Just Us Two: Damian loves intruding on your and Jason's alone time.
Third time's The Charm: The two times Jason almost told you he liked you, and the one time he finally did.
Baby Came Home: After you lose your powers while trying to take down a partnership between Lex Luthor and Penguin, Jason and you confront your deepest fear — being each other's second choice. When the rest of the batboys lock you in the Batcave, though, the confession becomes inevitable.
How Can We Go Back to Being Friends: You hook up with your best friend, and now you don’t know how to act around each other.
Damian, You Are So Psyched: Damian came home from school yesterday acting off, so now it's your goal to cheer up the distant little boy.
Don’t Judge a Book by Its Leather Jacket: Jason has been telling himself he's visiting the little coffee shop at the end of the block for its cheap coffee, but it's his only way to see the cute barista every day and quote "Pride and Prejudice" at her until she falls for him.
Don't Judge a Book by Its Leather Jacket (sequel)
Not what you think: Jason went snooping and thinks you're cheating on him. Good luck explaining yourself!
A shear disaster: Your boyfriend is acting suspicious and won't take off his helmet.
Guilty pleasures: You cheat on your boyfriend, Jason, with the Red Hood.
Unexpected Guests: Damian finds out you're dating Jason.
Rough Night: Your secret relationship with Jason is accidentally revealed the morning after a rough night.
The Babysitter: After being hired to babysit Damian Wayne, you end up putting a masked intruder in a chokehold, only to realize you’ve just tackled his older brother, Jason Todd.
Making an Ass of U & Me: Jason didn’t mean to keep your existence secret from his family. At first, it was for his and your own protection more than anything; his double life wasn’t just for any average person after all. But, even after the whole marriage and settling down thing, he may have just forgotten to mention it.
Careless Accidents: You get hurt, and Jason’s pissed.
So This is Love: You show each other what love is supposed to be like (4 in 1)
The Gift of Truth: After figuring out that your boyfriend is Red Hood, you struggle to figure out a way to tell him you are aware of his “nightly activities.” When Jason finally introduces you to his family a week before Christmas, you are presented with the perfect opportunity to tell him
Pride & Prejudice: When you first meet Jason Todd, he seems to be nothing more than an entitled asshole, but as the seasons change, you begin to realise maybe you were wrong about him.
Good With Kids: You never really had an opinion on your colleague Red Hood, that is until you walk into him interacting with some kids.
The Investigator: The Batfamily discovers Jason's been hiding a long-distance relationship with someone who might be even more terrifying than Batman himself.
Are You Dating My Teacher: Bruce decides to cash in a favor that Jason owed him, and now the Red Hood- the most ruthless vigilante of Gotham- is chaperoning his youngest brother’s field trip to the zoo.
Who Do You Love: You're hopelessly in love with your classmate, Jason Todd. And you just so happen to be quite good friends with Red Hood. drunk one night, you admit you have feelings for Jason to your vigilante friend, not knowing the man behind the mask is the man you're in love with.
When She Sees Me: Your best friend Dick Grayson took you to one of Bruce's galas a while ago. When Dick finds out his brother has a crush on you, he decides to play Cupid.
Blah Blah Blah: Jason is angry after watching Wuthering Heights. You are horny watching him get angry.
Cover Blown: You and Jason cannot stand one another. Unfortunately. you both go undercover as a married couple, and that should'nt change things between you two... right?
La Vie en Rose: The four times Jason wildly preferred you over everyone else.
Kiss or Miss: A quiet Saturday at the shooting range becomes anything but when Jason decides hands on help is the best kind.
Can I: It’s your last year of university and Jason Todd has been in your classes, plotting on you. You’d promised yourself you’d make the most of this year, go to more parties, finally lose your virginity, and step out of your comfort zone, while Jason steps into yours.
Glad It Was You
Prove It To You
Hit Me
The Magic Words: You’ve been urging to tell your boyfriend that you love him and you finally do.
Ice Skating With Jason: Ice skating, jealousy, and accidental confessions... what could go wrong?
Scuff Marks: Your car breaks down, and you meet your best friend's brother, Jason.
Brother's Best Friend: Sleepover at Wayne Manor with a side quest of making out with your secret boyfriend.
Wait…We're Not Dating: For the entire year you and Jason have known each other, he assumed you two were dating and had no idea you weren't.
It's Just a Crush: You have a crush on Red Hood, and your best friend stephanie brown thinks it’s so funny. Funny enough, she introduces you to her brother, Jason Todd.
Delayed Confession: Jason is trying to confess his feelings, but you already thought you were dating.
Domestic Disputes: Jason cannot handle having such an independent girlfriend.
Random blurbs
Old habits
Revealing Secrets
I'm still right though
Jason accidentally reveals he has a soon-to-be fiancée
Interrupted Dates
First Time
Shy (but experienced) Jason and his freaked-out (but inexperienced) girl
Jason Todd who makes everything in your home kiss
Random Headcanons
My pretty, pretty girl
Collar
Jason has a wet dream while you’re trying to wake him up
Jason is insecure about his scars
Jason Todd is hungry and impatient
Dick Grayson
Sweater Weather: Dick just wanted to have lunch with his best friend, but he didn't expect you to show up in some other guy's sweatshirt.
The Light Behind Your Eyes: A week spent at Dick’s apartment leads Damian to discover what unconditional love looks like.
Hard to Impress: Dick Grayson can't seem to make you swoon, no matter how hard he tries, until he finally does
The "She's With Me" Is The New Gaelic Shrug (sequel)
Easy lovers: After a series of dates, dick finds himself desperate and decides that tonight will not end until he gets to walk home with a kiss from you.
Miraculous partners: Basically, a "Miraculous Ladybug" plot between you and Dick.
Territory, Marked: Damian makes an unexpected friend at the dog park, and when his older brother tags along one day, he takes a little too much interest.
Dinner Was Not Served: Dick had one goal: to seduce his girlfriend. He forgot the part where he should check for unwanted guests first and narrates his plans in very, vivid detail.
Stakeout at Table Nine: Dick Grayson just wanted a normal date. No suits. No masks. Definitely no Batkid stakeout at a fancy restaurant. Too bad his siblings brought disguises, drama, and a front-row seat to his love life.
Lightning Strikes Twice: Nightwing accidentally develops feelings for the anxious woman whose rescue has become part of his regular nightly routine by this point.
Whatever You Say Teach: Damian gets in a fight at school, and his favorite teacher has to set up a meeting with a parent or guardian. Bruce Wayne is away on a mission and Alfred isn’t picking up the phone, so Damian’s eldest brother has to attend a parent teacher conference. Only to find out that he has history with his little brother’s English Lit teacher.
His Person: You and dick have been close friends for years now, and that's all it would ever be, but after he snaps and upsets you, things change.
Random blurbs
Take him back, please!
Revealing Secrets
Interrupted Dates
Sleeping in his bed turns into something more
Damian Wayne (aged up ofc!!)
Near: He hates contact, except apparently when it’s you he’s inching toward.
Nepo Vigilante: After your parents die, you inherit their legacy as vigilantes, reluctantly stepping into a life you never asked for. Bruce takes you in to honor a promise to them, pairing you with Damian, whose cruelty and perfectionism push you to your limits, until one day, fed up, you choose to train with Tim instead, sparking Damian’s outrage.
When The Spite Dies: You were expected to quit after Damian Wayne’s first vicious insult, but fueled by spite, you stayed— only to end up hopelessly attracted to the despicable man and vice versa.
When The Spite is Desire (sequel)
The Heart Remembers: Damian's short-term amnesia from a concussion causes complications when he refuses to believe the break-up ever happened—and his missing memories dissolve all defenses and unravel the true depths of his undying devotion for you.
The Only Exception: Getting a list of everything Damian hates, you feel self-conscious about ticking the boxes in that list—and try to fix that, not knowing that you’re Damian’s only exception.
Animal Interests: Damian’s father drags him along to an old acquaintance's house for intel, only to find that her teen also has an interest in animal rescues. In other words, she has a rescued panther as a pet.
Who Said The Waynes Were Cold: Damian Wayne, son of Batman, grandson of Ra's al Ghul, capable of neutralizing a threat in thirty seconds flat, is completely, irrevocably incapable of speaking to the girl he loves. The solution: an anonymous note slipped into a locker. Dick Grayson finds it hilarious. Damian doesn't.
Random Blurbs
Interrupted Dates
Damian Wayne and Reader Get Domestic
Tim Drake
If I Was Your Boyfriend: Tim Drake had his eyes on you from the very first week of the semester. So now he’s praying for your (ex) boyfriend’s downfall, because God forbid a man openly plots to have you for himself instead.
Dairy Queen Closes in 10 Minutes: You broke up with Tim a year ago. Too bad he still thinks of you as his. Too bad everything he does reminds you that you are.
Random Blurbs
Interrupted Dates
Bruce Wayne
The Wrong Man’s Wife: The Justice League members think Batman is in love with Bruce Wayne's wife.
Like Real People Do: Bruce's wife goes missing, and the media and family are both in shambles. Bruce grows colder as the family tries their best to find her. To try and cheer him up, they find old video diaries from the couple’s early dating lives and witness a new side of Bruce.
The Watchtower's Worst Kept Secret: The Justice League suspects something is happening between Batman and Bruce Wayne's wife.
Seven Smacks: Bruce Wayne was a stubborn and fiercely independent man, which meant that his children were too. Unfortunately for you, that meant that scolding one of them was practically a moment to scold both.
The Bat's Wife: Some members of the league are still surprised by the way the Dark Knight's wife looks.
Oh, It's... Gold: Bruce made a small mistake on a gift he gave you, and everyone judged him for it.
Just Us Two: Damian loves intruding on your and Jason's alone time.
Third time's The Charm: The two times Jason almost told you he liked you, and the one time he finally did.
Baby Came Home: After you lose your powers while trying to take down a partnership between Lex Luthor and Penguin, Jason and you confront your deepest fear — being each other's second choice. When the rest of the batboys lock you in the Batcave, though, the confession becomes inevitable.
How Can We Go Back to Being Friends: You hook up with your best friend, and now you don’t know how to act around each other.
Damian, You Are So Psyched: Damian came home from school yesterday acting off, so now it's your goal to cheer up the distant little boy.
