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madwomansapologist · 6 months

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A&W | tamerlane usher & william 'bill-t' wilson

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synopsis: You were the new girl. A play pretend, for Tamerlane Usher. A way to satisfy his wife, for Bill. They just couldn't predict you would be Tamerlane's clone. Or that you would do them so well. [3,6K]

warnings: smut. prostituition. threesome. voyeurism. masturbation. p in v. cream pie. oral. fingering. tw: use of 'good boy' and 'so fucking pretty'. dom!tamerlane. switch!reader. female!reader. reader is described to look alike tamerlane.

Tamerlane Usher expected to see a new, different face when she opened her front door. "Sorry for being late," you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. With a delicate smile, you reached out to her. "You may call me Love."

But all Tammy saw was herself.

It was like facing a mirror. You weren't a clone, there were enough different traits and details for her to be sure of it, but you looked like another version of Tamerlane. Like someone's blurred memory of her.

Your hair was a little bit longer, but it was the same color and texture as hers. Your eyelashes were a little bit ticker, but your eyes shone in the same tone as hers. Your smile was beaming and unapolagetic, but your lips were exactly like hers. So different, and yet so similar.

Tamerlane thought about how she so easily can forget someone's face. How sometimes imagination take place over memory. She imagined if anyone ever thought about her, but only pictured you. Would Bill ever do that? After this night, would he think about Tammy and see her copycat instead?

"Love?" Tamerlane licked her lips, a smirk growing slowly on her face. She didn't touch your hand, just gave you space to enter. "We thought you had changed your mind."

After the Goldbug launch, the last girl warned she was moving to another city. Tamerlane couldn't just hire anyone. First: she has standarts. Second: she has a reputation. It took her sometime to find someone, and for those past few weeks she felt starved.

She was so relieved when the last girl told about you. After discussing with you through e-mail, Tammy knew you were open to most of her desires. Then it came the NDAs, blood tests, creation of a new bank account. And Pym's research about you.

When he called her 4am to only say you were clean, Tamerlane almost felt like herself again.

"I would never," you said as your followed Tammy. "The last girl send me the wrong address."

It was difficult to not look at yourself through any of the mirrors there. Althought, maybe you could just look at Tamerlane. She is your distorced mirror.

After she gave you the envelope with the payment, a man came out of the kitchen with a bowl of salad. And his face certainty weren't new for you.

Of course you knew who Tamerlane Usher was. It feels impossible to try to survive without bumping into something owened by a Usher or their partners. You knew her name, her brand, but not her face. As any smart rich person, she went out of her away to not be famous.

Maybe you could pass by Roderick Usher and not realize who he was. Madeline could be right behind you and you would never noticed. But that would never happened with William "Bill" Wilson.

His face is everywhere. Sometimes it feels like it's stalking you. So many products, banners, commercials. It's impossible to use Tik Tok and never had seen at least a second of his classes. Either because of his knowledge about health or how no one can understand how he is able to smile while working out, people know Bill.

Bill is the face of Tamerlane's empire.

And here was him, serving the table.

Everything smelled so good. And also looked so delicious. Even the salad. Distracted by the food, it took you a second to notice the mesmerized look on his face.

"Your hair," Bill murmured. He sounded uncomfortable. Almost ofended. He glared at Tamerlane. "You chose that wig?"

You reached out to him already expecting to be ignored as when you did the same with Tamerlane. "Hello, Bill. I'm Love," it surprised you when he grabbed your hand.

It was a stiff, reservated movement. But you still feel like he saw you as more than the thing that will spicy the night. Like when you act as polite as you can with an worker because you want be sure that they will understand you see them as human beings. The quick gest carried some sort of companionship.

You both are working for Tamerlane tonight.

"That's my hair..." You touched a strand of it, twirling it on your hand. You tried to sound unsure, insecure. "You don't like it?"

Bill hesitated. Normally they ask Tamerlane if she liked what they chose, not him. Those girls could make him bleed and they would still ask Tamerlane if they should keep going. It never is about him, Bill don't want it to be about him, so why bother? But you held your gaze on him, waiting for an opinion, and so he had to came up with one.

"Is just that," it was almost a whisper. Bill put his hands behind his back, and for a second ignored your gaze by looking at Tammy. "You both are identicals."

"I don't think so," you said, touching your lips lightly. By his tone, you couldn't say if it was a good or a bad thing for him. You turned to Tammy, who was pushing a chair for her, and then went back to Bill's eyes. Your smirk surprised him. "My clothes are cheaper."

That made them smile. You unbuttoned your black coat, and Bill took it from your hands. Even from behind, you could feel him staring at you. Staring at your emerald dress.

Tamerlane, already sat on her chair, saw you giving her a little spin. That made her breathe in. She could already feel her womb warming up.

You both were matching.

"I thought we should start with dinner. Let's do a celebration, maybe a birthday. Just eat, drink, enjoy one another. Do you drink wine? Good. We'll talk about the rest later."

Bill pulled your chair. You sat at the beginning of the table, and held his hand before Bill could get away from you. Carressing it, you felt the warmth of his skin. "I'm so, so sorry for being late," you whispered. "I really am."

"That's fine," Bill finally said after a few seconds of silence.

"I can see you worked a lot. Everything looks amazing." You put your head in between your hands, watching Bill sitting beside you. "I love when you cook for me. It makes me feel like I'm part of a team. Our team."

Unsure of how to proceed, Bill looked at Tamerlane. He waited for instructions, maybe just as controled by Tamerlane as you. Her eyes were approving, so he turned back to you with more confidence.

Bill think it's so funny how he was turned into a puppet by her hands. Who would imagine that he would ever bend like that? Love really fucks people up. At least his love for Tamerlane did fucked him up.

He would do anything for her. Anything to keep her. Including this. If she needs that, so be it.

"I feel the same," and Bill really wasn't lying. He just wasn't. "Makes me feel part of something."

Tamerlane slid against her chair, intrigued by how this was going.

You grabbed his hand, and he carressed yours. "We against the world, right?"

Bill smiled. "Always."

You knew he was beautiful, who could ignore that fact, but he was so much prettier from up close. So sweet. For a moment you just watched him, and you also felt like he was watching you.

"I almost forgot," you walked to where he put your coat and searched for something on the pockets. "The real reason why I'm late."

You came back with a white, tiny box in your hands. You settled it in front of Bill, and took a bite from the plate he made for you. "Perfect, as always," you licked your lips and tapped the box twice. "C'mon. I want to see your reaction."

He took it on his hands, feeling how light the box was. When he opened it, he saw a hand watch. "Did you liked it? It's so difficult to gift someone. What can I give to someone that can have anything? There are so many things that can go wrong. If you didn't, I can just..."

"I loved it," Bill stopped you. "But I don't have anything for you."

You took it from his hands, and opened to put it around his fist. "You don't need to." Your hands stayed against his forearm, strucking it lightly. "You're more than enough to make me happy."

Tamerlane was already dripping.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Tamerlane told you both to wait while she made sure everything was ready and set. You finished your glass of wine, the only one you drank that night, and got distracted observing the room for long enough to forget you weren't alone.

What remind you of that was noise coming from the kitchen.

You walked slowly, so carefully that Bill didn't even saw you. But you saw him. He bend over the sink, searching for something that looked like a medicine box, murmuring something to himself. And when he found, you recognized the blue pill on his hand.

"That just broke my heart, big boy." The way Bill got startled made you smirk. "I'm not pretty enough for you?"

Alone, you could see how he was more relaxed. Maybe calmer. Near his wife, Bill needs to lie. Near you, he don't need to. Even thought you know that this dinner wasn't entirely a play pretend, it was still one.

"You're not the problem," he murmured.

"Then what is the problem?" You whispered, stepping closer to him. "Don't tell me you gonna fuck a woman for your wife and not even enjoy it?"

"That way is easier for the both of us," Bill whispered, mirroring you. "None of us wants to be here, let's just get it done already."

You held his hand before he could put the pill on his mouth. "You think I don't want to be here?" You got even closer. "That I don't want to be near you?"

Bill didn't knew what to say. He just agreed.

"I can't wait to make you feel good. To make sure you won't have time to think those stupid thoughts. You won't worry about anything else." Carressing his chest, you felt how stiff he really was. How nervous and uncomfortable that whole night has been for him. What a shame. A man as pretty as him don't deserve to ever feel that way. "Because that's what I do. That's what I love to do."

Your hands massaged his shoulders, then his forearms. "So tense," you grabbed Bill's hands and kissed his knuckles. Not even once you looked away from him. "You can pretend I'm her."

Calmly, you slid your fingers against his. Just playing with his skin, letting goosebumps on him. "I won't be ofended. If it's easier for you. It's easier for her, that I know."

Bill whimpered, and you never before wanted so bad to break someone. To take this mask Bill use, his all put together way, and smash it against the ground. To see him wide, unapolagetic.

You bite lightly his middle finger, just to mess with him, before you straighned up your posture. "I promise not to say a damn thing. If it makes it easier. All you need to do is to closer your eyes."

Tamerlane's heels made you look away, but you kept on holding his hand. "Can you do that for me, big boy?" You turned back to him, a ghost of a smile appearing on your face. "Can you fuck me like I'm yours?"

"Everything alright over here?" Tamerlane announced herself.

You blinked at Bill before turning to her. You gave Tammy another beaming smile.

You followed her to the bedroom, the tension rising. You could feel Bill watching you, his gaze burning your back. When Tamerlane locked the door, you took a deep breath.

"Since it's our first time, let's start slowly," Tamerlane walked toward her armchair. "Bill, help her take off her dress. I want you both to kiss, it don't need to be romantic, and then lie on bed with her on top. We'll see how it goes."

You stepped towards Bill. "You like when I wear green?"

"Yes, I do." Bill was more eager to answer this time. Maybe it has something to do with the way you made him unable to look away while you followed Tamerlane.

"I like it better when I'm wearing nothing. And you?"

Tamerlane unbuttoned her pants, unable to look away. This was... different. No one ever bothered to talk. To continue this act no matter what happens. She was salivating.

Bill held your waist, and he did so with force. You felt fingers brush against your ribs, moving up to brush against your breasts, squeezing the flesh of your waist. His gaze alone seemed capable of tearing your dress.

You turned around, and Bill pulled you against him. That felt so right. You took a deep breath, holding his hand against your body. You rubbed against him, feeling him through his pants, and smiled victoriously.

“The zipper,” you whispered.

Bill opened it calmly, noticing every inch of exposed skin, his finger brushing against your back. The dress fell off. You stepped out of it, and kicked it towards Tamerlane.

She smirked.

You were fun.

Which meant she was fun.

Bill grabbed your waist again, but without the dress the touch felt so new. You both just kept like that, as if it was a normal thing for the both of you, until you chose to turned around. You knew you were putting on a little show for the both of them.

“Kiss me,” you commanded. As if it was you the one ordering that. As if it was your idea, not Tammy's. As if you were her. You promised Bill to make him believe you were Tamerlane. You always keep your promises. "Now."

And Bill did as you wanted him to. As you ordered him to.

It was raw. Famine. You felt like Bill was trying to taste your soul. To hold onto it and never let it go. Bill kissed you like he was a starved man, and you accept him like a sheep waiting to be sacrified. And still, you weren't a sheep. You couldn't be one. Not if you want him to see you as Tamerlane.

Tamerlane is a wolf.

You pulled him by the collar of his shirt, not bothering to be gentle. You held him like Bill was yours, which meant that for tonight he would be. You pushed him, causing Bill to stumble back. He gasped, just like Tamerlane.

"Sit down," you demanded.

Bill couldn't think straight, his mind confused from the wine and the desire for more, so you pushed him hard. He fell onto the bed, staring at you from below as if you were a sight he had never seen before. "Is it so difficult to obey me?"

He shook his head. "No," he felt the need to repeat.

If you were Tamerlane, he would never be so needy. You would satisfy him whenever you could. But you can understand her side. There's nothing as beautiful as a giant man smelling like desire.

“Take off your shirt,” you ordered. This time he obeyed. As Bill threw his shirt away, you caressed his chest. So much more delicate than the push, so much more certain than the provocations exchanged in the kitchen. "Good boy."

You sat on his lap, and carefully laid him on the bed. You nibbled his lip, licked his thick neck, scratched his pecs. You slid your hand down his pants, knowing well that Bill was looking at your exposed intimacy, and felt his dick. Getting hard.

Even with tissue separating your skin from his, you knew he was big. That made you drool.

Tamerlane had already thrown her pants away. Her shirt was unbuttoned, her bra lost on the floor. She continued to wear her panties, just because she liked the feeling of them rubbing against her hand.

You grabbed Bill's hand and placed it on your waist. "Squeeze," and he did. His hands roamed your body, and you began to rub yourself against his growing bulge.

You opened his pant, and smirked when you saw his cock. "Say please," you hissed.

Bill swallowed. He squeezed you, his nail digging into your skin, but it was a good pain. "Pretty please," that made you want to get him inside your mouth. Make him melt against your tongue, choke on him until your eye burns, let him occupy your mouth for the rest of the night. But Tamerlane said you were supposed to be on top of him, and you weren't going to disobey her.

You sliding your hand up and down, and saw as Bill closed his eyes. You pushed your thumb against a vein, following it until his most sensitive point. And Bill was indeed sensitive. How long has been since he was last worshiped?

"Tammy," Bill moaned. And when he did it, Tammy let a whimper escape her throat. You stopped breathing, filled with a sense of pride. Bill whispered sweet nothing, chills went down your spine.

When you took him inside you, inch by inch, Bill shuddered. He grabbed your body, scratched your skin, moaned Tamerlane's name. You squeezed your walls, and you saw when Bill lost control. When it was too good to think.

You didn't look at Tamerlane. You could feel her gaze burning you, you knew you only had to look in any of the mirrors to see her, but you didn't dare. You only heard the moans, the wet sounds that her pussy made. That added to Bill inside you almost made you lose control.

Almost, because you wanted them to lose it sooner.

Bouncing on his dick, Bill spread his thick muscular legs. You were surprised when he lifted his torso, pulling your body close, but his mouth against yours silenced any exclamations from you.

Bill held his back, and without any effort he changed the position. Him on top, your legs pinning him against you, his forearms resting on the bed. That kiss was more than anything. He devoured you. And he did it so well you didn't even remember that you were supossed to be on top of him.

Tamerlane also forgot about that.

