welcome!

21, she/her, amateur writing honestly, my brain runs at 500mph

[officerrrfriendly]

my masterlist <33

Steve Harrington

The Taken, the conjuring!AU

Teaser photos

Chapter One, The First Strike.

Chapter Two, All I think About Now.

Chapter Three

Joe Keery OC! Characters

More To The Story

Cast List

Prologue

Chapter One, So before we go out, what’s your address?

Chapter Two, Back to the old house.

Chapter Three, psycho killer, qu’est-ce que c’est?

The Walking Dead

Roughin’ It Out, Livin’ It up - Daryl Dixon Fic (discontinued as of right now)

[p1ttlings]

☆ sweet creature !

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ forced to work as a cashier at a family owned grocery store, you believe your life is over. until a hot older guy with a staring problem comes in once. and then, never again. not for three years. suddenly, he’s back. and you’ll make sure you never lose him again.

── warnings . . . not canon whatsoever. completely different universe with some of the same plot. cannot reiterate enough, this is completely big AU. lewd talks, curse words, bad jokes, sorta obsessive and stalker-ish!reader. will add more as the story progresses

── pairing . . . fem!reader x andrew “pope” cody

── note . . . this is me coping from that end. have to make a cute little smau

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

001 . . . love of my life

002 . . . uncle

003 . . . babysitter

004 . . . gaydar

005 . . . contact pic

006 . . . worldstar

007 . . . teen mom

008 . . . contacts

009 . . . talent show

010 . . .

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

GUILTY AS SIN | steve harrington

PART ONE | PART TWO (coming soon)

My bedsheets are ablaze I've screamed his name Building up like waves Crashing over my grave

You can't stop thinking about Steve Harrington when having sex with your boyfriend.

pairing: steve harrington x reader words: 7k contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a plot, female masturbation, oral (fem receiving), p in v, protected penetrative sex, dirty talk, pet names, reader being a bit of a perv and listens to steve having sex, lots of fantasying about steve, best friend/roommate!steve, use of y/n, female reader, she/her pronouns for reader, emotional cheating (i guess??), inclusion of ronance because why not!! eddie is also alive and well and also bi!!

author's note: it is finally here!! i've been banging on about this fic a lot and i'm glad that part one is here. you guys have been just as excited about this fic as me so i’m so happy that i’m finally sharing it as i thought of this idea in january!! full transparency, this was meant to be just one part fic but then i realised that i wanted much more of a story and sooooo here we are!

rec account: @moonstone-recommends

to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page

“Oh—fuck—I’m so close, babe. Tell me you’re close, tell me you’re—”

You wished you could say you were. You wished your moans falling from your lips were genuine—that you were right there with your boyfriend but you’d be lying. You weren’t even close.

“Yeah, super close,” you tell him in a not so breathless voice.

James was too busy chasing his release to even notice.

You felt his cock twitch inside of you and you knew it was over before it had even begun for you.

Your boyfriend spills into the condom, with a loud grunt of your name—pressing his face right into the crook of your neck as his hips stuttered against yours.

You keep your hands on his shoulders, trying to keep the disappointed look off your face as James pulls his softening cock out of you.

James was—well, he was objectively a perfect boyfriend. He was kind, attentive, always there when you needed him. He loved your family and in return, your family loved him. But in the bedroom? He left you pretty high and dry.

He never took his time—seemed to look at foreplay as an obligation rather than something to be enjoyed. He never spent more than a few minutes with his mouth between your legs. He never let you set the pace, never made sex about you. It was always about him. And after care? Well, that was a foreign concept to James. He tended to fall asleep less than five minutes after finishing.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care about your pleasure because he did—for all of ten seconds before his own needs started to outweigh yours. He’d press his fingers inside you and the moment it started to feel good for you—when you would let out a few soft moans or start to move your hips, he’d take it as a job well done. Or worse—instead he would start pumping his fingers too quickly, pistoning them in and out of you as fast as he could. As if it did anything for you.

You had tried to tell him this—gently, of course. Trying to let him know what felt good for you but he just wouldn’t retain the information. Or perhaps, when it came to your pleasure over his, he didn’t want to listen. You had tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t the latter.

As James rolled over in bed—you felt that familiar sense of guilt build. The one that reminded you of the date he had taken you on tonight. How much money the fancy dinner had cost and how he had refused to let you pay for it. The guilt was a reminder how lucky you were to have a guy like James. In the past, guys weren't so great to you. In fact, you had dated some downright assholes. Guys who weren’t kind. Guys who didn’t respect you. Hell, some guys you were sure didn’t even really like you. And James was great. Really—he was. You were sure you loved him—sure that he was the kind of man you could marry. The kind of man who was a smart, sensible choice.

But as you looked over at the man you should love unconditionally—already falling asleep with the condom still on—you were beginning to question whether smart and sensible was the right choice.

A year ago, you had been in dire need of a roommate. Your previous roommate, Rachel, had moved out after landing her dream job in a different city. You had been happy for her but it had left you with a two bed apartment that you could not afford on your own.

James hadn’t wanted to move in at that point—you had only been together for a few months back then and neither of you were ready to take that big step yet. And so, you were without a roommate and a monthly rent that was haemorrhaging money from you.

That was until your co-worker Robin Buckley told you about Steve Harrington.

“Wait, Steve as in Steve?” You had asked her, a skeptical look on your face. “As in your girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend—that Steve?”

Robin had rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the mug of coffee she had been in the middle of making. The sound of Every Breath You Take by The Police drifting into the radio station kitchen from the booth. You still had two minutes and a couple of ad breaks before you needed to be back inside for the remainder of the Rockin’ Robin breakfast show. You were tired from the early morning but mostly, you were stressed out about your current living situation and Robin could tell.

“Yes—that Steve,” she says, stirring in an unholy amount of sugar. “C’mon, it’s not weird. We’re like best friends. I can vouch for him. I’m like ninety eight percent sure he isn’t a murderer.”

You grimace a little, tired eyes flickering over to Robin. “Ninety eight percent isn’t enough for me.”

Robin huffs, turning to face you fully now with her hands on her hips. “C’mon (y/n)—you trust me right? You can trust him.”

You think about it, bouncing nervously on the balls of your feet.

“But he’s a guy, Robs,” you say finally. “I don’t want to live with a guy.”

Robin lets out a snort of laughter despite herself.

“Point taken,” she says before looking at you again carefully. “Just—just think about it, yeah? His parents just kicked him out and he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. He’s been sleeping on my couch for the past week and I gotta say, I don’t think it’s good for mine and Nance’s sex life if her ex-boyfriend is snoring in the other room every night.”

You falter—make the mistake of looking at her face—at her big blue eyes that looked just the right amount of pleading to make you reconsider.

“I’ll think about it,” you told her.

Steve had moved in that Friday.

The first week had been a little awkward—tiptoeing around each other in the hallway and trying to keep out of each other’s space. But after Steve had returned from picking up the last few bits from his parents house—coming back empty handed with red rimmed eyes—you had wordlessly handed him a bowl of homemade macaroni and cheese and suggested watching a movie together.

After that, you stopped tiptoeing.

And living with him? It was pretty great. He was surprisingly neat and an excellent cook. He always took the initiative to go out and do the food shopping when you were running low on the necessities. He didn’t mind that you had way too many houseplants, that the refrigerator had too many magnets on it or that the couch was baby pink—Steve was just happy to be living with you.

Somewhere between making coffees for each other in the morning and watching old movies together on the couch—you had formed a friendship that was built out of a genuine connection to each other rather than out of convenience like it had with Rachel. You had even finally accepted Robin’s offer of going out with her friends now that you lived with Steve. You had met her girlfriend Nancy in the past but Jonathan Byers and Eddie Munson had been complete mysteries to you. They turned out to be just as Robin had described—Jonathan a little quiet but once you got to know him wouldn’t shut up about his short films when you asked how they were going. And Eddie was—well, Eddie was the kind of person who people noticed when he walked into a room. 

In time, they had met James. You had a feeling that they didn’t think much of him. The way Eddie rolled his eyes when James started talking about sports. How Robin would yawn when he bought up his job as a stock broker. How Nancy would bristle when James tried to explain the stock market to her as though she was stupid. How Jonathan would go quiet around him. How Steve glared at James when he would talk over you and would interject to say “actually, (y/n) was talking”.

And so, you had never told your friends about your borderline terrible sex life. Never told them that James had only made you come once. Never told them you had to get yourself off in the bathroom after he had gone to sleep. And you probably never would tell them.

“You know what I love?” Eddie asks the group one Friday night at your and Steve’s local bar. It was grimy, located only a few yards from your apartment—hence why it was your local haunt—but it was yours. Warts and all.

“Weed?” suggests Jonathan.

Eddie clicks his fingers, smiling at Jonathan.

“You know me, Byers,” Eddie says but shakes his head. “But no—that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Something Eddie Munson loves,” Robin muses, tapping the table gently as she considers the question.

“D&D?” Steve puts forward.

“Nancy’s mom?” You say with a wry smile—Nancy shooting you a glare as Steve tries to hide his laughter.

“That deli shop by the record store that is totally going to get shut down for health violations?” Robin offers.

Eddie groans, looking pained as he looks over at Robin.

“Why do you have to remind me?”

“Eddie, that place has given you food poisoning like five times,” Nancy points out.

“And it was worth it. Every damn time.”

You laugh, smiling at Eddie’s dramatics. Sometimes you wondered why he had never considered theatre.

“So what is it you love Eddie?” Steve asks, leaning back in the booth beside you. His arm resting behind your head—comfortable, easy, just like it always was between you two.

“Oral sex,” Eddie says simply.

You choke on your drink while your friends laugh at Eddie’s admission.

“Giving or receiving?” Steve asks while you try to regain composure, face warm and looking anywhere but at your friends. Any talk about sex you tended to not engage in—not wanting to admit to your friends that you rarely enjoyed sex with your own boyfriend.

“Both,” Eddie says, smiling. 

You tried your best to keep a neutral expression—to not involve yourself too much with the conversation. Trying not to recall the last time James had gone down on you—how it had lasted barely two minutes. How you had been thankful it was over. How you had ‘returned’ the favour with all the enthusiasm that James didn’t possess.

“What about you, (y/n)?” Eddie asks suddenly, brows wiggling as you look up at him.

“About me, what?” you ask, because you hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation for the past two minutes, too busy thinking of anything beside how terrible your boyfriend was at giving head.

Eddie laughs—loud and without much care who heard. “Oral—do you prefer giving or receiving?”

Your face warms—you’re sure that your friends can all tell how flustered you were by the question. 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Steve tells you, glaring at Eddie as he pats your shoulder gently. “Eddie’s just being intrusive—”

“Oh, come on,” Eddie groans and nudges your knee under the table with his. “We never hear about your sex life, (y/n).”

“Not everyone is as open as you, Munson,” Nancy says.

Eddie huffs—grabbing his beer and taking a swig. “I’m just curious to know which she prefers,” Eddie says innocently, hands up in surrender.

Your leg bounces beneath the table as you consider giving Eddie an answer or not. Generally, you didn’t discuss your sex life with James with anyone. You were too scared to give away your dissatisfaction with it. It made you feel shameful for even thinking of complaining. To actually voice those complaints? Well—that felt like opening Pandora’s Box. But there was a large part of you that couldn’t help but feel left out.

“Giving,” you say finally without looking up. It was the honest truth. You don’t tell them that the reason for this was because you hated when James tried going down on you. Hated to pretend he was good at it. Hated how much he clearly disliked doing it. “I-I prefer giving.”

You were not sure why you felt the need to answer anyway. Maybe it was how left out you felt during these conversations. How much you wished you were having as good sex as all your friends were. Maybe because you just wanted to be included for once. You feel your face warm but you try not to shy away as you look up at your friends—all looking at you in slight disbelief.

“What?” You ask, eyes flickering between each of your friends before landing finally on Steve.

“Nothing,” Steve says, blinking in apparent shock at your admission. “It’s just—”

“I’ve never known a girl who would choose giving head over receiving it,” Eddie interjects before glancing at Robin and Nancy. “Not a straight one anyway.”

Your face warms, taking a long swig of your drink and wishing you could blend into the furniture.

“I just—prefer doing it, I guess,” you say quietly with a small shrug.

“Well,” Eddie begins with a small smile and a wink sent your way. “Either you’re incredibly giving or James isn’t doing a good enough job.”

Everyone laughs and you know you should stand up for James—for your boyfriend, the man you supposedly loved—but instead, you go quiet. Your face somehow feeling even hotter than before. You seem to shrink back further in the booth. No one seems to notice how you don’t defend your boyfriend—Eddie was too busy already recounting the tales from his latest hookup with a bartender. But Steve’s eyes linger on you for a moment. Noticing the way your jaw tenses, your fingers flexing as though wishing to grip onto the table.

He doesn’t comment on it. Not just yet anyway.

At one in the morning, you walk back with Steve to the apartment as you always did. Both a little bit tipsy and laughing at things that weren’t that funny—the fact Steve had been wearing his shirt inside out the entire evening, how you had tripped over the curb outside the bar.

“Careful,” Steve warns you, laughing as his hands gently steer you away from the curb for a third time. “What would you do without me, huh?”

“Be miserable,” you reply with a tipsy giggle. Steve smiles, hooking an arm around your shoulders as you approach your apartment building. Being the slightly more sober one—Steve is the one to fish out the key from his pocket and open the door. He’s the one to drag you away from the front desk before you could get too distracted by the notice board (“but Steve apartment 9A is selling their microwave!”). He’s the one to manoeuvre you into the elevator and to stop you from pressing all the buttons.

“Okay—next week, I’m the one who is getting drunk and you can take care of me,” Steve huffs as he guides you down the hallway towards your apartment. One arm around your shoulders so you don’t try to escape.

“M’kay,” you murmur as you watch Steve unlock the door. 

Once you’re in the safety of your apartment, Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He watches as you wonder over to that damn pink couch—flop down onto it and kick off your shoes. 

“I’m going to get you some water,” Steve announces, taking off his own shoes and leaving them carefully by the front door before heading into the kitchen.

You simply hum in acknowledgement, head titled back and staring up at the ceiling.

Steve returns with two glasses of water a few moments later. He sets them down on the coffee table before leaning down to pick up your discarded shoes. You bite back a smile as you watch him place them neatly down beside his own shoes near the front door. 

“I was going to put them back eventually,” you tell him as he sits down on the couch beside you, the couch dipping a little under his weight.

Steve shrugs, as though it wasn’t a big deal before he picks up your glass of water and hands it to you.

“Drink,” he tells you gently. You send a small, grateful smile before you take the glass from him and take a generous gulp of water. Steve watches, amused before he sips from his own glass.

It’s quiet then between the pair of you—you tilting your head back up to glance at the ceiling while Steve thoughtfully taps his fingers against the glass in his hands.

“Hey, (y/n)?”

“Yeah?” You ask, turning your head to look at Steve.

He looks back at you, a slightly apprehensive look on his face—one that indicated that he was carefully considering his next words.

“I just—I noticed that you—that you didn’t say anything back to Eddie earlier.”

Even though you were still a little tipsy, still feeling the alcohol hum through your veins—Steve’s words cut through you. Instantly, you knew what he was referring to. That little comment Eddie had made about why you had said you preferred giving oral over opposed to receiving it. You swallow—you knew you had to play dumb. The truth was too embarrassing. It made that guilt take residence in your chest again.

“When?” You ask finally. “Eddie talks so much shit that it all kind of…blurs into one.”

Steve chuckles, leaning back against the sofa—his elbow knocking against yours. “Yeah, no—you got that right,” he says with a quick nod and another glance at you. “I just—it was that dig at James he made. You didn’t—you didn’t say anything. You didn’t—I dunno, stick up for him, I guess.”

You don’t say anything, you just stare wordlessly down at your lap as you try not to react.

When you say nothing, Steve hesitates for a split second before he presses on, “I just—I wanted to check if—you know, if everything was okay between the two of you?”

 “Yeah,” you say, a beat too quickly as you look down at the glass of water in your hands. “We’re good. Why wouldn’t we be?”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. He looks back at you with an expression that plainly told you that he did not believe a damn word you were saying.

“Because you just let Eddie say…what he said,” Steve says. “That James isn’t good in bed.”

Again—you say nothing. Not for any other reason than because you suddenly had the overwhelming urge to be honest. To tell Steve everything. How James couldn’t make you come. How he no longer seemed to care if you finished. How his pleasure was always placed above yours.

Steve seems to understand something in your silence—his eyes on you, watching you with careful consideration, as though he was choosing his next words carefully.

“You know you deserve better, right?”

The words pull at something deep in your chest. The alcohol makes it difficult to control the cocktail of guilt, shame and embarrassment swirling in your gut.

“I don’t,” you murmur finally—the words that deep down, you didn’t really believe. Because you didn’t truly feel as though you deserved James. He was good—not like the assholes you had dated in the past and you felt immensely guilty that you were doubting him all because he couldn’t make you come.

Steve looks at you in utter disbelief, opening his mouth as if he was ready to argue but you silence him by unsteadily getting to your feet.

“M’going bed,” you tell him, clumsily making your way into the kitchen with your glass of half-drunk water. Steve follows—just to make sure that you didn’t break anything (whether that be the glass in your hand or even an arm or a leg).

He watches you tip the last of the water into the sink and he continues to watch as you leave the empty glass on the drying rack.

“You know you can talk to me if something’s wrong,” Steve suddenly says, making you turn to look at him—eyes unfocused due to the alcohol and your world just a little bit wobbly. “Like seriously. Even if it’s about—you know.”

Your face warms, you avert your eyes.

“Just drop it, yeah?” You murmur back, not meeting his eye. “It’s fine—I’m fine, Steve.”

Despite how tipsy you were—the words were final and Steve understood that. He looked at you for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay,” he says simply before he forces a smile. “Get some rest, yeah? I’ll make sure to have a hangover breakfast ready for you.”

You manage a smile—a genuine smile—because Steve always did thoughtful things like this. Even if you were drawing a clear line in the sand on the conversation. 

“Thank you,” you say, finally looking at Steve’s face and seeing the concern in his eyes which did not help the guilt you felt deep in your gut. Because now you felt awful for not being honest with Steve. And so—before you head to your room, you give Steve a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

You slip away before you see how Steve’s face flushes. 

The thing about living with Steve Harrington meant that you heard him have sex. Like, a lot.

The moment you heard loud moans coming from his bedroom, you would grab your walk-man, some headphones and drown out whatever unholy sounds were coming from the other side of the wall.

Tonight was no different. It was a week after that evening at the bar and after a long day at work, you were in your room when the moaning started. You knew he had been out on a date and you also knew—judging by the giggling that you had heard when Steve had returned ten minutes ago—that him and his date had retreated to his room. And so, what you heard next was inevitable. Your hands reached for your walk-man and—

“That’s it, pretty girl,” you hear Steve say in a low voice. “Soak my fingers—just like that. Do you hear how fucking wet you are for me?”

The words shock you. Hearing Steve say such filthy words makes your breath hitch and then—

To your absolute horror—the words go straight to your core.

Your thighs squeeze together without permission.

Holy fuck.

This is wrong. This was so fucking wrong—

“That’s it. God—keep squeezing my fingers just like that, baby. You’re going to feel incredible around my cock.”

You bite the inside of your mouth. Your fingers closing around the walkman, eyes on the headphones and—

“You want my mouth?”

“Yes, Steve—please—oh, oh god—oh—”

The moans coming from behind the wall had become obscene. High pitched, mixed with Steve’s own muffled groans.

You closed your eyes, imagining Steve’s thick head of hair between your thighs as he sucked on your clit, your slick dripping down his chin—

Oh god, no. You couldn’t fantasise about that, about him—it was wrong, it was—

“You taste so fucking good.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt warmth spread through you at those words. Hot—like lava seeping through your veins.

You felt an ache between your legs you hadn’t felt in a long time. As you squeezed your thighs together to try and ease the feeling, you let out a small gasp when you realised you were wet. Like really fucking wet.

Your fingers seem to have a mind of their own—dancing down your thighs until you feel your own slick coating your inner thigh from where it had trickled down from your cunt.

The urge to move your fingers higher was overwhelming. To plunge your fingers into your aching cunt and get off like you desperately needed to. The moans coming from the woman who was being eaten out by Steve Harrington was all you could hear. 

And that mental image of Steve—your roommate, your friend, the guy who was most certainly not your boyfriend—lapping at your soaked cunt was too much.

Your fingertips danced over the delicate lace of your panties before you knew what you were doing. That tiny bit of pressure was enough to make your hips buck up instinctively, stopping the whimper that threatened to fall out. You repeated the action, moving your finger around the damp spot in your panties and focusing only on Steve’s muffled groans. You have to bite down on your free hand to stop yourself from moaning as your fingers begin to circle your sensitive bud over the lace.

The nameless woman’s moans were only getting louder and louder.

And that’s when you gave in.

Your fingers slipped beneath the lace material of your panties. The first contact with your bare, wet pussy sent shock waves of pleasure through your body. You try not to think about how James never made you this wet as you slide your index and middle finger through your wetness.

You try to imagine James—your sweet, caring boyfriend between your legs. How his big blue-green eyes would look up at you sweetly. You wished it was enough to get you off. You wished he was good. As good as—

“Steve! Oh—fuck—don’t stop!”

And that was it—all thoughts of your boyfriend gone. The image of James replaced by Steve. And the thought of Steve using his mouth on you was enough to make your head fall back in ecstasy as your fingers worked faster—using your wet slick to coat your clit. The sensation sent a surge of white hot pleasure through you. You bit back a moan—your first orgasm in weeks right there. You were so close, you just need a little more—

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Steve’s voice rumbles through the wall. “Come for me.”

That voice—that fucking voice—is what pushes you over the edge. The wave of pleasure was so intense, so sudden that you almost failed to muffle your moan with your hand. You feel it in every nerve in your body. Your legs shake and you feel your release dripping onto the sheets beneath you.

You lay there, chest heaving, the bliss you felt moments before slowly slipping away as the sounds of Steve and the nameless women were drowned out by the shame that had started to creep through your body. You felt it in your very bones—you had just gotten off (for the first time in a long, long time) by thinking of someone other than your boyfriend. And it wasn’t just someone, it was Steve. Your roommate. Your friend. Sweet, kind and caring Steve.

You shouldn’t have done it—you know you shouldn’t have. And yet—you already want to do it again. Especially when you could hear the sound of skin slapping against each other in the next room. It made that feeling in your gut return. Hot, aching where your fingers had just been.

No. You couldn’t. It was wrong. So very wrong.

One time. You told yourself. Just one time.

The next time James went down on you, you were determined to come.

You had decided that the morning after you had been listening to Steve and that woman.

James’ roommates were out and that meant you weren’t confined to his room as you usually were.

He had laid you down on the couch—his shirt half off and belt unbuckled. You could tell he just wanted to fuck you. But you just wanted to see if he could—

“Eat me out,” you murmur against the skin of his neck. “James—please.”

James wasn’t one for talking dirty. Not because he disliked it but because it seemed to affect him too much. At your words he groaned and his hand that had been massaging one of your breasts stilled. You could feel his hardened cock through his jeans pressed against your thigh—swear you felt it twitch at your words alone. Admittedly, it turned you on. That was a start.

“Okay,” James says, leaning back to look at your face. “Okay—I can do that.”

You try not to think that he sounds like he’s talking business. As though going down on you was a meeting—an afternoon meeting? ‘Sure, I can do that’. Need that report by Monday? ‘Sure, I can do that’.

James didn’t take his time—you knew he was aching painfully from how hard he was—and so he just pushed up the skirt of your dress, hastily tugged down your panties before his mouth met your barely soaked folds. You felt his tongue slide between them and you let out a breathy moan. It was nice—not unpleasant just…nice.

His mouth is working overtime, altering between kitten licks and slow, languid licks at your entrance. Again, it’s nice but you get this feeling that he isn’t as into it as you want him to be. It takes you out of the experience entirely. You know he’s just doing it because you asked—that he’d rather be fucking with you with his cock rather than his tongue. He’s not moaning and groaning between your legs like Steve had been with that woman. The memory of your roommates’ groans was still hot in your mind and you were trying not to think about it, trying not to—

But when you look down, you find yourself imagining that James’ shaggy blonde hair was a mop of thick brown locks.

No, no, no—you shouldn’t be thinking about Steve right now. You should be focusing on your lovely, caring boyfriend who has his head between your legs. Not Steve—not Steve. 

But your mind went there anyway. Thinking of Steve’s moans, those filthy words you had heard him whisper. The way the woman he was with had reacted—

And suddenly, your hips were moving. Chasing friction, needing more. Bucking up to meet James’ mouth. Your fingers sunk into James’ hair and he groaned against you—sending a vibration through you that made you feel a spark of something. It was all the encouragement you needed, you moved his head slightly so that his nose would brush against your clit and the effect was instant.

You moaned out, unabashed and barely recognisable from your lips. Not exaggerated for once.

Again, you moved his head so his nose nuzzled your clit as his tongue continued to work in and out of you at a torturous pace. It worked—oh, god it was starting to work. Your head tilted back and moans fell from your lips without your say so. Hips following the movement of his tongue. Heat building in your gut, James’ own groans vibrating in a way that only added to the white hot pleasure that was building, building and—

James lets out a strangled moan against you that could only mean one thing. You blink as he pulls his mouth away from you. A hot look of embarrassment on his face as he glances down at his lap—a damp spot beginning to spread on his jeans.

“It’s okay,” you tell him quickly, breathless as you try to take his hand. “James, it’s—”

But he’s already pulling away from you entirely, face warm and determinedly not looking at you. 

You don’t try to stop him as he gets up and heads in the direction of the bathroom.

You should go after him. Reassure him it was okay. But part of you—the part that had been so desperate to finish—was tired of pretending it was okay. 

And so, for the second time in a week, your fingers slip down between your folds—soaked from a mix of your wetness and your boyfriend’s saliva and think of Steve Harrington. You came right there on James’ sofa in less than three minutes.

Never again, you told yourself. Never again.

But it happens. More than you care to admit.

The next time it happened, it had been while James was inside you.

Your legs were thrown over his shoulders as his cock thrust in and out of you in a polite manner. He was holding back on his groans—his roommates were in the living room watching some ice hockey game. You wished that he didn’t give a fuck when his roommates were home. Wished he was proud to fuck you.

You tried not to notice how quiet it was in the room. The only sound being the squelching between your bodies—not due to your wetness but due to the lube you had needed to use. The sounds of his roommates jeering at the TV in the living room was distracting. And the fact James was making next to no noise while fucking you left you feeling a type of way. It wasn’t that he was doing anything wrong—the angle should be enough to make you feel good. But it was everything else.

And it was enough for your mind to wander into dangerous territory. Back to the guy you lived with who you shouldn’t be thinking about—shouldn’t be—

But of course, you do. You think of Steve as your boyfriend fucks you. It shouldn’t turn you on but it does. Shouldn’t make your walls clench around James’ cock. Shouldn’t make you moan out and claw at your boyfriend’s back.

“Oh fuck,” James groans out quietly, still mindful of his roommates as you lost your ability to keep quiet. “Sweetheart, you need to be quiet—”

But you don’t hear him over the moans you were now letting out. Too in your own head as you imagined Steve slamming his cock in and out of you—imagining him calling you pretty girl and telling you how fucking good you felt.

You should stop, you knew it was wrong. But as you felt that white hot pleasure build and build in a way it had never with James, you didn’t have it in you to stop.

And when it was over and James was looking at you in awe, you felt good. Confident. Sexy. Things you hadn’t felt before. James had even managed to fuck you a second time that night.

You’re aware you shouldn’t be thinking of someone else when you’re being intimate with your boyfriend. But it was the only way you could finish with James. It made you feel guilty after—immensely so. But it was the only thing that worked.

You were also painfully aware that you were fantasying about your roommate—of all people. But things between you and Steve remained normal. He still made you coffee every morning, still sat beside you on the couch while eating dinner and brushing his teeth by your side, completely unaware that you were fantasying about him during sex in order to get off.

You didn’t even feel awkward about it—not really. Not when your sex life was finally good. Not when you finally had your own fun sex stories to tell your friends.

And so, you didn’t stop. Weeks passed and you kept thinking about Steve as your boyfriend fucked you. Kept choosing not to put the headphones on when Steve had a girl over—your fingers pumping in and out of you as you listened to his moans and occasional whimpers. Your juices soaking your sheets and your body practically thrumming with pleasure. And then—the next morning you would accept a hot mug of coffee from your roommate.

And he had no idea what you had been doing the night before.

Steve was out—you think he was at baseball practice—and you had decided to make the most of it.

You invited James over and it didn’t take long before clothes were shed. You were on top for once, moving yourself up and down on his cock at a rhythm that had your head thrown back and listening to James’ muffled groans—his lips busy with your breasts that he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from as they bounced in his face.

Your hands were in his hair, his cock was inside you and yet—your mind was on Steve. Again. You found yourself wondering how big Steve was. You remember Nancy once being so drunk that she had told you just how big Steve was. “Monster cock,” Nancy had giggled to you as she poured herself another shot. Had told you how during her first time with him she had briefly wondered if he was going to split her in half with his cock.

The knowledge was coming back to you now—imagining Steve’s cock filling you so well that you would feel it in your stomach. Even imagined the stomach bulge it was cause—the outline of his cock nearly visible as he fucked up into you.

The mental image had your walls squeezing James’ not-so monster cock—a shameless, wanton moan falling from your lips as you grew closer and closer—

“I’m gonna come,” you gasp out, fingers gripping onto James’ shoulder as you try to keep yourself tethered to the image of Steve—of his cock splitting you open as he whispers the dirtiest words imaginable into your ear. “Steve, I’m gonna come.”

Your orgasm hits you hard. It hits you so hard in fact that you don’t feel how James’ thrusts cease entirely. How his hands fall from your hips. You don’t notice as your head falls into the crook of his neck, your body thrumming, legs shaking.

But you certainly notice how quick he was to pull out. How he didn’t finish.

You blink—heart still hammering, still a little blissed out from your orgasm—as you let him lift you off him a little more hastily than you were used to. You watch James, confused, as he hastily grabs his boxers and begins to tug them up his legs.

“Do you want me to—”

“No,” He snapped suddenly. “No, (y/n). I don’t want you to do anything.”

Bewildered, you began to grab your own items of clothing from the floor and started to dress. James had never snapped at you before and you were utterly confused at the sudden change of tone.

“What—what did I do? Is something wrong—”

“Gee, I don’t know, (y/n),” James resorts, a derisive laugh falling from his lips as he pulls up his jeans. “Does moaning out your male roommate's name while I’m inside of you count as something wrong?”

“I don’t—”

“Cut the bullshit ignorant act,” James interjects harshly as he looks at your face. “You just moaned out Steve’s name. Not my name. Steve’s.”

For a moment, there’s utter confusion. You don’t remember what you had said while you were mid orgasm. You want to deny it, laugh even but you can’t. You knew exactly what you had been thinking about, about Steve and you knew it was entirely possible you had accidentally moaned out Steve’s name in your moment of ecstasy.

“James, I’m sorry. It was an accident. It didn’t mean anything. It was—”

“Bullshit!” James cuts across you, his voice slightly raised. His face was flushed in anger—you could see that he was still hard through his jeans. You could practically feel the embarrassment radiating from him and you couldn’t really blame him. You feel awful—truly awful, feeling as though you wanted to be sick. “You don’t just accidentally say someone else’s name during sex. Especially Steve’s.”

You swallow, your face hot with embarrassment, shame and a growing sense of panic that you couldn’t control. You try to conceal it by pulling on your t-shirt over your head before you look at James again.

“James, I—”

“Save it,” James mutters, pulling on his shirt and not even bothering to button it up before grabbing his jacket and shoes by the front door. “I’m not going to embarrass myself a moment longer. We’re done.”

“James—”

But your boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend now, rather—was already slamming the door to your apartment behind him.

What shocked you most was that you didn’t cry. You had the overwhelming urge to but not because James had left, not because he had just dumped you but because felt so embarrassed by the situation—by the fact you had moaned out Steve’s name instead of James’. Too deep in fantasies about your roommate. And so—when you began to cry you told yourself it was because you were sad. That it was because you had just been dumped by your boyfriend of nearly two years and you were heartbroken. But you were far from it—in fact, there was a part of you that felt relieved.

The tears of embarrassment—now mixed with a sick feeling of shame—had only just started falling when the apartment door opened again. You turned around, a small part of you hoping it was James who was returning to tell you it was all some stupid joke—but of course, it wasn’t.

Steve stood in the doorway, his eyes wide at the sight of you crying on the couch—only in a t-shirt and panties, your jeans slung over a nearby chair, your bra hanging over a lamp. But your state of undress doesn’t even seem to cross Steve’s mind as he rushes over to you—the bag he took with him to baseball practice falling to the floor beside him in his haste to reach you.

“Hey, hey—I saw James storming out—he looked—oh honey, what happened?”

The shock of Steve walking in at precisely this moment had left you lost for words. Tears flowed down your cheeks, your face still felt hot from embarrassment but you couldn’t speak. And Steve, seemingly taking your lack of being able to talk as heartbreak, gathers you into his arm and shushes you gently while you cry into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, his hand cupping the back of your head in an effort to soothe you. “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

And because you felt too much shame and guilt to be honest with Steve, you simply nodded. Clinging to Steve as though your heart was shattered into a million pieces—as though James leaving have devastated you. When in actuality, you were making a silent promise to yourself. A promise to never—never ever tell a soul about what had just transpired between you and James. To never reveal the name you had subconsciously moaned out during your moment of bliss. 

Especially not Steve.

Especially not Steve.

dividers by @cursed-carmine

support banners by @saradika-graphics

[officerrrfriendly]

i’m dying for somebody to write a fic with one if the joe characters based on the movie ‘The people you meet on vacation’ SERIOUSLY

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 23: The Monster In Me

Chapter Twenty-three.

Oh, Father, tell me, Do we get what we deserve? Oh, we get what we deserve, And way down we go.

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, midwestern town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 5,103

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, explicit violence, two idiots pining after each other as they face possible death, mentions of canon-typical weapons. I think that's it, at this point, who knows.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter: COMING SOON

Taglist: @kezibear @newyorkangelbaby

Chapter Twenty-three: The Monster In Me

You had never known real gratitude — mixed with a healthy dose of fear — until you found the first crossroads, the sound of a golf buggy whizzing by in the distance, along with a somehow well-acquainted language that you still didn’t understand. At least you weren’t stuck in purgatory anymore, the grey, never-ending hallways enough to drive anyone insane.

Steve had been leading the group with you following up at the rear, trying to keep the kids — and Robin by default — safely encased by the two of you. A badly timed guard had caused you all to hide behind a large electrical unit, but as soon as the coast was clear, you were off again, praying that you were going in the right direction, which would eventually lead you up above ground.

“That was close,” Robin let out a small breath of air, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Too close,” Dustin agreed, his voice a little louder than necessary.

“Relax, alright?” Steve tried to reassure him, somehow the perfect picture of calm, “Nobody saw…”

His voice trailed off as he turned the corner, causing your brows to pull together as you approached him, your own eyes widening at the sight before you.

A large, two-level floor, busy with armed guards, people in lab coats and hazmat suits, and the same metal containers from the fake warehouse room, piled up ready to be taken to wherever they needed to go.

“Shit,” you grumbled, a hand on Erica’s backpack as you all darted towards your only cover.

“I saw it,” she whispered to you, shuffling a little closer, “first floor, northwest.”

“Saw what?”

“The comms room.”

“Are you sure?” Dustin questioned.

“Positive. The door was open for a second, and I saw a bunch of lights and machines and shit in there.”

“That could be a hundred different things,” Dustin argued back, the positivity of escaping the hallways quickly evaporating.