Don’t Judge a Book by Its Leather Jacket: Jason has been telling himself he's visiting the little coffee shop at the end of the block for its cheap coffee, but it's his only way to see the cute barista every day and quote "Pride and Prejudice" at her until she falls for him.
Don't Judge a Book by Its Leather Jacket (sequel)
Not what you think: Jason went snooping and thinks you're cheating on him. Good luck explaining yourself!
A shear disaster: Your boyfriend is acting suspicious and won't take off his helmet.
Guilty pleasures: You cheat on your boyfriend, Jason, with the Red Hood.
Unexpected Guests: Damian finds out you're dating Jason.
Rough Night: Your secret relationship with Jason is accidentally revealed the morning after a rough night.
The Babysitter: After being hired to babysit Damian Wayne, you end up putting a masked intruder in a chokehold, only to realize you’ve just tackled his older brother, Jason Todd.
Making an Ass of U & Me: Jason didn’t mean to keep your existence secret from his family. At first, it was for his and your own protection more than anything; his double life wasn’t just for any average person after all. But, even after the whole marriage and settling down thing, he may have just forgotten to mention it.
Careless Accidents: You get hurt, and Jason’s pissed.
So This is Love: You show each other what love is supposed to be like (4 in 1)
The Gift of Truth: After figuring out that your boyfriend is Red Hood, you struggle to figure out a way to tell him you are aware of his “nightly activities.” When Jason finally introduces you to his family a week before Christmas, you are presented with the perfect opportunity to tell him
Pride & Prejudice: When you first meet Jason Todd, he seems to be nothing more than an entitled asshole, but as the seasons change, you begin to realise maybe you were wrong about him.
Good With Kids: You never really had an opinion on your colleague Red Hood, that is until you walk into him interacting with some kids.
The Investigator: The Batfamily discovers Jason's been hiding a long-distance relationship with someone who might be even more terrifying than Batman himself.
Are You Dating My Teacher: Bruce decides to cash in a favor that Jason owed him, and now the Red Hood- the most ruthless vigilante of Gotham- is chaperoning his youngest brother’s field trip to the zoo.
Who Do You Love: You're hopelessly in love with your classmate, Jason Todd. And you just so happen to be quite good friends with Red Hood. drunk one night, you admit you have feelings for Jason to your vigilante friend, not knowing the man behind the mask is the man you're in love with.
When She Sees Me: Your best friend Dick Grayson took you to one of Bruce's galas a while ago. When Dick finds out his brother has a crush on you, he decides to play Cupid.
Blah Blah Blah: Jason is angry after watching Wuthering Heights. You are horny watching him get angry.
Cover Blown: You and Jason cannot stand one another. Unfortunately. you both go undercover as a married couple, and that should'nt change things between you two... right?
La Vie en Rose: The four times Jason wildly preferred you over everyone else.
Kiss or Miss: A quiet Saturday at the shooting range becomes anything but when Jason decides hands on help is the best kind.
Can I: It’s your last year of university and Jason Todd has been in your classes, plotting on you. You’d promised yourself you’d make the most of this year, go to more parties, finally lose your virginity, and step out of your comfort zone, while Jason steps into yours.
Glad It Was You
Prove It To You
Hit Me
The Magic Words: You’ve been urging to tell your boyfriend that you love him and you finally do.
Ice Skating With Jason: Ice skating, jealousy, and accidental confessions... what could go wrong?
Scuff Marks: Your car breaks down, and you meet your best friend's brother, Jason.
Brother's Best Friend: Sleepover at Wayne Manor with a side quest of making out with your secret boyfriend.
Wait…We're Not Dating: For the entire year you and Jason have known each other, he assumed you two were dating and had no idea you weren't.
It's Just a Crush: You have a crush on Red Hood, and your best friend stephanie brown thinks it’s so funny. Funny enough, she introduces you to her brother, Jason Todd.
Delayed Confession: Jason is trying to confess his feelings, but you already thought you were dating.
Domestic Disputes: Jason cannot handle having such an independent girlfriend.
Random blurbs
Old habits
Revealing Secrets
I'm still right though
Jason accidentally reveals he has a soon-to-be fiancée
Interrupted Dates
First Time
Shy (but experienced) Jason and his freaked-out (but inexperienced) girl
Jason Todd who makes everything in your home kiss
Random Headcanons
My pretty, pretty girl
Collar
Jason has a wet dream while you’re trying to wake him up
Jason is insecure about his scars
Jason Todd is hungry and impatient
Dick Grayson
Sweater Weather: Dick just wanted to have lunch with his best friend, but he didn't expect you to show up in some other guy's sweatshirt.
The Light Behind Your Eyes: A week spent at Dick’s apartment leads Damian to discover what unconditional love looks like.
Hard to Impress: Dick Grayson can't seem to make you swoon, no matter how hard he tries, until he finally does
The "She's With Me" Is The New Gaelic Shrug (sequel)
Easy lovers: After a series of dates, dick finds himself desperate and decides that tonight will not end until he gets to walk home with a kiss from you.
Miraculous partners: Basically, a "Miraculous Ladybug" plot between you and Dick.
Territory, Marked: Damian makes an unexpected friend at the dog park, and when his older brother tags along one day, he takes a little too much interest.
Dinner Was Not Served: Dick had one goal: to seduce his girlfriend. He forgot the part where he should check for unwanted guests first and narrates his plans in very, vivid detail.
Stakeout at Table Nine: Dick Grayson just wanted a normal date. No suits. No masks. Definitely no Batkid stakeout at a fancy restaurant. Too bad his siblings brought disguises, drama, and a front-row seat to his love life.
Lightning Strikes Twice: Nightwing accidentally develops feelings for the anxious woman whose rescue has become part of his regular nightly routine by this point.
Whatever You Say Teach: Damian gets in a fight at school, and his favorite teacher has to set up a meeting with a parent or guardian. Bruce Wayne is away on a mission and Alfred isn’t picking up the phone, so Damian’s eldest brother has to attend a parent teacher conference. Only to find out that he has history with his little brother’s English Lit teacher.
His Person: You and dick have been close friends for years now, and that's all it would ever be, but after he snaps and upsets you, things change.
Random blurbs
Take him back, please!
Revealing Secrets
Interrupted Dates
Sleeping in his bed turns into something more
Damian Wayne (aged up ofc!!)
Near: He hates contact, except apparently when it’s you he’s inching toward.
Nepo Vigilante: After your parents die, you inherit their legacy as vigilantes, reluctantly stepping into a life you never asked for. Bruce takes you in to honor a promise to them, pairing you with Damian, whose cruelty and perfectionism push you to your limits, until one day, fed up, you choose to train with Tim instead, sparking Damian’s outrage.
When The Spite Dies: You were expected to quit after Damian Wayne’s first vicious insult, but fueled by spite, you stayed— only to end up hopelessly attracted to the despicable man and vice versa.
When The Spite is Desire (sequel)
The Heart Remembers: Damian's short-term amnesia from a concussion causes complications when he refuses to believe the break-up ever happened—and his missing memories dissolve all defenses and unravel the true depths of his undying devotion for you.
The Only Exception: Getting a list of everything Damian hates, you feel self-conscious about ticking the boxes in that list—and try to fix that, not knowing that you’re Damian’s only exception.
Animal Interests: Damian’s father drags him along to an old acquaintance's house for intel, only to find that her teen also has an interest in animal rescues. In other words, she has a rescued panther as a pet.
Who Said The Waynes Were Cold: Damian Wayne, son of Batman, grandson of Ra's al Ghul, capable of neutralizing a threat in thirty seconds flat, is completely, irrevocably incapable of speaking to the girl he loves. The solution: an anonymous note slipped into a locker. Dick Grayson finds it hilarious. Damian doesn't.
Random Blurbs
Interrupted Dates
Damian Wayne and Reader Get Domestic
Tim Drake
If I Was Your Boyfriend: Tim Drake had his eyes on you from the very first week of the semester. So now he’s praying for your (ex) boyfriend’s downfall, because God forbid a man openly plots to have you for himself instead.
Dairy Queen Closes in 10 Minutes: You broke up with Tim a year ago. Too bad he still thinks of you as his. Too bad everything he does reminds you that you are.
Random Blurbs
Interrupted Dates
Bruce Wayne
The Wrong Man’s Wife: The Justice League members think Batman is in love with Bruce Wayne's wife.
Like Real People Do: Bruce's wife goes missing, and the media and family are both in shambles. Bruce grows colder as the family tries their best to find her. To try and cheer him up, they find old video diaries from the couple’s early dating lives and witness a new side of Bruce.
The Watchtower's Worst Kept Secret: The Justice League suspects something is happening between Batman and Bruce Wayne's wife.
Seven Smacks: Bruce Wayne was a stubborn and fiercely independent man, which meant that his children were too. Unfortunately for you, that meant that scolding one of them was practically a moment to scold both.
The Bat's Wife: Some members of the league are still surprised by the way the Dark Knight's wife looks.
Oh, It's... Gold: Bruce made a small mistake on a gift he gave you, and everyone judged him for it.
Jason x ex! Wonder Girl reader in the same universe, in the correct reading order:
Its a Bird, It's a Plane: Before the stolen glances, the rooftop arguments, and the slow-burn mess you and Jason fell into later… there was this. Young Jayson who was scared of meeting Superman for the first time and a very anxious wonder girl forced to grow up despite your age.
Death in the Family
Sympathy is a Knife: In which, you and Jason meet for the first time since he comes back from the dead || heavy angst, reader/ Dick established relationship
Staying Up: For a year, you and Jason have kept the lines strictly platonic even after that one ill-advised kiss you shared. But tonight, while you’re watching Jane Eyre curled up on him on his couch, the boundaries shatter || first time sex with Jason, angst, Jason is very insecure about his scars, MDNI
Tears in the Rain
ᯓ★ Part 1: Everything happens all at once. Grief won’t let go, and the past refuses to stay buried. Between the shadows of Hippolyta’s death, fractured loyalty, and stolen moments, some ties are too tangled to escape… even when the city is falling apart around you, taking Jason with it.