She just imagined herself in your place. She imagined herself commanding, demanding, mocking him. Tamerlane imagined herself making him feel so good that she would need to remind him to touch her, to look at her, to breathe. And then Tamerlane found herself being overpowered. Being thrown on the bed because Bill felt so much pleasure that he simply needed more, he needed everything she could give him, he needed it even if it meant disobeying her.

And when Bill whimpered Love, when he moaned your name while fucking you so good, she imagine herself between you both. She imagined her fingers deep into you, feeling how warm and wet he made you for her. Tamerlane imagined Bill kissing her the way he did to you, with your hands tucking on her hair.

Bill brushed the hair out of your face. "So fucking pretty," he murmured against her mouth. You opened your eyes, your mouth turning in a soft smile, and you felt tears forming on your eyelid. Bill was even better than you imagined. "You're mine," he growled. "So fucking mine."

His digits found a home in your pussy, spreading your arousal against your clit. Your nails entered his skin, and with a little more force you would be able to make him bleed. And it was at that moment that Bill came apart inside you.

He filled you, made you complete, all while moaning against your face. You trapped him with your legs, leaving him even deeper inside you, and only then did you have the courage to look at her.

Tamerlane couldn't keep her eyes open. Couldn't see it. She felt so good, so soft, so on the edge of an orgasm that she couldn't control her body. Her arm burned, her fingers curled over her clit, but she couldn't stop. She couldn't do anything but continue.

So when she felt a soft tongue against her pussy, the moan sounded too much like a scream. But she opened her eyes, saw you kneeling, looking at her with so much desire, and thought of nothing but to continue. As well as letting you lick up every drop of her. Letting you make her feel as good as you made Bill just a few seconds ago.

Tamerlane imagined his cum dripping down your legs. She looked up, and saw Bill recovering on the bed. She saw his smile, the way he looked deep into her eyes. And she saw that he was happy. Really happy.

Tamerlane squeezed her hair, guiding your tongue tightly against her. She replaced her fingers with yours, and in no time Tamerlane came looking right into Bill's eyes.

He was hard. Again. Sitting on him, your back against Bill's sweaty chest, he fucked you deliciously. Again. Tamerlane licked your breasts, bit your nipples, rubbed her hand against your pussy in such a dirty way. Such a good way.

Embraced by them, you felt so right. Like you were at the exactly place you should be. Like everything in your life led you towards them. Or maybe it was just the second orgams coming.

When Tamerlane woke up later that same morning, the first thing she saw was you between them both. Bill sleeping peacefully, hugging you from behind with his hand resting on Tamerlane's tight.

And she just went back to sleep.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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mountsmason · 2 years

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England Diaries: Training

↳ instagram files

summary: you work as a photographer for the england team when they return to camp for the nation's league fixtures.

pairing: slightly mason mount x reader

a/n: any kinda feedback would be appreciated as it keeps me motivated to write, via anon in my asks or simply in the replies/tags <33

➪ england diaries pt. 1, the arrivals

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yourusername

liked by jarrodbowen, declanrice, and others

yourusername mason looking a bit different here 🤔

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masonmount not now y/n 😔

↳ yourusername too soon?

↳ masonmount too soon 💔

↳ yourusername my bad...

declanrice big j bowen in the building 🔥

May 30, 2022

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yourusername

liked by chelseafc, jackgrealish, and others

yourusername reece and tammy back in training 💪

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benchilwell the boys 💙

reecejames let's go 🏴

tammyabraham 🦁🦁

May 30, 2022

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yourusername

liked by philfoden, fikayotomori, and others

yourusername it's as if @jarrodbowen has been on the squad for years

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declanrice buzzing to have you here brother ❤

↳ yourusername we can all see that 😂

tyronemings someone give @conorcoady_ a 😘 from me 🤣

johnstonesofficial is it legal for @jackgrealish to have his shorts that high up ?

↳ yourusername I had a feeling you'd be the one to notice that

↳ johnstonesofficial meaning?

↳ yourusername nothing 🙂

↳ jackgrealish I needed some ventilation 😎

↳ yourusername 👀 that's a big word

May 30, 2022

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yourusername

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yourusername today's winners 🏆

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declanrice boyband vibes

masonmount dream team 💯

jackgrealish always winning 💙

May 30, 2022

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yourusername

liked by npope29, kierantrippier, and others

yourusername and ofc our keepers (minus pickford who was too busy shouting at john)

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aaronramsdale *about to grab the popcorn*

npope29 I'm just glad it's not me pickers is having a go at 😂

jpickford1 he doesn't listen 🙄😤🤬

↳ johnstonesofficial 🖕

May 31, 2022

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yourusername has deleted this post

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yourusername I heard from a friend of a friend....

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masonmount what did you hear? 😏

sasha__rebecca Y/N!!! wrong account maybe?!?!

↳ yourusername SHIT SHIT SHIT

↳ yourusername WHY ISN'T IT DELETING

yourusername it was nice knowing you all 😃

yourusername I'm never gonna hear the end of this

↳ declanrice no you won't 😊

↳ reecejames I second that

↳ conorcoady_ I third that

↳ yourusername THIS HAS ONLY BEEN UP FOR 2 MINUTES HOW HAVE YOU ALL SEEN IT ALREADY??

masonmount taken a screenshot in case you delete this 😎

↳ tammyabraham send it in the group chat bro

↳ yourusername don't send it in the group chat bro

↳ masonmount too late 🤪

↳ yourusername yeah I'm fucked

May 31, 2022

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yourusername

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yourusername I see no difference

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declanrice y/n wishing mace would look at her like that 🤣🤣

↳ yourusername nah I'd rather Jude look at me like that 😉

↳ johnstonesofficial now that's a plot twist no-one was expecting👀

June 2, 2022

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nclgsticore · 1 year

Text

'𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝟖' 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝

Credit to GIF owner. GIF is not mine <3

𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐅 & 𝐒 )

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐥𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐱 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐀 & 𝐅 )

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐅 & 𝐀 )

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐥𝐮𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐅 & 𝐂 )

𝐦𝐚𝐝 | 𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐒 )

𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐀 )

𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐢 | 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐅 )

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 | 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐒 )

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢 | 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐅 )

𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 | 𝐥𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐀 )

𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐢 | 𝐥𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐒 & 𝐅 )

𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐥𝐮𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐂 & 𝐅 )

𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐲 | 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐀 & 𝐅 )

𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐢 | 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐒 )

𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐅 )

𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐥 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( 𝐂 )

#rose weil #lou miller #debbie ocean #tammy #nineball #constance #amita #daphne kluger #rose weil x reader #lou miller x reader #tammy x reader #debbie ocean x reader #daphne kluger x reader #ocean's 8 #ocean's eight #ocean's trilogy #woman

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suckerforcate · 2 years

Text

Yuanfen

Pairing: Lou Miller×Reader, Tammy×Reader (sister)

Word count: 1.338

Summary: You are madly in love with Lou but you know that your sister would disapprove.

_______________________________________________

"How's it going Miller?" You slowly approached Lou and winked at her. "Very good. But I'd appreciated it if you wouldn't flirt with me." She took her coffee and left you standing there like an Idiot. She's done that a few times lately. Normally she would always flirt back but she somehow stopped that.

"So you like older women, huh?"

You nearly choked on your drink when Debbie said that. You were choughing helplessly, it was actually kind of embarrassing. You wanted to keep it safe that you liked older women, just in general women, and Lou but thanks to your stupid reaction you couldn't deny it anymore. Debbie was cry-laughing besides you. You shot her a death glare and she quickly got you a glass of water and patted you on the back.

You two sat down on the couch and when your breathing was back to normal Debbie gave you a questioning look. You hesitated and she added:"Or maybe one certain older woman?".

You figured by now it didn't matter, the secret was already revealed and served on a plate for Debbie.

"Well, yes I in general like older women. It's just always been like that. They always attracted me more than women my age. I don't know why. And yes I might have a slight crush on Lou."

Debbie started laughing again, "A slight crush? Come on (Y/n) You are crazy for that woman." You raised your eyebrow and then you remembered the way she treated you lately.

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore anyways."

"Why?"

"It's just, I don't know something is wrong with Lou. She's so cold to me lately. She doesn't flirt back anymore. She used to love that, it was our thing. Always flirting." Debbie looked at you understanding but before she could say anything more Tammy came down the stairs.

You tightly hugged Debbie and whispered something in her ear, so that Tammy couldn't hear it: "No word to my sister or I'll kill you!" With that you stood up and left.

You didn't want Tammy to find out, she's your older sister and has always been super protective over you. You loved her, of course. But you were old enough to make your own decision and take the consequences. You didn't need a nanny. Honestly it was quite annoying.

Later that day you were sitting in your room when you heard a knock. "Come in", you were sure it would be Debbie so you were quite surprised that Lou stepped in.

"Hey (Y/n), Debbie told me that we should maybe talk. So what's up?"

"Yeah, come in. You can sit down on the bed if you want." You pointed in that direction and put your phone away.

"So...I'm not quite sure how to say this. But I... Is something wrong? You’ve been so distant lately. That's not like you." You carefully looked up right at her and saw her looking...surprised.

"I didn't think you would notice that actually. I thought you probably didn't care." You raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Lou, you were rather harsh with me. Of course I noticed. We always used to flirt and you just stopped. I really liked that and you." Your voice got quieter and quieter by the end. So quiet you didn't even think Lou heard you but when you looked up you saw her coming towards you. She kneeled down in front of you and took your hands in hers.

"Oh, Darling. I like you too. But come on, this can't work. Tammy would kill us both if she'd find out and she's probably right. I'm not good for you. You're so young still, you shouldn't be with a criminal. Also I'm way too old. Find someone young and beautiful and normal." She was surprised when you jumped up.

"I don't care, honestly why would I want someone normal? My sis is a criminal, all my best friends are criminals and I'm half one too. And I don't need my sister to protect me. I can take care of myself. Also find someone young and beautiful? Excuse me, you're the most beautiful woman ever. The age never mattered to me. I know that I like you. End of discussion." Lou slightly smiled. She stood up and came to you.

She gently took your face on her hands and pulled it towards her a bit. You closed your eyes and slowly felt her lips touching yours. It felt like heaven and you knew that that's everything you always wanted. Lou didn't need to know that you didn't just like her, but had a massive crush on her since you were like 12. Not yet at least.

Debbie knew directly. She saw you two coming out of your room after you talked and just smiled knowingly. If just Debbie was at home you didn't have to hide.

Originally the plan was to keep it that way but the two of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other. So eventually the others also found out. All of them except Tammy. If Tammy was there you all kept quite. You knew she had to find out some day, but you weren't keen on it.

One day, when everyone was there except for Tammy, who was bringing the kids to their dad, you all talked about how Lou and you got together. You still kept to yourself, that you liked her since you were 12 but you told them that you had liked her for some time.

"For some time? What do you mean by that?" Lou grinned at you and leaned over to kiss you. You still blushed, everytime she kissed you or flirted with you.

"Lou?! What are you doing with my sister?" You broke away from Lou, panic in your eyes. Tammy knew. She saw you. Shit. Suddenly confidence rushed over you. You were old enough, she didn't have to control you like that.

"We are dating." You looked at Tammy but you knew that everyone in the room was holding their breath.

Everyone loved Tammy, she was wonderful. But if it came to you, she could be quite scary. No one ever wanted to mess with her. Not even Debbie.

"No, your not."

"Yes, we are."

"I won't allow that. Couldn't you find someone normal? Not a criminal. Lou how could you?" Tammy approached Lou, you had never seen her this angry.

"How could she what? Love me, show me how beautiful I am every day, make me smile, make me happy? Do you really think I'm not old enough to decide who I date? I know you just want to protect me but you don't have to. I love Lou and I don't care that she's 20 years older or a criminal. You're a criminal. Debbie's a criminal. Hell, even I'm a criminal. If you didn't want me to be one, you shouldn't have let me grow up with them. I don't care if you'll allow it." Everyone started at you now, not just Tammy.

"You love Lou?" You paniced. Did you say that? You had never said it before and you didn't plan on saying it in front of everyone in a fight with your sister.

"No...?" You looked at Lou, seeing her shocked face.

"You love me?" Didn't she know that? You thought it was pretty obvious.

"Of course I do. I did for ages. You're the most incredible person I have ever met. How could I have not fallen in love with you." You had never seen Lou cry before, until now. Well she didn't technically cry, but there were tears in her eyes. You kissed her. Softly. Your sister was still there.

"Ok, ok. I guess it's fine. But Lou," Tammy shot a warning glare at her, "if you'll ever hurt (Y/n) I'll kick your ass. Understood?" Lou nodded and gave you another kiss.

"Oh for gods sake, get a room. I still have to get used to this." Tammy wildly waved her hands at you two

#ocean's 8 #tammy ocean's 8 #lou miller #lou miller × reader #tammy × reader #reader insert #debbie ocean #cate blanchett #cate blanchett x reader #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson #sandra bullock

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dreamypqulson · 1 year

Text

— soon they’ll be happiness, for now we’ll fight

summary: it's getting bad again, with relapsing and heavy feelings, and all ally can do is unconditionally love you through it all.

pairing: ally mayfair-richards x reader

warnings: self-harm, depression

word count: 1700

You don't really remember when it got bad again, but you knew that you were seriously hurting when your arm had that stinging pain again. You couldn't say that you didn't enjoy it. That you didn't find comfort in it. Feeling as much happiness as you did lately just didn't feel right. This sadness was all that was meant for you and it was only what you deserve anyways.

Nevertheless there was still a part inside of you that tried to fight off your depression and anxiety, your horrid mindset. You wanted help, but you didn’t want to get better. You just needed someone there for you, to make you feel like everything would be okay until their arms weren't around you anymore. You needed your Ally.

After gliding the blade across the soft flesh of the inside of your arm, you went downstairs to Ally's at home office. You tried to press down the the cuts with a tissue to stop the bleeding, but it kept bubbling up with dots of blood until you eventually gave up and just let it bleed.

Your sleeves were long and your sweatshirt was dark colored so you wouldn't frighten Ally right as you walked in. You knew she had her own struggles with mental health, but never to the point that you did. She was still trying to learn to help you.

The door was already wide open so you let yourself in. Your steps were slow and not less than hesitant. You truly debated whether to do the right thing and tell her or to just run back upstairs and hurt. Ally was well aware of your struggles and always tried her best to help you through everything, but she thought you were getting better.

"Ally?" You say, voice small and vulnerable. It grasped her from the paper work that was laid out in front of her. She had been very busy since becoming the senator, but always made time for you. And she told you to come to her whenever your hurting, anyways.

"Hi, baby! C'mere," she patted her lap. She could tell that something was up with you just by your body language itself, but decided to just ignore the gut feeling.

