for me?”
You hold the missing pinkie to the spot it was ripped from, lining up the torn edges as best you can. The whitish bone poking out at the ends slips greasily against the stumpy flesh of your knuckle. Frustrated, you try to hold it still so that the phalange and the metacarpal bones are aligned at least somewhat evenly, but you don’t quite have the stability.
Eddie purses his lips, but amusement flickers in his dark eyes. He takes the finger back from you. “I’ve got it, I think,” he says kindly. “Just, ah, help keep it steady, okay?”
Tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, Eddie presses the needle lightly against your skin. His eyes flit up to yours. “Does that hurt?”
“No,” you admit.
“Didn’t think so,” he says smugly.
He pushes the needle in deeper, piercing the skin, maneuvering the slim point beneath the flesh of your knuckle and into the lost finger, connecting the two, then pulling it back out. He does it again and again, looping the thread through your skin until the first few knobbly stitches are formed.
He checks in again, just in case. “Still doesn’t hurt?”
You shake your head.
Eddie chuckles under his breath, then resumes his progress. For the next ten minutes, he weaves the needle in and out of your skin, until there are stitches going the whole way around your finger. He carefully ties the last one off, trimming the excess thread with a pair of tiny scissors.
You hold your now-intact hand out, admiring his handiwork. It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly miles better than anything you could have done yourself.
“Thank you.” You’re touched by his kindness, but still completely boggled by his non-reaction to a customer losing an entire finger. “I h-have,” you hack out a cough, “a question.”
“Shoot.”
“You’re very calm. How is that?”
Eddie, still kneeling on the floor, looks up at you, puzzled. Then it dawns on him. “Oh, honey. You don’t realize?” But he doesn’t wait for you to reply, maybe anticipating that your throaty, stuttering speech will take too long. Instead, his face scrunches, mouth twisting as though he’s running his tongue across his gums, and then his lips pull back, baring his teeth at you, and —
Shiny, lethal-looking fangs slide out through some hidden, gummy pockets right above his canines. They’re sharp, sharper than any needle he might string through you, gleaming menacingly even in the dim fluorescent light.
You let out a noise that might have been a squeal, in a past life. Clumsily, your feet push at the floor, sending you careening backwards on the rolling chair in an effort to get away from him.
“Whoa, whoa, hang on! It’s alright!”
Eddie stands and moves a few paces back, giving you some space. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. Pretty sure you don’t got what I need, anyway.”
Your body sags in the chair, which is pressed all the way up against the office’s back wall. You eye him warily, although you suppose you’re being a little hypocritical.
But you’re not the one packing fangs that rival a pit viper’s.
Eddie smiles at you, pointed teeth poking down over that full bottom lip of his. “What? Did you think you were the only thing that went bump in the night?” he jokes.
Yes. Admittedly.
His face softens. “You haven’t been like this very long, have you?”
Timidly, you shake your head no, the vertebrae in your cervical spine grinding from within your neck.
Lost in thought, Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth again — a seemingly-unconscious movement. “Right…do you need a place to stay tonight?” he asks suddenly, concern lining his features.
You’re not sure how to answer. You don’t seem to really need anything. “Uh…”
He crosses his arms across his chest, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Have you just been wandering around town like you’re in Night of the Living Dead?”
You snort, a dry puff of air whistling through your nostrils. “Kinda.”
“Sheesh. Y’know, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are. It’s a wonder no one’s shot you in the head yet.”
“I th-thought I was blending in pretty well.”
He laughs, a deep belly-laugh that reverberates around the tiny room. “To the untrained eye, maybe. But not to me.”
Eddie, as it turns out, owns the record store, Vicious Vinyl, and lives in the apartment above the shop. The small space is decorated similarly, so much so that it might be mistaken for a second level of the store as opposed to his home. But while Vicious Vinyl seems to offer a wide variety of music options for its patrons, Eddie’s tastes are made clear when you enter the apartment; he’s a heavy metal guy. Pictures of thrash bands, big names you recognize and obscure ones you don’t, hang on all the walls, and macabre-looking baubles lie on every flat surface. Music equipment is scattered throughout the room, guitars and amps filling the empty gaps between the dark furniture. And the windows are all covered by heavy black curtains — drawn tightly shut, of course, keeping the poisonous sunshine from leaching in.
“I have a cot that I’ll set up for you,” says Eddie, tossing his keys onto the kitchen table. You note that the cloth draped overtop of it is a deep crimson color.
Eddie pauses mid-step as something occurs to him. “Do you sleep?”
“Uh-uh. Do you?”
Eddie nods. “I do. Not in a coffin,” he adds, catching the way you peer around the room as though looking for a cobweb-ridden box. He nudges you playfully. “But you know where I do sleep?”
You imagine him hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat. “Where?”
His eyes twinkle, like he’s about to divulge something juicy. “Under the bed.”
Your mouth falls open in surprise, and he laughs at your awestruck gaze. “Don’t know why, just feels right.”
“Weird.”
“Weirder than not sleeping at all?”
You shrug, unsteady frame rippling with the motion. Your cracked lips pull up at the corners, forming your first true smile of this odd existence. Eddie grins back.
“You’re pretty cute for a corpse, you know that?”
Your dead body fills with delight that you don’t quite know how to express — you hope that your condition excuses your lack of verbal response. But either way Eddie doesn’t seem to mind it; he simply turns and heads into the living room, motioning for you to follow.
You obey, shuffling along as quickly as you can, feet dragging noisily against the hardwood floor. When he gestures for you to do so, you sink unsteadily onto the plush leather couch.
“I have to get back down to the shop, but I’ll close early and come back up soon,” he says nonchalantly, adjusting the chain bracelet on his wrist. “In the meantime, you make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.”
He nods in acknowledgement and, with a smile, exits the apartment, leaving you alone.