“I’ll take those odds,” Robin shrugged, her eyes glued to Steve’s in an attempt to convince him.

The boy sighed, turning his attention toward you. Swallowing the lump that had been digging its way up your throat, you shrugged, “We’re sitting ducks here. It’s worth a try.”

With a quick glance toward the ceiling, as if he were praying to a God that you weren’t even sure he believed in, Steve finally nodded, and slowly but surely, you all began your journey to the door, ducking behind large pieces of machinery and hoping that you didn’t get caught. Once again, Steve took up the front, and you took up the rear, sandwiching the kids — and Robin — in as much safety as you could.

Once you’d all quietly ducked inside the comms room, disaster struck. Grabbing hold of Erica’s backpack, you pulled her behind you as your chest heaved. The security guard in the chair turned, quick enough to remove his headset and stand, but everyone stayed as still as mice. Maybe if you didn't move, he wouldn't see you.

Five idiots face to face with — hopefully — another idiot.

You were shit out of luck, however, when the panicked guard reached for his gun, causing Robin to step forward in an attempt to diffuse the situation, a rumble of Russian falling from her mouth effortlessly. Thankfully, one of you had remembered the words on the tape. You, however, only seemed to recognize the damn tune from that stupid Indiana Flyer ride.

The guard's brow furrowed slightly as Robin repeated herself, moving closer and closer, as you held back the impulse to grab her by the lapels of her uniform and tug her back to safety.

For a moment, the two conversed in Russian, leaving the four of you to stand around nervously, hoping that whatever she was saying, Robin had it handled. But when the man shook his head, a distrustful glare settling on his face as he grabbed for his gun once more, a blur of red, white and blue with suspiciously lighter hair than before summer whizzed past you, a loud yell echoing around the room as Steve all but tackled the guard around the waist, knocking him backwards and into the desk he once sat at.

It didn’t take long before the guard threw him off, and thankfully, he seemed to forgo his gun and instead swung at Steve, only to miss.

Throwing the boy around, Steve managed to elbow the guard in the ribs, before grabbing the closest item to him — a telephone — and swinging it, just as he’d done so with his nailed bat, connecting with the guard’s temple, which caused him to spin, the momentum too much to stay upright, as his head hit the desk and he collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Everyone remained still and silent, eyes wide as you all stared between Steve and the guard. It might not’ve been as impressive to Erica and Robin, who had only witnessed the boy win his first fight, but you'd seen him knocked on his ass by Jonathan Byers. So to see Steve successfully manage to overpower an armed guard… Well, color you surprised.

“Holy shit,” you were aware the words had fallen from your own slacked jaw, but you did nothing about it as your awed eyes were staring abashedly at the boy, meeting his own widened eyes, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. Your eyebrows raised softly as your brain begged you to close your damn mouth, but you both remained glued to the spot, staring each other down as his chest heaved, the flow of adrenaline slowly left his body.

“Dude!” Dustin yelled, the moment causing Steve to tear his eyes away from you, looking toward the rest of your party, “You did it! You won a fight!”

But even after Steve smiled softly at the group and Dustin grabbed the guard's key card — at least his brain was functioning at full capacity — you remained still, heart pounding against your chest as you watched the boy push his hair off his face.

“Are you okay?” You finally managed to ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Nodding, a sweet pink began to color Steve’s cheeks as his eyes avoided yours, only to fall into a deep glare when your fist hit his shoulder, “Ow. What the-”

“Don’t do something like that again. He had a gun, Steve. He could’ve killed you.”

You stomped off toward the control desk, attempting to busy yourself whilst Dustin and Erica began to argue, but Steve’s heavy footsteps followed closely behind, agitation clear on his pinched face, “I think it was pretty obvious he was gonna kill us anyway.”

You could feel him hovering, close enough that you could feel the fabric of his shirt as you uncrossed your arms, spinning around to face him, eyes firmly set on his chest.

“That doesn’t mean you need to play hero. Last year with the Demodogs in the junk yard, and now this? I’m starting to think you have a hero complex, or a death wish, or something, Harrington.”

Steve’s mouth opened, a bitter retort on his tongue, but when your eyes finally connected with his, he couldn’t help the way his softened. You weren’t angry, you were scared.

So, instead of adding fuel to the fire, Steve swallowed it down and tried again, hands gently placed onto your shoulders, slowly tracing down until his fingers connected with your own. Both warm and clammy with fear, but entwined in a tight grip nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, alright? But I said I’d keep everyone safe, and I’m gonna do that. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

The lump in your throat finally dislodged, slowly slinking back down toward your chest where it sat heavily. But you nodded, shoulders sagging slightly when he sent you a small, lopsided smile.

“Guys,” Robin interrupted, everyone's eyes turning toward her, “There’s something up there.”

Robin was, once again, correct. Even when you desperately didn’t want her to be.

Your small group peered through the glass windows, unsure of what exactly you were watching. All you knew was it sent a shiver down your spine in the worst of ways.

The room was drenched in an electric blue that would’ve been much prettier had your lives not of been on the line, as men in white lab coats pressed buttons at a control desk, safe behind their own glass windows as they watched people in hazmat suits wonder around a large electrical machine, implanting the jars of bright green liquid into the sides. So it was powering something.

The thrumming could be felt through the floor where you stood as they continued to power up their machine, the light from the other end only illuminating brighter with each second that passed.

Squinting, you tried to work out what they were doing, what they were aiming their machine at. Whatever it was, it was absorbing an insane amount of energy as it began to crack and tear apart. And that's when something clicked. Will's funeral. The discussion you had interrupted between the boys and Mr. Clarke.

“You’d need to create like… a massive amount of energy — more than humans are even currently capable of creating — to open up some kind of tear in time and space. You create a doorway.”

“Is that-” Steve asked, his breath hitting your ear as he crowded behind you, hands pressed on either side, almost caging you in.

“A gate,” you nodded, leaning back into the comfort of the boy’s chest, your voice weak and strained, “They’re opening a gate.”

Dustin and Steve explained what was happening as best they could to Robin and Erica as you descended the stairs leading back down to the comms room, your hand now firmly clenched in Steve’s as you remained silent.

How many times would you have to do this? To face the horrors that the Upside Down seemed to spawn effortlessly. How many times would El have to close the gap between that world and this world before it would finally remain permanently shut? How many more people would die before then? This other dimension had taken so much from so many of you. Barb, Will, for a time, Dale and Henry, who were caught out hunting, and Bob. Even Benny — who was only doing for El what he’d done for you all those years before — was collateral damage due to people thinking they could control whatever lay behind that gate. It had stolen lives and childhoods, and changed you indefinitely as a person, and you weren’t sure it was for the better.

This place had led you to slam a metal pipe into a man’s head. Not a monster, but a living, breathing human. A ‘bad man’ who was coming for El, all because she had an attachment to that place. You couldn’t bring yourself to regret that decision, because you knew you’d do a lot worse to keep those kids safe, but it didn’t mean that you weren’t haunted by his pale blue eyes, watching you from the bottom of your bed on the particularly rough nights. No matter what Hopper said, you had seen the man’s soul leave his eyes in the moments before he hit the ground. You had killed him, and Hopper was trying to preserve your sanity and humanity by taking the blame.

But both of those things felt like they were dwindling faster and faster, each time someone or something, opened a damn gate.

How much more could you take?

“Like end-of-the-human-race kind of bad.”

“And you know about this, how?” Robin screeched, not happy with only being told the bare minimum, especially now that her life — and apparently, the entire human race — was on the line.

“Um, Steve? Where’s your Russian friend?” Erica interrupted, halting the heated discussion surrounding you.

Looking down, you saw the blood splatter on the floor, but, as Erica had said, no guard. Before anyone could speak, a blaring alarm set off, flooding the room in an unflattering light.

Steve rushed toward the door, spotting said guard as he spoke quickly to a group, pointing toward the room with one hand as he held his head with the other. Time slowed down as the guards all looked up, directly making eye contact with Steve.

Then, time seemed to speed up a little too fast.

They ran toward the door, guns already cocked and ready, yelling at you all over the noise and disruption.

Steve slammed the door shut, cursing lowly under his breath before you all ran toward the only other door, ending up back at the viewing window where a group of scientists turned, staring at you in bewilderment.

Dustin rushed through, barely taking a moment to think it through as he started in another direction, leading everyone down the stairs and toward the machine. Halting on the ledge, your breath caught in your throat as you watched the gate groan and splinter further as Dustin shouted, cursing loudly.

“This way,” Steve shouted over the collective noise, taking you even further down the stairs and shoving a man in a hazmat suit out of the way, only to be met with more soldiers on the bottom floor.

The noise around you was deafening. The machine, the gate itself, the shouts of both guards and your own group all blended into one commotion, and if your adrenaline hadn’t been pumping through your body, you might’ve just sat down under the structure and screamed. Instead, Steve continued to lead you all toward another door, knocking barrels into the guards that chased you, and the scientists that stood around, astounded by the scene going on around them.

“This way!” Robin yelled, pushing through a door as you all followed. Steve kept his weight against the door as the soldiers began to bang on it from the outside, undoubtedly yelling at you in Russian to come out.

Both you and Robin turned at Steve’s pained huff as he tried his best to keep the door shut, despite the bodies now slamming against it in a desperate attempt to stop your rag-tag team of teenagers — and a 10-year-old — as if you were the US military.

Your combined weight was enough to keep the door closed for now, but the noise outside became louder, and you knew the guards were piling up.

Dustin and Erica looked around in terror, eyes wide and chests heaving as they tried to find any way out.

“Here!” Erica called, lifting a floor vent, “Let's go!”

“Come on!” Dustin called out, sweat pouring down his face as he watched the three of you struggle with the door.

“Go! Just get out of here!”

“Come on!” Dustin yelled, voice strained as he begged for you all to follow.

“You need to go with them.”

“No. No chance in Hell, Harrington. I’m not leaving-”

“You have to-”

“No. Not without you.”

A silence surrounded you both for a moment, despite knowing you didn’t have much time. Steve leaned closer, and keeping his body pressed against the door, his large palms settled on your cheeks, his eyes gazing over your face, “Hey, listen to me, alright? It’s gonna be fine. You got this. We got this, alright?”

“Please!” Dustin cried, eyes wide as he looked between you all.

“We got it, alright? You go. Keep ‘em safe. Get Hopper, get us help.” Robin nodded in agreement from her place next to Steve’s side.

“You won’t be able to keep the door shut for long-”

“That’s why you need to go, now!” Robin peered at you as best she could around the boy.

You understood why. You knew both Erica and Dustin better. You would protect them with your life, if needed. But it didn’t make leaving any easier.

Turning your attention toward Steve, you huffed, “I’m coming back, so you better stay alive. Both of you.”

Steve’s mouth opened, as if he were going to say something, but only a grunt fell from his lips as the guards continued to push at the door.

“We will, now go!” Robin said in his place.

Your eyes met Steve’s as you followed Dustin through the vent, wide and shiny and full of pain, knowing this could be the last time you ever saw him again. You didn’t stick around too long, not wanting to memorize his face as one of fear and anxiety, a small amount of gratitude that you had followed the kids down, knowing that someone would keep them safe and that they, and you, had a chance of escaping this.

Instead, you pictured every other instance that Steve Harrington had lived through that not many others could’ve.

Bloody and bruised after his fight with Jonathan when he turned up at the Byers’ residence, ready to apologize to him for being a horrible person, only to save your life as he swung a bat into the face of a Demogorgon.

The same nail bat swinging around as he whistled for the Demodogs at the junk yard. 'Human tastes better than cat, I promise.' God, you could’ve killed him that night.

Bloody and bruised once more, only this time his face was decorated with plasters that Dustin had found in Joyce’s first aid box. Not even a concussion after trying to fend off Billy’s attack could stop him from wrapping an arm tightly around your waist, your back pressed firmly to his chest as he turned you away from the pack of Demodogs that were bounding toward you, unaware that, thankfully this time, you weren’t their targets.

Steve had put his life on the line more times than you cared to count in an attempt to protect others. It did help you feel slightly more at ease, knowing he wouldn’t willingly drag Robin to her death if he didn’t think that he would somehow be able to escape this mess, with or without your help.

The hatch had barely slammed shut when the guards burst through the door, knocking the two teenagers to the floor, hands held up in surrender as they looked down the barrel of several guns.

Your mind raced at a million miles an hour as you led Dustin and Erica through the vents. Henderson’s stomach growled loud enough that you heard it from where you knelt, unscrewing a panel that controlled the large fan that blocked your way. You’d met way too many dead ends, or rooms filled to the brim with guards, and your escape and eventual rescue mission felt less likely as more time passed.

Taking a deep breath, you wondered what Hopper would do in this situation. How he’d react, how he’d get not only you guys, but Steve and Robin to safety.

Little did you know, the man was currently throwing a Russian scientist around a former investigative journalist’s living room over a strawberry-flavored Slurpee.

Dustin continued to explain to Erica about the past few years, everything from Will’s week-long vacation to the Upside Down, to the tunnels that were overrun with the Demodogs.

“I’m just being realistic. I mean, we’ve made it about point-three miles in nine hours. Then we had to walk three hours down that tunnel, so I’d estimate ten miles back to the elevator, which should take us approximately twelve-and-a-half days.” Erica sassed, watching as you slowly tried to unscrew the last remaining screw.

“I love that you just did that all in your head, little Sinclair, but please, for the love of God and my last remaining strand of sanity, shut up. For just a moment. Please.”

“Holy shit, you’re a nerd,” Dustin announced, eyes wide as he turned his full attention to the younger girl.

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, “For someone who gives her brother a lot of shit… You really are throwing stones in a glass hous.”

“Come again?” She sassed back.

“You… Are… A… Nerd.” Dustin repeated, a sly smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth whilst the two argued back and forth about… My little pony, “Ergo, Erica…You are a nerd.”

“And how do you know so much about My Little Pony?” She sent the boy a dry smile, leaving Dustin to roll his eyes, as if only further proving his point.

“Because I’m a nerd.”

“Got it,” you sighed, wiping sweat from your brow after pulling the cover from the board and ripping out whatever wires your fingers found first, causing the fan ahead of you to slowly come to a stop as it powered down, “C’mon, let's go. Only twelve-and-a-half days left, right?”

You really hoped your plan was going to work, because otherwise, you might all just die in these vents from overheating.

If you thought the tunnels went on for an age, the vents only seemed to last longer. Still, the monotomous sounds of your crawling — along with the mass amount of panic of what to do next — were able to keep your mind at bay from whatever was happening to Steve and Robin. If they were even still alive.

Your wrist gave out slightly, causing you to jolt forward slightly before catching yourself before your face smashed into the metal floor.

“You good?” Erica asked, a brow cocked in concern.

How a ten-year-old managed to stay so calm and collected was beyond you. Still, you choked down your approaching panic attack and sent the girl a tight grin instead, before continuing down the never-ending vent system until finally you found an opening into an empty room.

Crawling out of the vent, you looked around at the large glass cases holding vials of the green goo, as Dustin rushed toward one of the carts, sliding into the driving seat. It would take some time off your journey.

“Do you even know how to drive?” Erica asked, watching as Dustin looked around for the key, only to come up empty-handed.

“Aw, come on…”

“You seriously thought they’d just leave keys in there?”

“There has to be a spare,” Dustin continued his search as you finally made your way down the few steps and joined them. Pulling out the small screwdriver, you opened a panel on the side, revealing a key as Erica continued to wander around the room, eyes glued to the large cages, only to almost electrocute the boy as she surprised him from behind with some kind of electric cattle prod.

“Could be useful.”

Dustin held out his hand, hoping you’d place the keys into his palm, but scoffed when you remained deadpan, “Really? You let Max drive Steve’s car!”

“Yeah, pretty sure that was during the worst concussion of my life, Henderson.” You rolled your eyes, waiting for the boy to scoot over and allow you to sit in front of the wheel.

Hands clenching around the leather, you took a deep breath, trying to decide between returning to the main floor and finding Steve and Robin, or trying to get out of there and find help, which by Erica’s estimation, would take way too long.

But who in their right mind could help? Except maybe El. Another situation she’d be dragged into, forced to use her powers and save a town that didn’t even know she existed.

Mind made up, you looked toward the kids as you climbed back off the cart and tossed the keys to Dustin, “I have an idea. It’s stupid, and reckless, but… I think it might work. You two can go, get out of here, if you want to. I’d totally understand.”

After a moment of silent stares between the two, Erica shrugged as Dustin spoke, “We’re in this together, right?”

Nodding, you couldn’t tell if you were relieved or not to not have to do this alone, “I’m uh… I’m gonna need your backpack.”

“That’s your plan?” Dustin asked, one more time, just to make sure he was understanding how crazy you sounded.

“Yep, that’s about the gist of it.”

“And you’re sure you can find the room?”

Running a hand through your hair, you pulled the cart to the side, deciding it would be best to leave it where you could remember in an attempt to aid both your rescue mission and your escape. “I’m not sure of anything, Henderson. But I know if this plan is going to work, we need to be quiet.”

Erica carried her backpack with extreme caution, especially now that she’d witnessed what that green gunk could do, as you held a hand out to halt their motions, beginning to check out a room in case there were any guards. You weren’t sure if any of the soldiers were aware that it wasn't just Steve and Robin who'd infiltrated the facility, especially since the alarms had stopped blaring a long time ago. Either way, you didn’t want to take any chances.

Carrying the electric prod, you looked around the room as much as you could, considering you were peering through the small glass window. It was full of what looked like computers, all facing away from you, but nobody seemed to be in the chair behind them.

Deciding it looked safe enough, you pushed the door open as quietly as possible before making your way in. “We find an air duct, find where they’re keeping them, and then we-”

You almost choked on your words as your body was forced backward headfirst, landing flat on your back, causing your Walkman to break under your weight and the electric prod roll away from you.

Pain erupted instantaneously, the skin on your face suddenly feeling too tight and wet, but it took a moment for you to get your bearings, unable to focus on the repeated shouts from Erica and Dustin.

Your hand raised to cover your face, causing you to flinch and quickly pull it away, noting the blood that was now smeared over your hand. Your eyes darted over to see Erica and Dustin with wide eyes, backing away with their hands raised, but the shouts you could hear ricocheting around the room were not English…

Eyes darting up, you came to your senses when you saw the guard peering over you, the butt of his large gun held over you as he geared up to strike once more. Dustin calling your name seemed to force you out of your frozen state just in time, the man’s gun hitting the floor with a loud crack only microseconds after you rolled out of the way, scrambling to the side away from the kids, in hopes you could at least keep his attention on you, despite their shouting and — from Erica — name calling.

The gun had seemingly broken under the force of the floor, and as the guard disposed of it, throwing it to the side as he might a piece of trash, your eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything to protect yourself. Spotting the prod that had rolled under a desk, you tried your best to scurry toward it on your hands and knees, slipping slightly from the blood that covered your hand as you left prints over the floor. Before you could reach it, you felt a hand wrap around your bare ankle, and suddenly you were being dragged backwards, across the floor on your stomach.

You managed to roll over, struggling in the grip of the larger man as he pulled you closer, cursing at you in Russian as he tried to wrangle your squirming legs. Pulling yourself up onto your elbows, you pulled back the leg he couldn’t quite grab and kicked him, full force, in the face.

Maybe an eye for an eye would leave the whole world blind, but a broken nose for a broken nose sure felt fair enough.

The man fell backward, his hand pressed against his nose for a moment before he spat out blood, veins in his neck throbbing as he turned back to you, “Bitch.”

The soldier pounced on you, causing you both to slide backward slightly before his hands connected with your neck.

Your eyes were wide, feeling like they were going to pop out of their sockets at any moment as his grip tightened, Russian words falling from his bloodied lips.

The sounds of the kids' screams faded in and out as the soldier tried his best to choke every last bit of air out of your lungs. Your hands clawed and dug at his, trying in vain to pull them from you, but it wasn’t until he looked up toward Dustin and Erica, snarling something in Russian, which was definitely a threat, that you reached out, desperate to find the stupid cattle prod.

Your hands were slippery as they desperately searched the floor, fingertips just grazing the rod, but you realized that even if you were able to grab it, you couldn’t use it without electrocuting yourself, too. And from how strong it seemed when Erica scared Dustin with it earlier, you weren’t sure it was something you’d wake up from. It seemed much more likely that it was made for a Demogorgon rather than a human.

With the last of your energy, you shoved both of your thumbs into the man’s eyes, jabbing as hard as you could, causing him to shout and struggle, trying to move his head away from you as his vision blurred. His grip loosened slightly, allowing you to finally take in a breath, regardless of how much it hurt, and as he sat back on his haunches, you managed to free your legs, moving them up and between your bodies.

Finishing with a swift strike to the throat, followed by a couple of bicycle kicks that you’d seen whilst passing by a Jazzercise class at the mall, the man finally let go of your neck, and you continued to kick, this time at his face, until he fell to the side.

Scrambling upward, you managed to grab the cattle prod, jabbing it into the man’s chest.

His body continued to shake, even after you turned it off, froth from his mouth tinged by the red now pouring from his nose.

Dropping the prod, you pushed yourself backward, away from the man until your back hit a wall. Your lungs were trying to heave in oxygen, despite the burning sensation that occurred each time you did so, jumping slightly as Dustin rushed toward you, calling your name as he tried to break your trance, eyes glued on the most likely dead body in front of you.

The Upside Down created monsters.

And you were one of them.

[keerycoded]

love like it’s ending - s.h

masterlist

summary :: You never asked to be part of this world; monsters and babysitters with big hair and even bigger egos. But the more times you dance with death = the more you open up. Enemies to reluctant allies. Reluctant allies to something you’re definitely not ready to name, but it might just be the best thing that ever happened to you.

warnings :: detailed injury, verbal abuse, physical violence, gore depictions (mind flayer), angst

pairing :: steve harrington x henderson!reader

status :: currently ongoing

slowburn, enemies to lovers, henderson!reader

SEASON ONE

SEASON TWO

SEASON THREE

SEASON FOUR

hope you icons enjoy ₊✧

(henderson!reader x steve you will always be famous)

note :: this is just an excuse for me to overanalyse stranger things as i rewatch it</3

[boomhauer]

Down Together

Summary: Steve doesn’t want to show up to the Harrington family reunion without a girlfriend again. Though you didn’t know him too terribly well, you offered to go with him. Nothing too exciting could happen on a weeklong trip to the lake, right?

What to expect: Fake dating. Angsty Steve. Dysfunctional family. Friends to Lovers. Eventual smut/lemon (-18 kindly dni)

A/N: Howdy, friends. Welcome to my new Steve fic. I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know if you do! ❤️

*contains smut

1 ⟡

2 ⟡ TBP 8/31

3 ⟡ TBP 9/7

4 ⟡ 5* ⟡ 6 *⟡ 7 ⟡ 8

[officerrrfriendly]

already OBSESSED with this!!!

[maroon-cardigan-deactivated2025]

I WILL FOLLOW YOU | steve harrington x fem!reader | zombie au.

summary: in the dead town of hawkins, a disturbed stranger drags you into the messy life he leads after the apocalypse.

zombie apocalypse au | enemies to lovers with heavy slowburn | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

word count: 24.6k

warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. heavy angst. descriptions of reader’s periods, mentions of death, blood, depression and ptsd, mentions of suicide (NO descriptions). smut. unprotected p in v.

disclaimer: for the sake of the plot, the kids are younger in this au, meaning the age gap between lucas and erica is smaller than in the show.

author’s note: hi kids ♡ here’s little au on a setting i’ve always wanted to work on ! please lmk what you think, you know i love reading your feedback !! i will be a bit absent from this blog the following weeks but please consider have a look at my note at the end of this one shot. love you all ! ♡

You probably shouldn't have used that bullet. But then again, you were probably the only person in the country, and maybe in the world who felt some kind of pity towards the infected body on the other side of the abandoned street.

There was something fascinating about them. You observed the dying body convulse for a few seconds from the other side of the street, the comfortable weight of the gun you were so used to still in your hand. Only moving when you heard the weak sound of a growl leave its throat, and its limbs remained immobile.

Maybe you’d never get rid of the funny habit of looking to both sides before crossing the street, but it was more important that no one noticed what you were about to do next. You carefully moved its face with the tip of your boot, trying to get rid of the long hairs around the greenish face to get a better look at its face, at her face. You even dared to crouch in front of it.

She didn’t look like anyone you knew, she didn’t look like anything, really. There were little, putrid holes around her cheekbones, purple shades where a mouth should’ve been, and colourful spores blooming around her eyes. It was sad, and frightening and somehow still beautiful. Undead or not, humans were still beautiful.

Including you, you thought, always trying to convince yourself that you weren’t a bad person because you couldn’t give this body a proper burial. The world was full of destruction and yet your body still seemed to crave for creation, because despite the fact you were eating once a day, maybe twice if you were lucky, it still managed to miraculously bleed once a month.

And it was so infuriating. You had resorted to sacrifice one of your three shirts to sow handmade pads that felt more like diapers on your underwear. It was beyond the point of humiliation at this point, and you never cried, you never had the time to. So, you just kept going until you’d find the next gas station or pharmacy or supermarket.

As alert as anyone was in a situation like these, you were pretty calm most times, specially while wandering around supermarkets’ isles. Something that the people writing movies and books about the apocalypse didn’t take into consideration was how boring the end of the world could be. Because the ending was constantly delayed, and nothing really happened. On top of that, there were no ways to pass the time that couldn’t potentially put you in danger. It seemed like those days where you couldn’t leave the house without a pair of headphones had been a lifetime ago, now you wouldn’t risk spending one second completely unaware of your surroundings.

So, all that boredom turned into longing sighs, moments of reflection where you read the labels of expired cereal boxes if you found any. You’d spend twenty minutes wondering if you could afford some stomach ache if that meant you’d get to taste frosted flakes again. It was even harder with your period because the cravings would sometimes blend with your changes of mood, and that’s how you could end up shooting a zombie three times knowing very well that the first bullet had already finished it.

Sometimes it was too overwhelming, so you’d end up doing what you were doing now, heading towards the isle with the dusty sign that once read Candy. Your mouth watered as soon as you found a few chocolate bars and a bag of gummy bears abandoned on a shelf. They had expired, yeah, but just a couple of weeks ago, you could still eat them. Your enthusiasm intensified by the sight of a pack of mini-Oreos, and for a second it felt as if none of this absurd shit was happening, you even caught yourself jumping out of pure happiness.

Carried away by the excitement, you kneeled in front of the shelf and fit as much as you could inside your backpack, plus a bag of chips. You knew you had to be careful and ration the food, you thought as you put the bag around your shoulders and walked towards the toiletries isle. Maybe you could even sleep here tonight and check the other isles tomorrow, though canned food was impossible to find, and everything else was most likely uneatable.

You didn’t have the time to think about any of that, though. Because in front of you, after months of wearing scraps of fabric, there were pads.

‘Holy shit.’ You heard yourself say out loud. You had almost forgotten the sound of your own voice, the sound of your own laugh, you realised as soon as you held the pack on your hands with a smile. There were only two, the last two. And they were yours.

‘Drop them.’ You heard a voice say behind you, followed by a clicking sound that you knew too well.

You weren’t surprised by the fact someone was pointing a gun at you, you were surprised by the fact they were trying to steal pads from you. Slowly, you turned back to look at the asshole straight in the face, finding no other than a guy about your age with a disturbing shadow darkening his brown eyes.

‘Drop them or I’ll shoot you.’ He said calmly.

‘Why?’ You said softly. ‘You don’t need them.’

‘Drop. The Pads.’ He took a step towards you, the cold metal of the gun’s muzzle brushing your forehead as he threatened you.

You looked up at him feeling the uttermost curiosity. This guy wasn’t an undead, but he was definitely not alive by the way he felt so entitled to do this, by how sad the circles under his eyes looked. Something inside you told you that if you were fast enough you could manage to immobilize his wrist, but it kind of seemed stupid. Even when you could feel the blood falling from your insides, staining your pathetic hand-sown pads, your underwear and your pants. It all felt so stupid.

So, you gave them to him.

Still with his gun in his hand, he managed to open the pack with his teeth in a swift movement and throw a single pad at you. The plastic thing fell next to your boots, but your eyes didn’t leave his to look down at it, you just held his gaze, wondering how anyone could be so pathetically miserable to withhold resources like this.

He gave you a small nod before walking backwards with the pads still in his hands, getting lost in the next isle. All you could do was take a deep breath and shake your head silently, picking up the pad that now you’d have to choose between saving for an emergency or using as soon as possible. A couple of years ago you would’ve thrown a tantrum and cried your eyes out, but you didn’t really care that much at this point. What had shocked you was how rude it had been of him to point a gun at you just like that.

So, what could you do to feel better? You took out a candy bar and started eating it in slow, meditated bites while enjoying the sinful taste of creamy chocolate on your tongue. Walking distractedly through the supermarket, you made it to an area where self-help books lay abandoned next to audiobooks and music CDs. You smiled softly at the sight of Radiohead, Nirvana, and the Hannah Montana album, the irony of it all made you release a snorty laugh that was only eclipsed by the sound of sneakers against the floor.

You lifted your gaze to find the same brown-eyed stranger making his way towards the exit. He was looking at you, with his hands now full of bags of chips and a couple of cereal boxes. Maybe he was waiting for you to take advantage of his vulnerability to grab your gun and ask him to give you the pads.

But you didn’t. He hesitated when you looked down to the CDs again, the amusement you’d felt before replaced by a prideful semblance. But you could see the coward walking out from the corner of your eye, and you couldn’t help but clench your jaw at the memory of his pointing gun.

You decided to save the pad for the next month, as it was impossible to know if you’d ever be lucky enough to find that much candy again. A pad gave you something to hold on to, something to find relief in the next time you got your period.

That night you wandered around the supermarket and found shelter in the staff rooms. They were stuffy and full of dust but somehow you felt safe, and to be able to sleep on a couch was a luxury these days.

In the darkness, you bit your thumb nail wondering about the stockrooms. If you had managed to find goods in the shelves, you were almost certain there must have been some remaining stock that hadn’t been looted somewhere in this building. The problem was that you had no place to go and hide it, you had no one that could help you either, because you were utterly alone in this world.

Yet sometimes it seemed that loneliness was the cure against human brutality. Take that guy who had pointed his gun at you for the pads, those had to be for someone he knew. Someone he loved. You don’t just try to kill someone else for nothing. He must’ve been taking those to his girlfriend, his sister or his mother. Maybe to someone that wasn’t any of those things, but he cared deeply for. And it was destroying him from the inside, by the way he seemed so miserably in need. Everyone was in need these days, but he? He seemed terrified.

After a few hours of sleep, you woke up before the sunset and decided to find the stock rooms just to check if you could find pads in there. Otherwise, you’d have to find somewhere with water where you could wash yours or find new fabric to make more. Water wasn’t such a bad idea, but it usually came from a river or a lake. Chewing on some expired peppermint gum, you longed for the days where you could take the day off school with the excuse of period cramps, have two showers to feel clean, and spend the day reading whatever book you’d find.

It took you about half an hour to find the door that led to a giant underground warehouse, the hairs of your arms turning into goosebumps just by knowing that anything or anyone could find you here and kill you easily. You took a deep breath then, deciding to find what you needed quickly so you could leave as soon as possible, walking through the empty isles quickly but silently. You finally found the isle where they should’ve been, stickers that read Diapers, Deodorant, Toothpaste stuck on the empty shelves where none of the products were.

There was, however, something on top of the sticker that read Sanitary Towels. A single pad, left on top of the empty shelf. And then on top of it rested one single bullet that you took immediately, inspecting it while the heat rushed to your face in anger and embarrassment. He had had the same idea.

You looked around instantly, almost hoping to see him, scared he might have been observing you from some hiding place. But you were alone, he had come here at some point during the night, taken the rest of the stuff and left you this.

Why?

Reluctantly, you took the pad and put it inside your backpack, before taking a quick look around to find any canned foods and leave this hellish place. The cold, unused bullet was hidden inside the pocket of your jeans, reminded you of that strange encounter every time it brushed your thigh.

A month passed in which you made sure to come up with new ideas for the next time you’d got your period, given the fact that every time you stopped in supermarkets or pharmacies there didn’t seem to be any packs of pads in sight. You tried to make a few experiments by redesigning baby diapers with a needle and thread, but one night you were washing your clothes in the river, and you slipped in the dark. The fall wasn’t terrible, but you needed stitches on your knee, and that was the end of the experiments.

Now, it seemed like this town was desertic. Not a lot of zombies, but the occasional annoying one that you’d manage to kill without needing to waste any bullets. Sometimes if you were camping in the forest, you’d use your slingshot from a tree, those were particularly successful with the kids. And there seem to be so many of them here, it was too hard not to give in to compassion and look at their little faces that had once been human.

The last one you had killed wore a dress that could’ve fit you when you were ten, her long pigtails reflecting the first rays of daylight. Innocence was a weird thing, you thought. Even in this state, with her greenish infected skin, and her purple eyelids, it was as if she were only sleeping. It didn’t terrify you, but it was impossible not to feel disturbed whenever you had to face the reality: that the true core of humanity was an incomprehensible thing that had somehow surpassed the human race itself.

In those instances, you sometimes took the little annoying bullet out of your pocket and rolled it between you thumb and index finger, until your hand became a fist with it inside, searching for the courage to resume your journey and walk away from the body.

A week later you were relaying on the washable pads, and the couple of real ones the disturbed stranger had so kindly given you. If you were smart and lucky enough not to bleed too much, you’d be able to just be fine. If.

The first couple of days with your period you always spent them hiding somewhere safe. If you were free of cramps you’d manage to walk as much as you could and stay in the forest. But if you were in pain, you allowed yourself to hide in one of those forgotten places that nobody cared about anymore: the town’s library.

During the last couple of months you had spent in Hawkins, you had avoided the town centre, unsure about the number of infected bodies you could potentially find. But if anything, the town was full of ghosts, the pavement on the roads cracked in unusual ways, as if something else, something worse than the undead had happened here, but that couldn’t be possible. Nothing could be worse than this.

Cramps started stabbing you by midday. You had planned to leave early but the symptoms made you sleep in, and you woke up jumping at the feeling of something on your face. A loud gasp left your mouth, hearing your heartbeat in your ears and waiting for your death until you realised it had only been a butterfly who landed on your cheek briefly. It made you cry a little bit as you stomped towards the town centre’s direction. You had learned to fear softness, this new world had taken that from you too.

It was one of those days, you guessed as you walked under the summer sun, where nothing could lift your spirits. Where putting the effort to survive seemed pointless when you knew that eventually, the day of your death would still come. How many times had you looked at the zombies and wished to be one of them? And yet you were here: alive and painfully aware that this world you hated so much never seemed to end.

Hawkin’s town centre consisted of a few shops, the abandoned High School, the library and a gas station. By the time you got to the library your body temperature was high, if it was for the hormones or the anger, you didn’t know. But all you could do was throw your backpack on the floor and sit down to rub your eyes until you saw stars. You stood there for a few minutes, your eyes dry and the anger still burning like fire on your chest. Who cared about books? Who cared about anything? You couldn’t do this anymore, maybe next time a zombie tried to attack you, you’d give in.

You would’ve stayed sitting there for hours if it wasn’t for the uncomfortable wetness of blood that you felt coming out of your body. You had worn the first pad all night and you were almost sure it was already useless, so you forced yourself to stand up despite the pain, to lift your bag despite your apathy, and find the nearest toilet despite your mood.

The sign that read Toilets was easy to find on the other side of the lobby. The library had been looted at some point, and you had to walk through broken desks and destroyed chairs, but the books were still intact on the shelves. You were too lost in your own thoughts, too angry to even imagine that your life was about to change in a matter of seconds. Nothing could prepare you for what you were about to find.