You sat yourself on her lap but kept your arm coddled close to the front of your body. Your hair was all messy and your eyes were puffy and red from crying. You looked like a train hit you and you've never felt more disgusting.

"Ally," you said again. You were trying so hard to build up the confidence to tell her. She hummed and kissed the skin right below your ear. That, at least, made you smile a little bit. "I— It's— It's getting bad again."

It took Ally a moment to fully process what you meant, but she quickly came to realization. "Okay. Okay. Thank you for telling me. Did you hurt yourself, sweetie?" Her voice was ever so soft, but you could still hear the lingering fear hidden within her.

"Mhm. I'm sorry I didn't come to you first." You started to heavily cry again. It felt good to let the tears flow freely. She pulled your head to her chest and begin to slowly rock you back and forth. It was a comforting thing. Ally always knew how to make you feel safe and comforted.

"Baby, that's completely okay. I do want you to come to me first next time but i'm proud of you for even telling me. That's so brave of you." She kissed your head a couple times to truly show her love. You could've sworn that you felt a tear drop of hers fall onto your head too. "I want to clean them though. Is that okay, can I do that?"

Ally was always looking out for your health, whether that be physical or mental. It made you fell loved. Certainly when you could could hardly even take care of yourself. You nodded against her chest, and then she was gently pulling you up with her.

She held onto your hand the entire time to the bathroom and then helped you up onto the sink counter. Not because she thought your would run, but because she knew you were always extra needy in this state.

She looked at you deeply in the eyes and waisted until you nodded for her to pull your sleeve up. The remaining blood on the cuts smeared as she did and your arm looked nearly like a murder scene. She still had yet to show any type of disgust at it though. You loved her for that.

She cleaned away the blood with a wet wash cloth as gently as she could although it still didn't hurt you very much. You really couldn't feel much of the pain on your arms at this point.

"My love, how about a bath? It'll make you feel good." Ally knew you loved when she simply just washed and took care of you. She also knew that the water could stop the little bleeding you had left of the cuts.

You hummed again, too tired to even speak by now. She kissed your forehead and went over to the bath to start it up.

You felt bad for putting all of this on her. You felt that you should apologize for it, although you knew deep down that nothing you said could take away all this shit you caused. Your guilt grows and so does more tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of this. Please don't leave me."

She quickly turned back around after the water began pouring out. Her heart broke seeing you a sobbing mess like that. She grabbed your hands and gave both knuckles a kiss. It was something she did that always earned a giggle from you, but right now it hasn't worked.

"I'm right here, darling. I'm not leaving you. Not ever. I love you too much," she rested her forehead against yours and you could feel her staring into your eyes but you didn't have the guts to meet the gaze. "And no more sorries. You've done nothing wrong, you are just human, that's all."

You let out a tired sigh and your head moved to rest on her shoulder, taking in her sweet scent that smelled like home. You were luckily to have someone so wonderful to get you through this. Otherwise, you think you would’ve been stuck in that dark hole.

She eventually helped you off of the counter and undressed you. Typically, she would get into the bath with you. You would share a romantic bubble bath together. But she knew that what you needed right now was for someone to just help you get through simple tasks.

The water was hot but not boiling. She always somehow got the perfect temperature for you. Right as you sat down, you curled up with your knees to your chest and arms around that, making yourself feel small. When the water came in contact with the cuts, it did begin to sting but you were so numb to everything that you hardly even realized it after a few moments.

Ally scrubbed some shampoo into your hair. You could've fallen asleep at the soft fingers scratching your scalp. She was so gentle and delicate with you. Sometimes you wonder if she thinks that you are just a fragile piece of glass that would shatter under a harsh touch. That's what you felt like sometimes.

She reached for the shower head and detached it to rinse the soap out of your hair after a deep scrub. "Eyes closed, sunshine." You closed your eyes and smiled at the nickname. Ally would always call you that whenever you’re feeling down or ill. She is your sunshine. You should be calling her that.

Ally began to scrub your body and lather you hair with conditioner, then repeat the process of rinsing. When completed, she helped you out of the bath and wrapped you up in a fresh, clean towel.

Instead of moving, you wrapped your arms around her for a few moments. You needed a minute of just peace before time began again. If you didn't have Ally, you would've just wallowed away in bed, never to be seen or cared about again. You were so grateful for her, and you yearned to return the favor of her kindness.

Ally brings you back into the bedroom along with bandages and antiseptic. She sits both you and herself on the bed. You stared down at the duvet, suddenly too ashamed and embarrassed. You always hated when the attention was brought back to your self harm. "Can I see them, my love?"

Instead of answering, you simply just extend your wounded arm. She takes the antiseptic and applies some to the broken skin on your arms. With the cuts now settled, it burns, but you ignore the pain. She bandages the broken skin and you, somehow, feels better now that you don't have to see the red lines.

"I am so proud of you for telling me. Words can't even express it." She lifts your arm up and places a chaste kiss to the covered cuts. You could cry again. You almost do. But you quickly blink those tears away. "Don't take it away from yourself that you told me."

She knew that your mind would betray you...but you should've came to her before you did it. You nod and give her a weak smile. She doesn't wait for a verbal response because she knows you’re too drained for that.

"How about you put some comfy clothes on and I’ll order us a pizza? We can have a lazy day and watch movies." And she knew that you hated feeling indolent over your mental health problems, so she always manages to turn it around into something more acceptable for your own mind.

“Yes! I love you," you've said it a million times before, but it just blurts out this time. It feels so real, so true, so natural. I love her, she's the one.

She giggles at you and taps your nose. You scrunch it up and she leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss. Everything hurts, but this doesn't. This is the one good thing, and for once, this type of happiness is not such a scary thing. "I love you too, my sweet girl."

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skyebounded · 1 year

Text

So Pretty, It Hurts

.main masterlist. .stranger things masterlist.

premise: You’ve fallen for her and can’t help the urge to tell her just that, but it might not have gone the way you expected..

Warnings: pining, swearing, angst, you know the drill my friends.

WC: 3.7k

A/N: I have nothing to say that would make this any less sad, so....enjoy!? Also I listened to, ‘so pretty it hurts’ and “we fell in love in october” by girl in red....so yeah.

So pretty it hurt was a mere understatement of how it felt to look at Robin, she was nothing shy of stunningly beautiful. Everything she did, pure perfection, you were convinced, and you had been for some time now. Even in her clumsiest moments, she could never seem to be anything less than perfect. You would gladly spend the rest of your days proving that to her, in every way you could, in every way she would allow, however, anytime you got the urge to tell her this, you fell short. There was never a right moment, the looming fear of rejection buzzing over your head anytime you opened your mouth to tell her. So you kept it to yourself, day in and day out wondering if you would ever get the chance to do so. It made your heartache the more you kept it in, the more you hid it from her, but how were you supposed to tell your best friend, that you were in love with her, and that you wanted to worship the very ground she walked on, especially when she made no gesture that she would even be open to the idea…you didn’t.

“Do you think Steve is bringing someone?” Robin asked, mindlessly staring down at a rather loud-looking blouse, twiddling the buttons of it between her pinched fingers. You’re not sure how long you had been staring at her, as she stood in front of your closet, flipping through the endless amounts of colorfully dull shirts with ridiculous patterns on them. You were supposed to be on the way to the drive-in at this point, but alas here you were, killing time as robin had called it, patiently awaiting your ride. Your stomach twinges at the sound of Harrington’s name, Robin’s newfound best friend, one that you weren’t completely sold on. Ever since her summer working at scoops, Steve had weaseled his way into most of your conversations, and you couldn’t be any less amused by it. The truth was, ever since high school, Robin had been obsessed with the boy with flawless hair, and a rather arrogant stance, and then as soon as they started to work together last summer, things changed, Steve became her- well, you didn’t know what they were to each other, but you hated it. He wasn’t supposed to be here, in your lives. You had hoped that all those years of seeing him at school, seeing how arrogant and downright stupid he was would eventually open Robin’s eyes so that she could finally see how much of a loser he was, and how much she shouldn’t like him, but clearly, that hadn’t worked in the slightest. Just like he had with Nancy Wheeler, Tabitha Jones, and all the other countless girls, he had Robin Buckley falling for him moment by moment. At least Nancy Wheeler had her eyes opened to her rather quickly and was able to get out, but Robin was now trapped..

“Y/n?”

Looking up at Robin, you took note of the hopefulness in her eyes, the way she was still clinging onto one of your shirts, the very one that Steve had commented on last year as a simple ‘nice shirt, looks good on you’ as if she was pleading silently with you to allow her to wear it. You twitch at the thought of Robin in your clothes and grimace at the thought of Steve commenting on it.

“Sorry, what was the question?” you sigh, situating yourself against the headboard of your bed. Robin scoffed her typical scoff, as she let go of the shirt, moving on to the next one. “I said, do you think that Steve is going to be bringing a girl with him?” there it was, that familiar feeling of self-loathing, and jealousy that you didn’t want to acknowledge. You didn't care, that's what you had been telling yourself for the past year, you didn’t care. you weren’t jealous, weren’t bothered in the slightest. You didn’t care.

“Why does it matter?” The question fell from your lips in more of a rather harsh tone, not that you intended it that way, but you couldn’t help it. Mindlessly you grab one of your throw pillows, twisting the edge of it, hoping to redirect your attention away from the conversation. You hadn’t noticed that Robin had shot you a rather curious look.

“You know what's strange?” she asks, shutting your closet doors rather abruptly. You hum in question, “You seem to rather dislike Harrington a lot lately? And anytime I mention his name you get all stiff..” You fight the urge to hit her with attitude and surmise that a shrug would suffice as a way to break up your response.

“I’m not stiff, I just don’t understand why he’s always around. Like doesn't he have other friends to hang out with or at least other women to prey on?” that last bit you albeit whispered, wasn’t meant for her to hear. Robin moves over to the bed tapping your shoe as a means to tell you to move. You pull your legs into a cross, making room for her to sit down in front of you.

“What’s your problem with him, you know, not to stroke his ego or anything, but he’s a great person, I know, hard to believe, but he is, he’s a lot different than he used to be.” She smiles softly, watching you carefully. This time you couldn’t help it, you spoke before thinking. “Ohh well isn’t that fantastic.” it was meant to sound sarcastic, but well it just sounded harsh, which ultimately earned a rather offended look on Robin’s face. “What? I just don’t get it, what do you see in him, besides he’s your friend, so like what does my opinion matter? Unless he’s more than your friend..” You add, your body tensing up, that wasn’t how you meant to say that, but again, oh well. You hated talking about this with her, especially since you had no idea where they stood with each other, Robin and Steve. Robin looks at you, a shred of realization forming in her mind. “Eh no way, he is just my friend..” she says, that hint of amusement in her voice. “I feel like if you got to know him you’d-”

It was a pure impulse, the way you leaned forwards without thought, and pressed your lips against her perfectly glossed ones. You had been watching her, watching the way her plush lips moved as she spoke, and that's what prompted you. Your heart hammered, your ears rang, and everything you knew disappeared for the moment. You were kissing her. The only thing that you had been able to think about for the past few months, the only thing that had been consuming you, was finally happening. You were beyond all reasonable thought, controlled only by your want for her that it was clouding your judgment. She had given you the smallest form of reassurance, and you’re not even sure that's what it was, but you were determined to take it as such. She saw Steve as a friend. So you did it, kissed her. Perhaps it was out of jealousy, though you would more so like to call it an impulsive decision, but the thing was, it felt right to do it. You had been in love with Robin for some time now, and the moment you knew it, was the moment she took even more of an interest in lover boy Steve, or so you thought, so you kept it to yourself, not sure how your best friend would react to your sudden and newfound feelings, but now, well now was as good as time as any.

Kissing her, like this, now, it felt right to you, and perhaps that had been simply because you had wanted her for so long, but it didn’t matter right now. Feeling that sense of greed filling you, you wanted more of her. Your hand finds her cheek in a desperate attempt to pull her closer, but she pulls away from you before you could start, a startled and accusing look on her face. She clearly hadn’t been expecting it, and from the looks of it, she hadn’t wanted it either.

“What was that! Why did you do that?” she asks, the familiar sounds of a panicked rant filled your ears, as she stares deeply at you, her lips now pressed together. You had never seen Robin look at you like this before, that look of disapproval, but not over something you had said, but more so over something you had done, something that she ultimately didn’t like. You didn't know what to think. All of your thoughts and feelings had started to erupt, every single one rushing to the forefront of your mind, fighting against each other. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go, she wasn’t supposed to be upset, that you were sure of.

The abrupt jolt of the bed as she stands up as you snapped back to reality, and on your feet as well. Taking a cautious step towards her, she retreated, her eyes darting around the room as if she was looking for someone to save her from you, like she now found herself uncomfortable in your presence. The thought tugged at your heart more than you cared to admit.

“Robin I-” you start but fall short instantly. You weren’t sure what to say right off the bat, you hadn’t planned on it going this way, but to be fair, you hadn’t even planned on kissing her in the first place. You had been holding on to that for as long as you could remember, and were waiting for the right moment, but there never seemed to be one, so you threw caution to the wind, only for it to blow up in your face. She was waiting for you to explain, you could see it in her eyes, the way she was searching yours intently, as if the answers to her questions lay just beyond them. You had to tell her, to get your feelings out, that was the only thing that made sense to you, telling her. “Robin I have to tell you something, I have to tell you how I feel about you-” It was clear that the more you spoke, the more she squirmed, the more she recluses into herself. She shook her head, muttering soft ‘nos’ as you gazed at her.

“Robin please, it is killing me, let me explain!” There was fear in your tone, shaky and panicked. Robin slowly shook her head, hoping that the words that were about to flow out of your mouth would cease. She didn’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever if she could avoid it, but that wasn’t going to be the case, you were determined to get it off of your chest, to tell her exactly what ailed you day and night. She turned away from you, pulling her gaze to the floor, her foot kicking at the tuff of the carpet. “y/n what are you doing? Why did you do that? You can’t just- just…” She groaned. You could hear the way she was upset, it was clear, and it only made you want to explain yourself even more, make her see your side, but you couldn’t fight the lingering panic of rejection festering inside of you. Stepping forward you clasp your hands together, a silent prayer, hoping that she would just hear you out.