ᯓ★ Part 2:
Like Lovers Do:
ᯓ★ Part 1: When the steam clears, there’s no place left to hide. After a rough night, you find comfort in Jason’s arms under the shower spray. But this intimacy is dangerous; every touch, every slow movement, pulls the two of you toward a line you both know you shouldn’t have crossed. Again. MDNI
ᯓ★ Part 2: Patrols go wrong, you get hurt, the Outlaws come to your saving and suddenly you’re benched in the Wayne Manor with a Jason that tails you like a lost puppy. Amidst everyday batfamily chaos (ft Steph, Cass, Tim and Dick), Damian calls you and Jason out on your “totally not a thing,” which, apparently, makes you spiral so hard you end up in Jason’s bathroom getting undressed by hands that are way too gentle for ‘just friends with nothing going on.' MDNI
Planet Him: The idea for Jason's surprise birthday trip to the new Star Wars themed park started off casual, just you and Roy talking. And oh, Jason is so easy to believe anything when it comes to you to come running—okay well… maybe Tim and Damian helped a little too.
Go Gotham Knights, Go!
The Beach
Normal Girl
Baby Came Home: After you lose your powers while trying to take down a partnership between Lex Luthor and Penguin, Jason and you confront your deepest fear — being each other’s second choice. When the rest of the batboys lock you in the Batcave, though, the confession becomes inevitable || porn with plot, switch Jason, forced proximity, wonderbat chaos, MDNI
Cinnamon: Over cinnamon rolls and quiet confessions, you wonder what it would mean to want a life without your own blood on your hands each night— loving Jason always survives that choice || fluff, domestic intimacy
Training
All I Want For Christmas Is... My Family Time Back?: Damian doesn’t want gifts. He wants consistency. But, he has to learn how to ask for it without fighting. You and Jason, being the cause of this problem, have to help him sort it out. || found family conflict, Damian is jealous and wants his sister back, emotional hurt/comfort, crack and funny banter, Soft Jason, fluff
──────────୨ৎ──────────
ᯓ★ Collection v.2:
Misc. || One-shots
Wiped Out?! : During a black out in Gotham’s Midtown, you have to tend to a stab wound at home, exhausted and alone. Jason, sent by Dick to check on you, kinda breaks in. And you kinda have very romantic candlelit make up sex. Oopsie Daisy || ex jason, smut, MDNI
Oh baby, My baby: You want another baby and who is Jason to say no to you when you ask so nicely? || DILF!Jason x wife reader, girl dad Jason, breeding kink, smut, 18+ MDNI
it was supposed to be a meet cute. it was supposed to be easy. it was supposed to be Kori. it was supposed to, supposedtosupposedtosupposedto-
you're beautiful.
everyone always tells Dick not to stare directly at the sun. it's too bad he can't stop himself.
[inspired by One Tree Hill]
been feeling extremely appreciative lately of this community that everyone so graciously lets me be a part of, so I thought I would shout out some amazing people on this app <3 (in no particular order)
⤷ @athenxt
nessa! my first friend!!! that's my girl, that's literally twin. can talk about absolutely everything, and I lowkey don't post without telling her first. I was so happy when she started posting her writing, and everything she puts out is perfect. go check it out. immediately.
recs: among the cinders (series) - jason todd , the sun waits for no one (but I'll wait for you) - clark kent
⤷ @moonologyy
if I could eat someone's brain, it would be lisa's. each fic is perfection. also one of my first friends here. still let's me bother her about my little fics and life ramblings even though she is on slight hiatus rn. but lisa will always be the tim drake writer, mind you. GO SUPPORT!
recs: split knuckles you kiss - boxer!jason todd , when the spite dies - damian wayne , never gonna get your bitch back - tim drake
⤷ @starr-jazz
I could talk about starr for hours. the ideas, the thoughts, the actual fics THEMSELVES. she is who i wish i could be. also just all around the sweetest human being. and the most supportive. what would we do without her and her writing.
recs: there's no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin (series) - jason todd , counting crows - jason todd , I wanna ruin our friendship! - dick grayson
⤷ @crucifihx
SAINT! she is my freaky side. she brings to life the depraved thoughts that lurk in the dark corners of people's mind, and she executes them perfectly every time. giving her a kiss with tongue, yup, and she knows it too.
recs: popping your cherry w. jason todd , pantyhose pt 2 w. bruce wayne
⤷ @kryptidfiles
there are not enough words in the world to describe jae. i'm running out of adjectives. flawless, exquisite, impeccable, excellent. i use jae's work as the standard when it comes to write my own fics. everyone needs to binge the mrs. kent diaries series.
recs: midnight sun , give it to me , handle with care - allll clark kent
⤷ @brinawing
best friend!!!!!! the kindest soul!!!!!! THE BEST WRITER HELLO??? literally puts out bangers after bangers after bangers. she writes the best dialogue, it has me giggling into my hand every single time. must be hard carrying the dc community on her back like that.
recs: you're so vain - dick grayson , suit stays on - dick grayson , shotgun kisses with jason todd
⤷ @bloomcissa
another person that I cannot even begin to describe. between her fics and her thoughtful comments, she is a true pillar of the community, and an amazing friend. another catalogue of 10/10s.
recs: only you - roy harper , wanna be yours - Jason todd , you ask him out on a date! - roy harper
⤷ @nxbodysangel
another one of my dear friends. AND ANOTHER ONE OF THE BEST WRITERS??? noah has the best visuals, the best aesthetics, the best fic ideas. the way i go feral when she drops fics. thank you for everything you do. (also maneater!reader is the best thing that ever happened to me)
recs: subservience - dick grayson , pretty boy anthem - jason todd
⤷ @champagnesbiggestproblem
the cutest fics. the most humble person ever too. like your fics are fire, babe, you change lives. genuinely deserves everything and more. also can we talk about how her theme matches her username.
recs: I'm sorry, he? - jason todd , don't ask me to stay - bruce wayne
⤷ @trflgar
baby is currently under construction there are no fics to glaze, but still a beloved moot so I am including them <3
⤷ @kill3ill
another person who's brain i could kiss. each and every single one of her themes. always fire. the actual fics. they're always the perfect length with juuussstttt enough to leave you wanting more. her masterlist is full with a variety of fandoms / misc characters, have fun reading!
recs: dumbification with simon riley and recruit! reader , sex pollen - clark kent , alien! clark kent
⤷ @truestaim
gets through reqs so fast, and everything written is so delicious. so much to read. mara's collegeverse is quite often my go-to! I reread that so often.
I suggest just scrolling through her blog, everything is amazing!! search through her hashtag: #...penned by mara
⤷ @bat1nsignia
AMAZING AMAZING AMAZING AMAZING AMAZING. listen, insignia has such amazing works all around, but I'm biased towards her bruce wayne fics. I love her version of bruce wayne, that is literally my man.
recs: knocked out - bruce wayne , emerald girl - hal jordan
⤷ @patientofarkhamasylum
first of all, a moment for the theme. second of all, the coolest person ever. writes for the same characters as I do so im also biased here. absolutely deserves more praise, so please go read everything sarah has written, you will not regret it.
recs: decorated desire - jason todd , in the afterglow - jason todd , bruce wayne x sugar baby!reader
⤷ @batslvrr
new mootie of mine, but still dear to me! has a medieval au that i'm obsessed with and patiently waiting for the next part! <3 again, another writer who's fics are a good length, and know how to keep you wanting more! (also, another moment for the theme?? all my mooties are so creative and talented)
recs: for my heart and my sorrows, please be by my side - bruce wayne , simon never expected you two to meet again under such bad circumstances
⤷ @lilahthedoll
also a new mootie, and just such a beautiful and visually pleasing account all around. also writes for the best characters. simon riley, , dean winchester, rafe cameron, & dc content coming soon!!! everything so far had been phenomenal, and I can't wait for what lilah puts out next <33
recs: oh my god, sorry - simon riley , late night drives with dean (winchester)
⤷ @irisgrrl
another new mootie, and dc, marvel, and supernatural writer!!! she's amazing. each of her works are so unique and deserves sm praise. I can't wait for more from her as well!!
recs: bucky is obsessed with your legs , take my breath away - hal jordan
⤷ @kooriandr
and ANOTHER new mootie, but extra special because she gives wally the attention he deserves. need I say anymore? that is like doing charity work in a world of jason & dick writers fr.
recs: dick grayson x figure skater reader, using his powers on you - wally west , he helps you relax - wally west
⤷ @luviery
ANOTHER ROY HARPER WRITER. we need more of those. she carries. also just a sweetheart in general as well - and a new moot!
recs: ramen & love - roy harper , soft love with bruce wayne
I hope everyone enjoyed this! I loved making this, I love bringing attention to those who deserve it. there might be people I am missing, so I apologize. if I could say everything I wanted to, this post would be annoyingly long. love everyone tho!
All creepypasta works
key: angst(🩶), sfw(🩷), suggestive(🤍), nsfw(🖤)
Just because it's sfw does not mean it's not possible sensitive content, read the TW!1!1!1
— moonologyy, here! a lot of you guys asked for a recommendation list of tim drake, or other characters! I decided to do Tim Drake first, so here’s all the recs I could give yall! (๑>•̀๑) this will update as I read more fics/drabbles/oneshots; etc. of him!
IF I WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND - ✩ , NEVER GET YOUR BITCH BACK - ★, YOU GOT ME HYPNOTIZED - ★✩
⤹ @shisuni (phenomenal writer!! check out their masterlist, they write other characters!! if anyone else is a fan of the batboys, so definitely take a look!!)
COME HERE AND GET SOME - ✩ , DAIRY QUEEN CLOSES IN TEN MINUTES - ✩
⤹ @delusionsofgrandeur13 (big fan of their casual series and blastbeat!!! drummer!tim is my absolute favorite and I will wait forever for part 2 if I need to + they write other characters and fandoms, please check em OUT!!!)
BLASTBEAT - ✩★✦ , CASUAL - ★ ✦
⤹ @latedeparture (amazing work!! they have a bunch of damian wayne fics, but yall the way they write has me OBSESSED.)
DETECTIVE OR FANBOY? - ✩ , THE DISCIPLINE OF STAYING AWAY - ✧ , I BELIEVE IN FAIRYTALES - ✧
AO3 WRITERS (and their works)
⤹ SOTER (amazing tim drake fic, but if you love stephanie brown, they have quite a few that are amazing to read!!)
CIRCLE K (BACK TO YOU) - ✩ ✦ | I’LL BE THE DANGEROUS LEDGE (YOU BE THE PARACHUTE) - ✩ ✦ | I WANT YOUR HANDS, YOUR FUTURE PLANS (TO THE BITTER END) - ✩ | etc.