The door clicks shut, and you settle back into the cushions, eyes wandering around as your tap your feet gently, impatiently, against the floor. You pick up the remote from the coffee table and flick the boxy television to life. You flip through channels for a while, letting each mindless program play for a minute before moving on to the next one, the muted colors on the bulbous screen and scratchy audio leaving little to no impression upon you. Boring. You turn it back off.
You purse your dry lips in thought. Truthfully, what you really want to do is snoop, but it’s rather gracious of Eddie to let you stay here, especially unattended…trusting, even. Would he be able to tell if you took a quick look around? And would he be angry with you if you did?
You decide you can probably risk it. He told you to make yourself at home, after all.
Rising once more, you peer around the room cautiously, scanning all the bookshelves and photographs and records, looking for anything out of the ordinary, or decidedly vampiric — whatever that should be. But the den seems to be pretty innocuous.
You make your way back into the kitchen. From here, a short stretch of hallway juts out of the room, with two more doors — one is already slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of Eddie’s bedroom, and the other turns out to be a tiny bathroom. You rest a hand on the bedroom door, ready to enter and unearth all of Eddie’s secrets, but hesitate, intuition flickering.
If Eddie’s in possession of any bloody contraband, there’s one certain place you suspect he might keep it, and it’s not in his room.
The refrigerator is humming innocently with life. There’s the crackling sound of ice being made. Its cool whiteness is smooth and clean. Your hand clasps around the handle, and you wrench the door open.
Jars rattle from the force of your pull. A burst of bright light floods the dark kitchen, illuminating your dead face in a nightmarish glow.
The interior shelves are smeared with crimson fingerprints, speckled with dried puddles of red crust. No doubt spillage from the plethora of bloody bottles crowded inside, all filled with that human lifestuff that they — and he — need so badly to survive. The dark, thick liquid gleams within the confines of the glass, some filled to the brim, others containing only mere dregs.
Fascinated, you pull one of the bottles off the shelf and give it an experimental shake, watching bubbles whir into existence on the surface, making a layer of soft pink foam. You twist off the cap, peering inside; almost nosing the lip of the opening, you give it a delicate sniff. You’re not sure if your olfactory nerves can actually detect the faint, rusty odor, or if it’s a phantom scent, pulled from your memory.
You quietly screw the cap back on, and stowe the bottle back in its place. The refrigerator door swings shut once more, closing the gory sight out of view.
Interesting.
Hours later, Eddie comes back to the apartment. You’re sitting at the kitchen table now, working on the crossword puzzle from yesterday’s newspaper, dry tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.
“Hello,” he greets you easily, shrugging out of his vest and tossing it over the back of a chair. He comes to stand beside you, looking down at the paper from over your shoulder. “24 down is orc, by the way. O-R-C.”
You frown. “I’m not there yet.”
Eddie barks out a laugh. “Sorry.” He pulls the chair next to you away from the table and takes a seat.
You tap the end of your pencil against the table. “I w-would’ve gotten it.”
“I’m sure you would have,” he says indulgently, resting his head on his hand. “Is this what you’ve been doing all afternoon?”
You nod. Mostly, anyway.
He studies your face for a moment, then scrunches his nose.
You mimic his expression. “What?”
“Have you noticed that you don’t blink?”
“No.”
He pokes you in the shoulder. “It’s kinda spooky,” he chuckles playfully. “Which is fine! I’m kinda spooky, too.”
“I don’t think I n-need to.”
His head cocks to the side. “You are funny, aren’t you,” he murmurs.
That’s one way of putting it.
Eddie bites his lip — fangs hidden away again, retreated back in their gummy slits — and, hesitantly, extends one hand towards you. You flinch back automatically.
“Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t pull his hand back. “But do you mind if I just…try something?”
You nod cautiously, unsure of what he’s getting at.
Eddie — slowly, so as not to startle you — leans forward and presses his palm to your chest, right over where your heart lurks inside. He searches for a pulse that isn’t there, feeling nothing, no meaty organ throbbing and thumping against your ribcage, just placid hollowness, as though there were no chambered fist of tissue there at all.
A hush falls over the two of you, while he waits in vain.
You offer an apologetic smile.
Eddie simply hums, and removes his hand, settling back in his chair. “You and I aren’t so different, you know. Mine doesn’t beat, either, unless I…” he trails off, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Well, you can probably guess.”
“Yes. I found your stash.”
Eddie sucks in a quick breath, face hardening. “Forgive me. I know it’s a little gruesome, but a man’s gotta survive somehow, doesn’t he?”
You nod, understanding. The shock of his vampirism has worn off quickly, now that you no longer believe him to be a threat. As he’s so dutifully pointed out, and proven again just now, you don’t have what he needs.
“Listen, I was thinking when I was down there, and I know I already said you could stay for the night, but —”
Dismay. He’s already kicking you out, and you’ve only been here for a few hours.
“— we can talk about a more long-term arrangement, if you want?”
Oh. Okay.
Eddie continues, oblivious to your inner turmoil, “I need some help around the shop. And I can’t trust myself to have too many employees hanging around, for obvious reasons,” he chuckles, gesturing helplessly towards his fridge, “so if you’re interested, I could give you a job. And I’d have you stay here with me, of course.”
“Really?” you whisper raggedly.
Eddie shrugs. “Yeah. And you don’t have to worry about rent or anything, either. Just a few hours of work a day, that’s all I ask.”
You nod eagerly, the motion exuberant enough that it makes your neck click.
Eddie’s eyes widen at the alarming sound, though he’s still grinning. “Okay! Be careful. Your head will be a lot harder to sew back on than a finger.”
The next few weeks are a bit of a learning curve, you and Eddie both adjusting to your presence in each other’s lives.