“Robin, I can explain…I have to tell you…I love you, I am in love with you and I can’t help it, I-” but she silenced you almost immediately. “Y/n stop…just stop..” She held her hand out, a gesture for you to keep your mouth shut. You couldn’t ignore the sting festering inside you, the bile resting just beyond your throat. Why didn’t she want to hear it? Why didn’t she feel the same? It was killing you, to hear her so adamant to keep you from spilling your darkest secrets. For as long as you had known each other, you had never told her just how deeply you felt for her, never mentioned the fact that you liked girls, liked her, you weren’t even entirely sure if she liked girls, she had never expressed so, and not to mention, the looming presence of Steve Harrington always around her, it was hard to get a read on her, but there it was. Pulling your lips into a thin line, you studied her, watching the crease in her brow relax momentarily before she was back to arching her brows. “Robin I like you,no i mean I love you, and I can’t change that, I want to be with you, I want you-”

“Stop it! Please y/n stop it!” she shouted, her voice cracking as it always did when she was adamant about something, you could see the way her chest was rising and falling at such a rapid rate. “You can’t say those things….you can’t just…. You can’t just kiss me, what were you thinking?” she started, her eyes darting around the room. “We are friends, best friends, you can’t!” you could see her trembling in her movements, each flail of her arms as she tried to express herself.

“Robin, please just let me explain, please.” you beg, your shoulders fell, that familiar feeling of defeat residing in you. God, all you needed was the chance to explain yourself to her, a simple little explanation of why you did what you did. Robin didn’t say anything at first, she just stared at you, her whole body rigid, her face fixed in a permanent scowl.

“Robin…..” you start, instantly feeling your stomach twist into a knot, and your heart begins to pound. “You know, I have spent a good portion of my days thinking about you, wishing that at some point you would open your eyes and see me, not Steve, not anybody, but me. Robin, I am in love with you and have been since freshman year of high school and who knows maybe for longer than that, and I am tired of hiding that fact from you. You know,I always noticed when you would stare at Steve, watching him daily, talking about him like you were so utterly obsessed with him, and the thing is, I always wanted you to stare at me like that. I wanted you to be obsessed with me, not fucking Steve Harrington, but I could never seem to understand the appeal he had on you, and I still don't.”

“Y/n it was never about Steve…..” Robin blurts.

“No, because it was. While you watched Steve, I watched you Robin, your obsession with him being the only thing that kept me from doing anything. I don't understand why you were so fascinated with him but..I just don't understand why it wasn’t me. Why wasn’t it ever me?”

You could feel the ache in your chest, the burning tension that consumed your body, it hurt. Robin shook her head, exhaling a small breath before her eyes met yours once more. You couldn’t quite make out that expression, the one that was on her face, and it scared you, especially because you could tell it was nothing good. What was she thinking?

“It was never about Steve, it was always about Tammy,” she states plainly.

There it was, that stab, that numbness beginning to spread throughout you. Tammy? It was about Tammy?

“Tammy? Tammy Thompson?” You spoke softly, feeling a slight prickle in your eyes.

Robin nodded, and you wondered if she would expand on her response.

“She had always been obsessed with Steve, and I could never figure out why, what was so great about him…you know? And so I became obsessed with him, trying to figure out what was so great about him, and why, just why she was so infatuated with him, because the truth was, I wanted her to look at me that way, I wanted her to want me.” Her voice broke, and you wonder if it’s because she understood what she was saying, she had been wanting the same thing that you had, just not with you. You couldn’t help the burning question that was resting on your tongue.

“You like girls…?” you knew what the answer was, she had just admitted it, but there was something about wanting to hear her actually confirm it, say it out loud. She glanced around the room a moment, taking a deep breath.

“Yeah..not boys, and definitely not Steve Harrington…”

You felt your body cave, and your shoulders drooped. Why had she never told you? Granted you hadn’t told her, but why? Did she not feel comfortable with you, with your friendship, to not tell you? You weren’t sure what hurt you more. Perhaps the fact that all this time, she was like you, into girls, the only difference being, she wasn’t into you like you were, her.

“And now…well there is Vicky..” she added. Hearing those words so plainly said, falling from her lips was the topper to the falling cake. You had not ever, not once been on her mind and it showed. The thing was, you had always wondered how Robin had felt, if she was the same as you. Liked girl, and hearing that she did, well that hurt more than the thought of Steve Harrington. It was the fact that you had been there with her, since day one, her best friend, and she had overlooked you in every way possible, and the very moment that you decide to say fuck all and act on your feelings, she couldn’t be any more disinterested in the idea. You found it hard to find your voice, as you stared at her with that blank look on your face. What was left to say? You weren’t sure.

“Vicky.” you breath, feeling like your feet were glued to the floor despite your want to move, to step away and collect your thoughts. Robin’s eyes scanned your features, the smallest bit of pity hiding behind them.

“Y/n….” you could tell she wasn’t really sure what she wanted to say, not even sure that you would want to hear it regardless, no you reckoned that you didn’t.

“No, sorry that was stupid of me, I should have just…..should have just kept quiet..”

“No it's just, you are my best friend, and I really appreciate it, I do, but that is all I will ever see you as, and it’s not going to change. I don’t want to lose you, though.”

There was no shred of emotion or inflection in her tone, none at all, it almost felt like she had turned off that part of her. The words stung, more so than her pushing you off of her. Nothing hurt more than hearing her tell you, you would never be more than just a friend to her, her best friend. What more could you do? Pursing your lips together you just bob your head, the tears being kept at bay by nothing but sheer will. The truth was, you weren’t even sure that you could allow that. To be by her side like always, but never able to be by her side. Having to watch her be with people other than you. That wasn’t a pain you wanted to feel. You felt stupid, humiliated, like a failure. You were numb. So unbelievably numb. Not only did she not want you the way you wanted her, but you also couldn’t shake the fact that she hadn’t told you that she liked girls. You had been her best friend, and she had failed to tell you.

Robin shuffled slightly, leaning forward like she wanted to give you a hug or some pathetic form of comfort, but she stopped herself, pulling back to her respectable spot, watching you closely like you were a bomb ready to explode. A loud honk came from outside, pulling both of you to glance out the window to see Harrington’s car parked on the curb. The smile on Robin’s face was sickening. You knew now that Steve wasn’t the object of her desire, but something about it, about them, you couldn’t watch it anymore. Robin waves her hand, snapping you back to reality as you look at her.

“Come on, we are going to be late..”

Feeling the tears prickling in your eyes you just shake your head. You couldn’t seem to understand why she was so fine, so totally okay with the way she just crushed you. Perhaps she was hiding it well, and deep down it really hurt her, bothered her even, but if it did, she wasn’t showing it in the slightest.

“Robin I can’t-” you start, taking a deep breath, feeling a single tear roll down your face. “I can’t be your friend anymore….I can’t sit here pretending that I am okay, because I’m not. I am sorry but I can’t.” You say, your voice trembling. She could see it, the pain that was residing in you.

“Wha-what?” There was panic in her tone, panic over losing you.

“Please, it hurts, please just let me go…” You couldn’t bring yourself to look her in the eyes anymore, the tears in your own were starting to build up more, and you were praying that she would just finally leave. Pulling you into a tight hug, you could tell she wanted to argue, to tell you that you were being selfish, but just as she goes to open her mouth, Steve honks his horn once more. Taking in a sharp breath, you pulled her off of you as gracefully as you could.

“You better go, you don’t want to be late,” you say softly.

Robin gave you one last broken look, her eyes holding that strange sense of pity behind them. She knew she couldn’t fight you on it, so without saying so much as a bye, Robin turned on her heel, and disappeared out of your room. You didn’t let go of the breath you had been holding until you heard Steve drive away, nor did you let the tears fall until you were sure that you were completely alone. Streaming down your face, as you dropped to the floor, pulling your legs up to your chest, staring blankly at your door, somehow wondering if she would come back, but as you sat there, seconds turned to minutes and eventually turned to hours. She wasn’t coming back. Robin Buckley, your best friend, had just walked out of your life, forever.

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 2 years

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How do you think the conversation went between eddie and Tammy?

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #tammy thompson

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averagestudent03 · 1 year

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I Know The End: Chapter One, Over And Out.

(Pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!reader, stranger things rewrite)

(Word Count: 3.7k)

(AN: Would anyone be interested in a tag list? This is my first story and I plan to start a series as I haven't seen many for Robin Buckley, and she deserves the world oml- thanks for reading!!)

Series Warnings: swearing, fear of abandonment, era-relevant homophobia, etc.

More warnings included in future chapters.

-------------------------------------

29/06/1985 - Cerebro's Hill

Dustin Henderson was a boy with large ideas.

When he was five years old, he waddled around his mother's house mumbling on about space, time, and the monsters that hid beneath the bed. They crawled and infested the wooden frame beneath him, squirming when he shone a flashlight directly at them. This happened because he happened to catch an image of a shadow from the corner of his eye (which turned out to be a coat rack, but he wouldn't figure that out until he was seven,) and refused to sleep in his room for a week.

He still found himself afraid of the dark some nights.

When he was eight, his mother purchased his very own D&D manual, and the boy was convinced that the woods were haunted. In his mind, creatures from Fei to Celestials roamed the forests, and the boy spent three weeks attempting to lure out a unicorn. His friends joined him, Michael Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair and Will Byers disregarding even the thought of schoolwork for 22 days and six hours.

Despite never finding a unicorn, the boy remained just as invested in the fantasy game as the day he was introduced. He held a figurine in the shape of a horse with wings as a reminder of his larger-than-most imagination, slowly coated in dust and left alone on his windowsill.

He never told anyone.

When he was thirteen, Dustin Henderson found a slimy, writhing creature that he quickly tried to identify as an aquatic pollywog in his trash. However, after finding out faster than he would've liked that it wasn't, in fact, a pollywog, but a creature from an alternative shadow universe; heart beating below his beloved town of Hawkins, the idea that terrifying things walked among him began to truly sink in. He had faced the issues regarding Will Byer's disappearance and possession, but was never truly able to fathom the danger he was in for simply existing until Steve Harrington made his way to the boy's side. He never assumed that Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High would ever willingly help him out, but was quickly proven wrong when he found the older boy dragging buckets of bait down a set of train tracks for monster-hunting.

Somehow, the largest truth he had to face up until that point was that Steve Harrington might not have been the complete and utter dick that Mike Wheeler described him to be. Instead, he was ruthlessly swinging his baseball bat from years prior (now adorned with rusty nails and a fresh coat of crimson,) to defend the hoard of kids gathered in an old school-bus.

So, when Dustin Henderson returned from camp and was faced with a terrifying Russian translation, he wasn't as fast to dismiss its existence. The idea that Russian soldiers may have been trying to contact the cursed town of Hawkins was not as unfathomable as it had been years before.

This, of course, was how you came into the picture. Dustin Henderson had never been more grateful that the rusted walkie-talkie you had gifted him for his ninth birthday still worked. He held the button for hours sat on top of the grassy hill, begging for just a moment to speak with you.

It was rather difficult, considering the pair of the walkie-talkie that you owned remained stuffed inside a drawer at the bottom of your desk. Buzzing at nothing, Henderson's angry voice echoing against four wooden walls.

"Come in! Jones, come in!" He begged, breath hitching in the back of his throat as the nickname slipped past his lips. The boys had been known as ghostbusters, code names rattling off of their own devices, long before you became involved in the joke. By then, there were few interesting characters in the franchise left, so you had become the next best alternative. Indiana Jones, in fact, certified treasure-hunter from one of the most iconic films of your time. It was purely coincidental that the name had been decided during one of your babysitting sessions with the young boy rather than the time you and he fought on an actual adventure.

"Jones, please-" He tried again, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as he attempted to push through everything. The emotions from the day were already running high, feeling more than abandoned by the remainder of his friends as they ditched him, leaving him to call for his girlfriend on his own. It was disappointing that they refused to believe him, but leaving on his first day back in Hawkins?

Truly unfair.

It was no surprise to the boy that he was beginning to worry, thoughts of the Upside-down seeping into his head without permission. In the silence, he remembered the stretched face of Will Byers as he was forced to burn the Mind Flayer out of him. He remembered how the second he was certain that the events were over, he rushed to his house and rocked himself to sleep in your arms. He was frightened, and currently, there was no-one else to turn to.

"Short?" His nickname in your voice echoed back, crackling out of the plastic device. The boy was so happy, he swears he could've cried.

"Jones! Oh thank god, you need to unlock your house, right now-" He begged, rambling and struggling to get the words out.

"Hey! Hey, kid, breathe- is everything alright?" Your voice was hushed, a relaxing tone despite the static coating it. He shook his head, realising that you weren't a psychic like El, and wouldn't be able to see him, before repeating his issue.

"No, Jones, everything's wrong." He muttered, hanging his head and packing up his belongings.

"Okay, are you alright? That's the most important thing, Henderson." Your voice was certain, strong despite the emotional turmoil the boy was facing.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'll be over in ten?" He questioned, silently wincing as he realised he might've been intruding on an important night.

" 'Course, kid. You know you're always welcome at my place. You need Harrington, too?"

"No!" The boy exclaimed, quickly muttering reassurances while you sat in confusion, trying to piece together his uncertainty.

"No, not Harrington, just you tonight. I just- I just need you and movies, please. I'm really scared." He croaked out the last part, hoping you'd come to your senses and realise the urgency of the situation before he cracked.

One second of silence, and then another, before your voice returned, calming as ever.

"Okay, kid. I'll set Indiana up and grab some leftover snacks from before you left, is that okay?"

His smile widened, hands rushing to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"Yeah, sounds great Jones. I'll be over in ten. Over and out." He clicked a red button on the corner of the device, shoving it deep into his bag as he packed up the remainder of Cerebro. He had recorded the message, just in case, pondering over the words as he willed his heart to stop racing.

The mind flayer was gone, he was safe. The upside-down wasn't coming back.

He reassured himself, running through the affirmations Hopper had set him after the fallout of 1984. He began to lug his bike down the hill, returning Cerebro to its rightful place in his garage before making the treacherous bike to Steve Harrington's street. You lived three doors down from him, parents absent the majority of the year. The only proof of them having existed at all was cash thrown onto the side hurriedly before every visit.

It was more than enough to last you a while, and whilst you tried not to spend when you could avoid it, you figured ordering a pizza for you and the kid you used to babysit couldn't be deemed an unreasonable cause.

You quickly recognised the repetitive knock at the door, pattern familiar from the times he'd ambushed you over the years. Christmas parties, birthday parties, random visits from him and the boys, Dustin Henderson would always use the same knock. Three fast knocks, three slow knocks, three fast knocks. Morse code, in case something were to ever happen to either of you.

You would greet him in the same manner, because if an alternate dimension wasn't off the table, then neither was kidnapping. You rushed to the door, throwing him a small smile before the boy flung himself into your arms, burying his face in your shirt.