⤹ CELAMOON aka @crsssie (TONS of tim drake fics on their AO3, please check them out!! there’s some with less than 5k, or more than 5k words!! they’re absolutely amazing!!)
SAYING WE’RE JUST FRIENDS ( THINKING YOU’RE MY MAN) - ✩ | THOUSAND SOULS - angst w/ happy ending (read the tags) | I’LL GIVE YOU WHAT YOU NEED (TILL I’M LYING ON THE GROUND GOT ME PARALYZED) - angst w/ bittersweet or open ending | etc.
⤹ TIM DRAKE ROOMMATES AU - ✩, orphan_account
this one makes me sad, because it’s an orphan account, meaning I don’t know who the author is :( … im glad they didn’t delete their works and chose to orphan it, but oh man, I hope they’re lingering somewhere on my account if they ever are and know that I enjoyed their AU. It was really fun to read!!
⤹ DIFFICULTHEART
MAD DOG - ✩★✦ , fair warning to x reader lovers, this is an OC/tim drake, but it’s read in second pov! A bit confusing, but I genuinely enjoyed it— it still makes you feel immersed in the story. it’s not everyone’s cup of tea which is understandable! It’s not an x reader, but an OC. Honestly, give it a shot if you’re interested!!! just make sure to read the tags.
⤹ CHERRRYDRAGON (absolute sucker for unrequited but not actually unrequited love)
YOU NEED TO BE YOURSELF (LOVE SOMEONE FOR LOVING YOU INSTEAD OF SOMEONE REALLY COOL) - ✩ ✦
⤹ ATHENAGC94
SMOKE AND MIRRORS , this is an ongoing series— but i literally go back and read it from time to time. I swear they had an tumblr account, but I can’t find it ;-; , so if you’re reading this— just know that I enjoy your series and can’t wait to see where you take the story!!
MISC. READS THAT I THROUGHLY ENJOYED FROM OTHER PHENOMENAL WRITERS !! —
↷@navyhaze TECH DECK — ★
↷@moviecritc YEARNER TIM HCS — ✩ in fact, they have a whole masterlist of their tim drake works !!
↷ @tealovingdreamer (absolutely excited to see how this goes) THROUGH THE EYES OF OTHERS — ✩
↷@strawberry-nugget I’D LOVE TO SEE ME FROM YOUR POINT OF VIEW —✩
↷@hanimanny WIKIHOW: TO GET YOUR GIRLFRIEND BACK (FROM YOUR FAMILY) — ✩
tbc…
a/n: I hope my recs is up to your guys’ standards! it’s mostly fluff LMFAO, but still, please check all of these lovely writers out, they’re absolutely amazing for pushing out tim drake content when it’s a literal desert in the tags 🥹✌️ and PLEASEE let me know if you guys want more list of recs from me ?!?! I’d like to know !!
⋆.𐙚 ̊ lover boy - jason todd really really likes you. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cloudscars
⋆.𐙚 ̊ the “informant” - you mark up one of Jason's case files, and it slips both of your minds the next day. So, when Jason brings the file with him to the cave, everyone quickly catches on to the fact that Jason is working with someone. / @forresttfirre
⋆.𐙚 ̊ amidst the fading sunlight - when Jason finds a pair of handcuffs hanging from your bed, you never expect it to turn into the two of you tangled in the fading sunlight 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @froggibus
⋆.𐙚 ̊ kisses - jason kisses his way out of every argument / @njghtiee
⋆.𐙚 ̊ trouble in heels - when a mechanic meets a real life barbie! jason todd x bimbo!reader / @starlitfables
↪︎ bonus! mechanic jason todd x ditzy!reader u drive me crazy 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ in every universe - jason todd reunites with much more than an old friend. jason todd x high school sweetheart!reader / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ get back up here f’me - somno face-sitting with jason todd! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @flockoff-featherface
⋆.𐙚 ̊ phone calls and heartaches - jason has a habit of calling you randomly. the only problem? you guys broke up weeks ago. / @the-midnight-duck
⋆.𐙚 ̊ old habits die hard - jason todd can't turn you away after you've had a shitty date; especially when all you want is to get fucked right. jason todd x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ truth and consequence - jason forgets about plans you made and you stumble across a secret. / @stresslessbaaby
⋆.𐙚 ̊ jealous, jealous, boy - jason todd gets jealous easily. it’s not your fault you attract attention, but you should have known better than to entertain some drunk idiot at the bar by accepting the drink he bought you. actions, you’ll learn, have consequences. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @martiniluvr
↪︎bonus! more jealous jason todd x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @blondekisses
+ evennnn more jealous jason todd x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ stuck with me - even after your breakup with jason, he’d been showing up at your apartment every night without fail. when a heated confrontation turned physical, things revealed to be more complicated than you’d ever expected. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @ficmenrhot
⋆.𐙚 ̊ protective!jason todd - aka jason knows better than to let anyone get away with hurting you / @squipa
⋆.𐙚 ̊ fwb!jason todd - he likes to get on your nerves; get you riled up, rolling your eyes at him and flipping him off and calling him names, because it's funny to see you mad! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ luv at first bite ft.dick grayson - in which you’re dragged to the annual gotham masquerade ball by a friend, promised a night to die for. but the party, hosted in the grand wayne manor by two brothers, is far from ordinary. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @amourphoria
⋆.𐙚 ̊ I wanna hear you scream - a quiet town is thrown into chaos when a masked killer emerges from the shadows, leaving fear and bodies in their wake. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @m00nxst0ne
⋆.𐙚 ̊ spring breakers ft. roy harper - challengers but it’s jason todd and roy harper 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ teach me how to scream - visiting your boyfriend’s house while he’s out, you’re surprised when his older brother answers the door. when he invites you in to wait, what starts as awkward small talk turns into something else entirely: questions you’ve never been asked, feelings you’ve never explored, and a slow unraveling of your innocence by someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @amourphoria
⋆.𐙚 ̊ the plus side of the male ego - big hands, bigger temptation (and an even bigger dick). jason doesn't want to hold back anymore. he wants to break you. can you survive? 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @prettyngeto
⋆.𐙚 ̊ born to ride or whatever - you’d ride just about anything when it comes to your boyfriend. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cybermindz
⋆.𐙚 ̊ reflection - mirror sex with jason todd! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @stargrltara
⋆.𐙚 ̊ selfish - jason todd really wants to get you pregnant. again. or what happens when jason gets needy. jason todd x wife!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @burniingblue
⋆.𐙚 ̊ russian roulette - !DARK CONTENT! Jason ends up tied to a chair after chasing Gotham's newest villain. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @rskdoll
⋆.𐙚 ̊ the arkham knight - when jason comes back and the only thing on his mind is you. alludes to the game Arkham Knight. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cursedheartsclub
⋆.𐙚 ̊ you make me a little desperate - where jason gets a new roommate and he can’t tell if he wants to kick her out or kiss her 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @luvztodd
I’m such a slut for him ohhh my god. lmk if u want a part 2!!
it was supposed to be a meet cute. it was supposed to be easy. it was supposed to be Kori. it was supposed to, supposedtosupposedtosupposedto-
you're beautiful.
everyone always tells Dick not to stare directly at the sun. it's too bad he can't stop himself.
[inspired by One Tree Hill]
⋆.𐙚 ̊ lover boy - jason todd really really likes you. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cloudscars
⋆.𐙚 ̊ the “informant” - you mark up one of Jason's case files, and it slips both of your minds the next day. So, when Jason brings the file with him to the cave, everyone quickly catches on to the fact that Jason is working with someone. / @forresttfirre
⋆.𐙚 ̊ amidst the fading sunlight - when Jason finds a pair of handcuffs hanging from your bed, you never expect it to turn into the two of you tangled in the fading sunlight 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @froggibus
⋆.𐙚 ̊ kisses - jason kisses his way out of every argument / @njghtiee
⋆.𐙚 ̊ trouble in heels - when a mechanic meets a real life barbie! jason todd x bimbo!reader / @starlitfables
↪︎ bonus! mechanic jason todd x ditzy!reader u drive me crazy 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ in every universe - jason todd reunites with much more than an old friend. jason todd x high school sweetheart!reader / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ get back up here f’me - somno face-sitting with jason todd! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @flockoff-featherface
⋆.𐙚 ̊ phone calls and heartaches - jason has a habit of calling you randomly. the only problem? you guys broke up weeks ago. / @the-midnight-duck
⋆.𐙚 ̊ old habits die hard - jason todd can't turn you away after you've had a shitty date; especially when all you want is to get fucked right. jason todd x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ truth and consequence - jason forgets about plans you made and you stumble across a secret. / @stresslessbaaby
⋆.𐙚 ̊ jealous, jealous, boy - jason todd gets jealous easily. it’s not your fault you attract attention, but you should have known better than to entertain some drunk idiot at the bar by accepting the drink he bought you. actions, you’ll learn, have consequences. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @martiniluvr
↪︎bonus! more jealous jason todd x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @blondekisses
+ evennnn more jealous jason todd x ex-gf!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ stuck with me - even after your breakup with jason, he’d been showing up at your apartment every night without fail. when a heated confrontation turned physical, things revealed to be more complicated than you’d ever expected. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @ficmenrhot
⋆.𐙚 ̊ protective!jason todd - aka jason knows better than to let anyone get away with hurting you / @squipa
⋆.𐙚 ̊ fwb!jason todd - he likes to get on your nerves; get you riled up, rolling your eyes at him and flipping him off and calling him names, because it's funny to see you mad! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @pluvoia
⋆.𐙚 ̊ luv at first bite ft.dick grayson - in which you’re dragged to the annual gotham masquerade ball by a friend, promised a night to die for. but the party, hosted in the grand wayne manor by two brothers, is far from ordinary. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @amourphoria
⋆.𐙚 ̊ I wanna hear you scream - a quiet town is thrown into chaos when a masked killer emerges from the shadows, leaving fear and bodies in their wake. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @m00nxst0ne
⋆.𐙚 ̊ spring breakers ft. roy harper - challengers but it’s jason todd and roy harper 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @juicykvnture
⋆.𐙚 ̊ teach me how to scream - visiting your boyfriend’s house while he’s out, you’re surprised when his older brother answers the door. when he invites you in to wait, what starts as awkward small talk turns into something else entirely: questions you’ve never been asked, feelings you’ve never explored, and a slow unraveling of your innocence by someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @amourphoria
⋆.𐙚 ̊ the plus side of the male ego - big hands, bigger temptation (and an even bigger dick). jason doesn't want to hold back anymore. he wants to break you. can you survive? 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @prettyngeto
⋆.𐙚 ̊ born to ride or whatever - you’d ride just about anything when it comes to your boyfriend. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cybermindz
⋆.𐙚 ̊ reflection - mirror sex with jason todd! 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @stargrltara
⋆.𐙚 ̊ selfish - jason todd really wants to get you pregnant. again. or what happens when jason gets needy. jason todd x wife!reader 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @burniingblue
⋆.𐙚 ̊ russian roulette - !DARK CONTENT! Jason ends up tied to a chair after chasing Gotham's newest villain. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @rskdoll
⋆.𐙚 ̊ the arkham knight - when jason comes back and the only thing on his mind is you. alludes to the game Arkham Knight. 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @cursedheartsclub
⋆.𐙚 ̊ you make me a little desperate - where jason gets a new roommate and he can’t tell if he wants to kick her out or kiss her 𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌 / @luvztodd
I’m such a slut for him ohhh my god. lmk if u want a part 2!!