He was standing in the middle of the toilet in front of the stalls. The same gun he had pointed at your face kissing his chin, his eyes focused on the mirror in front of him. Both of you jumped as soon as you saw each other, his brown pupils full of shame and somehow disbelief at the sight of you. Maybe for the first and only time in your life, you felt like a ghost. By the look in his face, that must’ve been the only reason why you were here.

You were about to open your mouth and say something when he lifted the weapon at you, or that’s what you thought in the millisecond that it took him to press the trigger and kill the zombie that stood right behind you, the thud of the infected body falling behind making you jump for the second time.

‘I—’

‘Give me the bullet.’ He said shortening the distance between your bodies, his disturbed gaze falling on you. You weren’t able to push aside the sound of his shaky voice that tried to be firm.

‘What bullet?’ You murmured, feeling a knot growing inside your throat. There was something about him and his pointy cheekbones and his purple under eyes that intimidated you now. A month ago, he seemed exhausted, now he seemed like he barely existed in this reality.

‘What bullet.’ He repeated, angry. ‘The bullet I left you.’

You knew exactly what he was talking about, but you still shook your head.

‘At the warehouse?’ He grew more anxious at your cluelessness. ‘Under the supermarket?’

‘You ran out?’ You asked, frowning. Somehow the fact he was unarmed now filled you with a sense of confidence. Your own gun was safely hidden in the back pocket of your jeans, covered by your backpack.

‘I only brought one.’ He let out a desperate sigh as he pulled the sweaty brown locks on his forehead. ‘I only brought one.’

You took a silent breath, taking a careful step back. But he was quicker at reading your intentions, and before you could do anything, he was kneeling on the floor and hugging your leg like a child.

‘You need to kill me.’ He said between sobs. Tears and snot on his red face as he his grip turned tighter, and you grew scared. ‘I just saved your life; you have to repay me.’

‘No.’ you said firmly. ‘Get the fuck off me, Jesus.’

You shook your leg a couple of times until his sobs were too strong to keep holding onto you. The disturbed stranger sat down on the floor, elbows on his knees as he cried a little louder.

‘I saved you!’ He accused you between tears.

‘Yeah, you also tried to kill me, asshole.’ You said in the same tone, but your anger was only met with more desperate sobs. He was unconsolable and there was no trace of pity in you, just some second-hand embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry.’ He whispered between sobs, covering his face with his fingers. ‘God, I’m so sorry.’

You took a deep breath, avoiding your reflection in the mirror as you crossed your arms over your chest. Hadn’t you been wishing to be infected just minutes ago? Hadn’t you, so many times before, contemplated the possibility of ending it all?

‘I need to change my pad.’ You said awkwardly, walking into one of the empty stalls.

The tense silence was filled with the stranger’s deep breaths outside, and the subtle noises of the plastic wrapper as you exchanged one pad for the other. You still kept the habit of wrapping the used thing on the discarded plastic paper and then throwing it inside the trash.

‘Right.’ You said when you left the stall. He was still sitting on the floor, hands in his eyes, like a little kid. Rubbing them just how you had done as soon as you walked into the library. You wondered if you had looked as small as he did now.

You pondered about what to do, unsure about sitting next to him. Unsure about how to help him. You hadn’t comforted another human being in years, and there was no place for empathy in a world like this. It surprised you to discover how dead you were inside. How easy was it to feel compassion for the undead and how difficult it was to feel it for the ones alive.

‘Where’s the rest of your people?’ You asked softly, your fingers followed the pattern of the counter’s tiles to avoid looking at him.

He swallowed hard, uncovering his face to shake his head. Puffy eyes were now replacing the madness that had taken over his brown pupils before, and he looked very soft and very defeated.

‘You’re not alone.’ You said it as a fact. He looked up back at you, which made you cross your arms over your chest. ‘At least you weren’t a month ago.’

‘How do you…?’ Realisation fell on his face, the desperation before now seemed to be replaced by something else. ‘The pads.’

‘Yeah.’ You said irritated. ‘The pads.’

‘Re you on your period?’ He stood up suddenly, looking at you as if he was seeing you for the first time.

‘Excuse me?’ You said perplexed.

‘We got pads.’ He said enthusiastically, brushing his hair with his fingers. ‘You’d have to share with the girls but you— you could help. You could stay with us in exchange for shelter a-and supplies.’

You scoffed, but it didn’t last long because now, behind those brown eyes full of fear, there was a plea.

‘Why would I help you?’ The seriousness of your tone surprised you too. It hadn’t occurred to you since then than at some point you might had lost all that was left of your humanity too.

It would’ve never, under any circumstance, occurred to you to go inside the High School. Maybe that was exactly what everyone else would think as soon as they passed through the town like you were. It was too big to be fully protected, too exposed to be safe, and too obvious of a shelter for anyone to take it over. Still, they had survived so far.

Steve, as you had learned was his name, had a total of seven kids under his care, of which four were boys and three girls. Most of the kids were between thirteen and fourteen, the youngest and most fragile one was an eleven-year-old girl called Erica.

Erica had only gotten her first period a month ago. Steve didn’t address that her heavily painful periods were the reason why he had almost killed you that day inside the supermarket. He was familiar with the difficulties of menstruation because of Max and Jane, but Erica was different. Her pain was worse, her bleeding unusually abundant, so much that it had alarmed all of them when it had first happened. And it was happening again.

You didn’t think it through. You would never think twice before helping a kid, but maybe it had been a mistake to reach for your limited and carefully controlled stock of medicines, hearing the gasps of the kids behind you at the sight of painkillers. She was dizzy and sweaty when you delicately but decisively lifted her head so she’d swallow a couple.

You never resorted to painkillers unless it was absolutely necessary, giving her a couple was already too much. Your own period pains had never been considered as something that required you to take pills, only using them on instances you’d get the kind of ache or injury that could keep you from defending yourself. But this was different.

Steve observed how you tenderly put the sweaty hairs that stuck to her skin out of her face, your eyes not leaving her as you searched for something else inside your backpack.

‘Has she eaten something?’ You lifted your eyes to look back at him.

He nodded softly, his eyes lingering on the purple plastic of the chocolate bar that you were holding. He didn’t know you had been saving it for a month just to eat it when your cravings hit you, leaving it under her pillow so the kids wouldn’t steal it from her.

‘We’ve been reducing our portions so she can eat more.’

You frowned then, fighting the urge to scoff at his words. Tentatively, you looked behind your shoulder at the curious eyes of the teens, who were intrigued by your presence. You weren’t sure if they respected you or feared you.

‘Can I speak to you in private?’ You asked Steve.

He hesitated, unsure of you. Maybe scared of you, before he nodded and walked out of the classroom filled with mattresses, where you assumed they all slept together.

Before you could leave to follow Steve, one of the young boys held you by the wrist. You almost jumped to defend yourself when you noticed his glossy eyes looking back at you.

‘Thank you for helping my sister.’ He said sincerely. It made you smile, even just slightly. You couldn’t remember the last time you had smiled, maybe it had been while inspecting one of the fallen zombies in an attempt not to give in to madness.

‘She’s gonna be fine.’ You assured him, squeezing his hand before letting it go.

Steve led you to another classroom not too far from the bedroom. He made sure to close the door behind him and stay close to the threshold, maybe to keep you in, maybe to keep an eye on the kids.

‘How often do you leave to get supplies?’ You asked him as soon as you were alone.

‘It depends.’ He shrugged, shaking his head. ‘Hawkin’s dead. There’s nothing left here anymore but I can’t risk their lives by leaving the school. Specially not with Erica like this. I try to go out as much as I can the first week of the month, after she’s fully recovered.’

You nodded softly, hiding your hands inside your pockets and fighting the urge of bite your lip thoughtfully. He was looking at you expectantly.

‘And you always go out alone?’

‘Yeah.’ He said as if it was obvious. ‘Of course. I can’t… I can’t put them at risk like that.’

‘You’re telling me these kids have no survival skills?’ You asked perplexed.

‘They do!’ He rushed to say, the frown on his face assured you he was offended. ‘It’s just not safe out there.’

‘And it is here? You’re literally in the epicentre of chaos.’ You said. ‘And that stuff about reducing portions… You need to feed these kids properly, there was so much food back in the warehouse!’

‘I don’t have anyone that could’ve helped me with that!’ He argued.

‘One of them could have if you taught them how!’

‘Why are you judging me here!’ He said defensively. ‘I’m everything they have.’

‘And you were about to kill yourself and leave them to die!’ You said. ‘You might as well shoot them too. We’re not even talking about negligence here; we’re talking about cruelty.’

He looked back at you with hurt and anger in his eyes, the glossy pupils unable to hold your own. The broken man you had seen in the toilet was coming back to life right in front of you.

‘You’ve no idea…’ He said with a broken voice.

‘No, I don’t.’ You said firmly. ‘But that doesn’t matter. You don’t get to kill yourself when you’ve got people to protect and provide for.’

Steve turned his back to you to dry his face, you assumed. Something about his weakness made you feel something beyond anger or embarrassment, a sense of discomfort that told you maybe you were being insensitive.

‘I’ll stay.’ You clenched your jaw as soon as you said it. He turned back to look at you again, eyes glossy but hopeful. This wasn’t in your plans at all. You could end up dead, but if you left them alone, you were almost sure none of them would make it. ‘I don’t trust you with these kids.’

Desperation left his face for a second as an unfamiliar arrogance took over. Steve crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed at your words.

‘And do you think I trust you?’

‘If you know what’s convenient to them, you better start to.’

Steve and you quarrelled a lot, but if there was something you two agreed on was the well-being and safety of the kids. You just had different opinions about it, and at first you knew you had to earn their trust. You started by sharing your supplies with them, something that anyone else would’ve regarded as dangerous and absurd. But what your experience told you was that the kids needed to be healthy in order to learn how to fend for themselves.

Steve was considerably skinnier than them, but they still were malnourished and scruffy. You started by making schedules for showering just to find out they had been full of lice for months but were too concerned about Steve to tell him. Then when you tried to organize all the food in the cafeteria by making an inventory you found out about the dead vegetable patch at the back of the school. When you sat down to have a look at the medical and ammunition supplies he had saved, you realised that besides the gun he carried around, he only had other two weapons stored in a secret location inside the school that he refused to disclose to you.

‘Are you being serious right now?’ You asked, looking from the board where you had been writing down your notes.

‘The kids know where they are.’ He simply shrugged, hands on his hips as he looked at you from the other side of the classroom. ‘You don’t need to know.’

‘And tell me, in the case of an emergency, do any of them know how to fire those guns?’ You said, feeling the curious eyes of the teenagers on you. You tried to respect the fondness they felt for Steve, but at times you were so angry at him for his negligence that you couldn’t swallow your words. ‘Besides, I can’t believe how long you’ve been ‘protecting’ them with only one gun on you.’

‘Well, it’s worked!’ The tone of his voice made you clench your jaw instantly. He hated that, and you knew it by the way the anger in his eyes turned into fire. ‘I’ve taken full responsibility for the guns, and no one’s gotten hurt!’

‘Do you have to wait ‘til someone gets hurt to finally realise you’re failing?’ You knew you had to be careful with your words, you had barely earned the kids’ trust and they all were sitting quietly against the wall witnessing your argument. ‘Every single one of these kids should know by now how to fire a gun, how to stitch a wound, how to search for supplies. How to survive. And you’re taking that from them.’

You stormed out of the classroom and towards the empty hallway before you lost control and said something that you could regret later. Maybe you were taking it too personal at this point. This was the reason why you were never able to do the post-apocalyptic communal utopia. This was the reason why found family would never happen to you, you thought as you walked into the nurse office, which had become your bedroom the few days you’d been here.

You didn’t know how to do civilised confrontation, and solitude had always brought you as much peace as anyone could get in a world like this. You needed space to think.

You checked your gun before putting it inside your back pocket as you always did, tightened the ties of your boots and left the slingshot on top of the patient’s bed where you slept. If Steve wished to stay here and act like the kids weren’t suffering the consequences of his incompetence that was fine, but you had to do something.

Maybe you were away for a couple of hours, maybe a little more. At first you left with the intention of going for a walk to calm yourself down, but then you decided that was a waste of time. It took you a long while to make it to the supermarket where you had first met Steve, but you finally made it, mumbling nonsense to yourself as you complained about his stupid attitude.

There was something about him that didn’t allow you to feel compassion towards him, you thought as you filled your backpack with cans of beans and peas. Well, maybe it was the fact that he almost tried to kill you once, but hadn’t he also saved your life?

He was just too stubborn, that was it. You walked around the isles with the gun in your hand, carried away by your annoyance towards him, when you caught the sight of a bottle of vinegar stuck under an empty freezer. You ran towards it and pulled it from its place, smiling at it as if it was gold. This could help with the lice problem, so you made it your mission to take as many bottles as you could find. And then you lost track of time, thinking about them. The kids. Their childhoods stolen; their adulthoods uncertain.

Of course Steve couldn’t do it on his own.

You started walking back a bit too late, but the sun wouldn’t start setting until an hour or so. You hurried despite the fact your bag was fuller than normal, your gun still on your hand in case you found a zombie or someone who might try to kill you. That second option was always what you feared more than anything else, because zombies killed to survive, but you knew very well that humans killed for sport.

It started to get darker by the time you were back at the school. You knew the exits remained closed, and you could’ve simply knocked on one of the windows from the classrooms where you knew everyone hung out most times. But a distrusting part of you decided you wanted to check if there were any unguarded areas of the school that Steve might have not considered when protecting it. And the worst part of you wanted to prove yourself right.

You knew the windows had half broken crystal bottles stuck to the swills that would wound any intruders and at the same time alarm anyone of a trespassing, so that wasn’t an option. The answer came to you at the dead vegetable patch, which you had always entered through the cafeteria’s door and not from the little rusty grilled fence that walled the garden.

Yet what you weren’t expecting was that as soon as you touched the door’s cold surface to push it, an abrasive, unbearable feeling burned your fingers so painfully that you couldn’t help but scream. You held your wrist with your healthy hand in the air while trying to understand where the sudden burn came from, fearing that you might pass out, but your brain was too overwhelmed to know how to act.

‘Shit. Fuck. Motherfucker!’ You swore while you rubbed your shaky, burning fingers against the thick leather of your boot. You felt yourself taking a deep panicky breath, not even noticing the tears that ran down your cheeks at the burning pain.

Steve found you panting like a wounded animal, desperately rubbing your hand against the damp dirt on the ground.

‘Hey. Hey!’ He snapped at you as his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The next thing you saw through your teary eyes was Dustin clumsily place a bucket of water on the floor where Steve submerged your hand immediately.

The water overflowed, making your jeans and the ground around you wet, but you started to feel relieved as the burning died down a little until it became bearable. You looked back at Steve embarrassed, feeling the tears still running through your cheeks while he shook his head.

‘What were you thinkin’?’ He said under his breath as he still held your wrist underwater. It was a reprimand, but a gentle one. He was visibly pissed but not as much as you thought he would in different circumstances.

‘I-I didn’t know…’ Your voice was shaky, and you hated it. You didn't even remember when was the last time you had cried. You looked from him to Dustin, who stood with his arms crossed behind Steve, unsure of how to help. ‘What the fuck was that?’

‘I soak that whole fence with acid once a day.’

‘Acid!’ You said. ‘Where the fuck do you get acid!’

Steve studied your face for a second. It was innocent in a way, you hadn’t been this close since the day you met when he threatened to kill you. But this time he just shook his head briefly before letting out a silly laugh.

‘You really thought you were going to find some possible entrance I had forgotten, didn’t you?’ He raised an eyebrow at you.

All you could do was roll your eyes and swallow your pride.

‘You came back!’ Screamed Erica as soon as you walked into the bedrooms. You were surprised by her short frame hugging your hips, unsure about how to react to the sudden affection. Eventually you managed to rub her back softly with your good hand, surprised at the little smile that lifted her lips and her closed eyes as she hugged you tighter.

‘Of course I came back.’ You said softly.

‘What happened to your hand?’ Erica asked once she took a step back, frowning at the way you held it against your chest carefully.

‘I burned myself with the garden’s fence.’

Jane gasped loudly while the rest of the kids frowned painfully.

You lowered your eyes while you tried to get rid of your backpack. Dustin instantly moved to help you with it. ‘Thank you.’

‘Ouch.’ Said Will.

‘Yeah, ouch.’ Walked in Steve with some dressing that you recognised from your supplies. He still seemed amused at the fact that you had burned yourself. You followed him to sit on one of the desks that sometimes you used as a table, inspecting your fingers.

‘This is going to take a while to heal.’ You sighed.

Steve didn’t say anything, he simply smiled silently, for once choosing not to argue with you or make it worse. His careful fingers took your hands delicately, brown eyes focused on the raw skin of your index and middle fingers of your non-dominant hand.

‘I found some vinegar for the, uh… pest problem.’ You said to him. He listened attentively, wrapping the first finger, the feeling of the dressing against the burnt skin making you visibly uncomfortable. ‘I’ve also been thinking we should find new mattresses. Do you know if there might be houses out there still in good condition?’

He kept working for a short while, not giving you an answer or looking at you until he finally shrugged.

‘I don’t know, to be honest. I haven’t been in town since this all started.’

You took a few seconds to process his words. Your eyes stayed on your second injured finger when he started dressing it.

‘You haven’t been to your home since?’ You whispered curiously.

‘Nope.’ He shook his head, eyes still focused on your hand. And you knew better than to ask any more questions, so you only nodded.

‘Tomorrow I’m teaching the girls how to make a trap for bunnies.’ You changed the subject.

He finally looked at you through the brown strands of hair that fell on his forehead, a snorty laugh leaving his mouth as he finished dressing your wound.

‘Good luck with that.’ He said sarcastically.

You jumped from the desk, completely ignoring him as you reached for your backpack.

‘There we go.’ You said, taking out the few bags of gummy bears that you were able to find that morning. The collective gasp all the kids let out made you laugh out loud. ‘You’re gonna have to share.’

Mike and Lucas quickly opened one of the bags as Dustin and Will rushed to take some of the candy.

‘Enjoy for now because from tomorrow on you’re all starting to eat better.’ You said, still looking for something inside your bag with the good hand. Jane and Erica’s eyes lit up at the sight of the colourful glass bottles you took out.

‘Is that nail polish!?’ Jane said, taking it from your hands.

‘They’re expired, but they might still work.’ You said with a small smile. ‘I’ll teach you how to use them tomorrow, okay?’

Steve didn’t say anything as the girls enthusiastically talked about your surprise, but he did grab a couple of gummy bears from one of the bags as he got lost in his thoughts.

He kept the same plain face the whole evening, when you all sat around the table to eat an almost warm dinner for the first time. After the sugar rush died down and the kids’ eyelids started to fall, Steve took the girls to wash their teeth while the boys cleaned up. They insisted you didn’t lift a finger because of your injury, and you excused yourself to change your dirty clothes back in your room.

When you walked back into the hallway, you were surprised to find Steve walking in your direction to get the boys. The eye contact was brief enough that he stopped when he saw you open your mouth to say something.

‘Thank you.’ You said lifting your dressed hand in the air. ‘I really fucked up.’

‘S nothing.’ He shrugged before walking past you in the cafeteria’s direction.

You felt somehow embarrassed as you looked behind you. The way his shirts sometimes looked baggy on his body made you heart drop at times. At moments you were sure that under that young guy with non-existing sleep patterns and a terrible diet there was a handsome man. But you pushed the thought aside as you walked inside the bedrooms, where the girls already lay in bed.

The room was dark except from one lamp that barely illuminated the already deeply asleep face of Jane and the other two girls that still lay awake.

Max was the quietest of all the kids. That first week you had spent with them you had occasionally caught her looking at you with a piercing look. You got the feeling she didn’t trust you, and somehow that attitude reminded you of your own teenage self.

‘I brought you this.’ You whispered, kneeling next to her mattress and placing the slingshot on top of it. She curiously inspected it under the dusty light, the shadow of half a smile on her mouth.

‘Is it yours?’ She whispered.

‘Yeah, but I want you to have it.’ You confessed. ‘I want you to be able to defend yourself if something happens. I’ll show you how to use it tomorrow.’

She nodded softly before hiding the weapon under her pillow.

‘Thank you.’ She whispered, this time the smile on her face was there. It was for you. You just didn’t know what to do with it.

‘You’re welcome. Now, sleep.’ You said in the same tone before standing up.

You turned on your heels to find Erica’s eyes on you, so you couldn’t help but crouch next to her mattress too to check on her.

‘Are you comfortable?’ You murmured softly.

‘How long are you staying?’ She asked instead. The question caught you off guard, making you lift your eyebrows subtly.

‘I’m not sure yet.’ You shrugged, a feeling of insecurity falling heavy on your chest as you tuck her in, even if she didn’t need it. ‘Maybe until you get well and don’t need my help anymore.’

‘I think you should stay forever.’ She yawned, her words and the way her heavy eyelids fought sleep made you smile.

‘I’m not sure Steve would like that very much.’ You admitted softly with a smile, yet still inside it kind of stung to know it was true. They were already a family; you didn’t belong in any place where families existed.

‘Do you think Steve is failing us?’ Jane’s voice made your heart skip a bit. You turned to your side to find the brown-haired girl looking at you through her sleepy eyes.

‘No.’ You admitted, taking a deep breath as you looked from Erica to her, knowing that they’d never sleep until you answered all their questions. ‘He wants the best for you guys because he’s known you forever and he loves you. I want the best for you guys because I think all children should be protected. Sometimes we don’t agree, that’s all.’

‘You don’t love us?’ Erica asked, her eyebrows lifted in a soft frown as you tried to come up with an answer, but you weren’t sure about what you would’ve replied because Jane was trying to catch your attention again:

‘Are you gonna leave us?’

‘I—’

‘Please don’t leave.’ Interrupted Erica, holding your hand that still rested at the edge of her mattress. ‘We need you.’

‘Yeah!’ Jane agreed, sitting up as if she hadn’t been fast asleep minutes ago. ‘Things haven’t been the same since Eddie died. Steve can’t do it on his own.’

‘Who’s—’

‘Jane!’ Max hushed her over your voice.

You stood up then, feeling suddenly uncomfortable at the way the girls seemed so attached to you after just a few days. The back of your neck felt suddenly sweaty and your hands cold.

Max’s voice calling your name made your turn on your heels again.

‘Please don’t get mad at us.’ She said sincerely. So used to her serious semblance, you realised this was the first time you had noticed any trace of insecurity in her. ‘We like you. It’s just been really hard.’

You looked around the three faces that observed you expectantly, reminding yourself you were the adult here, and probably the only woman who they had probably looked up to since the apocalypse started.

‘I like you all too.’ You assured them with a smile. ‘But it’s time for bed.’

And then you turned off the lamp before leaving the room.

The next morning you woke up before dawn and went straight outside to place traps in the forest. If Steve was right and the town was dead apart from the zombies, there was a possibility that you could manage to feed these kids proper food that wasn’t expired cereals or canned peas.

You were trying to be wary about your own intentions, but living at the school did make things much easier. You could now take showers, store food and sleep a bit better than you ever had since the apocalypse started. You had ideas, and you weren’t sure if Steve would agree with you, but you found yourself constantly exploring a world of possibilities in which you could improve the lives of those kids… If he let you.

When you came back, seven pairs of curious eyes looked at you from the breakfast table as you placed the heavy comic books you’d gotten from the library in front of them. By midday you had managed to soak their hair in vinegar while they read quietly, or as quietly as it could get, in one of the classrooms.

Steve carefully observed all your movements from afar and you were aware of it. Sometimes you’d be talking to Dustin and Will about books and films you used to like while you sew period pads despite your injured hand, and he wouldn’t even hide his defensive stare as you stitched the fabrics together.

Ever since you had arrived you realised that besides feeding the kids and tending to their hygiene, Steve didn’t do much throughout the day. He never went out to get supplies, but you assumed this was because he didn’t trust you to leave you alone with the kids. He only went to the vegetable patch to protect the fence with the damn acid wearing the thickest gloves you’d seen in your life. You didn’t get why he wouldn’t just lock the cafeteria’s door and be done with it. He never stepped anywhere in the school where the kids weren’t hanging out, not the gym or the empty pool. None of the dusty offices upstairs. Where the kids where, he had to be. And though he could’ve argued it was because of his distrust for your presence, after a while you realised that he just couldn’t stand being alone.  

‘You need to exercise.’ You said casually that same day while he was washing some of the kid’s clothes on the kitchen sink.

They were all trying to weave traps for the bunnies just liked you had taught them an hour ago, too concentrated to focus on the argument that was about to start on the other side of the cafeteria.

‘Sure.’ He said sarcastically, brown eyes focused on his red knuckles rubbing the fabric of a shirt.

‘I mean it, Steve.’ You pressed, getting closer to him so the kids wouldn’t listen. ‘And so do they. If you lose the school, you all won’t last a day out there in this physical condition.’

‘Wow.’ He laughed sarcastically. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’m being serious.’ You spoke. ‘This place is so big, and you should be taking advantage of that. I’m sure there must be somewhere aside from that pathetic radioactive garden where you could grow vegetables and breed animals.’

He took a deep breath then, the frown adorning his face showing you how offended your choice of words had made him feel. He finally shook his head, and you had to fight hard not to release a frustrated sigh at his willingness to give up so easily.

Then you did something unexpected. Your impulsiveness was always assertive and that was what the hated the most about it. Especially when your good hand had stopped the movements of his knuckles under the cold water, so he’d paid attention to you.

‘How do you expect them to survive?’ Your serious eyes studied his as your hand still rested on his.

It fell on him then, the realisation that your resourcefulness intimidated him. That your insistence on staying alive felt like an obstacle to him, because why did you even want to be alive in a world like this? But most importantly, if he was still surrounded by those kids he loved so much, if still had the chance to see them grow up, if he still had the opportunity to be useful, then why didn’t he?

‘The best way to protect someone is to teach them how to protect themselves.’ You said then. His eyes stayed on you as you lifted your eyebrows slightly, your walls of indifference towards him falling for a second to hurt him with the outmost sincerity. ‘Steve, you don’t ever leave this place. You don’t move, you barely eat. You walk around here looking like a zombie every day and that terrifies them. They know you’re weak.’

The way his eyes turned soft at your words made you take a deep breath. You were unable to hold his gaze as you took your hand away from his and dried it with a cloth. For a second it was as it you had something else to say, but you abandoned the thought quickly.

‘I’m gonna check the traps.’ You said. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’

That night the kids ate until their bellies were full. It was nice to see that despite the fact you had to cook the bunnies back in the forest with a minimal number of spices and no salt at all, they were having a real meal. You wouldn’t admit to yourself that your eyes stayed on Steve the whole time too, and he didn’t notice as he told Dustin not to speak with his mouth full or asked Jane to stop talking or her food would get cold. A part of you felt uncomfortable that you were trying to check if he liked it, if he was eating all of it.

He only noticed when you stood up to get seconds, when you took his plate without even asking, and then refilled it with a substantial portion of food. That’s when he saw you. And then it was worse than before, because now you were aware of his eyes not leaving you, when you left the plate in front of him without a word and sat back down on your place on the other side of the table.

He ate it all.

‘How was your tea?’ You asked Erica after dinner.

You were now used to the routine of Steve walking the kids to brush their teeth while you prepared everything for the next day. Every night before bed you gave Erica a tea made from spices and roots that you hoped could help with her future period cramps, and she had grown fond of the ritual of chatting with you while she drank it.

‘It was very nice.’ She said mocking an English accent. You let out a snorty laugh as you both walked out of the cafeteria, when she entwined her hand with yours.

Sometimes you were unable to react on the instances where the kids were affectionate. Jane asking to braid your hair, Will asking if you’d teach him how to change the dressing on your hand. You found yourself rejecting their favours whenever you could, not wanting them to cross any lines. But sometimes it was hard.

The lines often blurred, like now just when you squeezed Erica’s hand as you turned the lights off and walked back to the bedrooms.

Steve was waiting for her with his arms crossed outside the toilets. You looked down at the way he arched his brow at your entwined hands and a part of you felt embarrassed. Worse than that. Unworthy. But you didn’t allow yourself to think about it when Erica called your name, echoing through the empty hallway.

‘Yes?’ You looked at her.

‘Jane and Max asked me to ask you if you wanted to sleep with us tonight?’

‘Uhm…’ You started feeling the back of your neck sweating a little bit at her proposal. You could handle this; you could reject her kindly. You just didn’t like the fact that Steve’s eyes were on you the whole time. ‘That sounds fun, but I really like my own space, you know? I sleep better that way.’

‘Oh.’ She simply said, the disappointment on her face breaking your heart a little bit.

‘Come on, kid.’ Steve said with a soft smile, nodding on the toilet’s direction.

She did as he said, as she always did with you as well, getting lost behind the toilet’s door to brush her teeth. He stayed in his place though, arms crossed over his chest; and his eyes, brown and as disturbed as the day you met him, fixed on you.

‘You know, it would really help the kids if you didn’t entertain their attachments so much.’ He said.

You swallowed hard, placing your good hand on your back pocket and nodding softly. You leaving this place wasn’t really something you had discussed, but it always seemed implied between him and you.

‘I just wanna help.’ You shrugged.

‘I know.’ He nodded. ‘So stick to helping, okay? Don’t make things more difficult for me.’

You bit the sarcastic smile on your face in an attempt not to clench your jaw and start a new argument. Steve saw you open your mouth to say something, but you bit your tongue and turned on your heels to walk back to your room.

It wasn’t really clear for you why you needed to prove Steve that you actually cared. Even if you weren’t willing to admit that out loud. In your room, you picked the plans you had been clumsily designing for the school and a new vegetable patch where they could actually grow food before winter started. You also picked the notes on the exercise routines you had come up with for the kids after reading a bunch of wellbeing books from the library.

He’ll see, you thought as you walked back towards the bedrooms, holding the papers towards your chest with your good hand. Too fixed on your aim, you softly pushed the boy’s bedrooms to find them all fast asleep: Dustin sprayed on a mattress with Lucas, and Will facing the wall while Mike slept with his mouth open, but there was no sign of him.

‘Steve?’ You whispered in the dark, almost fearing something, but you weren’t sure what.

It wasn’t until you opened the girls’ room that you realised. He was sleeping deeply over the bedsheets of Erica’s mattress, sitting against the wall with his hand under his jaw while the little girl faced the wall away from him. It was very endearing. His mouth half open, the hair falling over his forehead. And it stung. He was able to do what you’d never be able to: stay.  

The weeks passed and you kept trying. You’d wake up before sunrise and set the traps the kids had woven the day before; you’d browse for books on herbs and roots in the library. You’d gathered what you could in the forest before exploring the area to get more supplies, if you found any. It was hard to do it all by yourself, but deep down you feared Steve’s rejection. He would never come with you or leave you alone with the kids. So, you did what you could.

‘Erica’s getting her period this week.’ He mentioned casually that morning. You had been washing some peppermint on the sink when he came back from protecting the fence.

‘I know.’ You said, observing him as he took his gloves off. ‘Don’t put those things anywhere near the food.’

‘Relax.’ He said under his breath before shaking his head.

A few seconds of tension passed between you as he put the gloves inside the box where he always stored the stuff he used to protect the fence. Sometimes you’d seen him placing a little bit of whatever chemicals he mixed on the windows outside too. This peculiar practice was the one thing you never asked him about, you hated that small space of dirt outside, and didn’t see the point behind keeping it. But Steve was stubborn, and he was attached to his little habits.  

‘She’ll be fine.’ You said in relation to Erica. ‘Exercise can prevent bad cramps. Don’t let her skip today’s workout.’

He moved in the kitchen behind you, it annoyed you silently as he reached for a cloth to clean his hands with. You couldn’t help but let out a sigh.

‘What’s up with you?’ He asked throwing the cloth away.

You closed the tap and shook your hands, before licking your lips.

‘Nothing’s up with me.’ You simply said.

He scoffed.

‘You’re dying to roll your eyes at me.’ His accusation made you lift your gaze. ‘What is it? You’re ready to leave us?’

His question left you speechless before you narrowed your eyes. You couldn’t help but shake your head in confusion as you looked back at him with disbelief.

‘What? No.’ You said, drying your hands on your jeans. You shut your eyes for a second, deciding that you weren’t having that argument now. ‘Steve, we need to get supplies. You and me. There’s not enough of anything. We’re running out on first aid equipment; we should be trying to get seeds that we can plant. If we found salt, we could preserve meat for winter on the empty refrigerators. And we don’t have enough bullets. There’s never enough bullets.’

He looked back at you, observing you for a few seconds as he rested his back against the sink.

‘We’re not leaving the kids alone unless it’s strictly necessary.’ He said after a while.

‘Are you being serious right now?’ Now he was the one rolling his eyes at you. He took his hands to his eyes as you spoke. ‘Steve, how are they ever going to be strong enough to get their own supplies if we keep feeding them bunnies, canned beans and expired cereal?’

‘Why would they get their own supplies?’ He asked you as if you were stupid.

‘Why wouldn’t they?’ You scoffed at him. ‘Steve, they’re growing up. One day they’ll be adults, and they’ll have the right to decide if they want to stay with your or not.’

‘You’re delusional.’ He said with a sarcastic smile. He shook his head and licked his lips as he walked out of the kitchen, shaking his head.

You were more than offended by his attitude, feeling the heat rush to your face as you followed him into the cafeteria.

‘I’m realistic.’  Your voice coming from behind caught him off guard. He could see the irritation in your eyes as soon as he faced you, slowly losing his patience as you kept speaking. ‘What if something happens to you? Or… W-What if something happens to me?’

You could feel yourself shaking as Steve’s eyes turned dark at your words. He didn’t notice as he stepped in front of you, though. He didn’t, because he was too busy trying not to lose his goddamn mind. But you made it too hard, with all that anger overflowing from your eyes.

‘What if something happens to you.’ He repeated cruelly, as if your question was a bad joke. The dark circles under his eyes, the anger in his brown pupils. He looked so much like the desperate soul you had found in the library’s toilets a month ago.  ‘You’re gonna leave. Nothing’s gonna change if something happens to you.’

Your eyes studied him in silence despite his cruel words, a smile of pity on your face as you looked back at him with your arms crossed over your body. As if you had all the answers in the world, as if you knew that he needed you. He hated knowing that they all needed you.

‘That’s the difference between us.’ He said despite the knot that was forming in his throat. ‘See, I don’t have to worry about the kids leaving, because leaving is not something we do—'

‘What if you lose your shit again, huh?’ You said feeling your heart beating hard against your chest. You wished for once to take all the anger you’d felt in your life and throw it at him. ‘What if next time I find you with a fucking gun under your chin, I don’t stop you?’

He swallowed hard at your words, feeling his knuckles shake on either side of him, the sound of his blood running fast in his ears.

‘Nothing’s gonna happen to me.’ He assured you. ‘You can leave whenever the fuck you want to.’

You were about to open your mouth to say something, but the sound of the cafeteria’s door opening made you look back to your side. Lucas was looking from your face to Steve’s, unsure about what to say.

‘Are you okay?’ You asked softly. Steve’s eyes stayed on you as you turned your body towards the child in concern. He could still feel the tension on his shoulder blades, and jaw. But you had seemed to already forgotten the wounding words that had left your mouth seconds ago.

‘Yeah…’ Lucas said tentatively before looking back at Steve. ‘We’re just waiting for you at the gym.’

‘Right.’ He said clearing his throat before walking towards the kid. ‘Let’s go.’

Lucas briefly looked back at you as Steve put a comforting hand on his shoulder and walked out with him. You gave him a sweet smile before walking back to the kitchen.

‘Are you two, okay?’ The boy asked in the hallway.

Steve tried to fight hard the sigh he wished to release, nodding softly.