During the day, you get some basic retail training. Eddie handles the real business side of things, but teaches you how he likes to organize and stock new arrivals, and lets you try your hand at the register. You’re good at it, but he’s hesitant to let customers speak to you for too long, lest they notice anything…unusual about you.
It’s all good fun, the two of you together, even when business is slow. You spend one dull afternoon crowded at the counter together, working on a nametag — Eddie’s a good artist, and decorates the space around your name with green, swirling designs and miniature doodles of tombstones. He even lets you swipe a Cramps button from the merch table to pin onto your lanyard.
When the shop closes up, you both trudge back upstairs to the apartment, and pass the time playing cards, watching movies, listening to records; Eddie will sip on a cup of dark liquid, puffing on a cigarette or maybe a joint, while you sit with your hands folded neatly in your lap, no needs or vices to trouble you, just enjoying this newfound companionship. Sometimes he even reads aloud to you, or plays you song on his acoustic guitar.
Eventually it reaches that point in the day where the sun finally sinks out of sight, wherein Eddie yanks back the curtains and throws up the window, letting the cool night air seep in. You watch with fascination every time, transfixed by the way the moonlight hits his pale skin, shines across his dark curls…dances over his pearly teeth.
Later, Eddie will retire to bed, bidding you goodnight and crawling into the small space beneath his floor and his mattress to sleep, while you sit up on the couch or the cot he’s so needlessly set up for you, with the gentle hum of the television keeping you company in the slumberless dark.
But other times he leaves, disappearing into the night and not returning til it’s nearly dawn, spattered with blood, bits of gore clinging to his clothes. He practically lurches into the apartment, blood-drunk, dragging what’s left of his kill behind him in a cooler for safekeeping.
The bloodletting takes place outside. He never brings the body in.
The first time it happened, you simply watched, glassy eyes watching him from across the room. But the next time you were ready. When he finished stowing the fresh blood away in the fridge, you moved in, and gently tugged on the back of his shirt, prompting him to remove his clothing; when he was stripped down to his boxers, you brought the discarded, ruined garments to the sink, and ran them under cold water. He watched you treat his clothes silently, searching for any sign of fright or disgust, but found none. He rested his hands on your shoulders and squeezed, a nonverbal thank you, before leaving you to take a shower.
This becomes routine. Eddie feeds and brings home the leftovers, which will tide him over until he has to make another kill. This doesn’t bother you; with each passing day, you feel more and more disconnected from the humans around you, the true ones, the ones who live and breathe and pump blood through their veins. You aren’t one of them, and they aren’t one of you.
So you don’t ask who any of them are, or where he finds them, but you do wait patiently for your vampire to come home, with a damp cloth in hand, ready to wash the blood from his face.
Tonight is one such night; when he stumbles through the door and into the kitchen, you’re already seated at the table with a bowl of warm water and a rag. You rise unsteadily to greet him, and he unloads his haul, putting the fresh bottles away onto their cold shelves. When he turns to face you again, he leans in, letting you tenderly swipe the dried smears of red tissue from around his mouth. His lips pout slightly when you drag the cloth over them, like a small kiss barely felt through the fabric.
He seems different; charged and bristling, as opposed to his usual sated and sleepy state.
“Everything okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he strokes a thumb across your cheekbone, a light, experimental touch. “You’re sort of perfect for me, you know that?”
You pause your ministrations, startled by the unprompted praise. You swallow drily, and try to continue cleaning his face, but he clasps a hand around your wrist, keeping it in place.
His other arm snakes around your waist. “I’m serious,” he insists in a whisper. “Where have you been all my life?”
A faint smile touches your lips. “Had to wait until mine was over, I s’pose.”
His eyelids flutter, and before you can react, his bloody mouth is on yours. His kisses are sloppy, all fangs and tongue, smearing your lips and chin with gore. You return them dazedly, brittle fingers knotting in his tangled hair, letting him take what he wants.
It’s not like you need to catch your breath.
When he finally pulls back, a string of red-tinged spit connects your mouths. He pants in your face, nose rubbing against yours, then dots bloody pecks all over your cheeks and forehead. You lean into him, letting him hold your dead body in his arms.
“My little love,” he whispers into your skin.
thank you for reading!! ❤️
btw did you know that the gaboon viper has the longest fangs of any venemous snake? this has nothing to do with the fic. just thought if you made it to the end, maybe you'd enjoy a fun snake fact I came across when looking something up for this story. their fangs can grow up to 2 inches long, and this species is in a genus called Bitis, so that's fucking hilarious.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson reader insert#eddie munson x gn!reader#eddie munson x gender neutral reader#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson blurb#vampire!eddie munson#vampire!eddie#monster!eddie munson#monster!eddie#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic
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Six Years Ago
Part 1
Part 2
Jon wakes slowly, warm and clean and strong for the first time in weeks. His stomach growls and he wants food, craves a thick juicy cheeseburger instead of feeling nauseous at the thought of it. Breathing comes easy instead of the slow rattle that was making its way through his chest, though the straps going around his face and the back of his head are itchy and the air itself is chilly, a strange icy patch around his mouth and nose amidst what feels like the best heated blanket in the world.
Strong arms shift around him, and the relief is so palpable tears of it form in his eyes as he slides them open, ready not to waste another minute of not seeing Superman, because Dad's found him—
Instead he sees a slight smile, inhuman in the jag of the canines and green eyes that glow in the vast abyss of space.
"Hey there, hey—" the man is saying, white hair drifting around his face, and he's saying other things but Jon is still looking for his Dad, his Dad was here wasn't he, those were his Dad's arms—
Except they weren't. They're this man, this alien's arms, one around his back and the other under his knees, cradling him in the flames of Earth's sun, and he was there, in the lab.