note: you can choose which reader you prefer for this reunion but realistically, it’s all of the ones you’ve read from me. had to resist the urge to change “contents” to trigger warnings but i didn’t. i used a tyler the creator song for the title. thanks for being patient with me, ilysm!
preview: The gun serves as an effective conduit for touch.
The skin adheres to the skull like a nitrile glove. It's that particular tautness you've seen on burn victims, the flesh contracting as it heals wrong. The pallor isn't quite bloodless; there's an undertone to it, something livid and bruised that shifts when he moves his head. You can see the veins, fine as embroidery thread, pulsing beneath the surface like an undulating river and you find yourself watching them the way you might watch something obscene, compelled despite your better instincts.
The bones of his face have emerged from their former context. His cheekbones rise sharp, catching the thin light and holding it in a way that makes you think of surfaces too smooth to grip. You remember those bones under your hands once, thumb brushing over them with reverence.
His eyes have retreated into shadow, but something in them still catches — a glassy blue film that has nothing to do with tears and everything to do with appetite. Not the mindless hunger you'd expect from something dead and ambulatory, but appetite refined, appetite with intention. When he looks at you it's with recognition that goes beyond memory into something more troubling. He knows you.
The eyebrows have thinned to almost nothing, a few hairs scattered across the brow bone like the last stubborn weeds in salted earth. What's left of them gives him a stripped look, like something molted. The last remnants of what he was clinging to what he's become. You want to look away from it. You don't look away from it.
When his lips part you get the teeth and your stomach does something complicated and low. They’re an oil-slick black, darker than a well shaft, and they shine. There's a mineral quality to them, something lapidary, and the points are delicate but unmistakable. You think about those points against your skin and hate yourself for thinking it, for the heat that crawls up your spine at the image.
Isaac always preferred your teeth in his neck, but if you asked, he’d return the favor.
He lifts his hands and there's no fear in it, no submission. It's an allowance, the gesture of someone humoring a child's tantrum because he finds it endearing. His fingers spread just so and you know that shape, have seen it a thousand times when he was explaining something he thought you were too simple to grasp on your own, when he was being patient with your ignorance in that way that made you want to hurt him and fuck him in equal measure. And so, you did both, surrendering to the paradox of it all: the desire to wound tempered by an equal, urgent need to be held, to collapse into the very tenderness that maddened the both of you.
Then they fall, and his shoulders move in what might be a sigh, and the casualness of it makes you want to pull the trigger just to see if you can make him take you seriously.
"Do you know how to use that?"
His voice hasn't changed and it's unfair, it's vicious, it's the cruelest trick that whatever rot has claimed him left his voice intact.That same soft precision, each word laid down circumspect and certain, with the barest suggestion underneath that he's asking a question he already knows the answer to. That he's being kind by asking at all. He asks the question as though it were genuine, though you both know he already holds the answer, tucked neatly behind that faint, fond curl at the edge of his voice. His condescension isn’t meant to belittle: it never was. It’s simply the way he fits himself around you: the softest possible correction, a gentle hand guiding yours, the subtle implication that he will take care of you whether or not you want it.
The tenderness, that infuriatingly gentle undercurrent in his almost-loving hauteur, works its way into you like ivy through cracked stone, infiltrating the dark oubliettes of your psyche where you had exiled entire eras of feeling. It makes you ache.
Your pulse is thick in your throat, between your legs, everywhere it shouldn't be. The gun feels strange in your grip, too heavy and too light at once. Desire. Old, familiar and relentless, licks through you, and even the cold metal in your grip cannot rival the memory of him.
"Let's find out."
It comes out wrong. Comes out wanting, breathy and thin, and your gaze fastens on him. He takes a single, inexorable step, eyes blazing with a possession so unearthly, so preternatural, that one might imagine a private demon had ensconced itself within him, orchestrating every open-mouthed breath he takes.
He looks at you then with the full weight of his attention, that terrible focus he'd turn on problems that interested him, and his head cants to one side like something learning the shape of prey. His eyes move across your face — your mouth, your throat, your lips — and you can feel him comparing, measuring this version of you against the one he remembers.
"I've missed you."
It's not a confession. It's a fact, delivered empirically, a certainty that leaves no doubt. It sinks into your chest like a stone into water and you feel the ripples of it spread through your ribs, your belly, lower. Your heart lurches sideways and you curse it, curse him, curse the awful familiarity of his voice saying your name in the dark, saying filthy things in that same even tone, saying I've got you when you were coming apart above him.
You swallow hard and say nothing because anything you say will give you away worse than your silence already has.
"You won't shoot."
"Pretty confident for a corpse, Isaac."
"It comes with the territory. Dead men don't flinch."
He perambulates toward you and your body understands before your mind does. Goes hot in ways you haven't let yourself feel since you thought he was gone for good. He's tentative and certain at once, each step a question and an answer, and when the barrel meets his chest you feel the contact through the metal, through your arm, straight down into your cunt like a wire pulled taut.
The gun serves as an effective conduit for touch.
Slowly, you trail the gun. Watching his face as the barrel traces a line from sternum to stomach. His pupils are blown wide, swallowing up what little blue film remains until there's nothing but black, nothing but want, naked and huge. His breathing is labored, breaks apart into something primitive, and you can see his focus scatter and reform on the gun's trajectory, on where you're taking it. The sound coming out of him isn't fear. It's need: raw and undisguised, the kind of sound he used to make when you'd put your mouth on him, when you'd take him deep and look up to watch his face come undone.
When you bring the barrel back up to rest beneath his jaw his eyes snap to yours and the look in them nearly makes you drop the gun. It's hunger but it's more than that.
"Aiming for the throat, I presume?"
His voice has gone rough, frayed at the edges with fervor.
"Open your mouth."
The smile wavers and he tries to close the distance but you hold firm, the gun pressed up under the hinge of his jaw. "Ah." There's discovery in it, dark delight. "You're not shooting me. You're silencing me."
"You talk too much."
"Well, allow me the last word—"
"Open. Your mouth."
The smile that spreads across his face is vile and gorgeous, equal parts surrender and victory. He's letting you do this. He wants you to do this. You can see it in the way his lips part, slow and deliberate, in the way he holds your gaze while he does it.
Isaac opens his mouth and you can see down into the wet darkness of him, the gleam of black teeth, the darkened tongue behind them. You slide the gun forward and watch it pass over his lower lip, feel the scrape of metal on worn enamel, and then it's in, resting heavy against his tongue.
"Apparently not," he manages, muffled around the barrel, and his lips close partway around it. Not quite, but almost.
His tongue moves. Just slightly, just the smallest flexion against the metal, and heat drops through your belly like a stone. He's tasting it. Tasting the gun, tasting the sick want that's making your thighs clench despite everything. His eyes have not left you, have never once flickered in reprieve; he is a revenant, a creature at once unholy and ineffably rapturous, watching you watch him with an intensity so chimerical it might peel flesh from bone.
You remember this attention. Remember how it felt to be the subject of his focus, to have all that terrible intelligence turned on learning the map of your body, the topography of your desire. He'd been methodical about it, studious, and he'd used what he learned like a weapon, like sacrament.
The barrel is slick now with his spit. You can feel it, the wet warmth of his mouth conducting through the metal into your palm, into your wrist, up your arm. His throat works around the intrusion and you think about pressing forward, about the give and resistance you'd meet, about the sound he'd make. Your hand is trembling. He can see it. You can see him see it.
“Fuck,” you groan. “You’re filthy.”
He makes a sound around the gun, not quite a moan but close enough that your breath catches. His eyelids droop half-closed and something in his expression goes slack and hungry, and you recognize it — that look he'd get when you took him in, deep enough to have his clockwork heart stutter.
The room has gone narrow and airless. There's just this: the gun in his mouth, your hand on the grip, his eyes on yours. The complicated choreography of violence and want, the way they're bleeding together until you can't parse which is which, until you're not sure if you want to pull the trigger or pull him closer.
His tongue moves again, deliberate this time, curling around the barrel in a way that makes your vision blur at the edges. He's obscene with it, shameless, and you can feel your pulse between your legs, hot and insistent. He knows. Of course he knows. He always knew exactly what you wanted before you'd admit it to yourself.
You should pull away. Instead you bring your free hand to the back of his head and push him into the gun. “You can take more.” A breathless urge.
The moment he feels you, his chest rises with a guttural groan, the sound wet and earthy, born of a thirst finally quenched, a longing stoked to a fever pitch. He nearly pulls himself off before you kiss your teeth, with a command rife with dominion. “Y’think you deserve anything more than this? Get back on it.”
Isaac then curls his blackened tongue around the barrel, elongated and sinuous, and the motion is deliberate, almost ritualistic. A bead of saliva glints at the corner of his mouth before it dribbles down, slicking the steel in a thin, trembling ribbon. Your pulse skips, heat flooding low in the lowest pit of your stomach, and your thighs press together instinctively as your hand tightens on the gun. The metallic taste of him is everywhere: on the barrel, in the smell of the room, in the ache curling through your spine.