‘Women are just stubborn.’ He rolled his eyes, trying to brush it all off. But the knot on his throat was still there, painful and impossible to ignore.

‘My dad used to say that.’ Lucas smiled to himself. His eyes got lost on the hallway in front of him as he thought. ‘Sometimes…’

Steve squeezed his shoulder softly, looking down at the boy to let him know he was listening.

‘Yes?’

‘Sometimes you two remind me of them.’ He murmured.

Steve stayed silent for a few seconds. They had reached the gym’s door, and Lucas looked down to his shoes in embarrassment. He knew you two didn’t get along, but it felt like the right thing to say.

‘You miss them a lot?’ Steve asked, placing his hands on top of his knees to get to Lucas’s level.

The boy nodded sadly, feeling the tears reaching his eyes when Steve embraced him in a hug. Steve swallowed hard when the boy put his arms around him too.

‘They were always fighting at the end.’ Lucas said taking a step back, cleaning his face with the back of his hand.

‘Hey.’ Steve said squeezing his shoulder once again. The boy looked at him with his teary eyes, waiting for his comforting words. ‘But you always felt safe, right? Even when they were fighting.’

Lucas nodded.

‘See?’ Steve smiled at him. And it was then that he realised how fast time had passed. He was an adult now. Here, in the middle of the school where he never got the chance to graduate. ‘It’s the same here. With me and her. You’re safe.’

Weeks later, Steve left the gym feeling the drops of sweat falling down his chest. As much as he hated to agree with you, exercise and food did change everything. He found himself less moody, and with more energy throughout the day, while the kids seemed less lazy and tended to fight sleep much less at bedtime. That’s why he couldn’t help but frown when he found Max standing outside your bedroom that night.

‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ He asked, putting his hands on either side of his hips.

The ginger girl jumped as soon as she heard his voice, turning back towards him with a guilty face.

‘I, uhm…’ She hesitated. ‘I just wanted to say goodnight.’

He fought the need to roll his eyes as he exhaled loudly.

Max held a gasp when Steve opened the door of the nurse’s office. The lights were still on behind it, which is why he found it so strange to find the room completely empty.

‘She’s still not back.’ She whispered under her breath.

Steve’s eyes lingered on the neatly arranged room, his heart skipping a beat at the way this place smelled so much like you. He hadn’t even noticed there was a you smell that seemed to linger on everything you touched until now.

Max looked up at him while he pushed the door absently, almost as if he was looking for you. She observed the way his eyes lingered on the books next to the bed: from biology to botany, a book of vegetarian recipes, one on nutrition. At least three different ones on maternity. He had to look away, finding a few papers spread on the desk under the dim light of the lamp, maps of Hawkins. Plans of the school where you had drawn over your own ideas to modify the space.

‘Steve?’ Max called softly.

He looked up at her, suddenly remembering why he was here.

‘Go to bed.’ He simply said.

‘But we can’t sleep.’ She said nervously, picking the skin around her nails.

‘Okay.’ He said putting the papers aside. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Is she back?’ Asked Jane when Max walked into the room. She looked down at her bedsheets as soon as Steve walked in right behind the ginger girl. His mouth fell open at the sight of the seven kids sitting inside the girl’s bedrooms, all very awake and very embarrassed to have been caught by him.

‘Good one, Max.’ said Mike rolling his eyes.

‘None of you pussies wanted to do anything!’ She complained.

‘Hey!’ Said Steve lifting one finger at her. ‘Don’t speak like that.’  He was tired, sweaty and hungry and now he had to deal with them. ‘Why are you all awake!’

‘It’s been three hours.’ Said little Erica from her mattress where she sat next to her brother.

‘Of what?’ He asked confused.

‘Since she left!’ Said Will.

‘Oh, Steve, you need to go find her!’ Said Jane hugging her pillow.

‘Hold on.’ He said. ‘Are you telling me this is why you all can’t sleep?’

The kids exchanged an embarrassed look between them as a heavy silence fell in the room. Steve couldn’t help but sigh loudly, even when you were absent you still got on his nerves.

‘Listen, she wants to teach you all some self-defence tomorrow.’ He explained plainly. ‘She went to find some first-aid supplies in case anyone got wounded. She knows what she’s doing, she knew what she was getting into when she left right after sunset, and most importantly, she’s gonna get as pissed as I am right now if she comes back and you’re all awake.’

‘How can you be so insensitive!’ Complained Jane.

‘Yeah!’ Agreed Will. ‘She could be dead!’

‘Or worse!’ Said Mike. ‘What if she’s been bitten!’

‘Don’t say that!’ Screamed Erica with tears in her eyes.

They all started screaming at each other and at Steve at the same time. A mess of childish noises that he couldn’t control or calm down as he tried to speak above their voices.

‘What’s going on here?’ Your voice quieted it all down as your face appeared on the threshold of the room. Jane jumped on your arms, and you stumbled subtly, the angry frown on your face depicting exactly what Steve had predicted. ‘Why aren’t you asleep!’

‘We thought you were lost!’ Said Lucas.

‘We thought you died!’ Said Dustin.

‘We thought you’d been bitten!’ Said Erica.

You looked back at Steve, useless as ever, standing shirtless in the middle of the room looking at your dirty face.

‘Nonsense.’ You said looking away and disentangling Jane from your arms. ‘Everybody in bed. Now.’

In less than three minutes the boys were back in their rooms and the girls lay quietly under their bedsheets. Steve observed you close the door of the room as he rested against the hallway’s wall, frowning slightly at the way your eyes seemed to hide from his.

‘You look like shit.’ He said, because he was too full of pride to ask if you were okay.

‘Thanks.’ You said walking down the hallway towards the showers, his steps following you right behind. ‘I got my period in the middle of my walk, and I decided I was already too far away to come back here.’

‘Hmm.’ He simply said, turning the lights of the showers room on. He was now able to see it, you had dirt on your cheeks, leaves on your hair and a giant patch of blood on your jeans that looked as if you were bleeding out. ‘Holy fuck, are you wounded?’

‘You wish.’ You said sarcastically, sitting in one of the benches to get rid of your heavy boots. Despite the fact you were trying to be funny, he didn’t even smile. ‘I had to kill two zombies and one asshole that thought he was going to steal rubbing alcohol from me.’

‘You killed someone?’

You looked back at him from the bench. Under these cold lights you could see that his cheeks were now fuller, no longer pointy and hostile, you could even see some muscle in his arms and chest. It was strange to compare this adult body to the innocence in his eyes, a bit shocked at what you had just confessed.

‘You should be more impressed about the fact I managed to find two bottles of rubbing alcohol.’

He didn’t say anything else as he got rid of his shoes as well, a few minutes of exhausting silence as he thought about what you just had said, and you sat on the bench in silence.

‘Mind if we shower at the same time?’ He said.

‘S fine.’ You said, sitting up to remove your shirt. He stayed there, a few steps behind you with his clothes still on and feeling the heat rush to his cheeks at the sight of the back of your overly worn cream bra. You didn’t even look at him as you got rid of your stained pants, the underwear beneath sticky and totally soaked by your blood.

‘At least warn me next time.’ He said under his breath.

He heard you let out a snorty laugh as you opened the door of the shower to turn it on.

‘Can’t stand a bit of blood?’ You joked locking the door behind you. Yet Steve’s eyes couldn’t help but get lost in the distorted shadow of your body behind the door, his heart skipping a beat when you hung your bra over the door.

‘S not the blood.’ He said over the sound of the water running while taking his own pants off. ‘You just don’t seem to have one bit of decorum inside you.’

‘I grew up surrounded by lots of people.’ You said.

His eyes still lingered on the possibility of what was behind the door. The only visible thing were your feet and the floor of the shower being stained by the red water that fell down the drain. And for the first time since you had moved here, he wished he could help you. He wondered if you were in pain.

‘How many siblings you had?’ He asked once he was inside his own shower next to yours, the cold water that fell on his body relieving him from the tension you had triggered on him so easily.

‘None.’ You said under the water. ‘I was at foster care.’

The silence behind the wall between you should’ve alarmed you, but it didn’t. You were used to him ignoring you. And you were so exhausted, your uterus aching in pulsing spasms, your spine hurting from all the weight you had carried back here.

You would’ve never imagined that while you turned the shower off and stepped outside to grab your towel, he stood speechless under the water, his forehead resting on the cold tile on the wall as he shut his eyes hard, not knowing what to say.

He couldn’t unsee it after that, but it had been so obvious from the first moment, when he left the supermarket, and you were browsing through the CDs as if out there the world wasn’t ending. He wondered now, in the moments when he saw you reject yet another attempt from the kids to get close to you, how many times had the world ended for you before.

You hadn’t even made the connection, a bit creeped out by the way sometimes you’d lift your eyes and he’d be looking at you already from the other side of the room. That information simply slipped easily from your tongue because you were tired, but Steve saw the truth everywhere now.

Maybe it was the way he observed this destroyed world through the lenses of an only child who always wanted a family, and how knowing that even if you possibly wanted the same thing as a child, you had managed to grow out of it. He was never able to, remembering a time when he had girlfriends at this same school, how he’d make out with them in these same hallways that now seemed so terrifying at night, the way they’d push his shoulders softly while he searched for a kiss, calling him clingy and needy.

The only person who had fixed that was Eddie, and now he was gone. But the longing was still here, beating hard against his chest in the moments where he searched for a band-aid for Max or put extra peas on Dustin’s plate, because he knew how much he liked them. He loved those little moments where he felt important, when Erica asked him if he’d learn how to bride her type of hair, when Will asked who was his first kiss. And still your words haunted him, because what if they decided to leave one day?

Even after two years living through the apocalypse, he couldn’t even sleep by himself without having nightmares, that’s why he always ended up sleeping uncomfortably, sitting against the wall of the one of the kid’s bedrooms while they slept on the mattresses. You talked a lot about practical survival skills, but he knew he lacked something that was much more important than knowing how to stitch a wound or hunt a deer. He’d never survive out there by himself because he simply wouldn’t want to.

And now you were here, making him aware of his own selfishness. Teaching the kids how to make a slingshot and how to use it. Giving them little jobs. Teaching Will how to clean and stitch a wound, or sorting out herbs with Lucas, who was learning to identify them without your help. Dustin and Mike enjoyed weaving traps, and helping with the cooking after you brought the animals at the end of the day. Max and Erica were impressively good with the gunshots, and Jane always knew exactly what supplies were needed. She made sure to assist you with the inventories daily. You were teaching them how to live in community, how to be self-sufficient, and still. He felt you were teaching how to leave, which was eventually what you’d do once you were done raising them.

What you hadn’t told him was that you hoped eventually the kids could be skilled enough to be able to get supplies in groups. That would change everything for them. You hadn’t shared the plans of what you thought the school could become if he only accepted that every second that you weren’t planning for survival was wasted. You had almost said something the few times you found his eyes already on you, but then an embarrassing sense of guilt fell on you, not knowing why you were doing this for them, and him.

You still slept in the nurse’s office and went out whenever you wanted to get supplies while he stayed with the kids. You didn’t belong here, no matter how many months passed or how many things you’d teach them. But deep down you knew you couldn’t imagine yourself anywhere else.

Time started passing quickly. The kids were stronger and more active, they were learning more and more each day. And the more you delayed talking to Steve about your ideas, the more desperate you felt. In the blink of an eye, it’d be the middle of summer, and you still didn’t have a place to plant anything or any way to preserve meat.

You took the decision one night in the cafeteria. The kids were cleaning the table while you checked how many cans you had left with Jane. Steve was talking with Dustin, laughing with him while they cleaned together. The darkness that once saddened his under eyes was almost gone, his cheeks were full and the shirts that had once looked baggy on him now fitted him just right. Maybe next time you’d go out you’d make sure to get him new clothes if you found any.

The thought would’ve embarrassed you if it wasn’t for the fact he had caught you staring, and the heat rushed to your cheeks. Lifting his soft eyes at you, he waited for a gesture, or a few words. He had somehow gotten used to let you lead, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

‘We’ll finish tomorrow morning.’ You said to Jane, squeezing her shoulder softly.

‘Are you sure?’ She asked, giving you the clipboard where you wrote your daily checks.

‘I’m sure.’

He was still looking at you when you walked towards him. The kids were almost done, and your eyes were focused on the clean table because for some reason you couldn't hold Steve’s gaze.

‘Can I speak to you alone?’ You said, finally getting the courage to lift your eyes.

He nodded with a serene semblance on his face. Maybe this could turn out well, maybe he’d actually listen to you this time.

‘Right, everyone.’ He said to the kids. ‘Go brush your teeth and I want you all in bed by ten.’

You smiled to yourself for some reason, but they all did as he said. In the dark hallway, you waited until Jane and Mike got lost behind the rest of the kids to look back at him, his expectant eyes on you as he rested his back on the opposite wall.

‘So?’ He said, putting his hands inside his pockets nervously.

He had lived this before, maybe in this same hallway once, when he tried to ask a girl to prom what it had felt was a lifetime ago. Now you were hiding your eyes from him while looking at your boots, in completely different circumstances. And yet sometimes life was still so similar to what it used to be.

‘I took the liberty to have a look at the school’s plans some weeks ago.’ You started. He seemed to be waiting still, no sign of annoyance on his face, so you took that as a good sign. ‘I found them upstairs, at the principal’s office. And I’ve been thinking about a few… They’re more like ideas, you know. Ways in which we could restructure things better.’

‘Okay.’ He said after a while, standing straight. ‘You wanna show me?’

You nodded softly, leading the way towards your room as you felt childish excitement taking over you, even if you tried your best at repressing it. You had been overthinking this moment for too long and things seemed to be going okay, he seemed to be listening.

Steve stayed on the threshold of your little room as you walked in. You flattened the plans on the wooden table, ready to start talking when you realised his eyes were lost on something behind you.

‘Are you okay?’ You asked softly.

‘Did the kids draw these?’ He said walking into the room. Your walls were full of paintings the kids had done for you. Some of them were portraits, others landscapes. Will’s were somehow more imaginative, illustrating scenes from the books you had brought him from the library.

‘Uh, yeah.’ You smiled, leaning back against the desk. ‘They’re pretty good, aren’t they?’

‘They are.’ He said stroking a little doll Erica had drawn just for you. He couldn’t help but smile as his eyes lingered on the rest of the drawings, somehow feeling happy that you two agreed this wasn’t a waste of paper or pencils. Here it was. Hope, in the middle of the chaos. ‘Wait, when was your birthday?’

‘Oh.’ Your eyes fell on the card they all made for you, hanging next to your bed. ‘A couple of weeks ago. Kind of.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ He said looking back at you.

You had to blink a couple of times trying to find an answer, wondering if what you were seeing behind the brown in his eyes was hurt.

‘I didn’t think it mattered.’ You confessed. ‘I don’t really know when my birthday is, exactly.’

A few moments of awkwardness opened between you two until you spoke again.

‘I’ve never seen my birth certificate. This was just a random date the system gave me.’ You swallowed hard, looking back at the plans. ‘Anyways, I’ve been thinking about turning the pool into a garden area. A place where we can grow stuff. It’s very spacious and if we’re smart enough, it could even become a kind of greenhouse.’

‘Right.’ He nodded. But he was still thinking about what you had just said, about the fact you didn’t even know when you were born. ‘Okay.’

You looked back at him; his confused eyes looking at the strokes of pencil over the plans and the little abbreviations on your handwriting.

‘Can I show you?’

He lifted his eyes at you, and just then you both realised how close you were from each other. You took a step aside to avoid making him uncomfortable, and he stood straight, observing your careful movements.

‘Sure.’ He said.

You and Steve walked silently towards the pool area, your steps echoing through the silent hallways. It had been about three months since you arrived and there were still moments when you wondered if he’d ever fall again into that darkness he was in when you found him at the library. You wondered what it must’ve felt like to walk through the same hallways you once grew up in as an adult, in such conditions. And you wondered about Eddie every day.

Yet you completely forgot about it all as soon as you pushed the doors and you found Mike and Jane sitting on the edge of the empty blue pool, sharing, well… a kiss.

‘What are you two doing here?’ Said Steve before you could even open your mouth. ‘Jesus, and what—’ He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, and you had to bite your lip not to laugh at him in front of the kids. ‘God, I don’t even wanna know. Bed. Now.’

The pair of embarrassed teenagers looked at you for what could’ve been protection or mercy, but you shook your head with half a smile adorning your face.

‘Do as he say.’ You said as softly as you could.

Jane and Mike stood up, the blush visible on their cheeks despite the lack of artificial light as your eyes followed them and they got lost behind the doors.

You laughed softly as soon as Steve and you were alone again.

‘They’re gonna be the death of me.’ He complained, brushing his hair with his hand. ‘I swear. Am I—Am I stupid or were they kissing?’

‘I— Yeah. Yeah, they were kissing.’ You shrugged. ‘S not a big deal.’

‘Not a big…?’ He looked back at you and rolled his eyes at the way you were smiling. ‘I need a cigarette.’

Your eyes opened widely at his words, your mouth opening slightly at the possibility of such a luxury.

‘You have cigarettes?’ Your voice turned high-pitched in a way that was so adolescent Steve had to fight hard not to laugh at you. Sometimes he forgot how young you were. God, sometimes he forgot how young he was.

‘Just one box I save for… occasions.’ He sighed, his eyes got lost on the empty blue of the pool, as if he remembered something. ‘But well, fuck. I missed your birthday, so we might as well have one.’

‘This is delicious.’ You admitted taking another puff at the cigarette Steve had given you. You were both sitting on top of his mattress, the school’s plans all rolled up on the floor after you had explained the greenhouse idea minutes ago.

Somehow, it had lost their importance for a little while, you were too busy enjoying the feeling of the smoke in your lungs as your head rested against the wall. Unaware of Steve’s eyes on you, his gaze lingered on the way your lips opened slightly to let the smoke out, on your lashes kissing, the curve of your cheek under the dim light, your natural eyebrows, thick and pretty on top of your closed eyes.

‘How long has it been since you had one?’ He asked.

You had to look away as soon as your eyes met his, your head rocking softly as you tried to remember.

‘Thirteen, I think?’ You said. ‘I lived with these nuns for a while, they used to give me as many as I wanted.’

He let out a snorty laugh, sitting down better to look back at you.

‘Are you serious?’

You shrugged.

‘They liked me. I liked reading a lot, so we used to hang out after I came back from school and we’d discuss philosophy, theology and all that stuff together.’

He shook his head, taking another puff from his own cigarette.

‘That’s crazy.’ He said to himself. ‘You were the kids’ age.’

‘The “kids” as you call them, were just sneaking from their rooms to make out.’ You reminded him.

‘Oh, please.’ He took his fingers to his eyes once again, and this time you weren’t able to keep your little giggles in. ‘I’m not ready for this shit. Like, everything else I can deal with, but what am I supposed to do ‘bout this? They’re thirteen.’

‘So?’ You said exhaling the smoke once again. ‘I bet you were doing worse things at their age. I’ve heard stories from Max, you know? I know about King Steve.’

You would’ve sworn his cheeks turned rosy at your comment as he laughed shyly, shaking his head as he looked down at the mattress.

‘That was a different life.’ He said with the cigarette still hanging on the edge of his mouth.

‘I bet.’ You agreed after a while. ‘High School feels like a different life to me too.’

‘Do you miss it?’ He asked sitting against the wall next to you.

Your sleepy eyes looked up at him, slightly taller than you even when you were both sitting in the same position.

‘How can I not?’ You admitted. ‘I thought it’d last forever. I had a scholarship, you know? In New York. I was ready to leave my illiterate foster parents, my dull boyfriend and my boring friends to have something mine for once.’

He lifted his eyebrows, inhaling from the cigarette again. It didn’t surprise him, you were exactly the type of girl who should’ve gone far, to great places. Away from the unfair life you’d gotten.

‘You had a boyfriend?’

His question made you look back at him, laughing softly before you took the cigarette to your mouth again.

‘Is it so hard to believe?’ You joked.

‘Uh…’ He hesitated, and you pushed his shoulder lightly with yours, making him laugh softly. ‘What happened to him?’

‘God knows. Maybe he got bitten.’ You joked, and he couldn’t help but laugh. ‘He was too stupid; I don’t think he survived more than just a couple of days. Honestly.’

‘I can’t imagine you dating someone stupid.’ He said before taking a long breath, probably the last one before he’d have to kill the cigarette.

You rolled your eyes with a smile on your face, shrugging.

‘I didn’t date for brains, exactly.’ You admitted, looking down at your socked feet that rested on the edge of his bed, so close from his. ‘I was horny and touch starved.’

He laughed softly, killing the cigarette on the wall. A small silence opened between you two as you finished your own and he wondered if he should offer you a second one, if it’d be too obvious that he wanted you to stay a bit longer here. He never spent that much time inside this room, it reminded him too much of Eddie and how everything was when they first moved into the school.

‘What about you?’ You asked.

‘Am I horny and touch starved?’ He joked.

Your laugh mixed with coughs while you killed the cigarette on the wall next to you.

‘That I bet you are.’ You murmured before turning to face him. It wasn’t flirty in any way, at least you didn’t think it was. ‘When was the last time you had sex?’

Steve looked back at you for a second, his mouth almost turning into a smile but not quite, shocked at your question.

‘What?’

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a scoff.

‘When was the last time you had sex?’ He asked instead.

‘A long ago, okay?’ You laughed, pushing his arm. ‘God, I don’t even know why I asked. You never take shit seriously—’

‘What am I not taking seriously?’ He pushed you back.

The smile on your mouth slowly died when you licked your lips. Steve observed you nervously rub your hands on your jeans, trying to come up with what you wanted to say in a polite manner, but you didn’t think there was a modest way to ask him what you really wanted to know. He swallowed, wondering if you were thinking the same thing he was, if it had ever crossed your mind.

‘I—’ You started, ‘Well, I don’t know. I guess it’s normal to want that kind of intimacy again. Don’t you miss it?’

You looked back at him as if you were discussing canned food or an itinerary. His eyes avoided your gaze as he looked down at his hands, thinking that he had misinterpreted it all, and that in the process he had discovered something he couldn’t deal with. Something that he had probably been fighting for a while already. Something that should’ve stayed buried inside him.

‘Intimacy is not the same as sex.’ He said looking back at you with a serious gaze.

‘Hmm.’ You bit your lip, thoughtfully looking at your hands. But your head was slightly leaning towards him.

It felt a lot like being drunk, and you blamed it all on your hormones or the longing to have someone understand you, even if that someone was Steve. His heart skipped a beat when you finally looked back at him, revealing a new side of you that was nothing like the restrained girl that stayed away from the kids’ selfless affection. But maybe the difference here was that the kids could get hurt, and Steve couldn’t. That’s what you thought.

‘I suppose.’ You murmured, looking back at him. ‘Maybe what I really miss is sex.’

He smiled softly at your words, lifting a hand to rest it on your warm cheek, your body temperature all over the place by the tension between you two. His hesitant eyes looked back at yours as he wondered if he should reject you and forget about this. You’d hate him, God, he’d hate himself, but this could ruin it all. This could really fuck things up.

‘We need to be careful.’ He warned you. His eyes were soft but his words severe, and full of fear.

‘I know.’ You whispered, unable to stop yourself from looking at his lips.

‘And we can’t let the kids notice.’ He cupped your chin firmly, so you’d heard him right. ‘Okay?’

‘I know.’ You said between your teeth, the darkness in your eyes hiding something more than annoyance.

‘And just because we’re doing this doesn’t mean I trust you.’ You let out an offended scoff, moving back to stand up, but he cupped your cheeks to pull you in. He was too far gone to let you leave this room now. ‘God, come here.’

His lips were soft and warm against you as you felt every hair on your body turn into a goosebump. His hands were needy. All of him was, fists wrapping around the fabric of your shirt, knee finding the space between your legs quickly so he could feel the warmth you were hiding there.

It turned messy and desperate too quickly, his tongue licking the skin of your neck with hunger while your hands pulled locks of brown hair. Steve lifted your shirt to kiss your breasts desperately, your back arching on the bed while your hips rolled against the leg between yours. It was more than animalistic; it was human and primitive. He wanted to drown in your scent, to dive in your chest and sleep there forever.

As if you could read his mind you took your shirt and bra off at the same time, letting his tongue tease you a bit more and biting your lip at how pathetically wet you were. Growling softly, you twisted urgently as your hands unzipped his jeans, desperately wanting to get of rid of all the clothes. You wanted to hear the beat of his heart, the pulse of his blood. To feel his sweat and see his hair and forget for a second that maybe this was the more human you had felt in a long time. He made sure to do so, quickly throwing his shirt away and pulling down his jeans along with his boxers while you did the same thing with the rest of your clothes.

His mouth came back to yours once there were no more layers in between you too, his hands grabbing everything they could, squeezing your butt cheeks, pinching your nipples. You even chased his fingers with your mouth when he cupped your cheek as he moved back, panting needily while sucking on his thumb deliciously. It was an agreement to forget everything you were outside this room, and you were both committed to follow it even if regret stabbed you tomorrow.

With controlled strength he wrapped your legs around his hips, your hand instinctively finding his warm dick, so hard and thick you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you started stroking it. Steve leaned in, holding his breath at the movements of your hands as the smell of sex filled the air. His fingers found your clit in between the soaked hairs of your pelvis, sticky with your warm wetness that had probably stained his mattress too.

‘Shit.’ You moaned softly, arching your back at the stimulation.

‘Shhh.’ He hushed you, unable to hold his own whimpers as his forehead rested on your shoulder. The pre-cum on his tip making it all worse while you still stroked him with skilful intensity. ‘Fuck.’

‘It’s been too long.’ You complained in between breaths. ‘Feels so good.’

‘I know.’ He whispered. ‘Can I…?’

You pulled him in with your legs, stroking his tip against you soaked folds that were already almost pulsing at the stimulus of his fingers.

‘Yeah.’ He moaned. ‘Holy shit.’

‘Just don’t cum inside me. Please.’ You lifted his chin to find his cheeks red and his agonising eyes glossy. Soft tenderness engulfed you for a second, his gaze never leaving your as he caged you with his free arm.

‘I got you.’ He assured you. ‘Okay?’

You nodded enthusiastically, positioning him with your hand before he slowly pushed himself in. Shutting your eyes hard at the pressure, you tried to focus on the way he played with your clit when you felt him move back.

‘What are you doing?’ You complained desperately.

He dived his nose on your hair, your heart beating fast at the way he unexpectedly kissed your skin, laughing softly.

‘Takin’ it slow.’ He moved back to have a better look at you, at the way you rolled your eyes when his thumb kept stroking your bud while his index and middle finger found the soaked insides of your pussy. You opened your legs wider, all exposed for him as he felt the veins of his cock pulsing, aching to be inside you.

‘Need you.’ You begged, trying to push him back into you with your legs.

He would’ve fucked you right there if he hadn’t almost lost his balance at your simple words. He knew what you meant, he thought as he took his fingers out and positioned himself again, looking at you with mesmerized hooded eyes. You needed to feel it, to feel something. Yet so much had been revealed to him in the haze of your heat: all he really wanted was to be needed. By someone. By anyone, really. But specially by you.

He was caught off guard by the way your hand pushed his hip against you then, his dick sliding in gently. You both still needed a few seconds to adjust, your breath caught on your chest at the stretch and the friction, but as soon as his hand resumed his strokes on your clit, the familiar hunger took over your body again.

Before he could even move, you were already chasing his hips with sensual movements. The grip of your legs around his hips was needy, the way you pulled his hair encouraged him to match your pace. It was you leading again, it was him following right behind no matter where you decided to take him. Heaven or Hell, it was the same thing with you.

The tiniest, most guttural sounds emerged from your body as you two moved faster, shutting your eyes hard and biting your lips to keep you from saying the wildest obscenities. He noticed too, by the way your fingernails were marking the skin of his back painfully, but he couldn’t blame you. Your pussy was deliciously warm and wet for him, and he was dying to shower you in the dirtiest compliments, to praise you for being so creamy and good.

‘Hmm.’ You moaned. ‘Steve.’

He looked down at you without losing the pace, searching for your eyes that were all dopey by the pleasure.

‘You’re gonna…’ You tried to whisper, but the walls of your pussy started to pulse around him. ‘Uh. You’re gonna have t’ cover my mouth.’

He nodded softly. Your eyes unable to look away from his reddened cheeks and sweaty face, making it all worse by stroking your cheek tenderly. The softness of it all was too much, your mouth slightly opening when you felt yourself convulsing, and his hand quickly covering it to hide your sweet moans.

Your fingers replaced his on your clit as soon as he pulled himself out, the warm cum falling on your stomach and your lost self making it all dirtier by rubbing it on your boobs while you still played with your clit.

All Steve could do was look down at the spectacle you were giving him, watching himself cumming a bit more on top of you until there was nothing else that could come out of his system.

You were panting hard when he removed his hand from your mouth, and you slowly came back to Earth. Your eyes followed him as he reached for the shirt he had just taken off to cleaned your torso with, silly giggles leaving your lips as the actions of your horny brain fell on you.

He shook his head in disbelief before his body fell next to you on the bed. Only the sound of heavy breaths turning into soft ones filled the air. You were still sweaty and a bit thirsty, your groin was still shaking a little. The more the heat died down the more you got lost in your thoughts. This had been wrong, but a part of you knew that it was bound to happen. You were two clueless people raising seven kids together under the same roof, having lost your youth to this unfair world.You were both unlovable and utterly alone. Sooner or later, it was bound to happen, right?

You looked at Steve next to you, with his eyes closed, cheeks still blushed and breath pattern slowing down. What’s done it’s done, you thought. There was no point on worrying, no time to overthink.

‘Six months.’ Said Steve, with his eyes still closed. ‘What about you?’

‘Two years.’ You admitted softly. Moving to your side to rest your face on your hand. Your eyes lingered on the moles on his neck, on the hair on his chest.

He frowned softly, eyes opening partially to meet your gaze.

‘Boring boyfriend?’

You shook your head, and he lifted his eyebrows at you. His eyes followed you as you laid back uncomfortably, your gaze lost on the ceiling.

‘There was this… guy.’ You said. ‘He had been in foster care too. You know, one of those who claim they want to protect kids because the system’s fucked, but they end up fucking the system even more.’

Steve nodded softly, wishing to ask questions that would’ve been proper if you trusted each other. But he saw the way your eyes got lost in the memories, and he didn’t dare to ask how much older he was, or for how long you had to go through that.

‘We spent the last day before the apocalypse together.’ You said softly, still looking at the ceiling. ‘For a while I— missed it. I thought I was happy.’

You looked back at him after a few seconds of silence. It was nice to see some compassion on his face for once, even if you weren’t sure if you wanted to welcome it.

‘What about you?’ You said facing him, placing your cheek on your hand again.

‘Last day?’ He asked.

‘Mhmm.’

He took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling and trying to remember, but he didn’t need to try hard. He remembered. Sometimes he felt as if he was still there.

‘I came to school.’ He shrugged, trying to play nonchalant. Trying to pretend he wouldn’t give it all to go back to that day. ‘Got a D in English, went to Eddie’s right after and spent the night smoking and playing videogames.’

You smiled softly. The memory was so mundane, so simple and perfect, that you couldn’t help but envy him.

‘How did he die?’ You asked after a while.

Steve took a deep breath, brushing his hair with his fingers, still avoiding your curious eyes. He was sure the kids would’ve told you or mentioned something. He left the room when they talked about him, when they remembered funny stories about him, how he used to spend the day at the vegetable patch, how they all used to sit around the fire once a week. How he turned them all into a family. He knitted sweaters for them, and cooked for them and Steve followed him everywhere.

‘He went to search for supplies and got bitten.’ He related quietly. ‘But he came back, left the things outside and, uh… He asked me to take the kids to the gym that day and tell them it had been someone else. He shot himself in the vegetable patch.’

You wished then that you could touched him, not like you had minutes ago between bites and licks. True, vulnerable touch. But you didn’t know if he’d welcome it.

‘That’s why you buried him there.’ You whispered to yourself.

He nodded softly, swallowing hard at the memories, trying to push Eddie’s ghost away. His best friend, the person who had brought him here, who had kept him alive. And now he was gone.

How could he forgive the world for that?

‘Do the kids know?’ You said after a while.

He frowned briefly, trying not to sniff too loud before looking back at you.

‘I told you; they think it was some guy in the forest.’

You shook your head softly. A sad smile lifting your lips as you searched for the truth hidden inside the brown of his eyes.

‘Do they know you loved him?’

Steve licked his lips before swallowing hard. He looked down, finding your other hand next to his naked body. His eyes focused on the way his fingers played with yours until he shook his head slightly.

You stayed like that for a while as the smell of sex slowly dissipated in the air. The honesty melted too, turning into the casual civility you treated each other with. When he laid asleep, with his lashes kissing and his mouth partly open, you disentangled your pinkie from his and got dressed in the dark.

‘Where are you going?’ His voice was soft and raspy behind you.

You were standing in the middle of his room, looking back at him over your shoulder.

‘I can’t sleep with other people in the same bed.’ You whispered. ‘Foster child things.’

His eyes stayed on you, shining brightly like two brown moons in the darkness of the night. For some reason you waited. He did too, wanting to ask you. Wanting to beg you to stay.

‘Goodnight.’ You whispered when he didn’t. And he just stayed in bed, hearing your footsteps in the hallway.

The next day you kept on with your routine as usual. You woke up a couple of hours after leaving Steve’s room, finished counting the kitchen inventory and went out to set the traps. Just after you got rid of the dirt on your hands, you sat down to watch the sunrise outside, thinking about what had happened the night before. Even human warmth was a luxury, and here you were, lucky enough to have it even if it was for a little while. You had let your human needs get the best of you, and even if there was a little bit of embarrassment sitting on your chest, you walked into the school an hour later thinking there were so many things to do that you had completely forgotten about it.

By the time the kids were walking into the gym, you had finished painting an improvised bullseye on the wall. They all greeted you with their sleepy good morning and you smiled back from your place.

After the one hour run they took every morning, the kids stood around you while you placed a bucket on the floor that was full of rocks you had picked this morning.

‘Okay, so,’ Their tired faces were so adorable that you couldn’t help but smile when you were trying to be serious. ‘Please remember your slingshots are weapons, okay? I want you to carry them around with you, but I don’t want to see you pointing them at each other. Not even as a joke. Is that clear?’

They all muttered a tired yes and you made them stand in a queue, close enough to the bullseye so they’d all hit, but far enough that it’d add a bit of difficulty. You needed to help some of them, Dustin balance wasn’t great, Mike reflexes were a bit rusted, and Will seemed to get so nervous he had to dry his hands on his jeans for a little while before even attempting to shoot.

You were still gentle with them, encouraging them with kind words and patience. At times you’d help them with their posture or would give suggestions here and there. An hour after you started to hear their low sighs and complaints, and you finished the workout by sending them straight to the showers.

‘Hey.’ You were starting to pick up the remaining of the rocks on the floor when Max’s stood next to you.

‘Hey, sweetie.’ The endearing term fell so easy from your lips you forced yourself not to think too much about it. You didn’t even know why you were blushing. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah.’ She laughed nervously, putting her hands on her back pockets. ‘I just wanted to ask if… Uhm, would you teach me how to shoot a gun?’

You stayed quiet for a second, thinking about what to do. But Max was great with the slingshot, she was probably the most mature of all the kids. And most importantly, she’d have to learn eventually.

‘Sure.’ You said, ‘Maybe just a couple of shots, okay?’

‘Great.’ She said smiling, trying to contain her excitement.

You explained the basics to her as you two stood far from the bullseye. She assured you she was prepared for the noise and the impact that would push her slightly back, but you still reminded her and fixed her posture so the effect wouldn’t hit her so unexpectedly.

‘Okay.’ You said taking the gun out of your pocket. ‘Just two shots. Unfortunately, we can’t do more than that.’