One moment Jon had been hiding from the robot that had been hunting him for days, taunting him as he dodged booby traps and ate leaves that made him sick. He'd grown weaker and dirtier even as Damian's voice in his head urged him to fight, to stay alive, and he'd fallen asleep to a violet sky and the ghost of his mother's hand on his forehead, cool against his warm brow.
He'd awoken inside of a tube, a concave shape of a person, holding his eyes open long enough to see the man peering at him as if he was an exhibit. Don't tap the glass. Or do. Jon wouldn't bite. He couldn't remember how.
And now he is here, threads of plasma tickling his skin, feeling better than he has in days. Behind the man is Earth. Home. Jon is only 93 million miles from home.
He can make it. He will make it.
He stares at the man keeping him from his home, his family, and the tickle in his eyes turns to fire in a matter of blinks. Red light hits the alien straight in the chest and with a shout, he releases Jon.
Jon wastes no time, flying in the direction of Earth. He'd struggle with this, all of this, but adrenaline sharpens his abilities. The mask strapped over his mouth and nose provide oxygen from the pack taped to his chest. He wants nothing more than to rip it off but he leaves it be.
His focus is singular, the apartment in Metropolis. He can feel his Mom's arms around him already. He's formulating what he will say to his Dad, how he will explain about Jor-El. He is worried they won't believe him. Ashamed of what he committed to and then ran away from. He told his Mom to go. He said he would be fine.
He doesn't want to think about the floating island, or talk about it, and he decides he won't. He is a runaway, a failed Superson, but he is not the boy on the floating island. He didn't shiver from fever, tearing at his cape to bandage the wounds from the robot's green metal claws. He did not scream in fear when a trick arrow carved a path down his cheek. He did not give up, covered in bush and counting his ribs like a messed up lullaby.
His Dad can make the trip to the Sun in ten seconds. Jon thinks he flies even faster, and later he will think that is the reason he doesn't notice the Watchtower is missing.
But he does notice Metropolis is gone. Instead of the Daily Planet's gleaming golden globe, he lands in a marsh. Herons fly up and away, squawking in startled choir as he touches down, water lapping up to his knees. He looks to his left but there's nothing but tourists on a floating wooden path in the far distance, taking photos of geese as they weave trails through the water that was supposed to be home.
He looks to his right, and the man from space is there, floating above the water.
Jon flies to Kansas.
By the time the man catches up with him, Jon is curled up in his grandparent's corn field, except it isn't their corn field. He digs a hand into the ground and brings up light, loose soil that tastes like citrus, acidic and unbalanced in a way Ma Kent would never let stand (and he lets it fall from his palm with a shudder, reminded of the mud on the alien island he'd eaten, before the nausea had set in but long after pride had fled). The barn at the far end of the field has a blue door, not red.
"Dad," Jon mumbles into the ground. "Dad."
Feet lightly touch down, but this time Jon knows they aren't his father's.
The man has no heartbeat, nor breath. Even the silver robot softly whirred. But the man is silent as he touches down beside Jon, who will not go back to the tube.
Survive, Damian's voice demands. Jon closes his eyes to the world, this utterly wrong world, and he flies.
#I have more for this#but gonna leave it here for now#jon kent#danny fenton#danny phantom#dp x dc#my writing
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𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖘𝖘'𝖘 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖔𝖗
✧warnings: yandere/toxic themes, stalker won, violence and Gory scenes.
♡synopsis: Yang Jungwon, the campus crush, tall, handsome, and seemingly innocent to many. Hence no one knew how dangerous he truly was. However you knew, and you couldn’t tell a single soul. The man you assumed to be a sweet social butterfly with dimples like wells you’d find yourself falling through, was dangerously obsessed with you.
✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧
She didn’t hear the commotion at first, as her earphones were on a high volume, but when she saw the crowd of students looking so traumatized, horrified, some even running to the restroom to throw up, Y/n knew something was up. She arrived just as the teachers did, police officers were yet to come and investigate the bloody mess left behind in the science class. Was there perhaps a new serial killer in their neighborhood?!
The victim had multiple slits on his neck, the blade resting in his cold, dead hand. His eyeballs were also stabbed into. She backed away, not wanting to see it anymore. That boy was none other than Xiaojun, one of the seniors who had been hitting on her for a while now. Y/n gripped onto her chest wondering what could’ve happened, a little sense of guilt left behind as she remembered her last words to was to tell him to fuck off.
Jungwon smirked to himself when no one saw. He was the only one who knew. His father had connections to many gangs, he’s off the hook. He knew what happened. He’s the one who had a strong grip on Xiaojun’s wrists, making him stab his eyeballs for staring at what’s his. He’s the one who forced the dying man to draw bloody lines on his neck, making sure he was out of the picture. Y/n didn’t feel anything for Xiaojun anyway, he was annoying, none of the girls liked him as he was practically a playboy. So not many people really cared too much for him.
Eventually the police took over, taping the scene, securing any evidence and questioning the students. Jungwon was used to these by now Handling them like a pro, the police didn’t suspect him one bit. “Y/n? You ok?... you seem a little upset-” Jungwon asked as he gently caressed the girl’s back. “Oh it’s nothing, just… do you think he’d come back and haunt me???” she asked as Jungwon frowned “Just because you rejected him? I’m sure his ghost won’t even make it on earth- stop overthinking-” he said as the girl sighed.
That night Y/n walked to the cafe, despite it being pretty late at night. Jungwon wasn’t too far behind. His figure and shadow hidden in the darkness. She made his job a lot easier, the way you didn’t turn back once, ignoring the fact that you may be followed. Y/n entered the cafe Jungwon, watched from afar, making sure no one was there to steal her from him. To his luck, she was alone. Heck she even walked out alone, into that dark, alleyway that hand no cameras purely because it was a very easy shortcut to her home.