“Yeah. Yeah… that’s it,” you murmur, breath catching, letting the words hang heavy in the air. “Knew you could use that mouth for something more useful.” Your lips curl into a faint smile. “C’mon… wanna see it nice and wet when I pull out.”
His eyes snap up to yours, pupils dark, glossy, and raw desire flaring in them like fire in oil. He hums low, a sound highlights both frustration and hunger, and the heat coils tighter in your belly. Your body presses instinctively against him, palm still firm at the nape of his neck, guiding, teasing, asserting in the only way this obscene, intimate dance will allow.
He moans around the gun, a sound that makes your stomach twist. His eyes never leave yours, pupils swollen, obsidian apertures against the alabastrine pallor of his face, and in that simmers a numinous cognizance of every reaction you betray. Each shiver, each hitch of breath, each imperceptible gleam, the subtle slickness pooling in the hollow of your thighs. He takes inventory of it. He takes inventory of it, savors it, bends it into the shared language of want.
The drool runs thicker now, tracing a glistening line along the barrel and pooling faintly at the junction of his lips and metal. You press forward, pushing him just a fraction more, and the warmth of it radiates into your palm, your wrist, your arm, sinking down into the coil of desire you’ve spent years trying to ignore. He flexes subtly, body alive beneath your fingers, and the sensation is like electric fire in the marrow of you.
“Fuck. I missed you,” you divulge with a ruined groan.
Isaac’s mouth splits into a grin, black as a grave’s yawning mouth, like he already knows.
INCAPABLE OF MAKIN' ALRIGHT DECISIONS, AND HAVIN' BAD IDEAS.
synopsis You’ve heard the tales of the infamous Isaac Night that resides in that ancient, dark house on that ancient, dark hill. The man who exhales terror like tobacco, whose home is unforgiving to its rare guests that seemingly vanish whenever they venture too close. But you were in need of a job, and he in need of a fresh meal.
contains alternate universe. smut. kinda sub!isaac. nevermore not mentioned. normie!reader. mentions of illness. parent death. cursing. cumming in pants / premature ejaculation. maybe dubcon. kinda slow burn. dryhumping. themes of stalking / abuse. choking. heart kink if you squint. typical zombie shenanigans. dark content. kissing with blood (yours and someone he ate lol). boss/employee dynamic. hes lowkey sadistic. virgin!isaac intended. isaac and reader are both freaks.
aria speaks!! for @isaacnights, my dear aleena, who placed the idea of writing an isaac fic into my mind, and who deserves all the credit for inspiring a heart kink!!! i couldn’t not, just look at him!!!! also im a sucker for aus, so enjoy!! also this is loooooooong, lots of buildup so hope you guys like that!!! PS idk if i’ve written isaac a little ooc but i had to get this out of my brain-also considering a p2, feel like a lot has been left unexplored in this one and i feel this may be a little turdish cause i’m sick and sleep deprived but oh well (not rlly proofread)
Your father passed away a month ago. A process that was prolonged, exhaustive, and until the bitter end, tedious. Taken by a mysterious, incurable illness that rotted his body like he was already a corpse. Smothered the light from his eyes slow, like a plant decaying. His form thinned, skin becoming ghostly pale and sinking into his skeleton like a sigh. His hearty laughs faded into gasps for breath, wise mind hushed into a slumber.
Your father passed a month ago. He died three years ago.
You’d made your peace with it long before, watching him wither in that bed tore all the grief your pathetic soul could muster. By the end, you didn’t even consider him the man you once knew—he just became another piece of furniture you’d had to throw out.
When he first contracted his disease, you were thrust into a sealed box of fury, helplessness, and despair. The doctors would come with their briefcases, examine him carefully like they didn’t already know the outcome, and then, with pursed lips, would inform you that he couldn’t be saved. There was just no cure.
Then they’d demanded all the money you had in your pockets.
For a year or so, you’d been desperate. Prayed to God every night, or any divine authority, to save him. To miraculously cure him. It was when he’d only gotten worse that you’d grown bitter, unable to breathe in your father’s direction without bubbling with resentment. For not fighting harder. Leaving you to fend for yourself. Abandoning you, even when he were still alive.
Then, indifference. Cold and dismissive. You cleaned him, fed him, and clothed him. But you’d stopped being his daughter a while ago. You became his carer instead, a nurse. He became your patient.
His funeral was expensive, almost as much as his life was. Old friends visited, whispering their condolences to you as they left, forcing saddened looks onto their face before stuffing themselves with all the chicken they could at the wake. You’d shed a tear for him, just one, but it was one more than you had in a long time.
You were left alone then, in your house. Silent. No machines beeping or humming, no strangled coughs emitting from the room you won’t dare glance at.
Maybe you weren’t as indifferent as you’d hoped.
You were left alone, without your father, and without money.
Jericho was practically barren in that area. You’d applied everywhere, desperately looking your best at interviews and offering your skills in hopes one of them may take a chance on you. Just one. You would’ve blown their fucking socks off if they’d given you just a chance.
Without any past experience and hardly any good education stats (due to your final exams happening simultaneously with the grand kickoff of your father’s condition), you were left with nothing.
For a while, the government issued you benefits for your father—barely enough for the two of you to scrape by every month. Now they’ve ceased too. You felt hopeless, and cornered. You’d tried everything.
Except you hadn’t. Not really.
There was one last place to try your luck, despite your reluctance. There was a reason you’d tried to ignore this job in the past.
Isaac Night. His name was a whisper in the town almost constantly, as if he was an urban legend, mythological—something you’d seriously consider to be true if not for the flyer in the Weathervane.
Maid wanted, live-in, Monday-Saturday, $50/hour.
It was a heck of a deal. You’d be a fool to not try. But you’ve heard things of that house. Past takers have gone and allegedly never been seen again, their faded pictures on ‘Missing’ flyers all over town. Night hasn’t been seen around in almost a decade, not counting the tales the children tell their mothers of seeing him from their windows at midnight. You’d see the house as you walked around the town square, high on that hill like he was silently declaring his superiority over you all. The sight of it gave you chills. Being inside? Living there? You can’t even imagine.
Fifty bucks an hour.
What do you have to lose?
You’ve never felt regret like you do in this moment.
It didn’t take more than two days for the man to get back to your application letter—no interview, no questions, just a simple ‘Monday, 8 AM’. Short, to the point, you can appreciate that, and hey, you’re employed now.
But come Monday morning, you feel a crippling sense of dread wash over you like a monsoon. You can’t take another step. Not yet. Your eyes are fixated on the house before you, old and uncared for bricks that have chipped away, the porch which has become sunken with time and weight, and the door that looks like it knows something you don’t. It’s ominous, and you’ve half a mind to turn back and abort the entire plan.
Instead, you persevere. A step forward. Then another. The gravel cracks under your weight, sounding final and grave. The earth beneath you is greener than you’d expected, the path that you presume was once here overgrown by grass and weeds. Still, stones click beneath your worn boots as you approach the steps in front of the door.
As you crept, you noted more things about the house. Vines crawled up the sides like veins, wrapping around the build as if it wanted to choke it, whilst simultaneously looking like they were keeping the whole structure together, like stitches.
The porch creaked dangerously beneath you. Your eyes darted from the door to the hollow window a little ways beside it, as if the legend himself would be waiting for you. You know he is. Where else would he be?
Then, you’d crossed the Rubicon. Your feet ceased their steps as you settled on a faded mat right by the door. No ‘welcome’ or witty joke on it, just an old piece of fabric that groaned dust once you’d put your weight on it. Like it’s never felt footsteps in years. Maybe it hasn’t.
You raise your hand tentatively, heart rate spiking. They’re just make believe, you assure yourself, swallowing dryly. Nothing to be afraid of.
And with that, you knock.
The reverberating sound itself seems to resound in your soul, like you’ve just made a decision that’ll change fate. You lower your hand and clench your fist tighter, feeling the flesh grow clammy with nerves. You waited a few moments, with nothing but eerie birdsong and your own sharp breathing to accompany you.
Nothing.
You could see the town from up here, more insignificant than it ever felt before. Your eyes glance sideways to the dirt path you’d trekked up to get here. You could go. Forget this entire thing. Let his flyer stay up in the Weathervane, ignored and decaying.
But something roots you to the spot. Like leaving isn’t an option, not even in your imagination. You bite the inside of your lip anxiously, your brain screeching curses as you shakily reach out to the doorknob. You twist, and push. You damn near fall in with the pressure you handled, half expecting it to be locked. Your right foot settles on the wooden planks, old and loud. With a wince, you step in fully, dragging your suitcase with you.
Your eyes never remain in one place for more than a second, gaze flying around the foyer as you examine the details of the house you’d only ever heard tales of. The walls were white, weathered down to the colour of bone with a sickly tint. The staircase is to your right, lined with the same wood you’re standing on, railing splintered like a cracked spine. Along the stairs, paintings line the wall. You’re too far to properly see them.
Ahead of you is a doorway, the inside of the next room so dark it looks like a blot that was forgotten to be filled in. Even with the sun almost fully risen and casting the remnants of its early golden veil through the windows, you couldn’t catch a glimpse. To your left, another doorway—inside, you can see a grand, mahogany piano that looks so dusty it’s almost an insult. You consider taking a step towards that room when a voice, almost silent, pierces the silence in the softest of ways.
“Don’t linger at the door.” Your eyes snap to the arch in the wall, the dark, enticing room ahead now blocked by a figure leaning on the doorway. “I might think you plan on leaving.”
Isaac Night. Your heart skips a beat. This is him. The man that everyone in Jericho fears, the very one who’s name is never whispered thrice in worry that he’ll magically appear and lay waste to the town. The man who lives in that old Victorian farmhouse on the hill that has a room designated for dead bodies that he feasts on when he’s bored, the corpses serving as reminders of past people foolish enough to take this job.
You’re a little underwhelmed.
He doesn’t have sharp teeth or haunting red eyes like the children cry, nor claws or a forked tongue like a snake. He’s just a man. Admittedly, an extremely handsome one. The kind you’d never see casually, both alluring and dangerous in the most mysterious way. He’s tall, very tall, easily over 6 foot. A lean, thin frame that’s pale and sheltered. His face is slim, freckles gracing his chin and cheekbones. A mop of dark, curly hair rests on his head—slightly astray, from what, you’ve no clue. And you can’t really tell from here, but his eyes look equally as dark, enchanting and almost seductive in the way they’re trained on you.