"Hey! Hey, whoa, kid, are you alright?" You mumbled quickly, pulling him closer to provide him the reassurance he needed.

"What happened?" You questioned, leading him to the large sofa in the abandoned living room.

"I'd rather just show you." He hung his head, pulling an old recording device from his pocket that blared angrily, Russian grunts and groans through almost unintelligible words.

The syllables slurred together as a confused expression plastered itself on your face, frowning as you glared at the device.

"Where did you find this, Henderson?"

"I was trying to contact Suzie after the others ditched me," he began to ramble, moving quickly and disregarding the look of shock on your face at his previous sentence, "and then all of a sudden the channel wasn't working and there was Russian, I think, and now I don't know what to do because I don't speak languages and what if the upside down is back?" He blurted out, panting and attempting to catch his breath.

The curly-haired boy slumped forward, straightening his cap and staring up at you as you processed his words.

"They ditched you?" The words slipped from your lips as you tossed the boy a pitied expression, attempting to make sense of his rant.

He only nodded, basking in the silence.

"And you found a Russian translation?"

Another nod.

"Russians are trying to contact Hawkins?"

A final nod, and a deep intake of breath from you.

"Right," you started, blinking slowly and trying to piece the words together.

"I tell you what we're going to do. Tomorrow, we're going to go find Harrington, we're going to get this whole thing cleared up, and then I'm gonna go yell at the others for ditching your ass, sound good?" You offered him a small smile and he chuckled, a look of relief painting itself across his features. He nodded eagerly, hugging you again, interrupted by the blaring of a doorbell.

"Pizza?" He exclaimed, widening his eyes and almost vibrating with excitement, the previous topic and worries slipping further and further out of his grasp with each passing second.

You nodded, rushing to greet the man at the door. He was grimy, sweat dripping from his forehead as he threw you a shameless wink and tried to slide his number into your hands, with you quickly crumpling the note up and tossing it into the nearest bin.

Dustin Henderson was less worried, now. He was safe, in the house that the boy practically grew up in after his father left, with you. You led sprawled out across the sofa, mindlessly picking at the edges of the pizza as numbing sound blared from the nearest radio.

"You upset they ditched you?" A small sentence, but one that stopped Dustin Henderson in his tracks. He glanced up at you, risking a short breath before looking away, hanging his head in shame.

He didn't want to be disappointed. He was worried enough earlier that they had forgotten him, replaced him with someone better. He had begun to think that maybe you had forgotten him, too.

Now, obviously, the thought wasn't even a possibility, but he hadn't confronted the gnawing feeling in his stomach when the boy's friends were mentioned.

"...yeah." He whispered out, finally admitting it. He knew that his words wouldn't leave your house, and so he let them go. Let the secret linger, like an ancient prophecy or a foreboding message, because he knew you would comfort him.

He knew you would understand.

"Oh kid." You muttered, shaking your head before pulling the boy closer, wrapping him in another hug as he began to spill his guts.

He told you about Suzie, and how disappointed he was when they had dismissed the possibility of him finding one so easily, how betrayed he felt when they had turned their backs on him. How worried he was that he was going to be replaced, having been out of the loop for so long.

"I'm just- I don't know, the summer was great, and we were fine, and now it's all coming back." He practically whimpered, shaking slightly in your arms. You grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around the boy as quickly as you could, running a hand through his curls.

"I know. Believe me, I know- but tomorrow, we're going to find Steve, figure out what's wrong, and it's gonna be fine, okay?" You questioned, glancing him over to check that tears were no longer streaming aimlessly from his eyes. He nodded his head, wrapping his arms around you once more, curling into your side.

"So, this Suzie girl, she seems pretty special, huh?" He blushed at your words, launching into a rant about how intoxicating his girl was, and how everyone else paled in comparison to Suzie Bingham. He had failed to notice the way your eyes lit up when he spoke about her, genuinely happy for the boy. He was far too engrossed with a story about how they'd won a contest at Camp Know-Where for the largest functional rocket, or the tallest solar panel built from scraps.

You simply nodded along, mind subconsciously drifting to another girl. One with brown hair, most recently seen wearing a sailor's outfit at Starcourt Mall. To say that your summer had been wildly different was putting it simply, your mind filled to the brim with thoughts about Robin Buckley and her insatiable laugh.

If someone had asked you how long you'd known her, you would be unable to give them an answer. Only that one day, she appeared, slumped at a History desk in the corner of the room with her eyes trained on Tammy Thompson. She had been there the day before, and the day before that, and many, many days before that, but she had only struck your radar two years ago. Maybe that was due to the fact that suddenly Steve Harrington had disappeared from your life, seen dancing around the corridors with a girl by the name of Nancy Wheeler, or to do with the fact that you hadn't been entirely sure who you were. A trip to a far-away summer camp filled to the brim with other girls harbouring tainted thoughts about one another had sorted that out quickly. Your parents hadn't approved, of course. Maybe that was the reason why they spent so much time away.

Ashamed.

And so you bit your tongue, finding any and every reason to talk to her during school hours, but avoiding her like the plague when you caught a glimpse of her around Hawkins. Slipping into dark alleyways, jumping into bushes; you had become acquainted quickly with hiding in Hawkins. It was a talent, a skill. An art, if you will.

You had successfully managed to evade Robin Buckley's radar for over two years, and were fully intent on continuing that streak until monsters crawled from the depths of hell into Hawkins, bringing Steve Harrington rushing back into your life. He had demanded your help to appease his thoughts about Nancy and Jonathon after the cinema incident, and you had slapped him.

Quickly, painfully, across the face with no time to think about it. Screamed at him for hours, demanding what was he thinking?

How he could treat her like that was beyond you, and so he was swiftly forced to apologise. Hand wrapped around a bouquet of roses before being violently abducted by the loudmouth himself, Dustin Henderson.

Still, you had managed to avoid the likeness of the brunette, and that was enough for you.

Until he began working with her, of course.

That created an issue.

A few issues, really.

Firstly: It reminded you how painfully head-over-heels you were for the girl. How although she had managed to evade your sight, the image of her was forever imprinted in your mind and the second you saw her in that white and blue polo, the pit in the bottom of your stomach grew. Your face flushed red as you willed it away, hands nervously tapping against the side of your jeans as you attempted to make casual conversation.

You nearly had a heart attack on the spot when she asked you how you wanted her.

It, she foolishly corrected herself. How did you want it?

She chuckled, utterly and entirely clueless as to the affect she'd had on you. You simply stood there flushed red, finding a sudden interest in the floor, wondering as to what caused the slip up. Of course, Tammy Thompson was in her peripheral vision and so the girl couldn't be held accountable for any actions whatsoever, especially flustering a clueless stranger in an ice cream shop.

Secondly: It meant that you couldn't see Steve. You had to actively avoid the man for no reason whatsoever, and you couldn't tell him why. You had to suck up a visit to Scoops whenever you felt like you could stomach it, but would then avoid him until you were in the for most of either of your homes. Hangouts were rare, rarer than they were over the summer and the gnawing in your stomach was only growing.

And finally: you were convinced that Steve Harrington was growing closer to the girl. Steve Harrington, your childhood friend with an irresistible smile, thousands of friends and the reputation of a God, was all over Robin Buckley. Like white on rice, except that white on rice didn't make your stomach churn when you saw it.

Instead, you threw yourself into your studies. Into your own job at the arcade where the boys had met Max, and into caring for the party themselves. You spent weeknights planning campaigns with them and any free time was immediately pushed into late nights out with everyone and anyone you could find. Unlike Robin Buckley, you didn't have music. Music didn't float through your veins the way it did hers, and the nerves still bubbled up when you saw her, only soothed with the buzz of a few drinks.

In fact, the only reason that you had even considered letting Steve Harrington back into your life again was due to the Halloween party, in which you drove the boy home and allowed him to weep shamelessly into your shoulder over the loss of Nancy Wheeler. It was a rough night, for both of you. You cried with him, and he seemed in awe of your talent to empathise and feel the heartbreak seeping through his blood, when in reality, you just wanted someone to cry to.

Someone to hold you as you sobbed over the brunette that had infested your thoughts and wormed her way into the cracks of your heart. You were perfectly aware that the last person to accept you would be the man who called Jonathon Byers a 'queer,' but it was nice to pretend that he might care.

Even a little.

So, you got to pretend, for the night, and wrap yourself in his embrace. Weeping into each other's arms, sprawled in his living room; a tangle of limbs illuminated by the streetlamps outside.

You had drunk, and drank some more, and you kept drinking until the night was a blur and you woke up throwing up into Steve Harrington's bathroom, a place you hadn't been to since you were a child. You had scrambled out the door, before being questioned by the man himself as to why you were in such a hurry.

"I uh- I don't actually know." You had said, eyes narrowed and attempting to recall Steve Harrington's downfalls over the past few years. He had dug himself a rather large grave, but was slowly, and surely, burrowing his way out. Step by step.

It didn't, however, make up for the way he'd spoken to you.

You cooked him breakfast, you ate in silence, and he left without a second glance.

As if nothing had happened.

"Jones?" The timid voice of Dustin Henderson broke you from your thoughts, staring intently up at you as to gauge your reaction.

"Hm?" You responded, eyes heavy and words hushed, pulling the boy closer to your chest.

"You believe me, don't you?"

"About Suzie?"

"Yeah." He whispered, almost afraid of the answer he might receive.

"Yeah, of course I believe you, kid. She sounds amazing." A small smile grew on his face, lips quirked upwards as he clung to your side on the sofa.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed. It'll kill your back."

He chuckled, standing and grabbing a blanket and a mountain of pillows, heaving them up to your room. He wouldn't use any of the spare bedrooms, he had stayed over far too much for that. Not tonight. Not on a night like this.

Instead, he launched himself at the double bed sitting in the centre of your room, facing a large set of windows. The blinds were drawn, and a pile of his clothes sat strewn over your desk. They had been from months prior, the last sleepover he'd insisted on as he helped figure out his most recent campaign before he left for camp.

"Get some rest, and we'll go bother Harrington in the morning, 'kay?" You muttered, crawling into bed next to him as he clung to a random pillow.

"Thank you." He whispered, sleep coming for him swiftly after that. Your eye caught a book resting on the edge of the table, one that a certain brunette had snagged from the library a year ago. The first time you had run into her outside of school hours, as she tossed you a dazzling smile while rambling on about the uselessness of Mrs. O'Donnel's English class that the both of you happened to share.

The Woman In Black, Susan Hill.

The girl had scribbled in the margins when she had returned it, and you had stolen the book for yourself. The slightest of self indulgence, given that you were unlikely to receive anything like it again. It was a small reminder of the girl, and of the reason you stayed in Hawkins.

Your thoughts were accompanied by Henderson's gentle snores, and you could relax knowing that you were alright, and Dustin Henderson was safe.

Dustin Henderson would always be safe, left to his large ideas and moments of comfort, if you were around. That was all that mattered.

You'd make sure of it.

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley #robin x reader #stranger things reader insert #stranger things x reader #stranger things rewrite #st3 #st4 vol1 #st4 vol2 #dustin henderson #steve harrington #tammy thompson #gay #new fic #chapter 1 #I know the end

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years

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Since I’ve seen that you do write Walten files/mysterious house, so I will request one please

Basically pumpkin rabbit was caught and jailed for his crimes (along with the other residents) so now the ghost children just do whatever. One night, Tammy was taking a stroll in the front of the house when she sees a lonely child sitting on a bench. She freaks them out at first because of her face, but she’s eventually able to console them.

Sorry for the lengthy message, but I freaking love the idea of Ghost!Tammy being comforting. I would be incredibly grateful if you wrote this.

HALLOWEEN TERROR FINALLY LAID TO REST

The Pumpkin Rabbit has confessed to the murders of nearly a dozen children who went missing within the community. An anonymous tip led police to his residence, dubbed by locals as the “Mysterious House”, where they recovered photos of the children, along with their remains in the home’s basement. He is expected be sentenced to death, along with the rest of his accomplices.

"Wow..” Tammy muttered as she stared at a newspaper left behind on the ground, revealing the fate of that horrible rabbit.

It was such a relief.

He was finally arrested for his crimes. For a while, she found her spirit unable to leave his home. But as soon as her body was taken out, she could roam freely throughout the neighborhood--alongside his other victims, who rejoiced at their freedom.

Though it was not entirely happy, as they were all left with painful reminders of their gruesome deaths: their mutilated faces and other wounds. Not even Tammy was spared as she became frightened by her reflection..

Her face forever carved like a jack o’lantern.

There was nothing she could do about it, unfortunately, so she just wandered the streets. Some of the children have already moved on, but she wasn’t ready yet.

She had to find Duckie and apologize to him. He was probably angry at her.

Of course, why wouldn’t he be? It was her fault for pressuring him to visit that house and not being more insistent about leaving when they had the chance.

What if they had just taken the candy they got and went home?

What if they took those “stranger-danger” lessons in school more seriously?

Maybe then, they both would’ve been...

But Tammy just shook her head to clear the thoughts, sniffling. She felt like crying; this guilt would stay with her for all eternity until she found him. So she vowed to never stop searching.

Eventually she arrived in front of the Mysterious House, which was left in an even more decrepit state. Police tape was stretched across the front door and yard to deter curious visitors.

Though she realized she wasn’t entirely alone, as she spotted a living child sitting on a nearby bench. A bag of candy laid in their lap as they sorted through it, humming a tune.

“Oh! Hi there-”

You looked up and immediately yelped in fright, clutching the bag and staring at her with wide, terrified eyes. She was just as startled, though she remembered her disfigured face and hid her mouth, worried that you’ll run away.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” Stepping closer, she stopped as you tensed up. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you or take your candy. I know I look kinda creepy, but...” She trailed off, thinking it was no use.

But fortunately you remained on the bench. “No, it’s okay. Y-You just surprised me, that’s all.” You timidly remarked. Ghosts easily scared you, especially when they’re the ghosts of murdered people, though this one seemed friendly and oddly calm about her situation. “Did the Pumpkin Rabbit really...do that?” You pointed to your face.

Tammy nodded sadly, taking her hand away from her mouth. “Yeah. He had a sick obsession with Halloween. But we thought we could trust him-”

“We?”

“My friend Duckie and I...we stayed the night at his house because it was already so late. I wish we never did. We’re dead because I was stupid enough to-”

“No, you’re not stupid.” You reassured her, frowning. “The Pumpkin Rabbit always seemed so nice. I thought he was just misunderstood. I heard rumors he was bullied as a child for loving Halloween so much. But even if they’re true...it’s not your fault.”