3 years of stalking his princess and he finally got the chance to take her home, driving his Koenigsegg in the middle, blocking her path. The girl frowned, then saw Jungwon. “I’m taking you home.” he simply said. As y/n just frowned. Why would he offer a ride to her? It’s not like they knew each other well, and she was closer to her home anyway. “No need, I’m only 3 minutes away from my house” she reassured as Jungwon laughed. “Oh sweetheart… I meant OUR home.” he said with a smirk, forcefully yanking her in before pushing a cloth drenched in a drowsy med to her face.
Everything seemed like a blur to her. Y/n woke up in a rather unfamiliar room. Her back met with the comfort of the plush, white silk sheets, and soft mattress, a blindingly beautiful chandelier in the center of the room. She couldn’t move. Her hands cuffed to the headboard. Her uniform was replaced with much more comfortable pajamas, the kind she could never afford. “You’re up darling?” a voice called. The girl stared in shock. It was indeed Jungwon. Yang Jungwon, the sweet, innocent, handsome man, now standing before her, dressed in his gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt.
“Jungwon?... why what? Why?!!!” she managed to ask, though it wasn’t exactly the question she wanted to asked. “Calm down, calm down. Yes yes, I was the one who murderred all those whores, Yes I’ve been keeping a close eye on you and protecting you from all harm, but it seems impossible to keep you safe out there… so I can keep you here, in my palance my princess.” He said with a smile as she just stared in utter shock. However she knew better than to mess with him. This is a new side to him, a dangerous side that no one would ever expect. Y/n had to play it safe with this man, she doesn’t want to end up being his next victim.
✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧
#jungwon imagines#enhypen jungwon#jungwon fluff#jungwon scenarios#jungwon x reader#jungwon angst#yang jungwon imagines#enhypen smau#jungwon smau#enhypen scenarios#enhypen imagines#enhypen fluff#enhypen x reader#drugs#gambling#yandere#jungwon yandere#jungwon#yandere jungwon#yang jungwon#enhypen
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Hello! I was hoping I could request the prompt: tome for Solomon, if it hasn’t been taken by the time I send this in. If so, no worries! Take care of yourself and have a great rest of your day, morning, or evening (depending on when you get this)! 😊
Hello!
Oof, I'm sorry for the delay on this, but I am getting caught back up on event requests now! Hopefully this didn't turn out too bad, I am still kinda fighting through the writer's block asdlkfjdkljf. BUT I love Solomon so he's easy to write for. Also I rewrote it because it was too long the first time, but it ended up getting even longer the second time. 😩 So I was like okay fine it's just gonna be what it's gonna be lol!
Thank you for participating!
COZY COMFORTS EVENT
GN!MC x Solomon with prompt tome
Warnings: none!
Solomon's bookshelves had a unique organization system that only the sorcerer himself could navigate. Any time you had a question about magic that he didn't know the answer to off the top of his head, he went straight to the exact book he needed. He would flip it open to the right page almost effortlessly, as though he had read each book multiple times.
The more time you spent learning from him, though, the more you began to understand how the shelves worked. Parts of it were still a mystery to you, but you could always tell when he had bought several new things. You would check the titles out of curiosity only to find that most of them were in a language you didn't speak.
One day Solomon left you alone with the books as he went to find some potion ingredients. You did a cursory perusal of the shelves, eyes automatically drawn to the new additions.
You were surprised to find one you could read. It was about hexes and seemed to be at your level.
You put your finger on the top of it and tipped it back, pulling it off the shelf to land neatly in your hand. As you did this, though, another book that had fallen behind that one tumbled out.
You just managed to catch the second book before it hit the floor.
Which was a good thing because it was so thick you thought it might've cracked the section of floor it landed on.
You put back the first book and tried to hold this one, but you couldn't quite get your hands around it. You carried it to the table and put it down with a heavy thud.
It had no title. It was big and leather bound - black with a shimmer to it, like an opal. The page edges were shiny gold and sparkled slightly. There was a singe purple ribbon sticking out of the bottom, about halfway through the pages.
You pulled on the ribbon and opened the book to the page it had marked.
The pages were blank. You stared at the pristine white of them for a moment in confusion. Then you noticed some kind of writing on the other side of the left page. You flipped it and sucked in a breath.
It was Solomon's handwriting.
You frowned. Was this magical looking epic tome his diary or something? That didn't seem likely.
You felt a little guilty, but you had to know, so you flipped to the first page to see if you could figure it out.
There you found a small and messy sketch of yourself. Beside it were the words MC's Path to Sorcery. You smiled at the sketch. It was adorable and captured your likeness well.
You flipped through some more pages. There were diagrams of magic circles, lists of potion ingredients, descriptions of spells, and clear steps for earning your seven sorcerer stars. There were little notes beside these about you and how well you had learned each thing. They sometimes mentioned areas you needed to work on or had little suggestions for things to try next.
It finally dawned on you as you recognized everything outlined before you. These were lesson plans. This was Solomon planning out what to teach you and then documenting your success.
You found a few other things, too. A flower you had given him was pressed between the pages. A note you had left for him was taped in. A few more sketches and even a handful of pictures. Little mementos from moments you spent together. As if this book had begun as a way to record what he was teaching you, but had evolved to include memories of you as well.
You bit your lip. This was so cute and you found yourself struggling to fight back tears. But you didn't mean to find it and it didn't feel right to continue looking through something so private. You closed the book and put it back on the shelf before Solomon returned. Maybe one day he would tell you about it himself. Maybe you would eventually tell him that you knew about it. But for now, it was enough to know that he kept it here, snug on his shelves with the rest of his precious collection.
cozy comforts | masterlist | Thank you for reading!