Snap out of it.
“Oh, I…” You stammer, your voice a nervous breath. You glance back at the open door, and stagger further inside with your suitcase so you can shut it. Your movements are stiff and awkward, fingernails digging into your palm as you try to avoid direct eye contact at all costs. “I’m sorry for barging in like this, Mr. Night, it’s just… well, I knocked, you see, but there was no answer, and the door was unlocked, and I thought well, I basically live here now, so I thought I’d just…”
You trail off when he puts a hand up, effectively silencing you instantaneously. Your mouth remains open, then closes, then opens again like a fish out of water. Eventually, you purse your lips and watch with wide eyes as he takes a few slow, agonisingly slow steps forward. There’s an amused tilt to his lips, but an impatient glint in his eyes.
“Don’t bother yourself with formalities. Isaac.” His voice is clipped, measured and articulated in a rehearsed kind of way. Not his first time saying these words. “I trust you know you will be living here full-time. I have no patience for tardiness, so it’s preferable you’re here.” His lips curl in a polite, yet forced, smile. “As said on the flyer.”
You stare at him for a few moments, before nodding dumbly. “Yes.. yes, yes I’m aware.” You glance at your suitcase briefly, practically empty save for clothes and other essentials—you didn’t think you’d be here long, and if you were, you didn’t think.. Isaac would have a certain penchant for your trinkets. Not that you had much. Couldn’t afford any since your father got sick.
He offered one curt nod, sending you one last inspecting look before turning and making for the stairs. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room.” He didn’t wait for you. Your brows raised, and you wasted no time in grabbing the handle of your suitcase and quickly trailing after him.
He climbed the steps with a certain practised elegance, whereas you were all two-left-feet as you tried to balance your luggage and keep up with him at the same time. He didn’t glance back or offer any help. He just continued speaking.
“You can have majority of today with no responsibilities whilst you settle in. I have work to tend to. My bedroom, office, and laboratory are located on the third floor. You’re strictly prohibited from entering any of them without my explicit permission.” His voice sounds almost bored, and you almost slip as you quickly turn to go continue up the stairs that turn. He glances at you in his peripheral. How humiliating. “Everywhere else, be my guest. Don’t go rummaging around past sundown, don’t distract me from my work during the day, don’t bother attempting to go into rooms with locked doors, and don’t bother cooking for me.”
You raise your brow at that last part. Fifty dollars an hour, just for cleaning? The house is big, sure, but surely you were expected to cook as well. You’d actually prefer the extra work to waste away the hours of the day in this place. You don’t say anything.
As you reach the top of the stairs, you slow your steps a little to look around. More stairs continue to the third floor, and past them is a hallway. A singular door at the end, the window on the wall facing you situated so that the morning sun shines directly through and almost blinds you. You turn, watching as Isaac makes his way to the other end of the hall. You bite your cheek, adjusting your grip on the suitcase and trailing after him.
He stops at the end, where two doors are situated on opposite ends to each other. He searches the pocket of his dark trench coat (who wears those inside, at the crack of dawn?) and pulls out an ancient looking key. Whilst he twists the rusted lock, your eyes scan the walls. They’re chipped and worn like the ones downstairs, but bare. You forgot to inspect the paintings lining the stairs in your chase after Isaac. Oh well, you’ll certainly have lots of free time to later.
There’s a soft click as the door finally unlocks. He stands straight, and you back up a little, almost forgetting how tall he is in those few moments. Without waiting or sparing you a look, he steps inside the room, floorboards creaking with strain. You stifle a sigh as you follow him in, immediately looking around your new bedroom. It wasn’t all that big—but surprisingly, it was cleaner than the rest of the house. The walls were coloured a fresh oyster, not dirtied like the others. On the right wall, a bay window, unlike the other hollow panes that look like they’ve forgotten to blink for decades that decorate the rest of the house. There’s a single canopy bed in the left corner of the room, a vintage wooden dresser beside it with a singular lamp on it—soft whites and cream. There’s even a rug—worn, and slightly discoloured from what it used to be, but the floor isn’t bare like the other rooms.
It’s nice. Surprisingly nice. Not as modern as you’re used to, but infinitely better than you were expecting.
You’re almost breathless with gratitude. He lives alone, from what you’d gathered, so he must’ve cleaned it up nice for you. You blink, turning to face him, readying yourself to thank him—no matter how awkward you find it to speak to him. Your heart jumps when he’s already looking at you, as if studying your reaction. His gaze is clinical, like that of a scientist studying a chemical reaction.
You briefly swallow, feeling the need to fix your posture under his unwavering stare. “Thank you for… well, it’s really beautiful.”
His lips twitch with amusement, his brow furrowing almost incredulously. “It’s a bedroom.” Is all he dignifies you with, keeping his eyes trained on you as he reaches behind him and places the bedroom key on a small table beside your door. He inhales after a moment, giving the room and you one last look over, before turning and moving to step out. “Lock the door at night.” Is the last thing he grumbles, before leaving you to yourself.
You hear the stairs creak as he climbs to the third floor, and you turn to look around your new space once more. You glance from your made bed, to your suitcase, then back to the bed. Then out the window to where the sun has risen.
You shut the door, and abandon your suitcase, beelining for the bed. You kick your shoes off, letting them clutter on the wood below as you sit on the edge of the bed. It sinks beneath your weight, surprisingly soft and comfortable.
You’ve not been used to getting up so early, and well, no responsibilities for today. Might as well relish in one last nap before the real work starts.
The piano is out of tune.
The key groans beneath your finger, vibrating sluggishly. It’s not been played in a while, if at all, you muse. You trail your fingertips across the keyboard, dust sticking to you like a stain. You sigh as you look at the thing, lamenting its antique grandness going to waste. Forgotten, like everything else in this house.
The bookcase beside the piano is the same. The shelves looking more chestnut with the early evening glow, highlighting the sheer amount of classic literature lining them—novels that you’re practically born knowing the name of. All left to rot.
You’re bored.
You’d actually prefer some work. Having slept the morning away, and spending the afternoon in your room doing nothing, you’ve began to wander. Exploring the spaces you couldn’t before. You’ve come to realise there’s no food in the house, and by the time you make it to town all grocery stores will be closed. So much for cooking for yourself.
The house is eerily quiet. You hear the odd creak of the floorboards and a quiet tap in the walls, but those are just common whispers of houses old as this one—especially when it’s so unkept. You can’t hear anything from the third floor. You’d gathered Night was a scientist, from his ‘laboratory’ and old science books lining the shelves to go with the fiction. You suppose he does look like the cliché ‘mad scientist’, with his hair, clothing, and even that restless glint in his eyes. You almost laugh aloud at that. But it’s confusing, that there’s no whirring, clinking of test tubes, or, well, any noise at all coming from up there.
With a sigh, you walk out of the room and back into the main hall of sorts, looking around with boredom. Then, you remember, the paintings. One of the only things that decorate the plain walls of this godforsaken house.
You swiftly turn, making your way to the staircase and rushing up the first few steps, eyes immediately settling on the first.
It’s a family portrait. You furrow your brows as your attention instantly focuses on Isaac. He’s young in it. He looks impossibly paler and sickly, lips curled into a shaky-looking smile that looks like it’d drain all his energy. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. No, his eyes appear somewhat more tense than he’s trying to come across as—you wonder if it’s with frustration, nerves, or just teenage awkwardness. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing extremely old fashioned clothes.
The rest of the family is similar. There’s a girl beside Isaac, dark locks of brown hair wrapped in two delicate pigtails that rest upon her shoulders. Her smile is more timid, a barely there upward curve of the painter’s brush. She has pale skin to match her brother’s, you assume, but her cheeks are far more flushed than his could ever be. Her eyes look sad. You briefly wonder what her name is.
A woman stands behind the girl, wearing a white lace dress. It’s an old thing, with frills and lacy cuffs, but it suits her. She looks just like the girl. The front of her hair is pinned back, locks of matching chestnut waves framing her face. She has more colour to her. Her smile is one that holds class, and name. The kind that’s worth something. Her hand is settled on the girl’s shoulder, and your eyes flicker to the wedding ring that surely costs more than your entire life.
The father, you like a lot less. He doesn’t attempt to smile for the painter, his face neutral and hardened. His eyes expel no emotion like the others do. His posture is upright and rigid, one hand settled on the back of his wife, the other on his son, Isaac’s, shoulder. His grip is tight. So tight that it’s noticeable through a painting. You see where the shoulder pads of Isaac’s blazer scrunch between his father’s fingers. You don’t enjoy looking at him for long. It doesn’t take rocket science to guess what sort of man he was.
Your eyes linger on Isaac a moment more, your employer that seems so clinical and cold, smiling. Albeit a fake one. You’re tempted to smile back. Instead, you step forward, looking to the next.
Another family portrait. This one is different. Isaac and his sister are older, surely early teenage years. Isaac is sat straight on a wooden chair, feet firmly planted on the floor and his hands scrunched in his lap. His skin is paper white, and his expression is uncomfortable. He looks more like his father in this one, not bothering to smile for the painting, rather staring blankly at you. His hair is still slicked back, curls more prominent at the back of his neck, longer. His sister is stood up, behind the chair with her hands settled on the top of it, right behind Isaac’s head. Her smile is the same as the last. Her hair is still in pigtails, longer now and perhaps darker. She wears a similar dress to the last.
The mother isn’t in the portrait. The father stands beside the girl, hands behind his back and he’s wearing that same cold, intimidating glare. His dark hair is shorter. From stress, perhaps, or maybe he had just gotten it cut and you’re reading too much into it.
Your eyes dart down to check for inscription on the bottom of the frame. Context, names, a year perhaps. There’s a blotched rectangular outline, like it has been ripped off. You don’t let it keep your attention for long. Your eyes trail to the next. This is the last one.
The girl from the others, Isaac’s presumed sister. It’s not a painting. It’s a photograph. You step closer, eyes widening with renewed interest at the clearer quality of her face. She’s older, surely late teenage years in this one. Her hair is pulled into those same old pigtails, and she’s wearing the biggest grin you’ve seen on her yet. It’s a candid photo, looks like someone took it right as she was writing something. You glance down at the book. The cover is black, and the book is thick judging from how many pages. You briefly wonder if you saw it on the bookshelf earlier. Then at the surroundings. She looks like she’s in this house, behind her is a doorway into a room with a clean, mahogany piano. She’s in room you’ve not seen yet.