“..haha, thank you.” She felt relieved to hear that, before going quiet for a few long moments as she stared up at the moon. “Do you mind if I keep you company? At least until you get home safely?”

“Sure.” With a small smile, you shuffled to one side of the bench so she could sit down. You looked at her empty eyesockets. “I’m [y/n], by the way.”

“Tammy.” She tried returning the smile. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but um..m-maybe under better circumstances it would’ve been.”

You giggled a bit. “Don’t worry, I know. I’m still glad we met.”

Tammy just nodded silently, her shoulders relaxing as you showed her the haul of candy you got tonight.

She was glad her presence was comforting.

#clanask #the walten files x reader #walten files x reader #twf x reader #the mysterious house x reader #child reader #twf tammy #platonic #tw body horror

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dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

june 13th, 1986

American Psycho / Halloween / Scream / Friday the 13th / Fear Street / Jennifer’s Body

8.6K words

warnings - descriptions of wounds/violence (blood n gore n such), you and eddie get high, friday the 13th au

summary - On June 13th, 1986, Camp Hawkins Hills is the victim of further tragedy after its poisoned water with roadkill in the tanks, perished foods from ill-storage, and the disappearance of a young camper. Seven are left dead. One injured.

Tammy Thompson wakes up to find that her boyfriend still hasn’t quite gotten them to camp.

“Reilly,” her hair, big and bouncy, smushes against the headrest of the passenger seat, “It was a straight line from Cunningham, baby, how’d you get lost?”

“It’s a longer path than I thought,” he runs a hand through his own hair and huffs. Comically distressed about the situation.

“Then just… hit the gas,” she glares, rather lightheartedly but still apparent.

“No way, my cousin got speed trapped out around here, I’m not risking it.”

“Fine, fine,” Tammy shakes her head, “if I’m late, I won’t call for a whole week.”

Reilly tears his eyes away from the dirt road for a mere moment, just long enough to properly side-eye his girlfriend, “You’re an awful liar.”

She picks at her purple-tinted nails and kicks her feet up onto the dash, shrugging coyly. She bats her lashes at her boyfriend.

Before he can respond, his brows furrow, slamming the brakes. Tammy rocks forward, a knee pressing to her gut with the motion - her gaze flies forward, instantly meeting the body that stands in front of her boyfriend’s car.

They don’t move, though, and she can only vaguely recognize them.

Tammy sits up and pushes herself to half-hang out the window, “Hey! You’re workin’ at the camp, too, right? We’re on our way…”

She trails off when the person only stares.

Reilly and Tammy spare a glance at each other. Reilly sticking his own head out the window, “Are you… feeling alright? Do you need us to drive you somewhere?”

Tammy unbuckles and cautiously gets out of her boyfriend’s beloved Corvette Stingray, her arms fold over one another. Head tilting. She presses her lips, pink lipstick popping when she goes to speak, “Did something happen up there?”

Suddenly, she’s grabbed by the hair and slammed face-first into the hood of the red Corvette. There’s a loud crack and Tammy slips back onto her ass, mud stains her white khakis, shaky hands flying up to cover her nose. Blood leaks from both nostrils and she’s certain it's broken.

“Hey!” Reilly throws his door open and darts out from the seat, but before he can get a good hit in to defend his girlfriend, there’s a knife pulled. The blade embeds right in his gut, twisting.

Reilly tumbles backward, wheezing in pain while Tammy crawls to him on her hands and knees. Blood drips down her lips and onto her white polo.

She’s merely watched as she tries standing with Reilly, her hands desperate as they clutch and tug at his shirt. She’s relentless in her need to get him up - back in the car, she just needs to get back in the car and they’re home free.

The figure is silent. Voyeuristic.

Until they decide Tammy’s suffocated, nerve-wracked sobs are enough.

Her big and bouncy hair is snatched back, head pulled high until she’s practically standing on her knees. Reilly snaps up to try and save his girlfriend, but the gouge in his gut stings like salt to a slug - he screams in agony and terror. Blood gushes from the hole in his stomach as he watches Tammy’s skin pull against a blade.

The slit moves and opens as she screams and crashes.

Resounding numbness comes over Reilly as Tammy’s body falls over his. Her blood smears across his clothes, arms limp around his sides. He can’t be scared when he knows this is it.

No more adrenaline. No more ‘what if?’.

So he squeezes Tammy’s body, neck still leaking onto his chest, to his own as the figure lifts their knife. He clenches his eyes and feels the fear return when he actually realizes this is it. His heart burns, races, thunders, and not even the feeling of his girlfriend between his arms can calm it.

The knife is brought down towards his forehead.

“Where the hell is Thompson?” Steve throws his hands up, looking from his clipboard to your lackluster lineup with your fellow counselors as if ‘Thompson’ will suddenly appear, “Has nobody heard from her?”

You don’t get the whole point of the headcount anyway, Steve already knows that only your bosses, Murray and Joyce, and cook, Jonathan, have left since this morning.

“Thompson?” Eddie looks to you, hands jammed in the pockets of his black ripped jeans.

“Tammy,” Robin lights up from beside you at the name, “new recruit,” you gesture towards the far end of the line, where a new face sits grinning broadly, “She was supposed to come in with Argyle.”

Argyle - a friend of Jonathon’s, though the cook was displeased when his hiring was announced.

“Sorry, bros,” Argyle puts his hands up in defense, “I was at her house this morning but she said someone else was giving her a ride.”

Steve huffs and Nancy steps out of the counselor line to rub his arm sympathetically, she tilts her head, “I’m sure she’ll show up.”

“If not, it isn’t like it matters,” Steve runs a hand through his pampered hair, “We have six counselors, so it should be fine.”

“Fuck,” Robin mutters, lips pulling into a large pout.

“Buck up,” you nudge her arm as Steve and Nancy head to the campers’ cabin to count beds. You continue once Eddie and Argyle wander off, “Country singer girl probably wasn’t the best option for your little lesbian heart.”

“Yeah, but she’s so hot,” Robin groans, “And she tutored me in algebra II.”

“I know, Rob, I know,” you look up at the cloudy sky,

None of you are mentioning the elephant in the room - the way you all have to start camp later than usual because of extra safety precautions - but you can sense it. As the day grows older, lips will come looser.

When you find Eddie alone in the archery range, separating arrows into bins, you don’t have to wait. He immediately speaks his mind, as is usual for him.

“I can’t believe this shit. Opening shop was a bad fuckin’ idea,” he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small plastic bag of weed, “But hey, I’ve got treats.”

After last year?

You come closer and snatch the bag, stuffing it back into Eddie’s pocket, “Keep that shit to us, Steve and Nancy’ll go nuts.”

“My bad, sweets,” Eddie returns to organizing the arrows, “Just thought I’d give you something to make you excited about this hellscape.”

You roll your eyes but pat his chest, “Thanks, big guy.”

But really - weed? After last year?

The campers were sent home in the rain on June 13th, 1985. It was a heavy Thursday pour, something akin to needles against the skin - thundering upon the roofs of cabins and buses alike. You and the other counselors were stuck watching the children - just to make sure no heads were missing as they filled the buses. Last thing Murray and Joyce needed was a following incident. Especially Joyce.

A couple of the kids were whining as they were loaded into the vehicles - pouty-lipped and cross-armed as they asked you and Steve, the head counselor, why they were going home. Murray had drilled it into your heads - do not tell the kids anything, so help me God. Joyce was too distraught to so much as look at your lot. Steve told you and the other counselors to say that the water supply was bad.

“Just make up a reason why, they’re kids - they’ll believe whatever you say.”

Nancy and Robin were packing away their belongings while Eddie assisted poor Robbie and Layla - who sprained their ankles in tandem following a bad swing off the tallest dock at the lake - onto the bus.

Jonathan was in the kitchen. You don’t think he’s even packing - just stewing in his misery. Not that you, or anybody else, can blame him. Murray is talking to Officer Hopper, who so graciously lent half the police station for this camper extraction.

Nobody knows exactly where Joyce is. Again, not that you all can blame her.

You feel a burning marble in your throat. Shame and guilt that wells within your stomach as the campers chatter and whine about being forced onto the buses. Nobody told Joyce or Murray where they were during the incident. Everybody agreed to not snitch. Only Hopper knows, and he was sworn to silence.

But the way he looks at you all - so disappointed and despondent - is salt in the wound. It’s sickening.

Jonathan knows, too. Only because Nancy gave it up and spilled her guts under his promise that he wouldn’t tell his mother.

His stares are the worst.

Rain coils through your hair. Dipping into your eyes and clinging along the planes of your face. You can just barely make out the dismal faces of your campers through the buses’ tinted windows.

Steve senses the way you tense, your shoulders scrunching as your arms fold over your chest. He lays a hand on your shoulder, but doesn’t dare look at you. You feel sick.

“I’m gonna puke,” you don’t bother dampening your voice. Only Steve is listening - unless Joyce is behind you and you haven’t noticed.

“Wait till the kids are gone,” Steve soothes the hand down your back.

As soon as the buses were off campgrounds, you’d keeled over and emptied what was left in your stomach from lunch.

You and your fellow counselors were sent home soon after.

Just as predicted, once nightfall hits camp - lips loosen and fears crawl forward.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Robin is shaking her head with so much force that her freshly cut bob whips against her cheeks, “Like. I know I usually don’t feel good about most things, but this is such an awful idea. Putting maggots inside your nose - awful.”

“We get it, Robin,” Nancy squares her shoulders, face knit in cold defense, “We all know this is a bad idea, but there’s nothing we can really do about it, is there?”

“Come on, let’s not fight,” you toss an extra large, neon orange shirt onto your bed from your suitcase, “This summer is going to be hell, but we don’t need to pick at each other like this.”

“That’s so easy for you to say, isn’t it?” Nancy turns to you now, lashes narrowed and lips pursed, “Are you and Eddie going to be actually joining us when the campers are here?”

“Fuck off, Nancy, you and Steve were just as…” you suck in a breath and pick up the shirt Murray assigned you for this upcoming summer, “Forget it, put on your team shirts so we know they fit.”

Each counselor was the designated leader of a certain team. Last year, you had green, but now that vomit-tinted honor has been assigned to the new recruit. Well, the one that was here, anyway.

Tammy Thompson still had yet to appear.

Robin quickly tugs out a violently azure tank top from her suitcase before following you out of the girls’ counselor cabin. Nancy stays behind.

“Look, I didn’t mean anything, you know?” Robin shoves the blue tank top over her thin nightshirt, her eyes wide while staring at you, “Really.”

“I know, Rob,” you twist the bottom hem of your team lead shirt between your fingers, “Just try not to bring it up around Eddie,” you shoot her a glance, “Or Steve.”

“Or Argyle,” she nods to herself, snapping her fingers in remembrance, “He probably doesn’t need to know that.”

“If nobody’s told him already.”

You and Robin push into the mess hall to find the boys already sitting around with a schedule between them. Steve is stood behind Eddie and the newbie, his hands on his hips and a stupid curl hanging over his forehead. The ugliest pair of bright red short-shorts you’ve ever seen is snug on his thighs with a coral red shirt - sleeves cut off - over it. Eddie is snapping a pencil against the wood table, head bopping to the music only in his head.

Eddie’s team lead shirt is an inky black crop top and Argyle has a plain, highlighter green T-shirt. Both are in similarly hideous red shorts.

“Planning jobs, big-head?” Robin pops over to Steve’s side and punches his shoulder, “Don’t forget tradition.”

“Already got him in for shitter duty, big Rob, don’t you worry,” Eddie grins, then jabs the eraser of his pencil into your arm, “How do you feel about dishes?”

“Wouldn’t that be on Jonathon?” you feel your skin prickle at the thought of sharing a workspace with the boy. His stares hurt, practically burning your skin.

“We’re trying to make it easier on him, my dude,” Argyle roughly claps a hand to your upper arm, grinning wide and stupid.

“Why doesn’t Nancy do dishes?” you can feel the glare Steve shoots you and you don’t dare to shy away, “You’re not an idiot, Harrington, everybody can feel their chemistry. Except you, I guess.”

“Because they don’t have chemistry, you’re just trying to shill dish duty,” Steve leans over Eddie’s shoulder and harshly jabs his finger into the paper, “Put her down.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you lean over Argyle’s shoulder and snatch Eddie’s pencil, earning a cartoonishly huffy ‘hey!’ from the metalhead, “We’re not doing this like last year, I don’t want anyone whining about jobs.”

“I can do dishes, brochacho,” Argyle takes the pencil and marks his initials next to the chore, “Me and Jonathon go way back, it won’t be weird to work together at all.”

Nancy comes in shortly after Argyle returns the pencil to Eddie, her baby pink shirt tied up with a scrunchie at her waist. She sits beside where you stand, a small, thin smile comes to her glossed lips and her hand squeezes yours.

Jonathan arrives once the chore chart is plastered upon the counselors’ corkboard (a big, bold FRIDAY. JUNE 13TH, 1986 at the top of the page). A white shirt with the camp logo printed on it covers his heaving chest as he carries in armfuls of groceries. His dark circled eyes, deprived of and starving for sleep, crawl along your lot before he raises his arms to show off the bags.

“Anyone mind helping?”

Eddie and Argyle are the first ones over. The only ones over until Nancy is trailing after the trio to put groceries away. You look at Steve, who’s already watching her, and when he meets your eyes you raise your brows and ‘hmph’ - earning a middle finger from the man.

It still doesn’t feel quite right - being here. Too much time apart and yet entirely not enough. So much history. So many stories. Everywhere you look, he’s still there. Lingering. Smiling and waving and pleading for his life. The idea of Will Byers like that, miserable and helpless, sends a chill over your flesh.

He was a sweet kid. A really sweet kid.

Clung to mommy’s apron as a child and then he clung to you, Robin, and Eddie as a teenager.

“Can smell the outcast on our clothes,” Eddie would say.

And perhaps that was true. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Nancy and Steve, but you could tell he was more at ease around his fellow rejects. The rejects who feel left out even among their friends.

“How do you think the boys will do?” Robin leans against your side, cheek squishing against your shoulder as she looks at you through her lashes, “Without Will.”

You look to Eddie, who’s had the infamous quartet - trio now - as part of his team since they first arrived in the summer of 1980. If anybody could feel their agony as they did, it was him. And Nancy, older sister of their leader, but she was in the kitchen.

Eddie gnaws on his bottom lip, lashes narrowing into the distance, “Let’s just say I’m not gonna give ‘em shit if they don’t participate in activities.”