Something made your stomach twist when you placed the gun on her hand, but you made sure to swallow down the knot on your throat. Max was not your child. And if you wanted her alive for long enough that she’d reached adulthood and old age in one piece, this was your way of assuring that future for her.

You bit the nail of your thumb from your place when she pulled the trigger. The noise echoed through the gym, and she did jump back at the impact of the shot, yet the little hole on the wall showed that she had hit almost perfectly in the middle. She took a second deep breath before shooting again, and this time she was able to control her body a bit better.

‘Oh my god.’ She laughed in disbelief, handing you the gun. ‘That was so cool.’

‘And you were so good at it—’

‘What the fuck are you doing!’ Steve’s voice echoed through the gym, making Max jump unexpectedly.

The heat rushed to your cheeks as soon as you saw her eyes full of panic. Steve was looking at you with anger overflowing his pupils, but your irritation though palpable, was much more controlled than his.

‘You don’t have to scream at her, Steve.’ You said firmly, taking the gun from Max’s hand and securing it inside your back pocket.

‘I’m not screaming at her, you idiot.’ He shouted, taking a step towards you. ‘I’m screaming at you. What the fuck were you thinking!?’

You stood on your place, perplexed at the tone he was using.

‘Answer me!’

Max jumped once again on her place, her eyes looking from him to you, her pale hands shaking on either side of her as she stood petrified.

‘She asked me if I could teach her and—’

‘And you say no!’ He shouted, the veins of his neck that you had just kissed the night before protuberant as his face turned redder. ‘If she asks you for the fucking gun, you say no!’

You narrowed your eyes at the way he seemed to be on the verge of tears or a heart stroke.

‘Steve.’ You took a step towards him, but he moved back instinctively, thick drops of sweat falling from his temples.

‘Do you have any idea of what I thought—’ He brushed his hair with his fingers desperately. Looking defeated. ‘FUCK!’

All it took you to wrap Max with your arm was to see her jump once again. You didn’t even look back at him as you walked her out of the gym.

Steve wasn’t seen around the rest or the day or at dinner. The kids looked at his empty seat with confused eyes and you left a kiss on top of Max’s ginger before explaining that you two had a fight earlier and he was still mad at you. You assured them you’d save some dinner for him, and that you’d make sure he came by to say goodnight later.

They ate in silence, all a bit saddened by the tense atmosphere on the table. So, you gave them all a gummy bear right after their meal, feeling a weird sense of defeat inside you. It was then, as you picked the plates in silence while they joked with each other, that you became aware of who you were for these kids. You had never been this important in anyone’s life, and it was on instances like these where you felt that you didn’t even know what you were doing.

Once the kitchen was clean, you decided to walk them all to the toilets by yourself. There was still no sign of him as you stood outside the toilets, searching for him in the shadows of the school hallway. It took you twenty minutes to get them to be ready, and another thirty to hear absolute silence coming from their rooms.

You walked towards the showers in silence, feeling the weight of exhaustion falling on your shoulders. Fights between you and Steve were inevitable, but you didn’t think the kids had to pay for it, that’s what had pissed you off so much. Max loved him, she worshipped him. You knew what it was like to have all your trust shattered by people you once thought you loved; you wouldn’t let him do that to her.

It shouldn’t have surprised you to find him sitting on the bench in front of the showers. Maybe he was waiting for you, maybe he was just too much of a coward to face the kids. Still, you undressed in silence, thinking about where to start, how to get rid of this anger that was eating your alive probably since the day you found him in the library.

The soft sound of the running water and the feeling of it on your hair made you stupidly emotional as you felt him walk into the shower minutes later.

‘I want you to apologise to Max first thing in the morning.’ You said in a hoarse voice, not facing him.

Yet all he could do was wrap his arms around you, strong and needy, reminding you of what had happened the night before. You turned to face him, feeling the resentment alive inside your chest even at the sight of his puffy eyes and red face.

For a moment it was as if you were back at the supermarket, and you wondered who was going after who first. Even if you were both naked, wet, and ready to love on each other’s bodies, there was always the implicit question of if you’d get to make it out alive together, or if nature would eventually ask you to betray each other.

‘I rather kill you than see the kids fear you.’ You admitted firmly. ‘That is not why I’m here, Steve.’

‘I know.’ He rushed to say. Getting carried away by the guilt and your presence, he cupped your wet cheeks, placing his forehead against yours. ‘I know, I’m sorry. ‘M so sorry.’ He sobbed. ‘I just heard the shot and remembered…’

The water filled the empty words he didn’t say, and you nodded softly, looking down at his frail body and thinking about all the memories that still haunted this disturbed stranger that had dragged you inside his home to give you something life had denied you for years.

‘I’m sorry.’ You heard yourself whisper. Your thumbs instinctively found his temples as the rest of your fingers dived inside his wet hair. ‘I didn’t think that’d trigger you, Steve.’

‘I didn’t think either.’ He said between tears, sobbing a bit more. ‘I didn’t know— I have no idea why the fuck did I do that.’

It was instinct, the way his head rested on your shoulder so softly as you comforted him inside the shower, in a moment where you two were allowed to behave your age, or even younger. Scared, and unsure of what you were doing here, hidden inside a school in the middle of a dead town while the world was too busy ending outside.

You searched for his mouth first, because you didn’t know what else to do to stitch the wounds and take the sadness away. This time your hungry tongues searched for something else that went beyond human need, maybe some sort of reassurance. He hoped that despite all this mess you’d still stay, and you wished that he’d never failed you again.

It was much quieter, but the desperation was still there while he pushed you against the wall as his dick slid inside you, holding you head delicately under the water. The pace was fast, the tiles against your back were cold, but your body was warm as he swallowed your moans with his kisses.

‘You’re so good to me.’ He sobbed against your neck.

‘Shhh.’ You whispered, moving to face him once again. ‘I’m here.’

His eyes were still red by all the crying, and you removed the wet hairs off his face to have a better look at his precious eyes while he still fucked you.

‘I’m here.’ You left wet pecks along his cheekbone, moaning softly against his skin while he hit the right spot inside you. He growled softly at your tenderness, while his thrusts turned faster and his tears mixed with the water, and he was hoping that you knew he was trying. He was hoping that you knew he wanted you to stay.

He almost asked you when he felt your body shaking under his, a pull of his hair, a chocked moan echoing through the walls, and he already knew that his mouth finding yours to relieve you from your agony is what’d fix it all.

You helped him too, with your nose brushing his and your hand around him, spoiling him with the sweetest strokes. Your mouth open against his, his eyes shut hard as he held onto you until he lost it. The weight of his exhausted body fell onto you, and you held him there, in a way you’d never held anyone before. In a way you had always wished somebody would hold you.

The next morning you woke up disoriented, you even stayed in bed for a few minutes, fingers tracing the places he had kissed the night before. There was dark pink love bruise on your shoulder, it didn’t hurt when your fingers pressed on it, but your stomach twisted when you wondered if things would be awkward today.

By the time you were ready you had forced yourself to put all those thoughts aside, starting the day as usual. But when you walked into the kitchen to search for the traps, you frowned at the look of the empty table in the cafeteria. When you walked into the kitchen, you couldn’t help but hide your shock when you found Steve taking a few supplies out of his own backpack.

‘Hey.’ He said simply, a serene smile adorned his face as he took out some cans out, placing them on the cupboard above his head.

‘Y-You went out?’ You asked, trying to sound calm, but a part of you was worried, maybe a little scared. Maybe a little protective.

He nodded, his back facing you as he kept arranging the supplies. Your eyes wandered around the rest of things he had managed to bring: a bag of cotton buds, a box of band-aids, and a crystal jar with a white powder inside.

‘Oh my god.’ You said taking the jar with shaky fingers. ‘Is this…!?’

Steve observed you from his place on the other side of the table, how you opened the jar quickly and dipped a finger inside the powder to then take it to your mouth. The overly strong taste left you speechless, your tongue begging for water as soon as it came in contact with it.

‘Where the fuck did you get salt?’ You laughed under your breath, still looking at the jar.

‘I went to my house.’ He murmured, not because of shyness or embarrassment, but because he would’ve sworn your eyes turned a bit glossy as you closed the jar again.

‘Your house?’ You asked casually, blinking many times to try to get rid of the tears.

‘Yeah.’ He said softly.

You looked at each other in silence. There was so much you wanted to ask him, and he was kind of waiting for you to ask. He’d answer it all, really. But all you could do was look down at your boots as they softly hit the leg of the table between you.

‘I was looking for this.’ His voice made you lift your eyes. His cheeks had acquired that rosy tint you had only seen whenever you gave in to each other’s body. It almost made you smile, until your gaze fell on the device he took from his bag. ‘Do you think Max might like it?’

‘Oh my god.’ You walked around the table to grab the discman in your hands. ‘Is this real? Does it work?’

‘I think so.’ He laughed at your amazement. It took you a few seconds of sweet tension to realise that you had never heard him laugh before. ‘It’s still got the batteries… do you wanna try it?’

‘Yes!’ You said enthusiastically. It amused him to see you so excited, suddenly looking so young.

This same thing could’ve happened in this same school a long time ago, he thought as you sat outside before the old vegetable patch, before Eddie’s grave. Maybe years ago, there were two teenagers who sat right here. Sharing headphones just like you were doing now, before the sunrise threatened to light everything up.

Your eyes stayed on the stars that were slowly fading as the sky turned from navy to blue, trying to ignore the fact he was taking out the Radiohead CD you saw back in the supermarket from his plastic case. That had seemed a lifetime ago. And as soon as the song started played you wondered when was the last time you had heard music, and how had you managed to do without it – and him for so long.

Her green plastic watering can / For her fake Chinese rubber plant / In the fake plastic earth

That she bought from a rubber man / In a town full of rubber plans / To get rid of itself

It wears her out.

It was the only time you were able to use it, because Max got quickly obsessed with the little device and the CD. You smiled silently as she walked around the school with it, sometimes taking turns with the other kids, sometimes mumbling the lyrics as she weaved the traps or helped Steve in the kitchen.

It seems like you and him had silently agreed on a different way to do things. While you and Lucas worked on greenhouse together, he’d gone out to get supplies from the houses around Hawkins. You observed from a distance how the kids’ rooms started to get filled with souvenirs of another lives: a teddy bear Erica had left under her bed, a picture of Mike with his sister, a locket from Dustin’s mother that he now carried underneath his clothes all the time.

The kids had also learned how to do more things by themselves, and slowly you were able to breathe properly again. You hadn’t realised you had been holding your breath since the first day you had moved into the school. While Lucas helped you grow the plants you brought from outside the school, Mike and Dustin learned how to preserve the meat you brought for them for the winter. Jane made sure to keep her inventories so precisely up to date that you didn’t even need to assist her anymore. And Will had promised to help everyone as long as you’d kept bringing him all the books on human anatomy and biology that were at the library. Erica and Max kept weaving traps and practicing with their slingshots and you were hoping that soon you could maybe bring Max with you on a long hike to get better supplies.

Things were working. And if you were able to breath now, Steve was the one who had to hold his breath every day the less needed he felt. Worse than that, there was this feeling sitting on his chest, that soon you’d think you weren’t needed anymore and decide to leave them. To leave him.

He held his choky breaths at night, when your body was on top of his, and his hands on your face as he pulled you into a kiss. Your breaths were silent but still desperate as you undressed in the darkness of his room, trying to ignore his naked walls where you’d hope to get a glimpse of his past life, a picture of his parents, maybe. Or one of Eddie and him back in school. But he never seemed to bring any of those souvenirs for himself, and you never dared to ask.

The kids didn’t notice anything. During the day, you were civil with each other, often exchanging kind smiles and always siding with each other if it involved the kids’ wellbeing. But it was implicit that your nocturnal desires never bled into the day’s routine. It was implicit that the kisses, the love bites, the choked moans and the lust were a natural by-product of the complexities of human loneliness.

And yet still you had little slips, moments where it was impossible not to try to hold onto the warmth. When you were done and he held you on top of his body, and you showered his face with careful kisses, lips barely brushing his skin, almost begging him not to entertain your attachment too much. Or the times when you stayed until he fell asleep, playing with the hairs on his chest, and then you’d kiss his shoulder before disentangling yourself from his body. On those instances, he noticed you’d get lost the next day, spending your time in the greenhouse until dinner time.

The truth was, you were in a hurry to get the greenhouse working as soon as possible, but the project required so much studying you could barely catch a break. It hadn’t been easy to find the right seeds in the wild, or to get the temperatures right in the middle of summer. You were in a race against yourself to try to get this done before the autumn and you didn’t know if you’d be able to.

That morning you had decided to sneak out into the library and find an alternative. You were silently desperate and terrified of disappointing everyone, but the more time passed, the clearer it became that the greenhouse would take you at least one year of acclimatation, hard work and patience to start giving results. It sucked, you even cried a little on the way to the library, feeling that you had wasted Lucas’s time and had probably lifted everyone’s hopes.

You spent most of the day out, reading about farming alternatives that were impossible to adapt to the apocalyptic reality. The ideas never came, so you decided to walk around the town to clear your mind, because after months of work, you were exhausted. And because your curiosity was about to get the best of you.

Maybe it was the fact that staying in the school had made you more human. Or perhaps it was something else that had made you reckless and stupid, as you walked through the empty road that led to the houses. You tried to imagine Hawkins in a different life, where the kids could’ve been riding their bikes around town, summers where the community pool was open. You wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up around here, in a real neighbourhood with a real family.

It took you a few houses to finally find Steve’s, after you found a picture of him sitting on top of a dusty fireplace. Your lips lifted instinctively, bittersweetness sitting on your chest at the look of teenage arrogance on his smiley face. You looked around the house, beautiful and modern once upon a time, and now empty and haunting. He had everything you never did, all the stuff you had dreamed of once.

You learned so many things by looking closely and carefully. All pictures were of him or his parents, and this made you smile to yourself. It had been so obvious since the beginning, that he was an only child, yet you had never guessed it. It wasn’t until your eyes fell on a couple of forgotten letters addressed to his dad that you learned his last name.

‘Harrington.’ You whispered to yourself softly as your finger stroked the surname. ‘Steve Harrington.’

He played basketball, apparently. His room was full of sport trophies and medals, yet your eyes easily found a few plaques from theatre camp hidden among them. There was so much to look at, you were almost overwhelmed, wondering why he wouldn’t take any of this with him back to the school.

Goddammit, why wouldn’t he live here? Your hands stroked a hoodie that peaked out from a drawer before sitting on the bed, looking at the band posters, at a useless calendar sitting on the table. There were boxes of board games piled on the shelves inside the open wardrobe. This was the kind of home you would’ve killed for as a child, and he didn’t want it.

It hurt, so deeply and so much. You couldn’t help but lay on the bed— his bed, and cry a little. Maybe you’d even take a nap, far from the exhaustion life constantly overwhelmed you with. You wished he was here, comforting you. Telling you stories about what it felt like to be part of a family, you couldn’t even imagine what it felt like, to love a place so much you could never go back to it.

You woke up a couple of hours later, sweaty and well-rested for once. It was disorienting at first, and you almost jumped from the bed at the sight of the orange sky. You walked back to the school, thinking about how to give everyone the news about the greenhouse, but the Steve from the childhood pictures was still behind your eyelids, twisting your stomach, in the heart of the knot throbbing in your throat.

The daydreaming didn’t last long, though. You had reached the edge of the school when you heard paused steps near, making you stop on your tracks. When you lifted your neck to the left, you noticed the zombie who walked in the school’s direction, towards the gated vegetable patch.

With your gun on your hand, you waited for him or her to get a bit closer so you could walk behind it without making too much noise. A part of you wondered if they’d try to open the gate and inevitably get burned by the acid, but the other part of you, who had always been so fascinated with the undead, didn’t see the point in such a scene.

So, it didn’t take you long to make the decision. You got close enough to be able to shoot them in the head and you did, a quick and clean shot that made them fall to the ground with a loud thud. You stood there in front of the dead thing, the twice as dead thing.

And because old habits die hard, you couldn’t help but lean in to have a look at it, to smile curiously at the colourful spores that blinded her, to the purple lips that had once muttered words. Maybe she had been a mother once, maybe she had been a mother, and she just couldn't handle it. And maybe out of compassion she had given her baby away, and that’s why you had killed her. Out of compassion.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your name being shouted. As soon as you lifted your eyes, a frown adorned your face at the sight of Will and Lucas standing on the kitchen door, inside of the vegetable patch. You didn’t have time to react until you felt a hand cover your mouth while another stole the gun from your hand.

‘Open the gate.’ The man threatened the kids as you tried to get rid of his grip. You tried to have a look at his face, but he held you firmly against him. Yet a part of you knew he couldn’t be too strong, you could feel his body was bony and skinny, you had a chance if you tried to act quickly. ‘Or I shoot her.’

Will left first, and you thanked God he did, because things could get ugly if you didn’t succeed at getting rid of the man seizing you. Lucas stayed in his place, unable to move. His jaw was shaking, low sounds of ‘SSS—’ trying to leave his mouth.

‘Get your hands off her.’

Will had come back with a gun in his hand. God knows where he had found that, and why hadn’t he called Steve. Under the man’s grip you tried to shake your head, you could hear the pulse on your ears and see the way Will’s hands around the weapon were shaky and insecure. If you were going to die, you’d rather die by the hand of this unnamed man than by any of the kid’s, they’d never be able to get over it.

‘Open the fucking gate!’ The man repeated.

You tried to bite his hand, but he seemed immune to it, worse than that, he seemed to have felt it but completely ignored it. His hand fell from your mouth to your neck, squeezing hard and so unexpectedly that you couldn’t escape his grip. Through your glossy eyes, you could see Will hesitating, and Lucas almost losing his breath at the sight of your body shaking under the man’s strong hold. You had completely underestimated the situation. You had fucked up big.

‘D-Don’t look.’ You said chokingly. The man pulled you in from your throat to look straight into his face, the light eyes that looked at you hiding a madness you had only seen once, months ago back in the library. Thoughts were dissolving in your mind as he lifted you in the hair to be at his same level, the cold metal of your gun pressing against your temple.

It was like floating on the clouds, you thought, before hearing the shot.

The third time you woke up the fever had decreased. Hair was stuck to your face, and your cheeks were sticky, but at least the headache was gone.

Steve hadn’t dare to look at you the first few seconds, as your glossy eyes lingered on his face. Under the dim light of a lamp, it almost tendered you to realise the darkness in his undereye had returned. But he was ignoring you, changing the bloody dressing on your arm under the cold lights of the nurse office.

You moved your neck slightly to find your walls covered in new drawings, clumsily handwritten get well soons, a few dark representations of the incident that would’ve made you laugh if it wasn’t for the fact your ribs hurt so much decorating the space around you.

The dressing was done a few minutes after. The tense silence between you two felt heavy but somehow relieving. You were alive, that’s all that mattered, right? So why did he feel like he wanted to scream at you?

Steve stood up from the bed, taking a deep breath as you observed him brush his hair with his fingers and walk around the little room. Maybe he’d asked you to leave for good, you thought, fighting the need to sniff as you looked around you. On the other side of room, on top of all your plans, maps and books, there was at least half a dozen teddy bears you had never seen.

‘The, uh…’ Steve started, your eyes falling on him as soon as he spoke. His hands on his hips as his eyes got lost in the blue sheets over your body. ‘The kids got ‘em for you.’

‘Whe—’ You tried to speak, but your voice was raspy and hoarse, it hurt. ‘Where—’

‘No idea.’ He shrugged as a little sad laugh left his lips. ‘Probably from the houses.’

‘They’re going out!?’ You stood up quickly, the alarm in your words so loud your throat was on fire. Your muscles too as you tried to sit down, but your head was spinning and you felt like throwing up.

‘Easy.’ He said approaching you, his hesitating hands rested on your shoulders as he sat down next to you. ‘We still need supplies, and you need to rest.’

‘N-No.’ You almost screamed with tears in your eyes. You turned more tense under his touch as he kept you in place, but you were quick at untangling from it. ‘Fuck no, Steve. They’re not ready.’ You pushed his chest with your fists, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks and your throat burn a bit more as you lost it right in front of him. ‘How could you send them out there? They could die!’

‘You could’ve died!’ He screamed back, shaking your shoulders as you looked back at him in shock. His brown pupils overflowing with fear, and resentment, and anger. ‘You could’ve fucking died in front of them! Do you have any idea what happened to you? Will tried to shoot him and he missed! If I hadn’t shot the asshole, you would’ve traumatized them forever. All because you wanted to… what!? Stare at a zombie!?’

Your cheeks turned even hotter as his grip turned softer and he started walking around the room nervously again. When his hands went to brush his hair again, you realised his hand was full of blood, your blood. You were so agitated and angry that you hadn’t even noticed his clothes was still stained with the same red fluid, you couldn’t even remember how you’d made it to this room.

‘How do you know about that.’ You murmured under your breath, looking at your shaky fingers through your glossy eyes.

‘Will said.’ He shrugged. A few seconds of silence opened, an incoming accusation lingering in the air as he stood in front of you. ‘You know they thoughtyou had been bitten at some point? O-Or worse, they thought you wanted to be bitten. They have no idea what’s going on! I have no idea what’s going on.’

‘I’ll talk to them.’ You said under your breath, moving to climb down the bed, yet as soon as your bare feet touched the cold floor you almost fell forwards. Steve’s hands held you from your armpits sitting you back on the bed as if you were a fucking child.

‘They’re all asleep.’ He said firmly as you looked at him with the outmost hate. ‘You can talk to them tomorrow, but you owe me an explanation.’

You scoffed, the sound so arrogant and childish he couldn’t help but fist the bedsheet on either side of your legs.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Yes, you do.’ He insisted. ‘You owe me your life.’

‘So do you.’ You said, stubbornly. ‘Guess we’re even.’

‘No, we’re not.’ He said in the same firm tone. ‘If you’re gonna be living here, I need to know if you’re just not some freak weirdo. Now, I need to know about what Will was talking about. What was that?’

You looked away for a second, turning small under his eyes so quickly that he forgot where his anger was coming from. Underneath it all, there was just the thickest, rawest fear of knowing he had almost lost you.

‘I—’ You started, feeling the pain in your throat for completely different reasons. It hurt when you cleared your throat. ‘I still… look for my parents.’

You shrugged, feeling embarrassed and ashamed, fighting the tears that pooled in your eyes as you looked away.

Steve needed a few seconds to process what you had said. It was as if the world was falling around him, because he knew what that meant. That this, the school, the kids, him, was just a temporary stop. Everything that he had feared from the day you’d set a foot on this school was slowly becoming a reality, and he could’ve dealt with the changes and the routines and all the life you had brought into this sad little place. But he knew for certain that he wouldn’t be able to live with what this confession meant.

‘They’re alive?’ His voice sounded so small it made you looked back at him immediately. The hurt in his pupils only made you feel more childish and stupid.

You shook your head, looking at your hands.

‘I don’t know.’ You admitted in a whisper. ‘I know it’s delusional. I know, deep down— I know they’re dead.’ You laughed bitterly. ‘There’s no way they could’ve survived any of this.’

You closed your eyes when his forehead fell on yours, his hands so naturally fitting on each side of your waist, his tender thumb carefully stroking your ribs over your shirt. His mouth searched for yours after all the exhaustion and the frustration of not being able to tell you how scared he had felt the whole time you lay unconscious in this bed. All the nightmares he got from sleeping on a chair on the other side of the room, while your warmth was so far from him.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You whispered in between kisses. ‘I know it’s fucked up.’

‘S not fucked up.’ He whispered back, pulling you in so you could get impossibly closer. ‘S not fucked up, baby, I was just terrified. I thought I’d lost you.’

You shut your eyes again, letting him engulf you in this soothing vulnerability that had once seemed unthinkable between you two, and was so necessary and so natural now.

‘Can you stay?’ He heard you say, so softly and small under his worried gaze. Mesmerized, he recalled all those nights he cursed his nightmares, wishing you were as pathetically needy as him. Wishing you stayed. In his bed, in the school, in his life. ‘Please.’

You opened your eyes when you heard his deep breath, shaky and terrified. His brown eyes were soft and pleading as he looked back at you. He swallowed hard before speaking, his thumb brushing your cheekbone delicately.

‘Can you stay?’ He asked, sincerely. It took you a few seconds to realise what he was asking. ‘I know this is far from being a home. I know this is—’ Your eyebrows arched softly at the gravity of his words, and he had to grasp for air as your fingers dived so softly in his hair and you took a better look at him, at the way he was shutting his eyes hard. ‘You’re gonna have to keep bossing me around, but I— This is not about the goddamn kids. I just need you.’

The soft, shy laugh you let out gave him absurd hope, his eyes lighting up briefly as soon as they opened again. You nodded, at first shy and then more enthusiastically, pulling him in for a kiss that would fix everything in this world where darkness never let anything grow or live for too long. But he’d follow you, until you both reached the light that you hoped was waiting. Somewhere, far away from here.

♡ if you enjoy my writing, please consider donating/sharing the following causes ♡

♡ - FUNDRAISERS FOR GAZA/SUDAN/CONGO & more.

♡ - HELP ZINH DADOOH EVACUATE GAZA.

♡ - HELP VICENTE BRICENO WHO HAS BEEN UNJUSTLY ARRESTED FOR PROTESTING PEACEFULLY.

I do not give my consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written work anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[dividers by @enchanthings]

[officerrrfriendly]

CHEFS BLOODY KISS 🤌🤌

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 17: Dinner and Diatribes

Chapter Seventeen.

The years wore on and changed my heart, The leading role, for a smaller part, Now I bear little resemblance to the king I once was, I bear little resemblance to the king I could become, Maybe paper is paper, maybe kids will be kids, But Lord, I wanna remember how to feel like I did, I set out to rule the world, With only a paper shield, and a wooden sword

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 3,138

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of past childhood trauma, Mr. Harrington makes an appearance and I believe that's a warning all of its own, mentions of abuse.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter: COMING SOON

Taglist: @kezibear

Chapter Seventeen: Dinner and Diatribes

“This is stupid,” the boy grumbled, closing his math book, “Mr. Mundy hates my guts. I’m never gonna pass the final.”

“Maybe he hates you because you stroll in late to almost all his classes?” You sighed, flicking through the magazine you’d found on Steve’s bedside table. Somehow you believed a dirty magazine would’ve been more interesting than the stupid car one you were currently reading.

Scoffing, Steve turned from his seat at his desk just to glare at you. He hadn’t been late to that many classes, had he? “You could be a little more supportive, you know?”

Cocking a brow, your eyes remained on the sport’s magazine, voice a little too monotonous for the boy’s liking, “Go Harrington, you can do it.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve returned his attention to his closed textbook, deciding that was where he would focus his glare. After one too many of his sighs, you glanced up with an acidic remark ready to roll off your tongue but it was quickly swallowed down when you saw the genuine distress that covered his features.

Leaning back on his uncomfortable desk chair, the boy’s eyes were squeezed shut as he ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the roots a little. Even Steve knew that his chances of graduating this year were on thin ice, and the chances of him getting into any of the colleges he’d begrudgingly applied to just to pacify his father? Near impossible.

So if Steve had to be stuck in Hawkins next year, he needed to make sure it wasn’t repeating another year of high school. He wasn’t going to be a super senior like that Munson kid. No way in hell.

Chewing your bottom lip as you studied him for a moment, you tossed the magazine haphazardly onto the small table, “C’mon then, let me see.”

Steve’s eyes shot open, his brow furrowed as he slowly pushed up from his chair, grabbing the textbook and placing it in front of you before joining you on the bed where you were sitting with crossed legs.

“You’re gonna think I’m an idiot,” the boy sighed, knee-deep into his pity party for one.

“You’re not an idiot, Steve,” you mumbled, looking over the page he’d opened to, ignoring the feeling of his eyes softening as they peered down at you, “Math is hard, and this shit is totally pointless.”

“God, it is, isn’t it?” A small huff of laughter fell from the boy’s lips, and Steve finally began to feel a little less stupid, “I mean, when am I ever going to need to know what X or Y equals? That’s the alphabet, and I already know that.”

This time, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep your words at bay. You didn’t think Steve was stupid by any means, but school definitely wasn’t his strong suit, “It’s algebra, actually. But yeah, whatever.”

Steve leaned over your shoulder as your eyes scanned the page, “And science? I mean, I don’t think I’m gonna be going to Med school any time soon, so do I really need to know how cells-”

“Steven?”

The door swung open, and a tall, slender woman appeared behind it, causing you both to leap apart, the math book fumbling to the floor with a loud thump.

“Mom,” Steve’s voice was a little squeaky, and under any other circumstances, you’d have laughed out loud at it, but the woman’s slightly confused glance your way caused it to die in your throat, “I uh… I didn’t hear you come home.”

“Book club ended early, so I thought I’d head out and get started on dinner before your father got home.” The woman’s eyes turned toward you, a tight smile forced onto her lips, “Who’s this?”

Steve knew damn well that his mother knew who you were, but the boy introduced you regardless, and you sent the woman a short nod as you stood fiddling with your hands behind your back.

Mrs Harrington’s eyes roamed over you slowly, causing you to swallow down a lump in your throat before she finally returned her attention toward her son, her smile much less forced, “No girls over when we’re not home, you know that, Steven.”

“She was just-”

“-I was just going,” you scrambled to grab your shoes, debating whether to shove your feet into them now, or rush out and wait until you were a safe distance away.

You were almost certain that Mrs. Harrington was somewhat aware of her son’s reputation, and that you weren’t the first — nor would you be the last — girl to occupy his room without parental supervision, despite it being with innocent intentions. Either way, being lumped in with all of Steve’s previous conquests made you feel more uncomfortable than you were willing to admit.

“You should stay for dinner.”

The words seemingly caught both you and Steve off guard, both freezing in your reactions, and for a second you were certain Steve was going to give himself a bald spot if he kept tugging at his hair.

Before you could respond, or rather, vehemently decline her offer, a shout from downstairs distracted you all, Steve’s father entering the house and calling out to his wife. Turning back to you once more, Mrs. Harrington’s tone left no room for disagreement, “We’re having Chicken Potpie, I hope you like it.”

And then she was gone. Long, lean legs took her back down the stairs, and toward her husband.

“I should really get going,” you mumbled, grabbing your jacket that you’d thrown onto the bottom of Steve’s bed before making yourself comfortable, silently demoting Steve to his desk.

“You don’t wanna stay?”

Hobbling, one shoe shoved in your sneaker as you fought with your jacket, you shook your head, “Not hungry.”

Steve stared at you, deadpan, when your stomach growled into the silence of his room causing you too, to stop.

Traitor.

“You sound hungry.”

“I have my own homework to do,”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“And I have the open shift at the arcade, so I really need to get an early night-”

Steve made his way over to you, grabbing at your jacket and pulling it back off, and you realized that he must have inherited his hardheadedness from his mother, “An hour, two at most. I’ll even drive you home. Please?”

If the boy’s eyes didn’t resemble those of a sad puppy dog, you’d have marched right on past him and his parents. Instead, you found yourself kicking off the one sneaker you’d managed to squish your foot into, a frown pulling at your brows.

“Fine, but you need to… C’mere,” you ran your hands over his hair, flattening it down a little in hopes of soothing the strands pointing in awkward directions due to his own hands, “You look like you’ve stuck a fork in an electrical socket.”

Steve’s breath hit your face in short, shallow puffs of air as the boy remained still, allowing you to sort out his hair, despite the fact he really didn’t like people touching it. He reasoned that by now most of his hair product was out considering he’d run his hands through it multiple times in an attempt to force something from his textbook into his brain.

“You ready, Harrington?” You asked, one brow cocked as your eyes met his, hands falling back to your side, “Hey, Earth to Steve?”

“Yeah, no, I’m, uh… I’m ready. Let’s go.”

It was only when Steve led you to the stairs that he forewarned you about his father, “Look, he’s a grade-A asshole, so just… try not to take anything he says too personally.”

“Well, if what he says is personal, how could I not take it personally?”

“Just don’t play into it, alright? He talks a lot of shit for someone who’s barely around.”

The atmosphere between Steve and his father was palpable, tension clear on the younger boy's face as soon as his father had started discussing his day, all too aware of the berating that would soon follow.

No drive, he’d said, lacking any future goals and destined to be a bum, as if Steve hadn’t heard it all before. In fact, Steve found it hard to remember a time when his father had anything positive to say about, or to him.

“College isn’t the be-all and end-all.”

The words slipped from your mouth, tongue apparently working faster than your brain. You heard the commotion around you come to a sudden and jeering halt, and you found that you had also frozen, fork gripped in your hand stopping mid-way back to your plate, as if you couldn’t believe your own impudent behavior as a guest at someone’s family dinner.

“And what are your plans for the future?” Mr. Harrington’s tone felt all too condescending, but apparently, the man knew better than to outright call out your behavior. But you knew what he meant. If he was almost foaming at the mouth with the prospect of his only son not going to some prestigious college and joining a boy’s club fraternity, you could only imagine how lowly he thought of you.

“I haven't really thought about it yet,” you lied, eyes dropping down toward the mixture of peas and carrots that you were pushing around on your plate until the loud scoff from across the table caught your attention.

Mr. Harrington continued to eat his dinner as Steve's mother cleared her throat, hand grasping for her wine glass as she focused her own attention on her son, “Steven will figure it out. If all else fails, he can come join you at the”

“It's an important part of life, and I don't offer hand-outs. He'll be stuck in an entry-level job for the rest of his life without a proper education.”

Steve wondered if his father really had forgotten that it was, in fact, his own father who had secured a job for him. Not that he had any intention of working under his father.

“He could take a gap year,” Steve's mother commented, her smile tight as she stared down her husband, embarrassment evident on her face, “I've heard they're becoming all the rage. A year to work on himself and-”

“And what? Drain our savings instead?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you chanced a glimpse at Steve who sat beside you, silent and still and… so un-Steve-like. Like a small child who had heard the whole spiel before. Reaching your hand under the table, you clamped it around Steve's, resting on his thigh. Although he timidly turned to silently question you, you had already returned your focus to the man across the table, instead giving Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze of acknowledgment.

You turned back toward Mr. Harrington, brows pulled together and eyes full of disdain, “Have you ever asked Steve what he thinks? What he wants?”

“He's a teenage boy, there's only one thing he wants and it has nothing to do with his education-”

“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Harrington's stern tone shut the whole conversation down, “would you be a dear and help me collect the plates?”

Steve nodded, your hand dropping from his as he stood from the table. Pushing your own chair back, you quickly grabbed your own plate, “I'll help.”

Following Steve to the kitchen, a plate in either hand, you placed them down a little too harshly on the side of the sink, ignoring the clashing of cutlery, “Jesus, you weren't joking about him.”

Steve remained silent as he filled the sink with hot water, taps squeaking slightly when he turned them off and began to scrape the scraps of food into the bin. Taking a plate from the small pile he had begun to stack, you continued, “I mean, where does he get off talking to you like that? Talking about you like that? You weren't joking when you said he was an asshole. And your Mom? Just sitting there while he-”

“Stop,” Steve's words came out much harsher than he'd originally intended for them to, but he had barely uttered a word in the last 30 minutes and felt like he had no control over his vocal cords, “He's an asshole, I know. Believe me. But I don't need you making it worse, alright? He does this shit every time he's home. And my Mom… It just doesn't help, alright?”

Steve swallowed, a lump of guilt already crawling its way up his throat. As a child, Steve would yearn for his father to come back from a business trip early, to spend the evening with him and his mother enjoying a family meal. But now? Now Steve craved the silence of his empty home, his mother following after her husband on yet another out-of-town trip, the same thing she'd been doing since she found a lipstick stain on the collar of one of his shirts.