#obey me#obey me nightbringer#obey me shall we date#obey me solomon#om solomon#obey me solomon x reader#om solomon x reader#obey me solomon x mc#om solomon x mc#obey me fanfic#obey me fluff#obey me x mc#obey me x reader#misc cozy comforts#misc writes
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THE WEEKND SERIES: CALL OUT MY NAME - CHOI SEUNGCHEOL
author’s note: the first work of the series! i am all for strangers to more tropes so i hope you guys will have fun reading it! take care<3
synopsis: will shared fate with a stranger turn into something more, something you had never expected?
word count: 0.6k | genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, dark themes (apocalypse) | pairing: cheol x gn! reader | warnings: mentions of injury, doctors, apocalypse, death
the masterpost to this series can be found here.
the wind was blowing coldly as you reached the deserted capital, body tired from dragging it all day, not finding anyone near who could help you out. in the distance you could spot a silhouette, a human’s to be exact. “wait!” you shouted from the top of your lungs, taking all of your energy and putting it into a final call before you saw the figure turning around, running in your direction. the pain in your injured leg became unbearable and forced your knees to buckle; luckily the stranger who had arrived by your side just at that moment had caught you, laying you down on the muddy ground. “hi.” you smiled at him while his eyes widened in surprise seeing another human alive. there were not many people who survived the earthquakes or the tsunamis after the collision of the meteor. “nice to meet you.” he smiled back at you, inspecting the wound on your foot. “i guess you got this while trying to escape from the storm.” you wheezed. “good guess, sherlock.” his movements halted and he got a roll of surgical tape and bandaids out from his pocket. “so, do you want me to fix you up? you are not doing so well as i can see.” you nodded immediately, thanking him several times. “i have been searching for signs of life for days, but have seen noone so far.” he shook his head in agreement. “because there is almost no human here as of today. i’m surprised to see you here, never thought i would cross paths with someone here. everyone i know is at the same place, the mall. they gathered there, but they are starting to go crazy so i left.” he explained what he knew about the situation happening. your lack of response and the way you stared into nothing alarmed him and he pulled your body towards his so he could see your eyes. “you with me?” he swung his hand in front of your face. you nodded slowly to ensure that you heard and understood him. “good.” he thought for a moment. “must be shock which got you so quiet all of a sudden.” he finished wrapping up your leg, patting it for good measure. “can you stand?” he questioned with a warm look, one which you missed so much, after so long of not being in contact with others. “hello? i asked if you can stand up and walk.” he was crouching next to you, grabbing your chin to check your eyes again. you assumed that he must’ve been a doctor since he was looking for signs of head injury for sure, you knew this much of first aid. you leaned in without thinking, kissing him quickly. this caught him off guard, but it was so quick and sudden that it was over before he could register what was happening. “sorry, i just needed to check if you were real. i’ve been alone for a while, i wasn’t sure if it was just in my head or not.” he had a weird expression but only for a moment, then caught your wrist and lifted your finger to his face, poking it. “you could’ve just done this, you know.” he laughed sweetly, another thing you had been missing from your life. “you are right…” you whispered shyly, a bit embarrassed. “anyways, i see that you are quite lonely. you can accompany me for the time being if you want to. at least i can make sure your leg actually gets better.” you grinned tiredly. “if i’m gonna be your companion i gotta know your name at least though.” he extended his arm towards you. “just call me seungcheol.”
#wonijinjin#caratsland#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#svt imagines#seventeen#seventeen fluff#seventeen seungcheol#fluff#svt scoups#seventeen scoups#scoups#seungcheol imagines#seungcheol scenarios#seungcheol fanfic#seungcheol#seungcheol x you#svt choi seungcheol#choi seungcheol#seungcheol x reader#seungcheol fluff#seungcheol x y/n#svt drabbles#seventeen drabbles#seventeen fanfic#Spotify
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@theirishrose
Detective Inspector Daniel Hegarty walked on scene, hand lifting the tape to crouch himself just under to move across the barrier in an alley where there had been in early discovery in the very morning hours of the day of a body. There had been nothing to certain degree known in his years on the force to believe that there had been any evidence that the current crime scene left behind clues it had been the true site of the crime. He thought of it more of a matter of dump job. He spoke to the coroner on site telling him the very basics clues to begin with and he nodded. He looked around eager to let the work start to move their victim away from the site of too many in the crowds.
He briefly spoke to another detective, a woman much younger than himself saddled as his trainee as he sent her gather clues and split their time to stop at the surroundings shops for an inquiry. He walked to the other side as clean up of the scene began and walked to a small bookshop. He noticed a camera on its front facing the path that might give him sight of a car and its plate number. He stepped inside, hands in his pocket when he stepped in from the cold and into a shop as he took a glance around.
He was met with a woman. He kindly smiled, hands taken out of his pocket now at his side. “Sorry for morning bother, Miss. I’m inspector Hegarty with London police. I wondered if the cameras in front of your shop working properly? There may be evidence of importance and your help would be appreciated if you can provide any recordings of the previous night”
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God I neeeed this written. It's been in my head after I re-watched season 2 🥹🙏🏼 Angsty and ends maybe smutty? Idk
Imagine:
Billy is a bully because of his dad. The abused becomes the abuser, right?
He hates how he lashes out but he can't handle everyone else's perfect little lives.
He meets you and everything changes. You're not stuck up. You get it, you get him.
One night the beautiful family facade fails. You witness it, you see his dad throw a punch in Billy's direction.
You don't think, you just lash out. Teach HIM a lesson. If Neil gives it, he can take it, right?
When you aren't fed love with silver spoons, you learn to lick it off knives.
I have been sitting on this too long, I apologize. I hope this is kinda what you were looking for!
warnings: Neil, obviously, violence, loss of virginity, p in v, unprotected (billys the pull out king)
He’s rough around the edges, but he’s dastardly handsome. You see him getting in peoples faces in hallways, chest puffed up and a look in his eyes like he can't believe he has to share air with such scum. He talks back in class, rolls his eyes when they send him to the principals office and you witness the cycle repeat day after day. When you notice a busted lip and bruised eye, you chalk it up to another fight at first.