And nobody would blame him.

“Alright, campers,” Steve calls as the trio returns to the main hall, clapping his hands to catch your collective attention, “Big day tomorrow.”

“You’re being an idiot,” Nancy mutters to her boyfriend, though still grinning broadly. She pops him in the arm playfully before turning to the rest of you, “Really, though, be up early so we can start cleaning for the kids. No excuses,” she points right at you and Eddie, “So try not to fry your brains tonight.”

Eddie flips his fellow counselor off and you fold your arms, glaring at her as you speak, “It would only help us sleep, Barbie.”

“That’s like telling you ‘n’ Ken not to bang your brains out,” Eddie grins when Steve glares at him, tossing an arm over your shoulder to guide you out of the cafeteria, “Let’s go, darling, time to smoke the devil’s sin and bathe in his blood and all that shit.”

“I never said that!” Nancy shouts after the both of you.

“I hate when she says that shit,” you feel free to release these feelings once the doors have loudly slammed shut, “Like it’s our fault.”

“It…” Eddie seems to retract into himself, his arm is still around you but it hovers now - ready to rip away should you say the wrong thing, “I shouldn’t have brought it out. It was barely after lights out and I should’ve fucking known something was gonna happen.”

“It’s not your fault, Eddie,” you watch him step back and up the stoop to pull the boys’ cabin door open, “Seriously, if you’re at fault then we both are - it can’t just be on you.”

“I brought the shit,” he jerks his head towards the doorway, “Get in ‘n’ shut up about it. I don’t wanna think about it anymore.”

A temporary, ineffective solution. Eddie was always thinking - even when it seemed like he wasn’t, he was. Maybe not always about the most important stuff, but the lights were constantly on. And Will Byers’ disappearance was always, always resting up there.

But you grant him enough mercy - or perhaps yourself enough mercy - to not bring it up.

Nancy is quietly rearranging the pantry under dim, flickering kitchen light. Robin and Steve had originally insisted on waiting until she was done so they could walk to the girls' cabin together - but then she reached minute 30 and the two lost patience. Though, to be fair, she didn’t think they’d make it even that long.

Jonathan and Argyle had wandered off with Argyle having come back in only five minutes ago - giggly and red-eyed - for chips.

A can of corn is shoved to the back of a shelf that just barely reaches her chest, more room is made for boxes of oats and Nancy can’t help but internally groan. She really gets to missing her mother’s cooking when summer rolls around and her only food options are what Jonathon feels like making.

Sometimes Joyce brings doughnuts, though. Those are always nice.

Just as Nancy goes to slide a couple of those dreaded oats boxes to the leftmost wall, the kitchen door slips open. It must be ready to storm because the wind howls as it blows through. A chill brushes against her legs and billows the hem of her skirt.

Her shoulders scrunch and Nancy narrows her eyes at the door, but the flickering lights make it difficult to see who stands there.

“Hey,” she can just make out the hair - then the lips - then one final healthy burst of the bulbs illuminates them completely, “I’ll be done soon, I swear. It just…” she shakes her head, permed curls bouncing, “just bugs me when things aren’t where I want.”

Footsteps thud on the kitchen floor as she returns elbow-deep in the pantry.

Nancy isn’t quite used to feeling afraid.

Sure, horror movies send her heart racing and the morning of a test is anxiety-inducing. But she’s never felt such absolute terror - well, except last year. When Will Byers wasn’t in any of the cabins and couldn’t be found within a hundred miles of the campgrounds.

There’s a body behind hers. The heat leaks onto her neck and while Nancy usually doesn’t fret over personal space, this feels new. Odd.

“Back off a bit, will you?” she nudges the chest behind her with a rather gentle elbow. The chest doesn’t move. Nancy turns towards the body, “Seriously, get back.”

A hand comes to her throat and she quickly snags her nails into the person’s wrist. Then claws at their face.

Another freezing brustle of wind crashes over Nancy as she’s lifted up, up, up - her slips come off her feet as she kicks at the attacker. Their hand tightens around her throat, pressing her back into the wall with crushing force.

Just when her vision is beginning to spot and bruise in blacks and yellows, she’s dragged away from the wall and slammed back against it. Then again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

She thinks she can hear her skull split. And she can definitely feel when the blood begins to trickle past her hairline and down her neck.

Blood and stray hairs cling to splintering wood in the pantry entryway, Nancy’s hands fall limp, and with a final hack and kick, the rest of her falls limp, too.

More cold breeze flutters through as the oldest Wheeler’s body thumps onto the wood panel floor like a cinder block. Blood creeps down her curls and flattens, rolling across the wood. Leaking between the cracks.

The kitchen door is slammed shut and locked. Body alone and bloody and cold.

“Billie Jean, I will say,” Eddie blinks at you - slow and stupid - with bloodshot eyes, “isn’t a shit song.”

“Wow,” you muse, wetting your dried lips, “‘s pretty big for you, Eds.”

“I know, right?” he takes a final hit of the joint you’d been passing back and forth before putting it out in his bedside ashtray, “If you tell anyone… you’re dead.”

“As if,” you turn to your side, burying your face into the pillow of Eddie’s bed, “Do you think he’s out there?”

“Don’t,” he points at you dangerously, then lays at your side, “Don’t start that right now.”

It truly isn’t a good idea to start this right now. While you’re both high. Vulnerable. But it’s now, as you’re in a loose head with no ties to your tongue, that you can actually bring yourself to ask.

“But what if he’s…” you pull your head from the pillow, and the tight ache in your chest grows worse, “You know?”

There. Terrified. Cold.

“He’s not,” Eddie looks at you, dead serious for once, jaw tight, “We looked. I looked. Just- “ he sits up on his knees and turns his head away from you completely, “let it go.”

He picks at the curled hem of his crop top and no matter how you angle your head or lean over his thigh, he won’t meet your eyes.

“I looked everywhere for the kid, if he were out there, I’d know it,” Eddie’s voice is soft but undeniably strict. He swallows the lump in his throat, brows knit tightly, “Will’s dead.”

You sit up now, too, your body feeling just a little too slow. A little too slugged. You wrap your arms around his and lay your chin on his shoulder, “‘m sorry for bringing it up.”

But you can’t help the thoughts that creep. The idea that maybe you didn’t look everywhere. Maybe Will is starving, dehydrated, restless.

You bury your head into the sleeve of his crop top.

Joyce still couldn’t look at any of you when you’d all arrived at the campgrounds.

Murray and Hopper were a little more forgiving. Though Hopper wouldn’t allow his daughter back, much to her boyfriend and friends’ dismay, he could at least shake your hands before leaving. Murray could pretend-punch your guts as a surprise attack and grin when you all would huff (his usual behavior).

But nobody blames Joyce for her distance.

You all lost her son. Through pure, unadulterated negligence, you all were at fault.

And that’s what bugs you most about Nancy, when she pretends it was only you and Eddie occupied when Will went missing. It was her, too. She and Steve.

Robin’s fingers pluck through the collection of cassettes Steve brought to camp, brows furrowed, “You listen to music like a douche.”

“Hey,” he guffaws, “hey! You like those bands, too.”

“Yeah, but - like, it’s different when you listen to The Smiths and when I do,” she turns to look at the man as he gathers clothes for a shower, “You’re a bitch and I’m cool.”

“Other way around,” Steve throws one of his old Hawkins High pride shirts at Robin’s head, “I’m gonna take a shower while the freaks are smoking out the cabin, so if you need anything…” he pauses at the doorway and shoots her a sardonic smile, “don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Robin throws the shirt at him while the door slams shut.

Mere seconds later, she can make out the sound of his shower head sputtering to life, then consistent jets of water hitting ceramic walls. Robin searches for something in the cabin to do, but both you and Nancy have hidden your more interesting possessions from her snooping nature. And there’s no point in going through her own things, she already knows what’s in there - no fun.

But what is fun is sparking debate between you and Eddie while you’re both high, so she stretches, fingers reaching high to the ceiling until there’s a soft pop at the base of her spine, and begins towards the door. It creaks as she lugs it open, a cold wind blows over her exposed arms. Chills race up her freckled skin and tingles up her nose.

Hawkins’ nights were hell frozen over, even in a beautiful summer.

Robin jumps, a hand flying over her heart as if to steady it, she groans and glares at the person who dared scare her, “You can knock when you wanna come in, you know?” Robin steps aside and down the stoop, leaving the door open, “It’s just Hair in there right now, so I dunno how much fun you’ll be having.”

Her elbow is grabbed before she can leave, though. The strength of the grip surprises her, eyebrows flying up in shock.

A humorless laugh escapes her painted lips, Robin quirks a brow at her holder, “Do you… need something?”

She’s met with silence.

Cold eyes. Dead eyes.

“You need to let go,” Robin’s quieter than she wants to be, fear shakes her hand when she tries prying away from her holder, “Seriously. I’m gonna scream.”

At that, she’s yanked forward and inside - the cabin door is slung shut. Robin goes to make good on her promise and scream - more genuine than she was originally swearing - but a hand is quickly swiping over her mouth. It presses so tight her teeth begin to ache.

The hand over her mouth squeezes, Robin claws at every inch of skin she can reach. Steady, harsh water hitting ceramic clogs the sound of her whimpering. She chokes on panic and unshed tears, legs kicking as she’s brought up to your bed.

Your bed because you were last to pick and left with the annoying knobby bed posts that creak whenever you shift.

Robin feels her eyes sting as she’s dragged up by the grip on her face and, in a harsh, quick, cruel slam, bashed over the leftmost knob at the foot of your bed. Her head cracks open and she knows she’s bleeding, though it feels numb. She’s tossed onto the carpeted floor and her eyes can barely stay open long enough to notice the kitchen knife in her attacker’s hand.

She whines, a hand going to the back of her head and pulling back to see it smoothed over and dripping in crimson. Robin looks up at the blade as it’s brought down. She chokes on her blood. Sharp and suffocating through her chest. The heart. Blood fills her mouth and leaks between her parted lips, eyes wide.

The knife is pulled out and stabbed down again. Into her stomach, right below her breastbone. With jagged, jerky tugs - the knife slices through her puckering skin.

Inside the bathroom, the water cuts.

Steve holds his eyes shut as he reaches for the towel he’d set out. Patting his face dry, Steve quickly rustles through his hair with the towel and ties it around his waist. It’s quiet as he brushes soaked framing hairs from his face. It’s quiet as he steps out of the tub. It’s quiet as he reaches for his shirt. It’s quiet. Robin Buckley is many things, but talkative and loud are what most immediately comes to mind.

So he abandons his clothes on the granite bathroom counter, feet crossing the cold tile floor to the door. Steve cracks it open enough to stick his head through and screams at the sight.

Robin is sprawled on the ground between her and Nancy’s bed with a kitchen knife through her throat. Her head is turned to the side, hair matted and covered with blood. Stomach gaping and leaking. Blood puddles and runs on the floor below and Steve can’t breathe.

His shock washes away enough for Steve to dash forward, he collapses onto his knees and cradles Robin’s brutalized body. Her blood slips over his skin and Steve can’t breathe.

Robin is useless in his arms, her head lolls back entirely and blood is already drying at her chin and cheeks. It clings to her neck in speckled patches. Her eyes stare wide and dark and sparkless at the moldy ceiling and Steve can’t breathe. It’s brutal. It’s evil.

“Robin- !” Steve manages to catch his breath, one hand smoothing back blood-crusted bangs, and shaking when she doesn’t respond, “Robin, please, Robin - get up!”

Robin’s once blue tank top is dyed unevenly - purple and crimson - it’s shredded at the stomach.

“Robin!” Steve’s hands are red and he knows she’s gone. There’s no chance of his beloved best friend responding to his calls, but there’s something in his heart that makes him hope. Just one more time, she’ll wake up, this will all be over soon. Just one more time.

“Robin…” his ears are ringing with her blood staining the snowy towel at his waist, he doesn’t hear the steps behind him.

Robin Buckley was a lot of things.

She was loud. She was chatty. She was spacey. She was energetic. She was overwhelmingly unhelpful in most cases. She was a terrible listener when something disinterested her. She was lovable and loving. She was his only friend when he and Nancy took a break. She was his Platonic (with a capital ‘P’) soulmate.

And she was supposed to go on a date with Vickie this weekend before the campers arrived.

He doesn’t hear the steps and he doesn’t hear the final click of shoes stopping behind him on the wood flooring.

Robin Buckley was dead.

A grunt rips through the attacker as their knife drives right between the blades of Steve’s shoulders.

His body jerks forward, Robin tumbles out of his arms as Steve tries ripping himself away with a scream. The pain is flashing - hot and blinding - and it ripples down his spine.

Steve can’t even get up, can’t even turn, before there’s a solid kick right in his stab wound. It sends him back to the floor, cheek to cold, hardwood. A shoe cracks against his head, holding him down, before a knife splits through his side. His throat raws while he shrieks. Pain and panic and pure terror rings through the bloodied jabs and up to his lightening head.

Steve tries against the very will of God to push himself up and fight, run, anything to save his own life and rescue those that remain. Who remains? Oh God, is Nancy okay?

Another piercing ram into his side sends all thoughts scattering. And as the pierces grow faster, tougher, more animalistic in their devouring of his flesh, he’s unable to think long enough to plan his next move.

He’s breathless. Numbing.

The attacker rips another hole through his skin and muscle and Steve can’t breathe.

“Did you hear that?” you stand from the bed, sobering as the time drags on. You look through the soft white curtains that hang over the cabin mirror, right at the girls’ counselor cabin, “Am I going nuts?”

“No and no,” Eddie is half-asleep, sprawled out starfish-style on his bed and scratching at his exposed stomach. He yawns, eyes closed and lashes fanned over his cheeks, “You didn’t smoke enough to start hallucinating, so stop trying to freak me out.”

“I’m not trying to freak you out,” your head snaps away from the window and back towards Eddie, face stern, “And if I didn’t smoke enough to hear shit then that scream had to be real.”

“All the more reason to stay inside,” his eyes flutter open and narrow at you, “I’m not walking in on Harrington and Wheeler again.”

“That wasn’t a sex scream, Munson,” you replay the sound in your head and turn away from the mirror completely, not seeing the killer step out of the cabin, soaked in your friends’ blood, “That was, like…”

Agony.

“That was violent,” you whisper, almost as though you’re afraid to admit it to yourself.

Eddie sits up, sluggish and tired, he blinks at you through what remains of his high, “What are you saying?”

“I’m going out there,” you nod resolutely, “We have to call Hopper.”