Taking a step toward Steve, you took the plate from his grip, dropping it gently into the soapy water. Caramel-colored eyes looked everywhere but at you, brows puckered together, as if he was preparing himself for you to blow up at him.

And god, did a part of you want to. You wanted to scoff, and huff, and tell him he was ungrateful and that you were only trying to do what even his own mother didn't have the gall to do. But you didn't. Because in that moment, King Steve sort of made sense. You couldn't — and wouldn't — defend his actions during his reign, but it definitely made a lot more sense. Steve was lonely and attention starved, and if the only people he could seek solace in were two assholes that made everyone’s lives a misery, as far as Steve was concerned, so be it.

“Okay, fine. I'll keep my mouth shut. But just know, it physically pains me to be in his presence.”

Steve sent you a small smile as you returned to washing the dishes, passing them to him one by one. A moment of silence passed between you both, only the sounds of splashing water and cutlery clinking against plates disturbing the peace.

“Thank you for tonight, by the way. Studying, and staying for dinner.” “Yeah, well, I'm not sure that jumping out of your window wasn't the better option but it's been… okay.”

“Just okay?” Steve huffed a laugh, trying to keep up the pretense of being offended, “That Chicken Pot Pie is my mother's famous recipe. She makes it all the time. All. The. Time.”

Scrunching your nose up as you fished around for any cutlery left in the soapy water, “Yeah, well… That was the highlight of my night.”

After an incredibly awkward goodbye from Mrs. Harrington — her husband had already taken his leave to his office whilst you and Steve were washing up — which included her cutting up a slice of pie for you to take home to your mother, you packed up your belongings in Steve's room before the boy drove you home.

As he pulled up toward your house, you saw the curtains twitch as the headlights dimmed, a sure sign that your mother was still awake and somewhat sober.

Grabbing your bag and the Tupperware of pie that had all but been pushed onto you, you turned toward Steve, “Thanks for the ride. And I know you don't wanna talk about it, but your dad's wrong. You don't need a college degree to prove you're someone. Not to him, and definitely not to yourself.”

Clearing his throat, Steve sent you a tight-lipped smile, waiting patiently as you made your way safely into your home. Once the door closed, Steve’s eyes screwed tight enough that he started to see multicolored swirls, his knuckles pushing against his eyelids. Releasing a long, deep sigh, Steve began his drive back home, knowing nothing good would be waiting for him.

“Who drove you home?”

Despite knowing your mother was up and waiting for you, her gruff voice caught you off-guard, your fingers gripping the Tupperware box tightly. Once you noted she didn’t seem all too angry or drunk, you shrugged off your jacket and shoes and made your way toward the small kitchen where you placed the container in the all-but-empty refrigerator.

“Just a friend. I was helping him study.”

Sitting next to your mother on the old, worn sofa, you watched as she lit a cigarette, taking a deep inhale or two before passing it toward you, “I don’t like that you’re friends with boys. Hanging out with them this late, studying… Late-night drives. I was young once, I know how teenage boys' minds work.”

Blowing out a large cloud of smoke, you shrugged and handed the cigarette back to her, “It’s not like that. Not with Steve.”

“The Harrington’s boy?” Your mother questioned, her tone slightly softer as her interest was piqued, and you could only pray that her years of struggling with sobriety had at least spared her from hearing about the boy’s reputation.

“That’s the one. I uh… his mother invited me to stay for dinner. I have leftovers for you in the kitchen.”

Scoffing, your mother stubbed out the last of the cigarette onto the small end table, licking her dry lips, “I know what that woman says about me. Let me guess, she invited you in, showered you with hot, home-cooked food and compliments before bombarding you with questions? Trying to get any crumb of information so she could go around town telling that hateful gaggle of women-”

“I didn’t tell her anything. She didn’t ask, but… I wouldn’t have told her anyway.” Watching your mother with bated breath, you watched as her eyes squinted slightly, almost as if she were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Once her face softened, she moved forward, taking your face into her hands.

Your heart was pounding, awaiting her next move. She was unpredictable, and that’s what frightened you the most. At best, she could ignore your entire existence, and at worst… Well, you’d be turning up to work tomorrow sporting a black eye.

“That’s my girl,” She smiled, her cold, thin hand tapping the side of your face before releasing you to stand, “I have work tomorrow morning, so I’ll be taking the car.”

Once your mother closed her bedroom door, you finally released the breath that was burning your lungs from the inside out and made your way into your bedroom. Shuffling onto your stomach, you pushed your duvet out of the way as you struggled to reach the small tin under your bed, only standing up once you’d successfully retrieved it, only to be met with annoyance when you opened it and found it empty.

You’d have to make a stop at Forest Hills Trailer Park after work.

[officerrrfriendly]

CHEFS KISS- 🤌🤌 immaculate, i just love steve and reader’s dynamic, and especially hop and reader 🥹

[freckledjoes]

JOE KEERY @ The BRIT Awards - March 2, 2024

[djotime]

JOE KEERY BRIT Awards — March 2, 2024

[abibliophobiaa]

falling like the stars, falling in love

eddie Munson x f!reader. unrequited steve harrington x reader. unrequited eddie munson x nancy wheeler. steve harrington x nancy wheeler.

summary: you’re fifteen when you fall in love with your best friend, and twenty-one when it all falls apart. eddie munson is there to pick up the pieces of your heart, and you’re there to gather his. but both of you get more than you ever bargained for when your silly friends with benefits arrangement becomes complicated. but such is the nature of love. (15k words).

warnings: 18+, smut, loss of virginity (r), friends with benefits, codependent (maybe toxic) relationships, angst, unrequited love, heartbreak, second chance romance, drinking, mentions of recreational smoking…but i promise a happy ending.

——

The sun shines the next morning.

There’s comfort in knowing it always does, even if the day that came before was one of the hardest you ever faced.

A new page, a turning point, and maybe a new beginning.

It’s all you hope for.

You lean against the wooden beams of the lake house, overlooking Lover’s Lake. Birds chirp in the trees, leaves shift to and fro, the water ripples and shudders, a child giggles near the dock, a mother calls out to another running in the grass.

A blanket covers your form, the chill of the morning air spreading gooseflesh along your arms.

Your body aches in places, a lovely kind of ache. An ache from his fingers along your skin, his lips at your mouth, his hips between your thighs.

An ache from being loved thoroughly.

A living, breathing, comforting thing.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a soft whisper against your ear. You hum gently as he draws nearer.

His hands circle your waist. Your fingers brush over the backs of his forearms. Familiar.

The heat of his chest rests at your back. Your body slumps into his, a new comfort to be found there.

His chest is still bare, hair still a mess. But when you turn in his arms and take him in you find you like it. Tousled and unkempt by your hands, his eyes peering down at yours soft and sweet and warm.

Uniquely him. You love those eyes. Could spend forever falling into them. A long time, a lifetime, but spending it beside him is the greatest gift you could ever long for.

And the greatest gift you’ve ever received.

The answer isn’t simple.

Then again, none of this has ever been.

——

It starts when you’re fifteen.

Silly teenagers with nothing but dreams and fantasies.

No thoughts or cares in the world, other than what clothes to wear, what part time job you want to work, who you’re interested in and who likes you back.

Silliness.

Triviality that, if you look back on it now, wish you could get back.

Steve Harrington is perfect. He’s your best friend. The first person you met when you moved to Hawkins at nine years of age. He’s charming and on the school baseball and basketball teams.

He’s liked by most, but to him you are special.

Best friends, in the way that always brings a smile to your face because you know it’s the forever kind.

Permanent in the way the scar on your knee is, from the day you and Steve raced across the pool yard after hours, outrunning Hopper, and you’d cut it when hopping the fence in your efforts to get away.

You’re fifteen and Steve’s body is changing a bit. He’s fuller than you remember, honed by hours of working out, of skin tanned from endless hours in the summer sun. He’s always been handsome, but that summer he just seemed different.

You’re fifteen and you’re reading a book, left propped open between the circle of your thighs as he calls your name and you lift yourself up to sit, taking in the boy treading water in the pool.

His hair is a wet mess. Little droplets clinging to the ends of his hair, his long lashes. He’s grinning at you — a pearly white smile that has your heart twirling in your chest.

You shove it away, because it has been doing that for months now. It’s a new side effect with him. A sickness you’ve never felt before. Some might call it love, and you groan, shoving your finger in your mouth when your friends tease you about it because ‘he’s my best friend’ and ‘that’ll never happen.’

But you don’t know what else to call that annoying fluttery feeling in your belly when he draws near. Nor can you stop the pitter patter of your heart when he looks your way.

It’s inconvenient, troubling, and it’s a crush.

A silly crush that’ll go away. These things always do.

Don’t they?

And maybe that’s a foolish thought. You certainly think so when he teases you to come on in. Warns that the water is warm.

You hesitate on the hem of your tee shirt. You don’t know why, because he’s seen you in bathing suits before, but lately even this feels different. You want him to look at you the way he looks at the girls at school, and yet you also don’t want him to look at all, because if he looks he might see all your imperfections. Might see something he doesn’t like, and for some reason you hate that even more.

Because you want him to like you, to like all of you, to want you in the way you know you want him.

You’re fifteen and you’re swimming in a pool with your best friend. Your boy who also happens to be your friend. Never a boyfriend.

Never that.

You’re fifteen and you splutter out how you turned down a date with Brendan Abbott because, “I’ve never been kissed.”

“Really?” Steve asks, and he sounds genuinely surprised. And before you can even question the curiosity in his voice, he adds, “I just mean…you’re pretty. I bet loads of guys want to kiss you.”

Not the one that matters, though, you think to yourself.

Steve’s kissed dozens of girls, you know. You know because he’s told you, his cheeks staining a pretty pink. He always goes pink like that, and you always smile back, despite that odd pain that wedges its way between your ribs.

Heartache you think, but again, you’ll never put a name to it.

“I could kiss you, you know?” he suggests. And he’s red again in the face, quickly spluttering, “I mean, your first kiss should be with someone special, right?”

Steve’s the most special.

So you’re fifteen and he’s wading over to you in the pool. He cups your cheek and looks you in the eye. There’s a heartbeat and he’s kissing you. Soft, sweet, simple. It doesn’t linger long. Doesn’t give you enough time to feel like fireworks are exploding in the sky. But it’s enough to set something into motion.

Something terrible, really.

Because you’re fifteen and you’re in love — and maybe you’ll always be.

——

You’re nineteen when you meet Eddie.

A glass bottle to the man you love’s throat. He’s there in an instant, terror in his eyes, and you shriek at the suddenness of it. His eyes flash and you recognize him.

You had…a class before with him.

Can’t recall which.

You know him, of course.

Everyone knows Eddie Munson. Maybe not for all good reasons — and at this moment, it’s the worst reason. Because you’ve been looking for him for hours, trying to figure out what in the hell happened to Chrissy.

He looks like a deer in headlights. A terrified human searching for comfort when the world has grown cold.

He recalls what he saw.

Her body, broken. The way she hovered up on the ceiling. The way her eyes were ripped from her body. It’s gruesome and horrible and you curl a hand around his forearm when you notice he’s trembling. A shiver that only someone who has seen death head on knows. You’d seen it before, when Billy died the summer before that.

So you offer him that. A hand for comfort, as he recounts the worst day of his life, and you realize the newest worst day of yours.

It ends up being a long few days. You spend them hoping you’ll all get out alive, and in the process you find a friend in him. He’s charismatic and frenetic, he’s funny and he’s dramatic and he’s handsome in a rugged way that Steve isn’t.

And he notices the way you stare at Steve. Offers you a hand of comfort as you all trek into the Upside Down. You take it, and it feels like a new friendship.

Neither of you speaks, but it feels like an understanding.

——

At twenty, Steve’s halfway in love with Nancy all over again. You’re used to this. Steve has fallen in love with what feels like all of Hawkins — all except you. Neither of you speaks about that. You’ll never bring it up to him, can’t fathom the idea of shattering years of friendship.

But there’s something different about this time. The way he talks about her and how things are going. He’s dreaming of his future. Talking about kids. His Winnebago. About a future that suddenly seems like it’s hurtling towards you, while you’re seemingly stuck in place in the past.

It chokes you. The idea of him and her. Her and him and their six children he tells you about. Traveling all around the world, making memories, starting a new life.

He never talks like this and it terrifies you.

“I’m sure he’s just being his usual self,” Robin says, “diving in and hoping he doesn’t sink. You know how things were with him and Nancy before.”

“This feels different, Rob.” You huff and you whine and she offers you another beer and a look of sympathy you know means she’s really just doing her best.

There are few people in this world who know how deep your feelings run for your best friend. Those quite literally being her and Eddie Munson. And you plan on keeping it that way until the day you die.

Even so, it still hurts the next weekend when you’re all over Eddie’s new government funded apartment for a game night. Nancy gets up to leave and Steve offers to drive her home. And though you offer to clean the dishes for Eddie in the kitchen, it’s not an innocent offer by any means, because you watch them through the curtains.

Don’t know why you do. It stings. Burns in your eyes fiercely as you watch him lean down to kiss her. Watch how his hand slides down her back and into the pocket of her jeans, the way their bodies fit together like they’re made to, how he holds her close like she’s everything to him. Just like he’s everything to you.

“You’re only screwing over yourself by doing that,” Eddie murmurs from behind you, a dish towel hanging over his shoulder. He holds out a hand as you swipe at the tears gathering on your cheeks, and you hand him a plate to dry down.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huff, sponge running over the glass. “Plus you’re one to talk.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He shakes his head with a scoff, moving around you to put a plate away.

“I don’t?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“No.”

There’s a day you remember vividly. All of you at Lover’s Lake. You, freshly out of the water after Steve tackled you off the dock at the end of your family’s lake home and the two of you ended up splashing at one another for an hour.

He sat by Nancy around the fire after and you opened the screen door to find Eddie leaning over the back porch railing with a beer in his hand. He watched her like one would watch a movie. Her every move, each smile that curled her lips, holding onto her every word like he might memorize them all. The lilt, the cadence, the tone.

In a moment, you recalled all the times you’d seen them together prior. His best friend, he proclaimed. And maybe it was in the way Steve was your best friend. The other half of your soul. Your person. But you also saw the hurt reflected there in Eddie’s gaze whenever she stared at Steve.

Because while Eddie always stared at Nancy, Nancy always stared at Steve.

“It sucks when you’re always looking at them, but they never look at you back,” you laugh miserably, handing him a glass cup, back in his kitchen, “right?”

He looks away.

He doesn’t speak after that.

Good, you think.

Conversation over.

——

It carries on like that.

Pining.

Wanting.

Waiting.

Loving him while you watch him love another.

But you suppose it’s not all bad — that there is some solace in this world you’re destined to walk.

There’s comfort in the kids. In watching them flourish. In your friendships. There are milestones. When you graduate from your community college program and move into your first apartment. Steve, with a ball cap on his head, arms toned as they hug your boxes. Eddie behind him, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

They’ve grown closer over time, best of friends who scare similar scars. Kindred, in a sick sort of way they never should have been, simply because sometimes the world is cruel.

Eddie looks at you and you look at him and there’s a smolder of something between you, a promise for when everyone else heads home for the night.

That’s a newer development, too.

This…pseudo relationship with Eddie. A space between being together and not. In knowing each other’s bodies in a way that most friends don’t.

And maybe it’s wrong. The way you twine together some nights like vines. Him stumbling through the door after the sun goes down over Hawkins — because no one knows about this secret dalliance — and rushing across your living room to grasp your face in his hands. To kiss you soundly and drag you down onto the floor, ridding you of your clothes, your underwear, his mouth seeking your center like he’s starving for air.

You’re not really sure when it starts.

Sure, there’s always been an attraction there, but it’s always been something you don’t really dwell on, because Steve is the true paramour of your affection.

And you see the way Eddie watches Nancy.

Right?

But Eddie is kind and loving and he adores you in a way that feels sort of like running toward a cliff and jumping without a parachute.

You always know he’ll catch you. Don’t really know when he became that person for you. The one who you trust wholly and completely.

Yet if you think really hard about it, you’d say it started on your twenty-first birthday. After a strong drink and plenty of dancing at the bar. Steve grabbed your hand and twirled you around. Swayed and bobbed to the music and you grabbed his hand and tugged him outside. And maybe it was the little bit of alcohol you consumed and liquid courage granted by it, but you pushed him up against the side of a lamppost and kissed him.

When you think about it now, you want to cry, but in the moment it felt right.

He spluttered and gasped and you knew you’d made a mistake. Watched the way sadness creeped into his eyes, the awareness dawning on him.

Someone barked out a laugh, yourself maybe. Him. You weren’t sure. But it sounded disbelieving. Years and years of unspoken words spilled out like ink onto a blank sheet of paper. Left there to rot. And he stared — stared at you with a hurt in his eyes that ripped you down the middle. Because you knew he couldn’t return it, knew in an instant that he didn’t love you in the way that you wanted him to.

Not in the way that he loved Nancy.

Nancy. Perfect Nancy with the perfect hair and the perfect mind and the perfect life. Nancy, who was beautiful and stunning and wonderful and inspiring — and why wouldn’t someone love her? She was your friend, a good one at that, and a girl that any guy would want to be with.

Nancy, who you knew was the one meant for Steve, even if admitting that to yourself felt like a knife wedging its way into your gut.

“Honey…” he trailed and his voice broke. An aching, shattering thing that mimicked what was going on inside your chest.

Tiny, little shards. Little ruby glitter in the cavity that once housed a beating organ.

“It’s silly, right?” You laughed again. A hollow sound. A grieved cry that had Steve reaching for your forearm, trying to hold you together. “I've loved you since I was fifteen.”

“You’re drunk…”

“I’m not,” you argued. If anything, you felt stone cold sober now.

It didn’t change anything. Didn’t make it any less true. Maybe it was how Steve coped with it. Blaming it on too many drinks, emotions running high, your lives changing at a rate neither of you saw coming.

“Is everything okay out here?” Eddie stood on the sidewalk, watching from a distance, ready to step in if he needed to.

He did that often. Sought you out. Made sure you were okay. Watched your back as you watched his. There was always an awareness there that both of you held toward one another. An unspoken thing. Special still.

“Just…a moment?” Steve asked, and Eddie looked your way. Waited until you nodded it was, in fact, okay before he slipped back inside the bar and left you alone with your heartbreak. “You’re my best friend. I love you, but I —”

“Don’t love me, love me,” you finished for him.

Felt your lip wobbling, felt Steve’s arms as they wrapped around you, tugged you into a solid chest. You heaved out a loud sob, the kind that had him clutching you tighter, one hand at the back of your head to keep your forehead pressed into the hollow of his throat. Kept you hidden as you weeped, just like he knew you preferred it.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the night. Kind of left it like there, open in the air, the understanding that you loved him and he didn’t love you, and it hurt every time you thought about it — every time you reminded yourself that you’d worn your heart on your sleeve and watched it fall to the ground.

Everyone left in separate cars. Robin with her girlfriend, Steve with Nancy, Jonathan with Argyle, leaving you to clamber on into Eddie’s car. Both of you had sobered up enough, dawning clarity breaking like the sunrise.

Eddie turned to you when you pulled up to your parent’s house. Looked at you with a sympathy that made you draw the hoodie you pulled on over your dress closer to your body, wanting to shrink away from him. Make yourself smaller, if only to hide from the emotions warring in your mind.

“Did something happen tonight?” He asked, his voice soft.

You tugged at a stray lint on your thigh, rolled it between your fingers, shrugged a bit. “I kissed Steve.”

“Shit,” he breathed out, unbuckling his seatbelt. Leaned back into his seat, finger running through his hair.

“And then I told him I loved him,” you added, head shaking as you laughed pitifully.

His head shifted on the headrest, eyes taking in your downturned lips. “I take it that didn’t go well?”

Another huff of a laugh. “He said ‘I love you, but…’”

“Fuck,” he said, hand reaching over the center console to rest on your thigh. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

He always called you sweetheart. You noticed he called things he held dear to his heart that. His guitar, Max, El, Erica. Nancy. Robin. And most recently, you. So it shouldn’t have warmed your heart, but it did. Twisted something low in your belly, a warm, unfurling sort of thing.

The next words spilled out of you in a rush. Set into motion the course of the next several years. “Do you want to come upstairs? You’ll have to be quiet. I just…don’t want to be alone.”

“I—I…yeah?”

The offer was to talk. To find comfort in another human. Because you hadn’t even thought about sex. Hadn’t had sex in your twenty-one years. Not because you were holding onto your virginity or anything, but because you just hadn’t felt comfortable enough yet to do so. And it wasn’t like you invited him up there for that. It started out innocently enough. Him following closely behind you through your home, slipping up your stairs, fingers laced together. An anticipation hummed in your blood, a tremble of uncertainty in the way he stood there in your bedroom, not moving from the door once you closed it behind the two of you. He seemed so large in your childhood bedroom. Hair a mess on his head, in the way it always was, charmingly so. His hands slipped into his tight jeans, the gesture making his black tee stretch taut over his chest.

A dress still clung to your body after you removed your jacket. Something flowing and pretty that you picked out with Robin the week before. It suddenly felt sticky and tight on your body, and with a nervous glance, Eddie caught your hint and turned around to face the door. Tapped his fingers against his thigh as you undressed and slipped on something more comfortable. A simple pair of sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt.

“You can sit on my bed, you know?” You had sat back down against the headboard, the wood littered with endless pillows and a stuffed penguin that Steve had gotten you at a fair one summer.

In a fearful effort to rid yourself of the evidence of your stuffed friend, you lifted it in your hand and raised an arm to toss it into your closet when Eddie launched himself down onto your mattress with a thump and snatched it out of your grip.

“I don’t sleep with that, or anything…” Heat flooded your cheeks, because why did you care if he knew you actually did sleep with the silly thing, if only to keep the nightmares from the Upside Down away?

“It’s cute,” he murmured to himself, ringed fingers tight around the black and white toy. Sounded genuine and you didn’t doubt him; never did, truly. “Got a name for it?”

“Pip the Penguin,” you said quietly, so quietly.

“I like it…” Suddenly, he changed his voice, warping it into something an octave higher than his usual tone. Bopped the fluffy creature against your forehead, making you laugh. Pretended to talk with the thing and said, “Mr. Pip the Penguin wants you to turn that frown upside down. Because you’re so fucking beautiful when you smile.”

“Pip the Penguin doesn’t curse,” you admonished, plucking him from Eddie’s hands and placing him onto your bedside table. And then, softer still, “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Always,” he promised, and you rolled over onto your side to look at him, to really take in your best friend’s features. “I’m sorry your birthday is shot to hell.”

“It’s not,” you admitted, reaching over to run your fingers along the rings flush against his knuckles, “I’m spending it with you.”

“For what it’s worth,” he said, holding your hand in his and pausing your movements, thumb running across your skin, “you’re great and deserve the world. Anyone who can’t see that is kind of an idiot. Sorry, Harrington.”

You level him with a ‘you’re kidding me’ look.

“I’m serious,” he added, smiling a bit. “I mean, you play guitar like a beast. I don't know many girls who do that. Definitely metal. You’re fun to be around, really cool, definitely would smoke with.”

You had. Numerous times. “Eddie.”

“Maybe a little bit of a shit driver —”

“Eddie!” You shrieked a giggle, clutching his hand tighter.

“I said 'a little bit’” he teased, pushing back a hair that fell into your eyes. “Did you forget that time I had to try and shove your car out of the mud?”

“Yeah, but it was you who told me to turn onto that side road in that rain storm.”

“It was still a fun day, though.”

You sat in your car for hours, rain splattering against the window, waiting for a tow truck. The boy beside you, hair wet from the rain, his shirt clinging to his body. His chest rising and falling with the effort, the cloudy sky and the way he reminded you of sunshine even still. Remembered the way he looked at you, all soft around the edges, that little dimple in his cheek. So handsome it had made your chest ache with it — kind of like how it was then.

“It was,” you agreed softly.

Neither of you slept that night in your bedroom. Instead you talked until the sun started to rise over Hawkins, a quiet something glimmering in the spaces between the two of you. It didn’t have a name yet, no wings to give it flight, but there was something new there nonetheless. You talked about everything and nothing. Dreams, wants, fears. Silly thoughts that sprang to life in your mind, and he was a perfect listener — nodded and laughed and was wholly engaged in you, and you in him.

And you don’t think about Steve once, the ache of rejection dulling to a sweet nothingness.

“Wanna watch a movie?” It was asked after some time, when the nervousness of where you wanted the rest of your morning to go creeped in after your parents called upstairs that they were headed off to work, leaving you alone with the boy they didn’t know was in your bed.

He held you like that. On your bed, arms around your waist from behind as colors flashed across the television screen. Both of you were quiet for a long time. No words said, nothing to say really, until you rolled back over and looked up into his umber eyes. Wondered what it would be like to kiss him. You didn’t have to wonder for long, though; he leaned in, nudged his nose against yours, cupped your cheek. Asked you if ‘this was okay.’ A nod, and you sank into the mattress at that first brush of his mouth over yours, at the way your heart fluttered, something sparkly and beautiful flashing behind your eyes. He held you like that, kissing your lips, your jaw, your neck. Fingers tentatively explored as you sighed and hummed against him, over the slope of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the line of your collarbone. And then, with a gentle touch, he brushed a thumb along your ribcage, beneath a breast.

Testing, asking for permission.

“I didn’t come up here to hook up,” he said, but it was muffled by your lips against his, an eagerness drowning out his words.

“I know.”

“I…do really think you’re beautiful.” You tugged at the hem of his shirt, helped him pull it up and over his head. Ran your fingers along the scars there. “Fuck, I — you’re my best friend and I —”

“I want this,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss a line across his pecs. “Do you want this?”

Could feel that he did. Could feel it against your thigh, the thick heat of him through denim, straining against his belt and zipper. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” A kiss. “Yes, Eddie.” Another kiss.

He tugged off your top. You slipped off your sweats. He ran calloused fingers along your abdomen, over the slope of your breasts, teased at sensitive flesh. Watched as your head rolled to the side and a sigh spilled from you, feelings you’d never felt settling low in your belly. You liked it, liked the intensity in how he looked at you when he lowered himself down your abdomen, kissing your skin. Liked the desire aimed wholly at you in his eyes as he eased your thong down your thighs and tossed them toward your closet. Felt a thrill at the stare locked on the place only your fingers had ever ventured before this night, like he’d discovered hidden treasure.

“Eddie?” A nervous whispered breath.

He climbed back up your body hastily, thumbed at the worry line creasing your forehead. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I’ve never…you’re my…” You swallowed as something like understanding passed over his features.

His forehead dropped against yours, deep breaths spilling from his nose, hand holding the curve of your cheek. “Are you sure? I want you to be one thousand percent sure. Your first time…it should —”

Your hand slid up over his stomach, over the rapid thrum of his heart. “Yes, Eddie. One hundred thousand percent sure.”

He leaned over you with a laugh to turn Pip the Penguin around, facing the lamp. “Can’t have him seeing this. Feels like someone is watching.”

And you laughed, just like you always did with him. Just as you did when he slipped out of his boxers and nearly tripped getting out of them, tumbling forward onto your bed, just as you did when he crawled back up your body and blew a raspberry into your neck to ease the worried lines between your brow when you finally saw him bare for the first time. Something so foreign and yet exhilarating to you. Watching his nervous hands, the way he hovered over your body, the gravity of the moment finally hitting you. He readied you with gentle fingers, with a sort of pleasure that you’d only previously known by your own hand, and yet felt so differently when it was someone else’s inside of you.

Later, as you gasped and shook within his arms in the aftershocks of your orgasm, you watched him roll on a condom with blissful, hazy eyes. Clasped your hand in his as he pressed it down into your pillow, not without kissing the back of it first.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much, okay?” he asked, and you felt him there, pushing in just the slightest bit, face pinched in concentration.

Eyes widened at the feeling, so foreign and yet not wholly unpleasant.

Just…different.

“Is this okay?” He pulled out a little, pushed in. Pulled out, pushed in a little further each time.

And then, when he reached the point where it seemed your body wouldn’t allow him to go any further, you gasped and Eddie’s hips stilled immediately.

“Shit,” he breathed, dropping onto his elbows, searching your face worriedly, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shook your head. “No, no…you can keep going. Just go s-slow.”

His fingers rubbed along your cheek. “Gotta relax, sweetheart.” You tried to do exactly that. Smiled to yourself as he distracted you with kisses along your jaw, fingers gripping into your hips, little circles along your thigh curled around his hip.

“Can you just, like…” You chewed on your bottom lip, the burning growing sharper with each slow movement of him within you. “Push all the way in.”

“It’ll hurt,” he said, wincing at the thought of hurting you.

“Only for a second. Please,” you leaned up to kiss him soundly, nuzzling his nose as you added, “I want to feel all of you, Eddie.”

As he warned…it hurt, a fullness you’d never felt before. Stole your breath. He wiped your tears away, whispering ‘sorry’ after sorry into your kiss-bitten lips. There was a brief moment where you jokingly teased that you worried if he’d actually fit, even voiced it to him as he shook with laughter into your neck at what he took as a compliment. Because laughter seemed to be a theme between the two of you. You giggled with him, breath hitching when your muscles loosened and he sank in all the way, your body connected with his in an unfamiliar and yet wonderful all at the same time.

That first time was awkward, giggly, and yet perfect all the same. Your bodies coming together in an unhurried rhythm that maybe ended too soon because he spluttered out that you felt too good — a pretty praise that had you preening, and then pleading when he rolled his hips in a way that had you seeing stars, cresting a wave, the crash of your second orgasm stealing your breath away.

Now, it’s a little different.

In your apartment, your back against your new kitchen cabinets, your boy expertly licking at you like he might die if he doesn’t watch you crumble for the third time that afternoon.

First, when Steve and Robin finally left for the afternoon and he had you up against the door, your cheek against the frame, his name a mantra on your lips, his forehead at the back of your head as he filled you deliciously from behind. The second time, you barely made it onto your new bed — frame still on backorder — before he had you on your back, with you scoring marks down his shoulders. Knowing how to draw out your pleasure, to ramp it up – knowing your body in a way no one else ever has.

So different from the people you were a year ago, and yet still trying to pretend that the ties between you don’t grow more confusing with each and every passing day.

——

You’re twenty two and Steve has some news for you. And it’s never the kind of news one wants to hear from the man they’ve been in love with for nearly ten years.

“I’m going to ask Nance to marry me.”

“That’s great!” You blurt it out. You don’t even know why, because it’s a lie, just like the countless other things you have said to save face in front of him. “Really — Steve, that’s incredible! I’m so happy for you. How do you think you’ll go about asking her?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Turns out, it’s happening at Enzo’s the next week. Surrounded by all your best friends. Eddie sits at your right, watching as Steve gets down on one knee. As Nancy cries softly and accepts — as Steve slides a ring up onto her knuckle, thumb brushing against the back of her sparkling solitaire diamond.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt quite like you thought it might. There’s an ache, sure. A feeling of loss that you always feel when it comes to Steve. Though when you turn your head and look at Eddie, and he squeezes your hand in his, there’s peace there.

That’s a newer development. Just as him staying over for days on end is, leaving things of his in your drawers, using your shower. You’re best friends who sleep together and spend all their extra time together, and yet there’s this limbo of where you are and if this is ever going anywhere that neither of you seems keen on opening up to talk about.

Steve finds you later that night, standing outside overlooking the restaurant’s garden. A freshly filled champagne flute rests in your hand. Eddie is inside with Robin, Nancy and the rest of your friends, laughing at the bar where you left them. But out here the world seems quieter. The stars twinkle brighter. Hawkins seems to rest, even though there’s a disquiet in your mind.

“That was a beautiful proposal,” you tell him, turning to rest your back against the railing. He joins you there, elbow leaning onto the metal, his own glass filled with an amber liquid shifting as he moves to get comfortable. “Really. I’m so proud of you guys. You deserve all the happiness in the world after all the hell we’ve been through as a group.”

“You’re in the wedding party, you know?” he chuckles, and you never doubted it. “You and Robin kind of both have to share the title of ‘best man.’”

“As long as we have matching outfits, I’m in,” you giggle airily, head tilting back to look up at the sky.

“You’re in your head a bit,” Steve says, like he knows, because he does.

He knows everything about you.

Except for one thing.

“I’m okay,” you lie, taking a sip of your drink, “just been a long night. We’re getting older, you know? I can’t party like we used to.”

He narrows his eyes, because you’re twenty two and full of shit.

“So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact you and Eddie are seeing each other?”

“We’re not.”

Not a lie. ‘Seeing’ would imply that your relationship is going somewhere. What you and Eddie have been doing…what you are doing…it has no beginning and no end, but there’s an awareness that at any point either of you might meet someone else and move on.

Lately that thought hurts. Not sure what to do with that.

“Okay…having sex then.”

“Why do you have to say it like that?” You grimace. “It’s weird coming from you.”

“Oh, like we haven't discussed my sex life in thorough detail –”

“Yeah, and I can tell you, as someone who has lived through it, that wasn’t fun either.”

He continues, ignoring you, “Gotta say, kind of feels shitty that you didn’t tell me about it.”

“There’s nothing to ‘tell,’” you say, shifting to look at him. “We hooked up…and then kept hooking up. We hook up, it’s what we do. It’s all we do, actually. I mean, not all we do. We have to breathe and eat sometimes, and we are also friends –”

“Friends who f –”

“Steve Harrington, enough out of you, you child.” There’s a bite to your tone, but no bark. He smirks at you, a cheeky, proud-looking thing that would have made you mourn years ago, but makes you feel a little smug now. Maybe time truly does heal wounds. “How do you even know?”

“When Nancy and I were over at your place last weekend, we realized I forgot my jacket and I, uh, heard you guys.”

Horror seeps into your blood. You wish the ground would open up right now. Swallow you whole. Wish a black hole would suck you up, never to be seen again. “I could have been doing a workout video.”

He grins, and you contemplate shoving him over the railing, but Hopper’s inside and you don’t really feel like facing jail time for murdering your best friend on what should be the happiest day of his life. “Do you always moan Eddie’s name during your workouts?”

Cheeks burning, you splutter, “Maybe I do.”

“So how long has this been going on?” Steve asks, choosing to once again ignore your attempts at redirecting the conversation.

“My twenty-first birthday. We went back to my place,” you tell him, quickly amending, “technically it was the next day. We…talked the whole night. It felt right.”

It was the perfect first time, you decided long ago now. And then that second time, after you’d both passed out, and you climbed on top of him, asking him to show you what he liked, before you ended up skipping your college classes in favor of spending the whole day exploring each other’s bodies.

“That was a…shit day,” he says, and it sounds sad. You never talk about that day. After you told him you loved him, it was almost like both of you had an unspoken agreement in place to just never breathe life into it again. Hearing him acknowledge it now…you don’t really know how you feel about it. “I’m sorry for that, again. I just –”

“It’s in the past,” you reassure him, offering a smile. “We can’t help who we fall in love with.” You know that now.

“So he met Pip the Penguin?”

You shove him. “Yes, he did. And we’ve sort of been – doing this ever since.”

“You love him,” Steve says, like it’s not even a question. At your arched brows, he repeats, “You love him.”

It’s a silly notion, you want to tell him earnestly. Though the more you think on it, the more you can see his words have some merit. For years Steve’s been the object of your affection, and suddenly his relationship with Nancy hurts less, you can be around him without feeling like there’s a raw, bleeding wound in your chest. You always accredited it to getting used to knowing this isn’t something that’s going to change. Yet as you picture Eddie's face in your mind, a coy smile tugs at your lips.

Steve grins. “See?”

“How do you know?” Disbelief imbues your words. It can’t be this simple, can it? To simplify the feelings with the word ‘love.’ An emotion that seems so big and so scary.