You’re quiet, keeping to yourself everyday. At lunch, you shove headphones over your ears and turn the Walkman up so loud, you can’t hear your own thoughts. Walking through the hall, your tape skips and you pull it up to inspect if it split. Not watching where you’re going, you walk right into Billy Hargrove’s chest and stumble back onto your ass, the hard linoleum stinging as it makes contact. At first he looks furious, boring down at you with fire in his eyes and you stutter out an apology, rambling on about how your tape skipped and you weren’t looking ahead of you. Surprisingly, he softens, almost immediately and reaches out to grab your hand.
You take it graciously, allowing his strength to lift you up and he grabs your Walkman, popping it open and inspecting the cassette. As he pulls it out, the tape unravels and you curse.
“Hold on,” he soothes, “Not a lost cause yet.”
He walks over to a club table, ignoring the glares he gets from the Chess club. You follow curiously, watching as he swipes a pencil from the sign up sheets and ravels the tape back into the cassette with it. He hands it back with a smile.
“See? Easy fix.”
He makes you feel all dreamy with his attention focused on you. You might actually float away if you don’t rush off immediately. “Thanks!” you yell back, hurrying off and sliding the headphones over your ears again.
Slowly, Billy keeps popping up wherever you go. He even shows up at the record store you work at, weekly. You’re not even sure how it exactly happens, no words are spoken about it but you’re pretty sure you’re Billy Hargrove’s girlfriend. He’s taking you out on dates that end in heavy petting and eager kisses in the backseat of his Camaro.
He’s so incredibly sweet to you but not to anyone else he crosses paths with. You’ve even witnessed heated arguments with his friends. You don’t understand why until one night you’re hanging out in his bedroom and Neil comes barreling into his room and screaming about how he wasn’t supposed to park in the driveway.
It funnels into an argument about everything. Billy doesn’t do anything right, apparently. You’re sitting there, stunned all the while fuming at this asshole. His complaints of his son are laughable at best, none of them really a problem.
Then, it happens and you jump up off the bed. A hard sucker punch to Billy’s cheek, a thundering sound clapping through the room.
Before you realize what’s happening, you’re throwing punches left and right at Neil. As your lifted off the ground, Billy’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist, you see the absolutely dumbfounded look on his fathers face.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” he says behind clenched teeth, his eyes dark and terrifying.
Billy grabs onto your wrist, pulling you out of the house and to his car. He’s peeling out of there, the house getting tinier and tinier in the rearview mirror and you look down at your bloodied knuckles. You don’t know how it happened, you saw red in the moment. You’re silent. You feel as if you should apologize but you don’t regret what you’ve done, even if your punches didn’t hurt him like his hurt Billy.
“I…” you open your mouth and close it.
“I know.”
Billy drives out to a field, at least an hour from town. He turns the car off and sits there for a moment, staring out the windshield. Then he’s grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers.
“Thank you,” he mumbles and you know it’s difficult for him to say those words.
And everything makes sense, now. Why he’s so broken, why he’s such a tough guy at school. But what doesn’t make sense is why he’s so nice to you. Maybe because you’re the only person who reacted to Neil that way. He brings your hand up to his lips and kisses your bloody knuckles.
“I’m ready,” you tell him, not sure why now is the time you want to lose your virginity.
Billy laughs and you fear it’s out of cruelty. Your panic subsides when you see the sparkles in his eyes. He leans his head back against the seat and peers over to you, “You try to beat my dad up and now you want to have sex for the first time. What has gotten into you?”
“That makes it sound weird,” you point out, “I guess I just realized I love you.”
“Took ya long enough,” he snorts and you glare up at him. “C’mere,” he scoots his seat back and pulls you into his lap.
You straddle him, though it’s a tight space. He kisses you tenderly, fingertips barely holding your jaw, “I love you too.”
Your stomach does a flip, deepening the kiss once he mumbled the words against your lips. Billy reaches his hands up into your top, pushing your bra up so he can get a handful of your breast. He licks into your mouth as he squeezes you in his palm, making you squirm in his lap. You can feel as he smiles into the kiss before he pulls back.
“I can’t take your virginity in my car,” he admits and you whine, looking down at him with disappointment etching your features. He’s got you all worked up just to shut it down so quickly and he looks amused as he stares back up at you.
“Yeah, you can,” you retort, matter-of-factly.
He laughs, moving your hair behind your shoulders, “I want it to be special. It’ll be a hell of a struggle in this small space.”
“It is special,” you argue, “I want it.”
Billy bites his lip and looks at you under his thick lashes, “Would it be too seedy to take you to a motel?”
You shake your head, smiling at him hopefully, “I’d do it anywhere with you.”
“Get your ass over,” he smirks, “Let’s go.”
You scramble over the center console, squealing when Billy plants a hefty smack to your ass as you do so. You swear he’s never driven faster.
The motel room is seedy but you don’t blame Billy, he pulled into the first one he’d seen and you were more eager than ever. You stand awkwardly beside him as he purchases the room, trying not to look the clerk in the eyes but you can feel the older woman looking you up and down. Billy doesn’t seem to notice or care, grabbing your hand and leading you to the room. Once he unlocks the door and gets you inside, he’s pushing you against it and presses sloppy kisses all along your neck and collarbone. You feel electric, your body tingles all over but especially between your legs. Billy’s hands are firm on your hips where he’s pinning you against the door and his lips and teeth brand you with bruises descending from your jaw to your collarbone.
You guys have messed around a lot, almost any chance you got you would touch each other eagerly but it never got very far. Billy knew he was the first guy you’d done anything with so he never pressured you to do anything more than hand stuff. You’d always been sure you wanted him to be your first, though. It was just a matter of when, neither of you imagined it would be after you’d punched his dad. Perhaps Billy feared this would be his only chance, since there was no way in hell Neil would let you around again. He usually didn’t go against Neil’s word too drastically.