Eddie watches you as you move to where the emergency ax is held behind safety glass. He watches you smash through the glass with your shoe and haul the heavy weapon over your shoulder.

“I know what I heard, and I’m not- “ you think back to that final night. On the rainiest night of that summer, “I’m not gonna be stoned and useless again. I refuse to do nothing.”

Eddie is used to staying put and running away to keep himself safe. It’s never something you’d judge him for, if he wants safety then you can’t fault him for that, but you’re not going to let it happen like it did last year.

When you heard a camper walk by and assumed it was to use the bathroom. When you heard five more campers walk by. You stayed in bed with Eddie - passing a joint between yourselves and convincing each other that everyone was fine. You stayed in bed while Robin was sleeping hard enough for five people just one mattress over. Joyce never found out, but you lived with that knowledge - and the knowledge that Steve and Nancy were fucking in the other cabin the entire time - for a year. Unless Jonathon or Hopper told her, a violation of their separate promises, Joyce doesn’t know, but you can’t forget.

Will went missing because of your inaction, and you refuse to let it happen again.

Eddie stands up, bites the chapped skin of his bottom lip, and approaches the cabin door, “Alright. Yeah,” he sighs and you can see his fear in the way his body is so unnaturally tense, “Will, this one’s for you.”

The main office is cluttered but you manage to find the phone easily. It sits pretty on Murray’s paper-scattered desk and you run to it like a mouse from a snake.

Your shared path from the boys’ counselor cabin to the office was largely spared of attackers, and your shoulder was left aching from the weight of the unused ax.

But you refuse to let up, dialing the number directly to Hopper’s office. Back when things weren’t tense and it truly was like a big family at camp, you and your fellow counselors enjoyed teasing Joyce for personally pining the number to her corkboard.

Now, you make Eddie keep watch outside the office windows as Murray’s phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

It picks up, and a voice you’re dreading answers, “Yeah?”

Your heart thrums heavy, mind blanking for the moment. Then he repeats himself, dragging out the vowels in a way you’ve always hated.

“Murray?” you hear Eddie’s body thump against the frame of the open office window, you assume tossing himself onto the wall in that dramatic way he always manages, “Why- where’s Hopper?”

“Going to you,” Murray stresses the word and you can see him blinking at the wall like you’re the idiot, “Where’s Joyce? Get her on the phone.”

“What do you mean where’s Joyce?” the ax burns at your shoulder now, forearm beginning to burn and sore at its weight, “Isn’t she with you?”

“She left to check on you guys an hour ago, I sent Jim because she never called like she was supposed to.”

The drive between camp and the police station was twenty minutes if you went the speed limit and Joyce always did. She should be here.

“You… haven’t seen her?”

“No,” you clench the phone tighter in your hand, throat tight and gut clenching in that way it does before you retch up bile, “why did Joyce come?”

“Huh?”

“Why was Joyce coming?” you can’t find air, too thin and sparse, your arm hurts like hell, “You two were supposed to be out all night,” your knees are weak, they tighten and buckle, “Why was Joyce coming?”

“Oh- “ his reply fails you, the line cuts.

“Murray?” you drop the ax to the ground, that hand already flying to the phone so you can dial Hopper’s office again, “Come on, come on. You’re kidding.”

The line is dead.

Entirely dead.

“Fucking- !” you throw the receiver down and pick up the ax, fighting down rising tears and panic as you do, “Fuck!”

When there’s no question, no worries, no input whatsoever from Eddie, you realize how silent he’s been. You feel sick.

Eddie’s body has thumped against the frame of the open window. Jaw slack and left eye wide. In his right eye is an arrow.

The arrow has run completely through his skull, its head sticking out the back, clunked with blood and brainy mush.

You pull the ax tight to your chest, the wood scratches your neon orange shirt and you feel it like an anchor. The thing tethering you in this office. Heavy as the smooth wooden handle buries in the dip of your chest.

Blood oozes from the wound in his eye and you can already see where the red is drying in his eyebrow.

Sneaking past the body as if it’ll jump back to life, you press the office door open cautiously. After ensuring a clear path, you rush out and to the girls’ counselor cabin. Robin and Steve are still there.

They should still be there.

They’re there.

You stumble back, terror shredding the burning muscles that hold your ax. You crawl backward and slip down the stoop, your head smashes on the dirt floor in your fall. Scrambling, you grab the ax from the cabin’s landing and stand back. Staring through the doorway, you still see them.

Their bodies are obscured only slightly at your position, you can still see Steve laid over Robin at the waist. His sides ripped open and Robin’s head tilted so far back that her now listless and dull eyes are staring straight through you.

Retching, you dry heave the sick that desperately wants to claw its way up your throat. Using the ex as leverage, you push yourself up and run to the last place you saw Nancy. The kitchen door is jammed and that should’ve been a sign.

You should’ve turned away. Should’ve run.

But the blood is pumping in your ears and your skin is numb and cold.

Your arms ache and shake and burn while you swing the heavy ax into the kitchen’s back door. It feels endless and you just want to go home. You wish you never came back. You don’t count the swings, you just know it feels like absolute hell. Eventually, the wood is weak and chipped enough for you to push it through with your bare hand. You manage to twist the knob and pull the door from inside.

God, you should’ve just run.

The back of Nancy’s skull is caved and pulped and forming bruises in the shape of a handprint take place around her neck. Blood stains the pantry doorway and stray hairs stick to the skin patches hanging off the more pronounced jagged edges.

You run now, turning away and towards a campers’ cabin that still has the lights on.

A week ago, Murray and Hopper came around to make sure all the camper-friendly doors with locks on them were removed and replaced.

This cabin is locked from the outside.

You bang on the door with your free hand, urgent and nauseous, ready to ax the damn wood down if whoever’s inside doesn’t answer you in the next two seconds.

It swings open to reveal a lax Argyle and the heavy musk of marijuana. His eyes are bloodshot and narrow, lips split dumb, and teeth on display, “Need some help, my dude?”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on here?” you shove Argyle into the cabin and jam the door shut with your body, back pressed so hard against the wood that you’re going to have indents left behind.

His brows raise, a rigidness hitting his body, “Oh, shit, am I fired if I don’t?”

You turn your head, eyes clenching shut at his words, “How were you locked in here, Argyle?” you stand up from the door, ax still wound tight to your side, “Who locked you in here?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Argyle cards his fingers together and gestures loosely at the door, “Jonathan locked me in here - seemed real urgent.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“Nah, man,” he shakes his head, “Just that I should stay in here. Thought it was, like, a hazing thing.”

“People are dead, Argyle,” you grab his arm and begin towards the door, “We have to go.”

When Joyce is missing and Jonathon nowhere to be found, you can’t risk looking for them. You just have to make it to the van. If the van has been spared of tampering, anyway.

So you lead the way, pushing open the cabin door and holding up the ax. It’s pushing and straining at your arms, but you refuse to let it go. You can’t lose it.

Argyle is hot on your tails, body tense but not nearly as much as yours - whether it be his disbelief or the weed, you aren’t sure. Either way, your body is paranoid and your mind is left reeling as you search the path through cabins to the main gates - where those damned buses took campers away on that rainy night.

It feels like it should be raining now. Like you should be fighting muck and slosh and a figure behind a hockey mask.

You don’t seem to hear the steps behind you. Neither does Argyle. Despite crunching dirt and heavy breathing, you two are oblivious as you cross the path to the camp van.

An ax is held above your head, your chest is rising and falling in little bursts that entirely betray your fear. Your body is shaking. Argyle is no help, but that’s not necessarily new.

The footsteps grow closer as the van comes into sight. Neither of you hears. Neither of you sees. You unwisely drop the ax, right at the last second, and run straight into the driver’s side door - desperately pulling. So desperate, you can’t make out the body behind the tinted window.

Argyle is snatched by the hair, a hand clasping tight over his mouth before he can alert you of the looming danger.

You’re prepared to begin crying by the time you actually manage to haul the van’s door open. But instead of a leather seat, you see beige, satin pants. You stumble back and note the emptiness of your hands - you dropped the ax.

Like an idiot, you went and dropped the ax before you were safe.

The hard, dirt-clodded ground is a terrible landing - the force practically punches air straight out from your lungs, and pebbles lodge deep into the meat of your palms.

Now, you hear the footsteps from behind.

Your eyes crawl up those beige, satin pants and you’re frozen in indecision. Should you run? How do you run? Where could you go?

A hand roots through your hair and tugs your head up and back.

Joyce Byers lays passed out, a rag soaked in what you assume to be chemicals, tied around her face, in the driver’s seat. You look up at the face that looms over you. Cold eyes. Dead eyes.

Bangs cling to his forehead and there’s blood splattered and dried over his skin and clothes.

Jonathan lifts the ax above you. High, high over his head.

Argyle lays on the ground, a deep, gushing ax wound laid right where his eyes are.

Your heart races. Burns. You can’t die. You won’t be torn to shreds by Jonathon’s hatred.

You swing a fist up and right into Jonathon’s groin - he doubles over in a hoarse groan, the ax tumbles to the ground and kicks dirt up around it. Before he can recover, you fly to your knees and push up until you’re racing into the nearby woods.

Jonathan screams after you, you can hear him. You can’t run fast enough. You can feel his blood-and-dirt crusted fingers at the base of your neck, his breath hot on your ear. Toe of his shoes clipping the backs of your own. Twigs and branches snap against your exposed skin - leaves dragging viciously over your face. Like the greenery itself wants you to know that you, and your fellow counselors, deserve this. You all deserve Jonathon’s hatred, but you’re just too scared to die now.

So you continue through the woods until you end up fumbling over a dug-out tree root. Your shoe is ripped from your foot, jammed under the root, as you shriek and tumble.

Mud bubbles from a puddle when you land face-first.

Pushing yourself up, you turn as Jonathon grows closer. Mud clings to your clothes and flesh. The mud reminds you of that night.

The trees climb higher. Moonlight grows tighter. Strangled between the canopy. The ax blade glints, though - blindingly so. Like a mouse to a snake, you cower.

Like Will Byers that night, you can sense your impending doom. The sword of Damocles - Jonathan raises the ax above his head, his foot landing between your legs and splashing mud over your neon orange shirt.

You can’t ask why. You know exactly why.

[FUCK TUMBLR.COM PICTURE LIMITS]

On one end of the hall outside Officer Hopper’s office is you, Eddie, Nancy, Robin, and Steve. On the other is Joyce, Jonathan, and Murray. Joyce is wringing her hands, sobbing hysterically as she rocks. Murray mutters, shaking his head (“Five- five - counselors on duty and not one them. Not one saw him.”), a new hire is surely on their way if the camp is even to be open next year. Jonathan, however, doesn’t shy away from you all - he stares ahead.

Cold, dead eyes.

You and Eddie and trying so hard not to lean that you’re both awkwardly ramrod straight. Eyes split between squinting at the fluorescents and widening cartoonishly so that nobody notices you’re both squinting. Nancy and Steve have untucked shirts and still smell of sweat and Nancy’s overpowering sugary perfume. Robin is only awake because of the current mystery.

You probably should’ve known that Jonathon wasn’t going to let you all go.

If anything, you’re shocked Joyce hadn’t done something herself.

…

Jonathan’s arms jerk up from their position and he swings. With more force than you’ve ever thought was possible for Jonathon Byers, he swings. The shine of the moonlight on his ax slides up, up, and off the metal as it comes down.

You don’t get to see the flashes of your short life, though. Either by angels or your friends, or maybe even that forgiving heart you always admired in Will Byers, there’s a pop. Just as he’s going to give the final push, right into your heaving chest, his chest arches forward.

His fingers split off the ax’s handle and it tumbles until that blade is buried deep in the gash of the ground between your legs - mud splashes up from the impact. Jonathan stumbles back, blood sputters from the middle of his chest and painting his white shirt.

Red and blue lights flash bright on the trees and you can hear the sound of leaves crunching and mud splashing under heavy boots. Jonathan thuds onto his back, clawing at the hole through his sternum, gasping for air and choking on the blood that froths to his lips.

You’re dragged off your ass by Hopper. Carried out from the woods and back to the main entrance, where Murray and two EMTs are standing around a waking Joyce.

Joyce spots you through bleary eyes - you’re smeared in mud and sweat and tears and you’re left clueless as to why she seems so relieved.

She runs to you, pushes her business partner and the EMTs aside to wrap her arms around you so tight that you almost lose oxygen. Her hands pet over the hair that her son had knotted his own hand through not an hour ago.

When the both of you part, Joyce frets over your face, cupping your cheeks and inspecting each exposed slice of skin for injury. Eventually, you settle your hands over her forearms, gently pushing her back.

“Ms.- “ you cut yourself off, hands curling tighter around her arms, “Joyce. When Will… when Will went missing- “

“Honey,” she shakes her head, “I know. Jonathan- “ her eyes flit down to her shoes, then back to you, “I know.”

Hopper puts a hand over your upper back, angling you and Joyce towards the open back of an ambulance. Neither of you is outwardly injured, but anything to get you out of here.

Away from these corpses. Off these bloodied grounds.

You and Joyce are loaded into the back of the ambulance together, her hand tight around yours. Neither of you speaks. Too afraid, too ashamed, too stuck. But this silence is different, no longer stiff and abrasive - now it’s simple. Neither of you has anything to say so you don’t.

Joyce hugs you close to her side and your eyes slowly begin to drift shut. Muscles going lax against her, breathing slowly evening out. Joyce follows your lead shortly after and the two of you are left that way by the EMTs on your sides. The two of you sleep tenderly, calmly, blissfully unaware of the state of Jonathon’s corpse in the woods.

…

“He really killed all these kids and went down to a shot like that?” Officer Powell looks over to his partner, Callahan, as he jots down notes about the scene.

“Kid’s still human,” Callahan shrugs, turning away to find where you and Joyce were led by their boss, “Come on, we should get back to Hopper.”

Powell takes a lingering glance at Jonathon’s blood-speckled, dirt-stained body before following after his partner. Leaves and twigs snapping under their heavy boots as they go.

Clouds slowly gather in the dark, starry sky. Thick and purple under the moon. They begin to weep gently over the camp, sprinkled rainfall that pitifully patters against the cold, pallid skin of Jonathon Byers.

The water is freezing in the Hawkins air.

A finger twitches. A leg jumps. An eye opens to see the worms that have begun inching to the surface.

Jonathan Byers rises, ax in hand, as the rain grows heavier.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #steve harrington x nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler x steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #tammy thompson #argyle stranger things #jonathan byers #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #friday the 13th au

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