“I know what you look like when you’re in love,” he says, mouth tugging southward a bit over how he knows. He makes his way over to the door leading inside, needing to get back to his party. His eyes are soft. “It doesn’t take a scientist to define the way you look at him.”

He leaves you with your thoughts.

You nearly crumble with the weight of them.

——

Eddie’s not himself. You spend the day with Steve and Nancy, working on wedding planning. At one point, the guys end up stumbling into the bridal boutique where Nancy’s standing on a pedestal in a beautiful gown, her veil a billowing sprawl of lace behind her. She’s gorgeous, not that you ever doubted she would make a beautiful bride.

Later that night, Eddie fucks you like he’s trying to forget. Fingers curled tight around your wrists, no words of affection pouring from him, not like they usually do. He’s quiet and when he spills into you, you roll over onto your side and cry.

He tries to console you. A hand splays over your bicep, his mouth at your shoulder. He hadn’t even bothered to undress you tenderly like he usually does. It had been frantic and hurried and it feels like you’re an exposed nerve now, the pain throbbing in your chest.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” It’s another new thing. A nickname for when you’re alone. A term of endearment you wish he would just take back now.

“I feel like you weren’t even here just now. Toward the end,” you whimper, rolling over, lip wobbling.

“No no no,” he coos, kissing along your brow, trying to soak up the blood seeping from your invisible wounds, “hey — hey, baby, I —”

“You were trying to forget.” You tug your blankets up around your shoulders, covering yourself.

“It was a hard day —”

“But I’m right here!” you cry out, launching yourself out of the bed, eyes burning as you whirl on him. “I’m right here. I’ve been here. We’re…this isn’t right, Eddie. It hasn’t been for a long time. Can’t you see that? You just fucked me because you saw Nancy in a wedding dress.”

“That’s not —”

“I think we need to stop this.” His mouth settles into a firm line, eyes rounding as the words slam down on him like a ton of bricks. “Put a pin in it. Call it. Give it a time of death. I just can’t do this anymore. It’s changed for me. It’s not ‘just sex’ anymore.”

“It’s never been ‘just sex’ with us,” he argues.

Eddie climbs out of bed. Tugs on his boxers, tries to console you with soothing hands on your arms. Resolute in your decision, you take a step back, head shaking a bit.

“I’m…” A pause.

After your conversation with Steve some months ago now, you really took the time to think about his words. The realization you’ve fallen in love with Eddie slowly over time. The man who weaved his way into your life so seamlessly on a day you needed him the most.

Eddie, who snores beside you in bed most nights and wakes you with endless kisses along your cheeks, because he wants you to smile first thing every morning. Eddie, who always forgets to separate his lights from his darks every time he does his laundry, so you started doing yours together. Eddie, who you spend every Friday night on your couch with, a pizza and a joint between you, punctuated by soft kisses and endless cuddling as you watch your favorite movies together. He’s become a staple in everyday life; a constant, a rock, an anchor.

You can’t quite pinpoint when it happened. When friendship changed into something more, but it had, and you couldn’t stop the free fall once you were on the edge of the cliff.

This love is also painful too. It’s knowing for a long time the two of you used sex as a way to run from your problems. Had relied on one another to find solace. It’s realizing that, though you want nothing more than to curl your arms around his waist and hold him for the rest of the night, that’s actually the last thing either of you need right now.

“I think you should stay at your apartment tonight,” you tell him, your voice a little hollow. Cold. Eyes downcast. “I think we need some time to cool off, and I think we need to do it separately.”

Eddie swallows thickly. His voice breaks as he chokes out, “Yeah…okay.”

“I love you,” you tell him, stare him straight in the eye as you do so. His breath shudders out of him. “And I think you love me too, but I don’t want you to say it back. I want you to say it when you can fully mean it. But I can’t do this…half version of love I’m getting now. I want the full thing, we both deserve the full thing.”

He tips your chin up. Kisses you. The first tears spill from your eyes, and when you open your eyes, there are tears in his eyes too.

“Fuck,” he rasps, folding his arms around your waist, holding you close as you both break.

Never really together, and yet it’s the worst break up. It cleaves you right down the middle. Leaves you in two pieces, where one belongs to Eddie and you don’t know that you’ll ever get it back. The man wound so deeply in your veins now he’ll likely remain there forever.

You want him to be — just not now.

Not in this capacity, not like this.

You want that earth shattering, ground shaking, immeasurable kind of love. The kind that extends beyond stars and space. Love that transcends time and follows you even in death at the end of it all.

You’d rather have all of Eddie instead of this, even if it means losing him for now.

There’s that saying, albeit cliche, that if something is meant for you, you need to let it go. If it comes back, it was always yours.

In actuality it’s scary — letting him go.

But you trust it’s the right thing. Trust that it’s the best thing for the health of what’s already here, even when every atom and cell in your body wants to fight against what it innately knows is best for it.

Eddie opens his mouth to speak. Thinks better of the words he’s going to say. Instead kisses you on the forehead three times.

I. Love. You.

“I’ll —” He stumbles over the words. Know that he means to say ‘I’ll see you soon,’ but neither of you knows if that’s true.

Sometimes there are no words. Sometimes you simply need to lean up on your toes and kiss him for what might very well be the last time. Tears spill down your cheeks and his. Little fractures. Glittering reminders of beautiful memories made in the time spent together.

He packs a bag and hikes his things over his shoulder. Exits the door you’ve watched him walk in so many times that the thought of never seeing him pass through again makes you want to shatter all over again.

And when he blows you a final kiss on the way out, you do.

——

“So you…ended things?”

Steve tries to understand, your head in his lap, heart in your throat as you bleed love all over your living room floor. It hasn’t stopped since Eddie left. Since you picked up the phone and dialed a number you’d never forget and sobbed out a broken, “Steve.”

There are no words needed to be said. In the background you hear the rustle of keys, and then he’s at your doorstep fifteen minutes later, ready with his arms open for you to fall into. And now you’re here.

He lets you cry. He lets you sob against the pillow on his lap until your eyes are puffy and you’re reduced to hiccuped breaths. Doesn’t judge you for it, offers comfort, understands. He lost Nancy for a while, too. Gets it.

“Staying together in the way we are now isn’t healthy,” you tell him, woodenly, “it’d kill us. I love him, and I know he loves me, but this is what we need right now. Time and space and — and I already miss him so much and it hurts, Steve.”

“Kind of like a limb torn off, right?”

“Maybe not that dramatic?”

“Heart ripped out then?” he amends, huffing a laugh.

“Yeah,” you sob, “that.”

“Hey?” He whispers, and you lift yourself up to look at him. Crumple all over again as he coos, “Honey,” pulling you into his arms. “I know it doesn’t look like it right now, but it’s going to get better, okay?”

“Promise?”

He drops a kiss to the crown of your head. “I promise.”

Everything feels like it’s ending. But one day turns into two, and then two into three. Suddenly it’s a week, and then a month, and without him, the earth turns. The leaves change. The sun rises and falls every day. The ground withers as winter comes and passes, and the flowers bloom in spring. Without him, children still giggle in the park as you rush along on a run. You meet up with friends, deflect advances from men and women at bars — tell them you’re taken, don’t know why — try to live. Try to heal because it’s what you promised Eddie you would do.

Life continues, you miss Eddie because you’ll always miss him, but you don’t see him.

For seven months.

Nancy and Steve make it happen. Coordinate your schedules in a way that allows you both the time you need.

The night before the wedding, after the wedding rehearsal dinner, you invite everyone back to your family’s lake house. You took it for the weekend, just to have some time away after what you’re sure is to be a busy weekend. Wanted to catch up on some reading, wake up to the familiar sounds of birds chirping and the water gurgling.

Eddie stares at you from across the living room, beer in his hand. Watches you like one would watch a show and it has your heart twirling, stomach churning, fingers twitching around the stem of your wine glass.

It’s fleeting. A brief moment before Nancy asks Eddie to help her with something in the other room, and he rushes after her. Robin leans back against the pillows she’s piled up against the couch, her girlfriend, Vickie, beside her, both eying you curiously, “What’s that all about?”

“Nothing,” you mutter absently, sipping at your champagne.

“They used to hook up,” Steve explains, shrugging. “But then they fooled around and fell in love. Just like the song. You know how it goes, ‘fooled around and fell in loveeee.’”

“Steve!”

“What? You were going to tell her in a second. I could see it on your face.”

You blanch. “I mean, yes. But you didn’t have to just spill it out there for the whole world to hear.” You swallow. “Yes, we…were together for a bit but then I ended things. It's been over seven months now.”

“Wow,” Robin breathes out, throwing back the rest of her drink, “so, uh, the smoldering looks Eddie is throwing your way?”

“They’re not smoldering looks,” you argue, cheeks burning, “and if there are, it’s probably just because this is the first time we’ve seen each other in months.”

“Can’t believe none of you assholes told me about this,” Robin huffs out, head shaking. “Does Nancy know?”

“Eddie is her best friend,” Steve says flatly.

“So yes,” Robin concedes. “You’re going to give me grays.”

“You’re only twenty three,” you remind her, and Vickie pins you with a ‘just let her be dramatic’ sort of look.

“I’m just — my best friend was in love with my other best friend. And now the same best friend is sleeping with my other best friend. And those best friends are now acting like a bunch of idiots because they can’t get their shit together and just fall in love and I’m supposed to act like this is all normal?! Just casual, typical Friday night conversation before my other best friend’s wedding to my other best friend —”

“That was…not at all confusing. Nope,” Steve mumbles. Vickie smacks his arm, because there’s a shuffle by the door and Nancy and Eddie appear once more, another log for the crackling fire perched in Eddie’s elbow.

The chatter in the room dissolves after that, as Steve and Nancy make their way upstairs to the room they’re taking for the night. Robin and Vickie have the guest room, leaving you with a decision to make, stopping back into the living room after everyone says goodnight to find Eddie sitting there, watching the fire.

“So…we have one bed free,” you begin.

“It’s yours.”

“You’re a guest,” you remind him, stepping further into the room.

He doesn’t look your way, but you can see orange flames dancing in the reflection of his beautifully dark eyes.

“I want you to have it,” he says, finally turning to face you. Breath hitches in the back of your throat, your body’s normal response when he’s near, clearly not dulled with the passing of time.

“Okay.” You give a curt nod. “Here, let me grab you a blanket.”

He’s quiet. So unlike the man you spent over a year with. Regards you carefully as you move about the room, ducking down to grab a blanket from a basket near the fireplace. Your hand outstretches to pass the blanket to him, his fingers touching yours. It’s a lingering sort of thing. His fingers warm against yours, the barest of brushes of his knuckles across your skin. Electricity dances in your veins.

Then it’s over as quickly as it comes, the blanket thrown over his thighs, his eyes on your face.

“Sorry I missed your birthday," he says.

It was the worst birthday you had in years.

A laugh. “Sorry I missed yours.”

You heard all about it from Steve, but couldn’t bring yourself to go at the time.

He swallows, throat bobs with effort. “You didn’t bring a date for the wedding?”

No, and you hadn’t dated anyone since him either. Tried and failed here and there, blind dates friends set up, but they never went anywhere.

“Neither did you,” you state, as a matter of factly.

Unless she’s hiding somewhere else, and you feel your heart kick anxiously up at the notion.

“Just me,” he says, exhaling deeply.

You thank the heavens, or whoever will listen, for this tiny blessing.

He smiles, and it’s that favorite smile of his. The one where his dimples pop and his face brightens. The one reserved for those many nights you spent inside with him, laughing until the early hours of the morning, both needing to go to work the next day, yet neither finding it in yourselves to care.

“Look at us.”

“Yeah.” Your hand rubs up and down your arm, feet shifting awkwardly beneath you.

“You look…” His eyes trail over your features with a familiar fondness within those dark depths. “You look really good. Happy.”

“I am good…and happy,” you tell him, nodding. “You…you look good, too. I should, uh, head up for bed.”

His head dips, and then dips again rapidly. “Right.” Clears his throat. “Yeah – ah, early morning tomorrow.”

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p.’

There’s a pause in the conversation. A moment where neither of you moves. You know you don’t want to. Want to remain right here. You also know better. There were words said months ago, words with intention behind them. The need for both of you to get better, to get to a place where you’re ready for whatever this thing is between the two of you.

You’re ready, have been for a while now, but Eddie…

As you finally start to trek backwards, maintaining eye contact with the man who still holds your heart, he whispers, “I’m glad you didn’t bring a date.”

“Me too, Eddie,” you admit quietly, biting at your bottom lip. “Maybe it’s selfish, but…me too.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” He’s beautiful like this. Dark eyes on yours, hair a wavy mess around his shoulders, strands loose from his ponytail. Soft, in a way that makes you want to climb onto the sofa beside him and let him hold you, erasing all the memories lost. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Breathless, you feel completely and utterly breathless under this spell. “Goodnight, Ed. See you in the morning.”

And you’re gone. Slipping up the stairs to your bedroom, closing the door behind you, and placing a hand over the organ clanging away behind your ribcage. With an exhale, you rush into the bathroom and flick the light on. Your features illuminate in the mirror. Eyes wide, chest heaving, looking a little out of sorts. Your cheeks burn with the whisper of his touch, mind whirling at the meaning behind his glances, the timbre of his words.

Steve might be the first person you loved.

Your first kiss.

But Eddie is the first person you can say without a doubt in your mind you are in love with.

Even now, with seven months of time between you – and you don’t think anything will change that.

——

The wedding ceremony is a beautiful thing. Flowing, floral archway. A church that looks like something out of a postcard. Little mosaic windows, a gorgeous sprawling ceiling with high beams. Everyone they love is here. Family and friends made along the way. The kids, with their beaming smiles and not so childlike faces any longer.

Steve and Nancy recite their vows to one another, the words sounding muffled in your ears, because for the first time in your life the boy you’ve been looking at is finally looking right back at you.

Eddie, in a black suit, smiling over at you. Hands folded in front of himself as Steve and Nancy declare their everlasting love in a room filled with their loved ones. The feeling of his hand on your arm as he walked you down the aisle like a brand that lingers on your skin. Can feel it even now, the way his fingers would feel should they grace your cheek. Had leaned into that caress so many times, seeking the comfort of him.

You don’t even know why, but you smile back, thinking of one of your favorite days with him before everything had gone to hell.

You wanted, very badly actually, to hook up that night. He’d brought a backpack with him, intended to stay for the weekend. But when he walked into your apartment, a spare key on his keyring, he found you holed up on the couch, grumbling about how your weekend plans were ruined.

“They’re not ruined,” Eddie chuckled, dropping down onto the couch beside you. “You act like I’m this insatiable man.”

“You can be –”

“Hi pot, meet kettle.” You glared half heartedly. “Plus you’re a very active participant, and you benefit from it in the form of plentiful orgasms, so quit your yapping,” he teased, catching a little wince, the furrow between your brows. “No dice? What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“Period cramps,” you grumbled out, pulling your blanket up higher on your form. “You don’t have to stay. I’m not going to be much company like this.”

“One, I always like hanging out with you. You’re my best friend, you dork.” He flicked your nose, grinning when you wrinkled it in response. “Two, let me run to the supermarket real quick, okay?”

“Why?” Your head tilted to the side.

“Going to grab us some food so I can cook dinner,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, “and some things for my girl. Gotta take care of her, right?”

His girl. His girl. He’d never said that before, and something about it felt perfectly wonderful and also a little bit like a lie. You wanted it to be true, though. Realized you hadn’t wanted something so fiercely like that in a long, long time. Didn’t know what to do with those emotions, so you dropped back down onto your mountain of pillows and watched as Eddie quickly slipped out of your apartment in a flurry of black leather and curly hair, and slammed the door behind him.

He returned a half hour later with a bag of treats. Your favorite chips, candy, some popcorn. He got started on spaghetti and requested you pick out a movie. Oddly domestic for two people who usually spent most nights tangled in bedsheets.

Later, after your belly was full and the movie was playing on the television screen, Eddie tugged you against his chest and dragged a hand along your lower back, thumb pushing with perfect pressure at the base of your spine to alleviate some of the ache there.

“Is this good?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Perfect, honestly,” you hummed, head nuzzling further into his chest.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, don’t know who fell asleep first, but when you woke up it was to Eddie’s body curled around yours, his arms slung around your abdomen.

Wanting to do something special for him, you quietly extricated yourself out from within the tangle of his arms. Flicked on your kitchen light and started throwing some things together for pancakes. Your oversized tee shirt fluttered against your thighs as you worked, bare legs covered only up to the knee by your crew socks. At some point as you hummed along to the softly playing radio, Eddie appeared behind you, arms around your waist, his chest at your spine.

“Morning,” he muttered, pressing a loud kiss to your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay now,” you said, leaning your head over your shoulder to look at him. He trailed the backs of his fingers across the highest point of your cheek. Kissed you slowly, softly, sweetly. “Hmm. What was that for?”

“Didn’t get one yesterday.”

And it shouldn’t have made your heart stutter. It shouldn’t have made a liquid heat pool in your belly. Because the arrangement had always been the two of you being best friends who sought shelter in each other.

You kissed him again. “Better?”

He grinned, twirling you in his arms, hand catching yours. “Nope,” he chuckled, drawing you in closer as ‘My Girl’ spilled out of the radio speaker, “but if you dance with me I might be able to forgive you.”

In the morning light you did just that. He whirled you around and brought you back into the circle of his arms. Looped an arm around your waist to hold you close, your face against the curve of his chest, his chin resting on the crown of your head as he gently hummed along. ‘Well I guess you’d say, what can make me feel this way? My girl, my girl, my girl. Talkin’ about my girl, my girl.’

Eventually the pancakes burned, the room filled with smoke, and the fire alarm went off. You laughed about it, fell to the ground in a fit of giggles, your thighs over his lap as you both foregone breakfast in favor of eating ice cream out of a carton.

It felt normal. A little too normal.

Now you only look over to him fondly as Steve and Nancy’s vows draw to a close. Wish, as they walk back out the double doors at the end of the aisle once they’re officially husband and wife, for more stolen moments like that.

——

“Hey,” Steve’s voice calls from the end of the hallway, just as you slip out of the powder room. “I’ve been looking for you. They're doing the couple’s dance next.”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “I think you forget I’m single these days.” You pause, rushing over to grab at his tie, askew around his neck. Nimble fingers reach up to grasp at it, working the fabric back into proper place. “You go on ahead. It’s your special day.”

“I promised a friend I’d get you onto the dance floor for one dance,” he says, curling a hand around the back of your wrist. With a frown, he adds, “Just one dance, please? He gets all dramatic and pouty when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Go figure, so do you!” He narrows his eyes as you add, “no wonder you’re best friends.”

“I’m choosing to ignore you,” he says, suddenly — albeit dramatically — glum.

“Today is your wedding day,” you remind him, sliding your palm down to wrap around his hand, “you shouldn’t be worried about me.”

“Yeah, but remember when I decided you were my best friend at ten years old? I said I’d protect and love you forever —”

“We were kids,” you laugh, shaking your head, “we said a lot of things we knew nothing about.”

“Hey.” His hand frees itself from yours, only for both to rest on either side of your cheeks. Tears, unbidden, start to burn on your lower lash line, threatening to spill out. “You are my best friend. And I want you to be happy. It’s been seven months. Hear him out, see what he has to say, and don’t let this day pass by without at least giving things a chance.”

“Why, Steve?”

“Because I married my person today,” he says, brushing away a tear as it glides down your cheek, “and I think he could be yours. Look at me, okay? Look at you — too pretty to be crying right now. I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

Would love him forever. That kind of friendship never fades, never dwindles, never dies.

A different type of love than the one you once loved him with, because that spot was always meant for Eddie, even if you hadn’t always known it.

“One dance?”

“One dance,” you agree, curling your arm through the loop of his elbow he leaves open for you to take.

The reception hall is glowing in a pale blue. All around couples start to litter the dance floor. Bodies close together, heads bent low, hushes of whispers between partners shared only for their ears. Steve halts you as you step out into the crowd, and it’s then that the world seems to stop. There, at the edge of the floor, stands Eddie with his hands in his pockets. His tie is a little loose around his throat, the top button of his shirt open, revealing a hint of the tattoos he got to help cover some of the scarring there. And then you catch the tilt of his lips, the dimple in his cheek, the way he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the room.

“Go…” Steve gives you a little nudge and joins his new wife.

On shaky legs, you start to walk. One foot after another, after another. One two, one two. You count each footfall, and can feel the thump-thump of your heart, as every step brings you closer to him. Finally, the tips of your heeled shoes meet his leather ones.

Your head lifts, eyes catching him in the dim lighting. “Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he says back, unsure of where to put his hands, one raising to touch your shoulder before he thinks better of it.

“I’ve been told I owe you a dance,” you say, fighting back the silly smile that threatens to grow on your lips.

“Got worried,” he confesses, a tentative hand curling around your back, pressing against the middle to pull you in close.

Your body brushes him, and it feels like coming home after a long day. It feels like your whole soul exhales. Feels right. “Why?”

“Thought you might stand me up,” he chuckles, your head resting against his shoulder, “and then I’d look like the only idiot alone on the dance floor.”

“Look, Eddie, I —” you say, just as he says, “I missed you so damn much, sweetheart.”

There it is. The wonder, the questions you’ve yet to ask, uncovered in one sentence. The confirmation that everything you’ve been feeling, every longing moment, has been mutual.

“That day in your kitchen,” he says, quiet enough only you can hear, “when we danced like this was that first moment for me.”

“What moment?” You blink up at him nervously.

“When I realized how completely and utterly fucked I was because I lo — liked you more than I ever realized,” he admits, a little sheepishly, “although pretty sure it was before that. Look — when we broke up —”

“Eddie,” you interrupt, heart hammering away wildly like little hummingbird wings, “I don’t think a wedding is the best place to discuss this. And I want to discuss it, don’t get me wrong, I just think we should…keep things normal for our friends. It’s their day.”

“It’s been seven months,” he reminds you.

As if you could ever forget, as if there isn’t an ‘Eddie’ shaped indent forever etched into your comforter that you’ve stared at for every day since he walked out your door.

“And I’ve thought about you every single day for each of them,” he says, and it nearly breaks you all over again when you catch the longing in his voice.

“I know,” you say, a little hoarsely, “I have too.”

His lip twitches at that, hopefulness replacing the forlorn look on his beautiful face. Everything in you screams to lean up and kiss him, to put to rest the disquiet in your soul, but you refrain. Focus solely instead on the emcee as he announces the bouquet toss.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you tell him, shrugging softly. “You’ll call me? Tonight?”

Eddie grimaces. Nods. “Sure. Yeah.”

Walking backwards, you flash him a wave, trying to not inwardly wince at your last words to the man. ‘You’ll call me?’ There’s little time to linger, as girls gather around on the dance floor and Nancy turns away from the crowd, her back to your group. Steve looks on at Eddie’s side, the two laughing jovially as Nancy launches the bouquet over her head and into the sea of women.

It happens in slow motion. You think it does, at least. An elbow digs into your ribs here, a knee bumps yours there, a shoulder bashes yours, and, without even realizing it, the flowers thump into your chest. Robin’s shaking your shoulder, laughing in your ear as Nancy rushes over to wrap you in a hug. Steve’s grinning and elbowing Eddie, who is turning a shade of red you’re pretty sure a tomato would envy.

It’s just a silly tradition, you think.

Doesn’t mean anything. So you grab onto Nancy and Robin, pull them back onto the dance floor, and pretend you don’t wish deep down it did.

——

Your keys drop into a bowl near the coat rack. Your jacket is pushed up onto a hook, still wet from the rain that’s starting to fall over Hawkins. Feet aching, you kick those off at the doorway, breathing a deep breath at the instantaneous relief. With a sigh, you slip into the kitchen and hit the light switch, as well as the back light, and suddenly the wide open windows to the sliding door leading to the lake are illuminated. Your eyes trail over the water rippling in the distance. The moon is a perfect circle in the sky, the twinkly lights your parents had wrapped around an umbrella outside like little fireflies in the night, even on a dreary evening.

Another sigh and you slip over to the counter, grabbing a bottle opener. An unopened red wine bottle sits idly on the counter, and you snatch a glass from a cabinet above, pouring a generous cup.

You’ve barely enough time to take in that first decadent sip when the doorbell rings, filling the home. Eyes flick to the clock against the wall, read that it’s nearly eleven now. Maybe the neighbor’s dog got free again? Wouldn’t be the first time.

Another ring.

“One second!” you shout into the open air, placing your glass down on the counter to rush down the hall.

Through the peephole you see him. Hair stuck to his forehead and slicked to his leather jacket. His shirt is nearly seethrough. Droplets of water cascade down the tense lines of his face, his forehead.

“Eddie?” you ask as you tug the door open, head cocked to the side. “What are y —”

“I’ll call?” He sounds pitiful. A hoarse sound tugged from deep within his chest, like his words have been raked over glass.

You…there are no words. “Yeah, Eddie. It’s when a person picks up the phone, dials a number, and the other person answers. Generally they carry on a conversation after, if we are getting technical here.”

He shakes his head and water flicks from the ends of his wet strands of hair with the movement. “Since when are we the kind of people who do that? We’re the kind of people who just barge right into places. I show up at your place, you show up at mine. We eat each other’s food, share everything. Hell, I had a key to your apartment. I’d stop on my way back from the shop to shower because you always lived closer to there than my apartment. Gotta say, I miss that. And fuck — I miss you, sweetheart.”

He’s shivering now as you ask, “What are you doing, Eddie?”

He lets out an incredulous laugh, looking to the sky, exasperated. “Standing here in the pouring rain trying to tell the girl that I love…that I’m in love with her and that I want to be with her. For real this time.” He pauses, arms curling around himself. “And I’m, like, really cold right now and I wanted to have this conversation inside but here I am, trying to make a grand gesture.”

“I thought you weren’t a grand gesture guy.” You’re joking, but there are tears burning in your eyes at his words.

“I’m a grand gesture kind of guy for you. Only you.” His teeth chatter, “Fuck, sweetheart —”

“Oh,” you jolt, tugging the door open wider, “come in. I’m so sorry.”

It’s instant. As soon as the door shuts behind him, and he’s standing there sopping wet on your rug, his hands find your face and draw your mouth to his, claiming your lips in a searing kiss.

A kiss that starts off tentatively. Light. Teasing. Gentle brushes of skin passing over yours. Relearning each other, as if you’d ever forget him. As if you’d ever forget the mintiness on his tongue, the smokiness in his kiss. As if you’d forget the way he always loops an arm around your lower back to tug you in closer, bringing you flush against him, wanting to always be near.

But it’s not enough, you decide, as you work at the buttons on his shirt. Each one pops out slowly, fingers tripping over themselves, a puddle already forming on the ground beneath you. Once he’s free, you tug his undershirt out from his dark pants, fingers roaming over the soft of his stomach, the line of hair disappearing beneath his pants that has him circling your wrists with his fingers to pause you in your ministrations.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear, brushing featherlight kiss after featherlight kiss to your throat. “I want to take my time with you.”

“You love me?” you ask him, humming into his mouth as he walks you backward into the living room, barely making it to the couch before you’re clambering up onto his lap, dress riding up on your thighs.

“I love you,” he says, kissing your cheek. “I love you.” He kisses your other cheek. “I love you.” He kisses your forehead. “I love you,” and finally, your lips.

Your face crumples with his words, tears stinging your eyes. His thumbs come up to brush at the ones that slip down your cheeks, voice a coo when he says, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I’m happy,” you whimper out, “I missed you. Every day, I missed you.”

“You’re stuck with me now,” he chuckles, and you laugh along with him, liking the way that sounds, “I’m moving my things back into your dresser as we speak.”

“Promise?”

He sobers then. Lips turning downward, the wrinkle on his forehead more pronounced, his hands curling around yours and giving a squeeze. “I’m sorry. For that last day. I…my head was all over the place at the time. I was trying to figure out how I felt about you and clearly had some feelings still that I needed to work through with Nancy. But you — you didn’t deserve that.”

When you shake your head, he continues, “It hadn’t been ‘just sex’ for me for a long time. I mean, I made up excuses to see you whenever I could. Maybe I didn’t realize what was going on, but I just wanted to be around you all the time. And when I wasn’t able to see you and just…be with you…it wasn’t easy. But I know it’s what we needed and I’m ready now. I just want us, for real this time. I want to hang out at your apartment, do all that stupid couple shit that I can only see myself doing with you. I want you to yell at me when I leave the damn toilet seat up. I want to brush my teeth with you before bed and hold you every night. I want to do this with you, be with you in the way we should have been all along, if you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” you kiss him, long and lingering, breathing him in as he does the same. “I want it all with you, Eddie. I love you…I love you so much.”

“Don’t think I’ll ever get used to you saying that,” he says, staring up at you wondrously.

“I’ll remind you everyday, don’t worry,” you tell him with a giggle, sliding your hands up and over his shoulders, along the curve of his jaw. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Eddie makes love to you for the first time that night.

A slow, gentle thing.

His body crowds over yours, hands map out every line of your body, memorizing every detail he’s gone without for months. Kisses along every inch of you he can, whispering praises into your skin. When he pushes inside for that first time, your breath rushes out of you in a strained gasp as your body readjusts to seven months without him, mouth dropping open with a whine when he bottoms out.

It’s slow. His hips rolling against yours, body cradling you close, thumb finding your clit to bring you up and over the edge, trembling beneath him with a cry of his name.

That first time feels like a sorry.

The second, he pulls you into the shower, washing every inch of your body. The remnants of the wedding and him still on your skin. He’s sweet, all soft, fluttery kisses against your lips and shoulders, your spine, your thighs when he gets down onto his knees to glide the washcloth along them.

His mouth finds you in the shower, your head rolling back against tile, fingers tangling in his hair as he props a thigh over his shoulder to keep you open for him.

When you finish, you pull him back up to your lips, smothering his own moan with a kiss as you cup him in hand and help to guide him into you.

That time feels like a promise. The steady rhythm of his hips, the fierceness of his love, the strength of his arms as he holds you, his eyes locked on yours as you both bask in the euphoria of closeness.

The third happens somewhere around the time the sun begins to rise again over Hawkins, the rainstorm from the night before a wispy memory. Thighs slot over Eddie’s hips, his hands sliding up and over your breasts, teasing as you roll over him, the drag of him and the soft moans spilling from the man beneath you spurring you on.

That third time, as he flips you over onto your back and moves inside you so slowly, hands and eyes locked with yours — that one feels like a new beginning, a turning page.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the dawning realization. Tears he brushes away with sweet kisses, whispering, “I know, I know,” into your shoulder as he comes apart at the edges, your own release shattering through you like a bolt of lightning. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sleep intermittently. Both of you. The house is yours for the weekend, so you make the most of it. Lips coming together, bodies joining after soft sighs turn into eager movements of hands beneath covers. Over and over, like you can’t get enough — and you won’t get enough.

Somewhere around dinner time the next evening, you traipse out of bed with Eddie still sprawled out on his stomach, long tee shirt dancing along your thighs. Sock clad feet excitedly slide across wooden floors, fingers curling around the refrigerator door to pull out a bottle of champagne. As the cork pops, Eddie appears in the doorway, a white tank top covering his body, sweats hanging low on his hips. A tattooed arm comes up to rest there, the muscle of his bicep straining with the movement.

“Hi,” he whispers. Pauses, making a little camera with his hands, pretending to snap a photo.

“What was that?” you giggle airily, pouring two glasses, offering one to him.

“Just looked so damn beautiful, sweetheart,” he leans down to kiss your forehead, “sunset behind you, your smile.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle with those on his free hand. “How about I order us a pizza? I’m starving.”

You eat in comfortable silence, the bottle of champagne slipping away as the hours do. Everything feels saccharine and wonderful, perfectly warm, as he later tugs your hand on the way downstairs, deciding on a game of pool before heading back up to watch a movie together.

Eddie makes his way over to the record player in the corner. As the music fills the room, the lyrics to “The Way You Do the Things You Do,” meet your ears, a silly smile sliding across your lips.

“Are you a secret romantic?” you tease, snatching a pool cue from a rack.

“Only for you,” he muses, catching the one you throw his way as he starts to rack the balls. “I like this record, though. Reminds me of you.”

You lean over the table to break, not missing the way his eyes trail your backside as you do so. Balls scatter, a solid sinking into a pocket. “So…you’ll move in?”

“Is that your way of asking?” he chuckles, moving around the table to make a shot, knocking another ball of yours in.

“Well…” You bite at your lip, focusing on your next shot. Sink one of his. “My place is closer to your job. It’s bigger. You’ve basically lived there before…”

“You don't think it’s too soon?”

Your mouth pops open, wincing as he sinks another one of your balls. “I mean, I didn’t think. I just feel like —”

“I’m kidding, baby,” he swoops down to kiss your temple, “Told you last night you’re not getting rid of me. I want to do things right this time.”

You sip your glass a bit, relishing the bubbles that spring to life in your belly, sure many of which are thanks to the man staring at you the way he is.

“Your turn,” he says, gesturing toward your cue.

The next song plays on the record, and you once again lean forward, watching Eddie’s gaze in the mirror hanging across the way as he slips up from behind you, curling an arm low around your belly, kissing your neck.

Heat coils low, then lower still. “You’re —” A quiet sigh spills out of you, his lips toying with the space beneath your ear. “…distracting me.”

As he moves out from behind you, lining up his next shot, you snatch his pack of cigarettes free from his pocket. His eyes lock on yours as you pluck one free, holding it between two fingers, drawing it up to pursed lips. Dark eyes lock with yours as the tip glows red, watching you draw in slowly. As you exhale he snatches it from you, bringing it to his mouth.

And maybe you lean over again, backside poking out a little bit too far than it needs to, but the effect is him curling his arms around your hips, dragging your back flush against his chest as you reach up to take the cigarette back from him. Like that, you feel every inch of his body. Each dip and curve of a broad torso, the corded muscles in his arms from working with his hands for hours all day. Hands you know to be skilled, not only with your body, but with cars and his music. And he’s warm — like a damn near furnace, breath tantalizingly sweet against your ear as he kisses you softly there.

“Fuuuck me,” you sigh out as his fingers start to draw lazy circles around the tops of your thighs, dragging higher until they disappear beneath your shirt and toy at the hem of your panties, teasing, slowly swaying to “My Girl” once it starts.

“Always so wet for me, baby,” he purrs, nipping and sucking a line at your neck. He’s hard where he rests at your ass, and the urge to touch him has you reaching behind your back, cupping him through his sweats.

Eddie groans and you’re suddenly spun around, the cigarette stamped out on an ash tray behind you, your glass of champagne nearly knocked over. His hand grasps one of yours, his other loops low around your back, bodies swaying to and fro to the music, lyrics interrupted by the sounds of your lips meeting his. And it’s perfect: moonlight spilling in through a darkened window, your shirt dancing around your thighs, his heart beating in tandem with yours. You’re not sure when, or how, it happens. One moment you’re swaying with him, arms around his neck, keeping him in close. The next, you’re on your back, balls scattering around you on the table, his mouth clashing fiercely with yours.

You shove his sweatpants down, and he tugs at your panties. He’s bare beneath, and as soon as your underwear is tossed somewhere else in the room, he’s crawling up your body, the hot underside of his cock sliding through already slick folds, coating himself in your wetness.

“Eddie,” you let out a breathy whimper, the friction of him against you perfect and yet not enough all the same, “Eddie, please. I want you inside me.”

His eyes are on yours as he grips himself in hand, gliding his glistening pink tip along your center, asking, "You want me like this baby? Tell me.”

“Please. Please, I want it all, Eddie.”

“Look at us,” he whispers, and you watch that moment, that forever splendid moment where he buries himself inside you, closer to you than anyone has ever been or will be. “Jesus…” He grinds out through clenched teeth, pulling out slowly before pushing all the way back in, “You always feel so good. You feel like mine.”