“Bed?” you pant out, pushing on Billy’s chest slightly. You felt like you were going to melt into a puddle on the floor, light headed from the way he mouthed at your sensitive skin.
“Yeah,” Billy nods and lifts you up, hands on your ass. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you let out a little squeal. He squeezes your bum before walking you towards the bed and laying you down before hovering above you.
“You’re sure?” he asks, grabbing a hold of your hand and his breath smells uniquely him, you’ve got no other way to describe it. It’s pleasant, almost sweet but unlike anything else. You want to taste it so your hand grabs onto the back of his neck to pull his plump lips to your own, slipping your tongue in between them. Billy moans into it, hands snaking up into your blouse and pushing your bra up like before so he can squeeze your tits. His hands are warm and a bit rough, contrasted to the soft, supple skin they’re flush with. His thumbs and forefingers pinch your nipples hard, pulling on them while he licks sloppily into your mouth. It sends electricity straight to your clit causing your hips to roll up at him uncontrollably. You’ve never felt so starved for something in your whole life, so instinctually needy for him to ravish you.
“Billy,” you plead, squirming under his touch, “Need you so bad.”
“I’m right here,” he mouths against your jaw still kneading at your breasts.
You lower your hands to the hem of his t-shirt and lift it up and over his head, tossing it aside before grabbing his torso every way you can. He laughs softly, pulling back so he can rip your top and bra off but his hands quickly return to your tits.
“I really, really need you,” you repeat, scratching at his tanned skin.
He stares down at you in awe, never in his life has he seen a woman so desperate under him. They usually played it cool, if they’d felt this horny for him they would usually try to hide it. You can’t though, it’s so evident on your face how turned on you are. Your wide-eyed, pupils dilated and your cheeks are flushed pink. It’s captivating. He grabs a hold of your cheeks, squeezing them together and slaps your tit with his other hand. You cry out, arching your back to feel some kind of relief.
“You want my cock so bad,” he pouts down at you, “poor baby.”
“Need it,” you whimper, voice distorted by the way he’s gripping your face.
“Aw,” he teases, “are you begging for me to fuck you?”
You nod frantically, his words only making you wetter, “Please!”
He lets go of your face and starts unbuckling his belt, pulling it through the loops before he kicks his boots off. He inches to the edge of the bed, unlacing your shoes as quick as he can. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him, the firm grip he has on your ankle makes you whimper. Once he’s got your shoes off, he roughly pulls your jeans off. He positions himself closer and presses his palm hard against your pussy, the barrier of your soaking panties frustrating you.
“Fuck me, Billy,” you mewl, “Pretty please.”
His eyes go dark, mouth opening slightly as he exhales hard. You switched something in him, he’s pushing his jeans and briefs off quickly, freeing his hard cock. The sight of it makes you drool, the tip angry red and leaking which lets you know he’s in the same boat you are. He tugs your underwear down your legs, spreading your legs and scooting himself up between them.
“You wanna feel my cock, baby?” he pants, fingers circling around his length.
You nod eagerly, “Please, Billy.”
He strokes himself, biting his lower lip as he brings his free hand down to feel through your glistening folds. Billy’s touched you there hundreds of times, seen your pussy plenty but never with the promise of being able to stick his dick inside. He presses his tip your entrance and then slides it up through your folds, rubbing your clit with it.
“Oh God,” you moan out, toes curling as you anticipate what’s next.
“Fuck,” he grunts out, “I’m not gonna last long. You’re too fucking perfect.”
The compliments sends you spinning.
“Just want to feel you,” you whisper, “have been since I first saw you.”
Billy leans down to kiss you, hard. He brings his tip back down to your hole, pushes inside slowly. You feel no pain like you’ve been told. It’s electric, actually, makes you feel all kinds of warm and wonderful. Until he pushes in deeper, then you tense, hands grabbing into his waist. Billy kisses your jaw tenderly, tells you to breathe with him. His voice soothes you. It’s the most decadent sound you’ve ever heard.
“Keep going,” you choke out through clenched teeth, “I can handle it.”
You know the more he moves, the easier it will be. You’ve been told. But Billy moves slowly, holds you like he’s scared to break you. You’d happily let him. He sinks in deeper and it’s like he’s pushed passed a barrier, the pain subsiding completely and instead you’re flooded with a rush of pleasure.
“Oh, god,” you pant out, face etched in shock.
“Too much?” he asks, panicked as he looks down at you.
You shake your head from side to side, “Feels so… nice. And warm.”
He chuckles at that bending lower to pepper your face in kisses and he starts to pick up a steady rhythm with his hips. Your legs shake slightly as you try to spread them wider, wrapping your arms around his middle. It’s tender in a way you’ve never seen Billy, he’s delicate and reserved. Then he exhales sharply, his cheeks turning red.
“I’m gonna fucking cum, already,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead against your shoulder.
“Is that bad?” you wonder aloud, wiggling your hips slightly and he’s pulling out of you and spilling onto your stomach with a hiss.
He collapses onto the bed next to you and covers his face with his hands. You look down at the mess he’s made on you, feeling as it starts to cool. You’re tempted to touch it, smooth it over your skin but you fear that would be weird. After heaving a sigh, he sits up and looks down at you.
“Not bad, you were so tight it just felt too good. Give me a break and we can try again,” he whispers, standing from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. He returns with a towel and cleans you up, pulling you into his lap when he’s done. You’re already eager at the promise of doing it again so soon.
#billy hargrove fic#billy hargrove imagine#billy hargrove x you#billy hargrove x female reader#billy hargrove x reader#billy hargrove angst#billy hargrove smut
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