“I love you.” You pant into his neck, clawing at his back as he picks up his pace, “Always loved you.”

You’ve said it a thousand times now. Watched every time as pure and unadulterated peace fell across his features. But now Eddie only holds you, whispering the sentiment back into your skin as his body drives yours further up the pool table, imbuing every roll of his hips, every thrust, with the emotions overflowing in his chest. You can feel it, the depth of it. The way he loves you, the trust between you, the promise he’ll always keep you safe and close.

You can only bask in it.

——

“Are you okay?”

He asks you again, as you stand outside that next morning, a blanket wrapped around your form.

The answer isn’t simple.

Then again, none of this has ever been. Not with Eddie. But you suppose that’s what makes it your favorite love story.

Because it’s yours. Because it’s messy and it’s different and it’s yours. Because you started off as two friends, maybe in the wrong place, in love with the wrong people at the wrong time when you first met years ago.

Or — perhaps, the right time, because in the end you’re here. With him. With thoughts of the future, plans for what happens when you head out later for your apartment.

To the place where you’ll start the newest chapter with him once and for all.

“I’m perfect,” you tell him, lowering down onto the swinging chair against the side of the home. Your fingers tangle with his, your body slumping over his chest as he gets comfortable against the cushions. He holds you like that as you trace patterns into his skin, trace over scars, over tattoos. “I’m going to miss the lake house, but I can’t wait to go home.”

“I know.” He drops a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers brushing against your spine. “Me too.”

A comfortable silence drapes over you as you watch the sun creep higher along the sky. As you listen to the birds chirping, the chatter of children. Later, it’s the ruckus of people launching themselves into the water, people fishing and boasting of their catches. And at night, as you and Eddie make one last fire and share a glass of wine, fireflies drifting around your head, you allow yourself to imagine a life where forever looks like this.

A life with your first real, honest, true love.

Someone who stares right back at you as you grin at him over the lip of your glass, who leans over and kisses you just to whisper he loves you into your lips one more time.

In a year from now you’ll be back, you in a flurry of pretty tulle and him in a tux, newly Mr. and Mrs. Munson, but for now you smile to yourself, ready to watch the next chapter unfold.

——

this is the first thing i have written this long in months after having the worst few months of my life. so happy to finally hit post on this one. i hope you enjoy, maybe leave a comment or a reblog. would mean the world to me. 💕

[officerrrfriendly]

WOWW!!! all the feels in this one, it was just perfect. You never fail to amaze me :))

[officerrrfriendly]

💗🌷🌼 ✨This is the you are amazing award. Send it to ten bloggers you think are wonderful or just take a moment to bask in your own awesomeness! ✨ 🌼🌷💗

Twin!! you’re the cutest and i love you :)) im so proud of you always! AND YOU’RE the most awesome ofc 🙄

[myspacebrat-deactivated20241005]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ top five favorite songs atm ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

thank you for the tag lovely @violettaskies <3

1. sugar {men I trust}

2. please please please let me get what I want {the smiths cover by deftones}

3. low {by sza}

4. lovefool {by the cardigans}

5. grease {by frankie valli}

no pressure 🏷️:

@andvys @babygorewhore @b-irock @bcyhoods @cooliestghouliest @corrodedcorpses @imyourdaninow @xxhellfirebunnyxx @reidsbtch @reysorigins @taintedcigs @take-everything-you-can @stveharringtn @melodymunson @succubusmunson @str4ngergirlw0rld @lofaewrites @ghostlyfleur

[str4ngergirlw0rld]

thank u for the tag babey luv @bimbobaggins69 sending u unlimited kisses 💋

༻ top 5 fav songs rn

1. void - melanie martinez

2. i bet on losing dogs - mitski

3. something about you - eyedress

4. ocean - elsa and emilie

5. like you do - joji

༻

no pressure tags / luv u babies

@stveharringtn @purplehazed-h @cinnamon-harry @mmunson86 @taintedcigs @trashmouth-richie @keeksandgigz @reidsbtch @chrrymunson @ali-r3n @munsonology

[joshlmbrt-deactivated20240719]

— thanks for the tag @str4ngergirlw0rld & @bimbobaggins69

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ top five favorite songs at the moment.

the view between villages - noah kahan.

francesca - hozier.

abstract - hozier.

let down - radiohead.

cherry-coloured funk - cocteau twins.

no pressure tags;

@officerrrfriendly, @slvt4jamesmarch, @fear-is-truth, @taintandviolent

[officerrrfriendly]

thanks so much for the tag honey!!

top five fav songs at the moment!!

1- Until It Sleeps - Metallica

2- Landslide - Fleetwood Mac

3- Bulletproof Love - Pierce The Veil

4- Sugar, We’re Goin Down - Fall Out Boy

5- Forget Her - Jeff Buckley

no pressure tags :))

@pinksirensong @joekeeryswife

[officerrrfriendly]

The Taken, 'All I Think About Now'

stranger things conjuringAU! priest!steve harrington x demonologist/clairvoyant!fem reader.

"And what did he say?" you poke nervously, leaning forward into your desk as you await a reply from the timid girl in front of you.

"Well he...uhh...okay so-agh," she groans, shaking her head before continuing "you're not gonna be pleased with me, well- you'll be pleased with me but not my answer to your current query-"

"Just spit it out, Robin." you shoot her a suspicious glare as you wait for her reply. She looks like she is about to explode into a poof of smoke, her face red and flustered with heat.

"He's on his way right now andhewouldn'tletmereplysoi-"

"WHAT?!" you would openly admit to anybody who asked that perhaps, at that moment- you had been unnecessarily loud and angry at poor, nervous Robin...who now stood frozen before you, eyes wide and fearful. She tries to ease your stress by joking "I would say April fools but you know boss, it's October!!...that and I'm not really kidding but- he's coming over because he's worried about you! isn't that sweet? yeah? that's...okay that's not- yeah that's clearly not helping you." she rambles, pacing back and forth around the room whilst you spin in your chair to look at yourself in the mirror behind you.

You almost gasped, an army of rollers currently situated themselves within your hair, a booger-green clay face mask piled thick onto your face and an ugly curtain-like patterned robe tied tightly around your waist, covering your person.

"Okay...this is-okay," you take deep, regulated breaths -just like your therapist had recommended - and turn to face your very apprehensive assistant once more, you question "Did he say when he was coming?"

DING-DONG!!

"About that..." Robin retorts, high-pitched as ever. She grimaces, bracing herself before you even respond.

"FUCK!!"

.•.•

You move at an inhuman speed as you scrub the clay mask off your face, not pausing to take any breaths. "Get off of my face, slimy bastard." you groan, using the flannel (or washcloth) to get the remaining contents off of your face, scrubbing with an endless amount of vigour.

Fortunately, it worked. You pat your face dry using the towel hanging on the rack beside you and quickly make work of removing the rollers sitting pretty in your hair. You knew you only had so much time to do so, as Robin could only distract him for so long. Ignoring the aching pain of ripping out the rollers from your head, you are onto the last one. This is the moment where you consciously decide that luck, is indeed not on your side today. It gets stuck, deeply embedded into the archives of your head. "Oh fuck!" you shout, slamming your hand on the bathroom sink.

The loud noise could be heard from the lower floor of the house, where Father Steve stood in the doorway whilst Robin rambled on about something he stopped paying attention to about ten minutes ago.

He immediately panics, as the loud shout is met with a deafening silence after. Politely moving himself past the dazed assistant in front of him he begins to run vigorously up the stairs without an ounce of hesitancy. He reaches the top of the stairs and calls out your name anxiously.

'Great, just fucking great' you mumble, tugging harder on the stubborn roller that sticks to your hair like it's superglued there. You sigh, deciding to not be a total asshole you reply, easing his concerns. "I'm fine Father Steve!! I'll be with you in a second."

.•.•

A short eternity later, you join Robin and Father Steve downstairs after successfully winning the fight against the tenacious nylon roller. And surprisingly, you didn't look like a total wreck...thank God. Now, you are sitting in your living room with Father Steve as you try to explain the situation at hand with the Byers family and how his assistance is required in this situation whilst Robin prepares some tea in the kitchen.

Notes of all different sizes and colours are scattered all over the wooden coffee table along with the polaroid of the young Byers child, smiling happily whilst holding a replica of a proton gun from Ghostbusters. The picture had been what had drawn you to take on the case in the first place. His smile held such child-like innocence, radiant joy...you felt anger in knowing that an evil entity had taken advantage of this blameless, pristine boy with a bright future ahead of him.

"I can see why this concerns you, I mean...this seems all too similar to...you know..." Father Steve mutters, hands clasped tightly together as he squeezes them, anxiously. And you did know, you knew all too well of what he was referring to. It had been all you'd thought about for months now, even heavier on your mind since visiting Maxine at the hospice. The sound of bones snapping, blood spewing, screams tearing through your earbuds and inhuman mumblings spoken from the tongue of the devil himself.

It makes you shiver in dread. You nod at Father Steve's implications before you return with "I'm going to visit Joyce, his mother, tomorrow to look at the house and possibly speak to Will. I need to gather some evidence to get permission from the Vatican for an exorcism...hence why I need your help. Please." You explain, tone rich in desperation as your sentence nears its end.

Your pleas don't fall on deaf ears - they never do when it comes to Father Steve - as he nods, lacking any form of reluctance. "Yes, of course. You don't even have to ask," he says your name softly before he proceeds further, "you know I'll come running whenever you call." As he speaks, he places one of his hands on top of yours- they're warm.

There's that funny feeling again. That one where your insides twist and slide about. It's sickeningly sweet, yet uneasy.

And before you can thank him, Robin waltzes in holding a fancily patterned tray you didn't even know you owned, holding three cups of perfectly made tea. You both quickly separate your hands from one another. "Who wants some tea, folks?" she asks in a fake British accent, raising her eyebrows up and down repeatedly with a smug smirk.

.•.•

July 4th 1983, The Hargrove Residence.

The wind swirls like a category 4 hurricane outside the diminutive white-painted house with the dull blue roof. Billy Hargrove groans deeply as he sits, tied to a wooden chair pulled straight out of the kitchen with some rope his father had lying around in the shed. His complexion was as pale as the porcelain vase stuffed with pink tulips that sat contently in the kitchen, blissfully ignorant of what was occurring in the next room.

Father Steve grips his bible like a vice, determined to exorcise the evil out of this boy. Lucas and Max are standing coyly behind you in the living room, holding hands. Billy's father Neil, furrows his brows, apprehensive of what's to come with Max's mother, Susan on his arm- shaking. And you...you are standing your ground.

A bead of sweat trails off of his forehead and falls onto the top of his thigh- staining his tight jeans with a circular wet dot. The inhuman-looking black veins in his arms grew darker- if that was even possible and he cried out, "Untie me fuckers!! fucking untie me now!!"

You sigh in frustration and walk over to the heater on Billy's right, dialling up the heat...but not without wincing before doing so. "Aaghhh! You fucking bitch!" and as he screamed, you could hear more than one voice spit those venomous words at you. The floor began to shake, like that of an earthquake- but you keep your composure. Father Steve goes to step forward with his bible- but you get to Billy first.

"No, you listen you son of a bitch!" you began to speak, leaning down in front of the taken one who sits before you, now face to face. "You are going to free this boy of your evil! Whether you like it or not, with the power of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit I condemn you from carrying out your devious intentions!" you spit out, with just as much venom in your tone and as soon as you uttered those very words he began to cry in agony.

This time, he doesn't look at you- he looks at someone behind you with pleading eyes. "Max, please!! You have to help me, you have to believe me, Max!!" he cries, his bottom lip violently wobbling with 'sadness' but in his eyes held no tears. Lucas steps in front of her, protectively, glaring at the boy bound to the chair in front of him.

You glance back at Max briefly, shaking your head "Don't believe a word he says, Maxine!" you warn. She gets up from her original position- leaning against the wall - Lucas grabs her arm softly, and she gives him a look of reassurance before mouthing 'It's okay.' She begins to walk in your direction. And for a moment, you think she's going to untie him...but she doesn't.

Instead, she moves the other heater and dials it up all.the.way. She looks at you and nods with sincerity- drowning out 'Billy's' cries of pain before moving her left hand to her forehead, swiping off a trail of sweat that began to moisten the top of her forehead.

The shaking of the floor intensified and items on shelves around the living room began to fall and shatter on the ground. You look to Father Steve and he nods his head, flicking to a certain page in the bible and you grip the bottle of blessed holy water that sits in the crevice of your cardigan pocket, itching to be opened.

But before you can act something unexpected occurs. Something sinister...the beginning of the end. Max is suddenly thrown to the other side of the room, her back hitting the wall on Billy's right. Susan screams and goes to run to her daughter's aid but Neil grabs her by the waist, stopping her. You're frozen in time and apparently so is Father Steve but not Lucas.

Lucas sprints to the other side of the room where Max was tossed and gets about halfway before an unknown force suddenly pulls him back. "No! Max, no!! Let her go, you asshole!" he roars in fury, storming over to the chair-bound devil. Father Steve holds an arm out to stop Lucas before he begins to read out of the bible. Max slowly finds her footing, standing up.

"I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, along with all of your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Spirit, by the coming of our Lord for judgement, that you tell by some sign your name and the day and hour of your departure. I command you, moreover, to obey me to the letter, I who am a minister of God despite my unworthiness; nor shall you be emboldened to harm any way this creature of God, or the bystanders, or any of their-" Steve stopped reading when he saw the horrified, pale look on your face. He turns to look at what you're seeing.

Max is floating in the air.

Susan becomes scared and tells Father Steve, "Please stop this!! I can't lose my baby!! Please!" she kicks and cries.

You utter to Steve, "Carry on, we have to get this out of him." as you pull out the much-awaited bottle of holy water, popping open the corked lid and begin splashing some at Billy. The floor began to violently shake and objects began to fly around the room, the wind picked up even heavier outside.

"-Possessions...they shall lay their..."

A blood-curdling scream rips through the entire home before a thud shakes the floor. When you look back at Max you gasp, feeling all of the breath fall out of your lungs. You run over the frail, weak girl and scrape her into your arms.

You look at her face, it's not a pretty sight to see.

One of her eyes had been gauged out, a stream of blood pouring out, whilst the other eye bears a long diagonal slash across it, the cut deep. She cries, "help me...please help me."

"It's going to be okay, honey...It's going to be okay I promise you that. Lucas!" you comfort, before calling to her boyfriend who you realise was right behind you this entire time. He shared the same look of utter, and sheer terror with you. You get up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay with her, okay? Stay." you give him a look of sincerity before handing him the bottle of holy water. "Protect yourselves."

The lights began to flicker in the living room. The shaking of the floor is so intense that it makes you feel sick to your stomach- but you know that that isn't the only reason.

Steve sighs in apprehension before he continues with the prayer- this time he speaks it with more fire in his tone, and determination.

"And by the power of God, I condemn you back to Hell!!" he demands with a furious yell. Just as he nears the end of his sentence, the old clock in the hallway outside the living room chimed four times.

The lights go out completely for a moment, but the physical darkness of the room was shortlived as the lights jumped back on.

Billy Hargrove lay limply in the wooden chair, lifeless.

His head hung low and his eyes, nose and mouth poured with blood. His throat had been slit.

So.much.blood.

.•.•

You hadn't realised you had been daydreaming until you clock that a finger is mere centimetres away from your face, snapping constantly. "Oh, there she is!! She's back. Hi!! we missed you...you haven't touched your tea yet, Psychic Sally." It's Robin, her tone burns with amusement but her gaze is full of concern.

You manage a dry laugh, shaking your head. Before picking up the cup of tea and bringing it to your lips, taking a sip.

"Sorry...sorry yes- yeah just got distracted, s'all." you lie, placing the cup down onto your favourite 'The Beatles' coaster. And if there was one thing about the people who had spent enough time around you to actually know you, it was that they knew when you were lying.

He knew.

He would ask you about it later, he had decided. But as of right now, he would remain professional. Right now, he was Father Steve- but after you've discussed tomorrow's plans...he would just be Steve.

A 'friend.'

"So...let's make a plan then, I thought it oughta be best to be more prepared this time because- well you know..." you suggest, face scrunching up in frustration at your inability to even utter words about that night. Father Steve nods knowingly, before smiling at you with reassurance. You glance back at him and realise that this is the first time in a while, that you have been able to properly look at him.

That dirty blondish-brown hair of his was styled perfectly into a short mullet, it was longer than it was the last time you had gawked at it- more unkempt. And even though it was fall, he still had that sunkissed glow on his skin like aphrodite had kissed it herself, and that smile- that goddamn smile. Pardon your French, sorry God.

Robins looks between the two of you as she takes a gulp of her tea, hiding her smirk in the crevice of the cup. She will heavily quiz you on this later. Why hadn't you both talked sooner?

The phone in the hallway began to blare out receptive 'brrrlliingggg's and Robin sighed, getting up from her spot on the couch before she turned to you both. "I'll be back, lovebirds."

You huff, trying to avoid the heat you feel travelling towards your face. He does the same, chuckling lightheartedly. You missed that sound, you didn't get to hear it a lot.

It was admittedly, very nice to hear, the nicest.

Whilst the two of you began to arrange meeting times for the morning, Robin made it to the kitchen to answer the phone.

"Hello?" Robin answers, twirling the wire of the landline around her finger whilst she anticipates an answer.

"Oh...um...hey, I think I may have the wrong number- I'm looking for," she says your name, nervously, and there's a silence after that ensues for only a short period before Robin intervenes. "Oh! no not at all, she's just in the living room...hold on," she covers the phone with her hand and shouts your name followed with "phone!"

To which you excuse yourself from Father Steve, who is sitting looking through the file you had written earlier that night regarding the Byers' case.

You arrive at the kitchen and thank your lovely, yet sometimes painfully annoying assistant as she hands you the phone and you say, "-Hey there, who's calling?" whilst propping yourself up against the kitchen counter.

"It's Max, we need to talk...like- right now." She quietly whispers, sighing. You stop leaning up against the counter and stand up, concerned. "Yeah yeah, what's...what's up?" you ask, unsure of what her answer will be.

"I had to whisper for a moment, sorry. My carer was just here- she helped me dial- doesn't matter...But it's happening again...isn't it?" Her voice wavered with fear, and full of solemn dread you muster up a reply.

"How do you know that, Maxine? How do you...?" you blurt out with a mixture of confusion and fear coursing through your veins. You hear her sigh on the other end of the phone before she shuffles around in what you assume is her armchair.

"How many times do I have to tell you, it's Max," she jokes, trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere. You sigh, not in a joking mood when it comes to her safety and involvement in the situation at hand.

She huffs... before she speaks again.

"Joyce Byers called me today."

.•.•

HEY!! sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, had a super stressful and jam-packed week!! but things should be back on schedule now! thank you all so much for the support and thank you to @stveharringtn for being there for me so much!!

taglist: @stveharringtn, @be-the-spark-bitch, @ravenhellfire86 , @kitdjarin1 , @sage-glowstick

let me know if you would like to be added!! i’m posting some extra bits today, like pictures of readers house, pictures of maxine’s home at the hospice, etc!!

[joshlmbrt-deactivated20240719]

CHAPTER TWO | MAKIN’ ALL VARIETY VOWS I’LL NEVER KEEP.

-> playlist; bug like an angel - mitski, let down - radiohead, headcase - elle coves

w; THIS DOES NOT FOLLOW FARGO STORYLINE, roy, mentions of abuse - physical & verbal & emotional, roy is a pig (obviously), mentions of early childbirth, sexual harassment- THIS DOES NOT GET GRAPHIC!, underaged smoking, i do say she - but again, i don’t describe that much so you can always change the pronoun to feel more comfortable reading! this is a longer chapter.

an; sorry that this is more of a heavier topic, longer chapter everyone! it’s a flashback chapter so i could describe some of the things from the first chapter - although not everything is described yet - just some of it! thank u all for the support on this series though, i appreciate all of you!

<- PREV | NEXT ->

Lehigh, North Dakota. 1997

Linda hears the doctors working around her, sweat forming on her forehead as her knees shake and eyes cut over at Roy who stands in the corner of the room. 

Her stomach still aches and cramps, the bruise blooming along her swollen belly doesn’t go unnoticed by the doctor who was working to help her deliver her son. 

“One more push, Linda. C’mon, you can do it.” 

A sob escapes her throat and she shakes her head, eyes staring up at the ceiling, the tears rolling down her sweaty cheeks. “I-I can’t,” Her hands grip at the sheets. “I can’t do… I can’t-” A scream rips from her throat, head lifting from the pillow that was wet with sweat. 

“There you go! Keep going, he’s almost here! One more push!” 

Roy steps closer leaning towards her ear. “Pull it together and push through it. I have somewhere to be.” 

A choked sob escapes, her lips rubbing together as her eyes squeeze shut as she pushes again. The doctor hands catch the baby, eyes shooting over to the nurse. Linda’s head drops back down, chest heaving. 

“W-why isn’t he crying?” Her voice was raw from the screaming, her eyes shut. 

“We need to get him on some oxygen now.” He places the baby onto a small bed, letting the nurse quickly roll him out of the room. 

“Wait… Wait, what? What’s wrong with my baby? What happened?” The doctor gives her a look, shaking his head slightly before turning and walking out of the room. 

She stares at the door slipping closed and the white coat disappears from her view. Her chin quivers as she stares at the door - her ears pick up on a small scoff. “If you would’ve just listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Roy shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have had to teach you a lesson.” 

A lesson that involved violence. The lesson being a swift kick to the bottom of her belly with his boot and a busted lip from his ring that rested on his pinky finger. The lesson resulted in her going into labor sooner than expected. 

She listens to the scuff of his boots on the floor as he makes his way to the door, his hand reaches for the knob. “Look at me,” His voice is stern when he speaks. She doesn’t look at him right away causing his brows to turn down in an angry manner. “Linda.” He snaps. Her eyes finally snap over towards him, unshed tears blurring her vision again. 

“That lesson isn’t finished yet,” He says, lips turning into a bit of a snarl. “Take a shower and dry up them tears. You’re bein’ dramatic when you’re the one who caused this.” 

The door opens and shuts behind him. The tears finally fall down her cheeks, shaky hands coming up and covering her face as she sobs quietly. 

As always, she was alone. 

And the feeling of being alone never felt as overwhelming to her as much as she felt now. Her heart breaking over again and soon she would have to mend it quickly before the devil walks back through the door with a sharp tongue and words that cut deep and leave scars in her mind that she would never forget. 

†

2006.

Gator was excited to say the least. He was 9 years old which meant he would be helping Roy more around the farm since Linda reluctantly agreed after he had begged after his birthday. 

The sound of the old pick-up truck rumbles up the driveway, Gators head turning as he tilts his head in curiosity when he sees another figure in the passenger seat with his Mother. 

It parks, jerking a bit and makes a noise as she shuts off the engine before slipping out of the truck. 

He feels a tap to his head. “Work. You wanted to prove yourself, do it.” Roy’s voice was stern. And Gator - the desperate feeling of wanting to hear how good he’s been and how helpful he actually is. 

How proud he’s made someone. 

He watches as Roy makes his way towards the truck, hands on his hips watching as Linda gets out of the truck along with a girl who was definitely older than the boy. Matted hair that was in a braid, a floral dress with some converse, and a pink band-aid over her left knee. 

Her eyes land on Gator. He gives a grin, hand waving excitedly. She gives a small smile but looks away, speaking to Roy. 

Dinner that night was fun - all besides the smack on the back of his head that made him recoil into himself and keep quiet, legs swinging under the table as he continued eating the rest of his green beans. 

The next day at school, he was by himself again, of course. 

The kids stayed clear from the boy who liked to play too rough without really ever meaning too, and his daddy was one mean man. 

His hands play around in the dirt, his pants getting dirty with the dirt that stained him. The teachers had given up telling him not to play in the dirt. 

Pink, sparkly converse stop in front of him causing his hands to stop moving. His head slowly slides up, eyes meeting a small kids face. 

“Hi.” You grin. You had just lost a tooth, a small gap in your smile. 

“H-hi.” Gator nods. 

“Can I play?” You point to his hands. 

“Oh,” His lips pursed together as he looked down. “I’m not… I’m not really playin’. Just gettin’ my hands dirty.” 

You drop to your knees anyway, shrugging as your small hands shake around in the dirt. “That’s alright,” You smile at him. “We can be friends.” 

“I don’t have many of those. I don’t think.” 

“Now you do.” You grin at him. He smiles, eyes looking down at your hands. You had chipped pink polish. 

“Can I tell you anything?” He tilts his head. 

“Of course!” You giggle softly. “What else are friends for?” His boyish smile lifts his freckled cheeks, his cheeks flushed from the heat. 

†

2007. 

Gator hasn’t heard yelling in a long time - his mother leaving suddenly in the middle of the night. 

His little heart felt strange. An unknown and foreign feeling that he hasn’t felt before - or maybe he had and he just doesn’t remember or maybe it felt different than the last time. 

And when he would be able to understand, grow up a bit because that’s what Gator had to do - grow up quickly - he would figure out what he was feeling, but for now, he found it a bit strange watching Nadine and his father kiss (Or rather watching Roy kiss her and she looked quite upset about it). 

The door slams in his face when Roy notices he was standing there - a snarl on his face as he stares down at him. Gator’s head rears back and he stumbles a bit on his feet. 

His eyes stay trained on the door a while longer before he’s looking down at the ground, making his way towards his own room and shutting his door. He slips into his bed, eyes staring down at his hands that had some cuts from the work he was doing today. 

He didn’t realize he was crying until the tear dropped onto his hand. He didn’t even know why he was crying. He was a small boy who still couldn’t figure out what he was feeling and it made him feel angry - the only emotion he really realized because he would sometimes get angry at a game he couldn’t win or when he couldn’t score a touchdown to impress everyone and his father. 

His hand rubs away the tears the echoing of his fathers words bouncing around in his mind: 

“Real men don’t cry. Sissy men do. You don’t want to be a sissy, do ‘ya, son?” 

†

2015. 

Gator had turned mean, but he almost always played it off as jokes. Especially to you. 

It’s not fun, it’s honestly heartbreaking and soul-crushing, but you put up with it because Gator has no one to turn to. 

That's what friends are for, right?

The bass from the music travels up your legs from the wooden floor. The graduating class celebrating the success and accomplishments they all had finished - even if some of their parents had whispered in the ears of teachers and stuck cash into their pockets while their heads were turned. 

Gator Tillman was one of them - and Roy had paid Charles to hold the celebration in his bar, sneaking him an extra fifty bucks into the cash he was paying him. Anything to get Gator out of the house and to get the vote of others. 

You had stepped outside, smoking a cigarette you had stolen from your moms hidden stash - she tried to be discreet, but after your father had up and left with another woman, she was jittery. Drinking coffee to stay up for her night shift at the diner and smoking cigarettes in the kitchen with the window open and tossing it outside when she heard your footsteps coming downstairs. 

It was disgusting, but you needed something to do with your jittery hands and an excuse to get away from the stumbling, drunk teens. 

“You got another?” You look over at Gator, nodding as you pull one out of your coin purse, handing it to him. He huffs out a small laugh. “Stole ‘em, didn’t ’ya?” He lifts a brow. 

You give a shy smile, shrugging. “Yeah.” 

Younger you would make a face if she could see you now, flushing under fairy lights all because pretty boy Tillman - your friend - was standing beside you smoking a stolen cigarette. 

“Of course,” He snorts, grabbing the lighter you hold out for him. You place the end into your mouth, cupping the cigarette so the summer breeze wouldn’t blow it out. He lights it, inhaling it. You listen to the sizzle and watch the tobacco shine orange. He hands the lighter back to you, watching as you stuff it into your pants. 

He blows the smoke away from you. “Thanks. Was gettin’ a bit jittery and claustrophobic in there.” 

“Gator Tillman? Getting jittery and feeling overwhelmed by a bunch of people praisin’ him for the party goin’ on?” You tilt your head, staring at him. 

He chuckles and flicks some ash onto the gravel. “Yeah. Sounds weird, hm?” He scratches at his cheek before placing the cigarette back into his mouth. You hum softly, sitting down on the step, kicking some dirt with your red boots. He sits next to you, nudging your shoulder with his. “What’s goin’ on? You been real quiet lately.” 

You flick some ash onto the ground, shrugging a bit as you take your bottom lip between your teeth. “Uh, nothin’. Just thinkin’.” 

“Abouuuut?” He tilts his head. You sigh a bit, eyes glancing at the moon. 

“I got into college.” 

His lips break into a grin, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before gripping your bicep. “That’s awesome!” 

“Yeah.” You nod. His smile drops slightly, a slight heaving to his chest as he tilts his head again. 

“You… you don’t seem too excited ‘bout it,” He pushes some hair from your face that falls from your shoulder and curtains your face. “Hey… Why are you cryin’?” He nudges your face to face, thumbs wiping your tears from your cheeks. 

You look almost shy, shrinking into yourself. “I…I’ll be leavin’ Lehigh,” His lips part as he stares at you. You sniff. “I’ll be goin’ to Westbrook.” 

“Where’s that?” 

“Maine.” 

His brows pinch slightly, hand dropping back to your neck, head shaking. “I… What… Is there anything I can do to make you stay?” 

Your brows pinch now and your head pulls away from his hand. “What?” 

“Can I… Is there anything I can say or do to make you stay?” 

You scoff a bit, shaking your head. “This isn’t about you this time, Gator. I don’t know why you think there’s something you can say or do to make me stay just because you don’t want me to leave.” 

“I didn’t say that. You just seem like you didn’t want to go.” 

“I want to go but I don’t want to leave home because it’s going to be hard. But I don’t know why you think you, of all people, could say anything to make me stay.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Exactly what I said! Gator, you’ve been an awful friend for the last… 5 years. You're the most selfish person I know,” You flick the cigarette onto the step and stomp it out. “You are only askin’ that because too many people have left your life and you’re scared that I’m doin’ the same.” 

His face contorts into something kin to anger and sadness. It was a low blow, you know. But you were hurt. 

You stand from the steps, shaking your head a bit. “I’m goin’ for myself - I’m goin’ ‘cause I wanna make something of myself.” 

“I love you.” He blurts. 

You stare at him, eyes wide, hands clenching at your side. 

He hesitates, but his eyes slip up and he looks at you. “I love you and I know you feel the same.” 

“Are you…” You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Are you bein’ serious? You had all this time to tell me and now that I’m leavin’ you spring it onto me?” 

“Maybe it’ll get you to stay.” 

You stare at him, mouth parted in shock. You shake your head a bit. “It might’ve gotten me to stay at one point, but not now,” Your voice cracks. “Not when you’re sayin’ that for selfish reasons. Not when… when you’ve known how I’ve felt for you and didn’t say anything sooner. That’s such a Gator Tillman thing to do.” 

He stands from the steps, flicking the cigarette down onto the ground and stepping on it as he walks towards you. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You always do this! You always… you always wait to apologize for something so mean you’ve said - something you should’ve said sooner, like this!” You point at him. “But you like to wait when you feel the person slippin’ away from you ‘cause you can’t handle change. And I do love you,” You nod. 

“But that’s not gonna be enough for me to stay because I also hate you.” 

His breath shudders a bit and he stares at you, head tilting like a hurt puppy. Something pulls at his heartstrings when you say that. Something about that word and it being said with your voice didn’t settle with him right - especially when it was aimed at him. He didn’t want you to hate him. 

“I’m leavin’ ‘cause of you. I need to leave this… this town and be my own person,” You wipe at your eyes, fingers poking at his chest when you poke at him. “‘Cause I’m so dependent on you and your words tryin’ to get you to notice how I feel, but I’m tired of doin’ that. I don’t know myself and I need to figure out who I am,” 

Your voice quivers. There’s more words you want to say - it’s way too much and too little time. “And I hope you find yourself too, Gator,” You let out a breath. “Goodnight, Gator.” You turn, walking away and towards your red car, slipping in. 

He watches, lips parted and words stolen from his mind of what he wanted to say to you. He watches as the lights flicker on and you back up and out of the bar parking lot, driving away. 

There was another person who left him, who had gotten tired of him. He knew this emotion that was firing up in his chest. 

Anger. 

†

Lehigh, North Dakota | February 10th, 2021. 

Your car park outside of the gas station that had been stuck in the middle of nowhere for a long time. You slip out of your car, slipping your purse onto your shoulder as you walk towards the door, pushing the door open. 

You peek over at the corner, checking to see if Ole Gary is there but it’s just some young boy, thumb scrolling through whatever social media. 

Your teeth bite at the inside of your cheek as you walk towards the bag of chips, grabbing some Garden Salsa Sun Chips. You glance over at the drinks, opening the door and grabbing a water. On your way towards the register, you grab a beef jerky stick before placing everything on the counter, giving a tight smile to the young boy who seemed less than interested to be there. 

Your eyes glance around the store that seemed to still be stuck in time - the smell, the way the aisles were, the-

You step away from the counter and towards the newspaper stand by the door, eyes glancing over the newspaper. 

‘Gator Tillman, Son of Sheriff Roy Tillman, Convicted & Sentenced To Life In Prison For The Murder Of His Father.’ 

“Excuse me,” The boy says loudly, causing you to turn quickly. “That’s-”

You cut him off. “When did that happen?” 

His brows lift, eyes glancing to where your finger points at the newspaper. He snorts. “Oh, yeah. Back in 2018. He came in here tracking blood all over the place and scared Tiff when he said he needed to call about a murder,” He nods, shaking his head. “Real basket case if you ask me. Anyway, your total is-” 

He stops when he hears the bell above the door ring and looks up as you walk out and back towards your car. You slip inside, turning on your engine, dust picking up as you pull out of the gas station, driving towards the Lehigh precinct. 

The brakes squeal when you slam on them after you park, turning off your engine and slipping out of the car and walking inside and towards the officer behind the glass. 

His head lifts up, a small smirk on his lips. “Well, hello-”

“I’d like to see the files for Gator Tillman,” You cut him off, uninterested in any discussion. You pull out your badge, holding it up. “Now.” 

Something about the way your voice was stern and face did not twitch made him immediately nod, buzzing you inside. You open the door and follow behind him towards the file room, ignoring the stares of the other men who would most likely cower in the presence of a woman who knew what she was doing. 

†

Gator sighs, the sound of metal clicking around his wrists. It’s been a while since he’s had a visitor. Dot visits every so often, bringing him a batch of cookies her and Scotty made. 

He follows behind the officer, stepping into the room that had other inmates talking with loved ones. His eyes scan over the room and once they land on you, his heart drops. 

You stand quickly when you notice him, hand hesitantly lifting to wave. It’s been a while and he looks different - not like the boyish guy you’ve always known and grew up with. 

He looked different than that night when you told him you loved and hated him at the same time. 

He slowly walks over. 

You could see the bags under his eyes. He hadn’t slept. 

“Hi, Gator,” You breathe out. “Long time no see.”

— I ƧEE THINGS THAT NOBODY ELƧE SEES/gator tags; @officerrrfriendly, @thecreelhouse, @mrprettywhenhecries, @marrowfrog00, @keerygal, @aliensufo, @halflifejess, @killerqueenfan

— some moots - message to be untagged!; @bimbobaggins69, @stevesxyellowxsweater, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @s6raphic, @southerngothicchic, @yourfavoritewitchbitch

— @stveharringtn 2024

comments, reblogs, requests, likes, & feedback is encouraged, welcomed, & deeply appreciated!

[officerrrfriendly]

LOVE OMG READ THIS!!!

[officerrrfriendly]

🌸✨💓THIS IS A TUMBLR HUG! 🧚🏾‍♀️ PASS IT ON AND HAVE A LOVELY DAY! ~♡ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

AWWW I LOVE YOU!! YOU ARE THE SWEETEST <33 HUGS BACK TO U TOO OFC