Your gaze travels back up to her face. What happened to you? To this house?
You have questions, curiosity swirling behind your eyes like an elixir. You don’t hear the footsteps descending the stairs.
“Francoise.”
You yelp. Your body jolts, and you stagger back a step, then another. You almost stumble and trip down the stairs, reaching behind and gripping the cracked railing with a surprised gasp. You look up to where Isaac is stood, watching you with furrowed brows. Your cheeks burn and your chest heaves as you try to calm your heart.
“What?” You ask, your voice coming out more of a snap in your sharp breaths. Your brows furrow in confusion, and anxiousness at having him speak to you directly.
He doesn’t move, or stop looking at you, as he gestures with his chin to the portraits. “My sister. Her name is Francoise.”
It’s as if he read your mind. You glance between him and his sister, slowly straightening yourself up, removing your hand from the railing. It gives a creaking sound as you let go. “Oh.”
You swallow nervously, looking back up at him. He’s still looking at you, as unreadable as ever. “What happened to her?” Curiosity did kill the cat.
His expression doesn’t shift. “She died a long time ago.”
Your face softens, looking back over to the portraits. At her little smile and braids. “Oh… I’m— I’m sorry.”
His head tilts for a moment, and he hums as he follows your gaze to her youthful face.
You look at him tentatively. “Can I ask how?”
He lingers on her for a moment before slowly looking back at you. There’s silence for a moment. Then he shakes his head softly. “No.”
Your lashes flutter in surprise. But you can’t say you really expected different. He gifts you a drop, you ask for an ocean. You won’t get it. You nod once, looking away and pursing your lips.
Isaac eyes you for a few more awkward seconds, before his gaze moves past you. Behind you. Your head turns and you follow his eyes, furrowing your brows when you see nothing out of the ordinary.
“I think it’s time you retire to bed.” He speaks, voice clipped and monotone. “It’s getting dark.”
You glance over, then back behind you to the windows by the door. The sun sets quicker now as autumn is creeping in. There’s a few rays of the soft, ambient glow of the sun as it shines its final residue.
“Yes, you’re… probably right.” You breathe, looking down and brushing down the creases of your shirt. You move to walk by him without looking.
You brush shoulders with him on the somewhat narrow staircase, and you feel him tense. You say nothing. You carry on up, but stop in your tracks when he says something else.
“Lock your door tonight.” He muttered, leaving no room for argument. Like he was almost warning you. “Don’t come out until morning.”
You turn to face him halfway, eyes trained on the back of his head. You let the words sit in the air a moment as you process them. He’d already told you this—but not like he just did. He seems a lot more serious about it than you thought. You nod, even though he can’t see you. “I will.” With that, you go to continue up the stairs. You take a step, then pause. You tilt your body slightly, hesitation inhibiting your movements. After a moment, “Goodnight.”
His head shifts slightly, as if he was going to look at you but decided against it. You can just make out the curve of his sharp jawline. He doesn’t reply. You don’t know if you wanted him to. You carry on upstairs.
Sleep doesn’t come easy that night.
You find that the house isn’t all that boring, nor as unsettling, when you’re actually doing things. And there was a lot to be done.
You’d found a duster in a broom closet, by some miracle, and had spent a total of nearly two hours just clearing the first floor and the stairs. Seriously, how can anyone live like this? You’re lucky that Isaac hadn’t stormed downstairs from his lab to scold you for your relentless sneezing.
You’re out of breath and practically sweating profusely by noon, despite the gloomy weather outside—rain has been pattering softly at the old wooden walls all day. You consider taking a break to cool off, leave the next two floors for the future you. But knowing that you’ll have to deal with it later, topping it up to the total tasks you have: grocery shopping, shopping for a vacuum and other essentials that just aren’t here, mopping, wiping the windows, and cooking for yourself? You simply can’t win against yourself. So with a sigh and a dramatic groan, you bend down to pick the duster up from where you’d tossed it in frustration. You drag yourself up the rest of the stairs, gaze catching on Francoise’s face as you pass.
Her smile mocks you.
The air seems impossibly thicker on the second floor, leaving your face damp. Another sneeze ambushes you and makes you stumble back from the sheer force of it. With a grumble on a certain someone’s probable hygiene in these conditions, you get to work.
As you clean, you think of your new boss. You think of his unwavering nonchalance in every aspect, even when talking about his dead sister. His mystique, how he’s alluring and confusing all at the same time. You think of how he repeatedly told you to lock your door at night, as if someone may come in. But as far as you know, nobody else lives here save you and him. And he certainly seems like he’d like to avoid you at all costs.
You think of his mannerisms as you swipe the duster song the corner of the floor where wood meets drywall. The way his eyes narrow at you when you embarrass yourself. How he keeps them on you when he wants to see your reaction to certain things. Your chest flutters as you recall those dark orbs, gleaming with exhaustion and melancholy. Asking you, begging you, to notice. You have. You’re not sure he has.
You loathe how enticing he is. You met him yesterday morning, and you’re already making him your problem. You must be insane. Or you’ve just gone far too long without a proper, human interaction in the place you live. You need help, you think.
You bite the inside of your cheek as your eyes dry from the dust. He’s baffling to the core, one big contradiction. You think of how he’s not been seen in a decade, and has had this house for a lot longer than that, yet he doesn’t look older than 25 at most. You assume that he lived here with his family, but they’ve never been mentioned in all the rumours circulating in Jericho. Never. You think of how he can even survive up here, no food in the kitchen, telling you to not cook for him. Does he have a fridge in his lab, or something? And why is there no WiFi or TV or any modern technology? It’s like you’ve travelled to the past. And how come the house has gotten this bad? Does he just stay up there constantly, and only ever comes down once to greet his maids their first day, then retire back up there? Who is he?
Is he the man you’ve mentally built up in your head? The monster you suspect? Expect? Or is it all wrong, and you’re really the crazy one.
Caught up with these thoughts, you don’t realise you’ve climbed the second set of stairs as you were dusting them. Your eyes raise as you snap back to your senses, examining the floor you’ve not seen yet. He didn’t say you couldn’t come up here. You just couldn’t go into any of the rooms.
This floor isn’t long like the one below it, but you don’t notice that. You don’t notice anything save for how spotless it is. You stand up straight slowly, standing up the last step that doesn’t even creak below you. You peer around curiously. The walls aren’t chipped or withered—they look similar to the ones in your room. The wooden floor is polished and smooth, a long, grey rug with intricate patterns lining the centre all the way down. It feels like you’ve travelled to an alternate dimension. You glance downstairs, then back to what’s before you. Surely your eyes deceive you? How can this be so clean and kept whilst the rest of the house looks practically abandoned? Maybe you weren’t crazy, and he really did just live up here.
Then you hear it. A ticking? No, a clicking… Is it coming from his lab? You take a tentative step forward, eyes narrowing as you look at one of the doors (you don’t even know what room his lab is). What’s he doing in there? The sound of metal twisting becomes louder. Your heart rate spikes, a sense of anxiety cloaking you like a blanket.
Then, from the door completely opposite from the one you were looking at, the noise climaxes.
He was just unlocking and opening the door, you idiot.
Your eyes snap to his as he steps out, and you tense very clearly. He pauses, not exhibiting any surprise or anger in his expression, but you see him hesitate to walk further. His hand is frozen on the doorknob.
You blink at each other for a few awkward seconds that feel more like hours, your eyes never leaving the other’s, yours wide and his narrowed.
You purse your lips. You want the earth to swallow you whole and just rock you to a sleep in which you never wake from.
Then finally, finally, he steps back into the room he came out of and shutting the door. It slams loudly. It snaps you back to reality, and your cheeks heat up so hot you worry your face is actually on fire. You grab your duster and rush down the stairs.
You find that you much prefer being bored.
Your cheeks don’t cool for the rest of the day. Not even relentless cleaning can distract you, nor the trek down and back up those uneven, slippery stone steps leading up the hill with grocery bags, nor even cooking the food.
It’s getting late now. You sigh, twisting your now cold meal with your fork, chin in your palm. You don’t have much of an appetite since that awkward encounter. Had you breached some kind of rule? You don’t remember him saying you couldn’t go up there, so you don’t think you did. Are you fired? Your movements freeze at that last thought. If you couldn’t hold this job, you’d be literally done for. You’ve tried everywhere else.
Then you began to panic. You’re such a screw up, always self-sabotaging yourself just because you can’t understand boundaries. Now you’re struggling to actually remember whether he told you to not go up there or not. You stand, abandoning your plate, the chair scraping behind you. You are not losing this job. You’ve left your childhood home for it, left the place your father died, left the town despite your better judgement. If this fails, you fail, and you can’t have that.
You can’t think about it, or you’ll back out because of nerves. You have to ignore how scary it is to interact with your boss for now. You’re walking through the foyer, making for the stairs with anxiously clenched fists when you look up seeing him already walking down. Same time he was yesterday. Another thing for you to wonder about.
You stop, and so does he. You can’t hesitate. “Mr. Night,” You close your eyes for a second. “Isaac, I just wanted to apologise for, uh— coming to the third floor when I’m not supposed to and intruding. I didn’t mean to distract you or anything, or seem nosey, I was just dusting and I didn’t notice I came up.”
He furrows his brows, glancing around, his mouth opening as if he wanted to speak, but you didn’t give him the chance. “Please don’t fire me because of it. It won’t happen again, I swear. I just..” You swallow nervously, voice becoming slower and quieter as you process what you’re actually doing. You dig your nails into your palm. “I really need this job.”
He keeps his eyes on you a moment, eyes flickering between yours. With what? Bewilderment? Amusement? Second hand embarrassment? Your face is hot, and your heart is in your throat. This is it, he’s going to mock you and throw you out. Leave you to fend for yourself in the middle of the night.
But the worst never comes. He doesn’t even acknowledge anything else you said. He just questions, “Why are you down here?”
Your brows twitch, before you frown completely in confusion. You glance behind you. You’ve been on the first floor about a thousand times since yesterday already. “Uh.. I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand.”
His gaze hardens, voice agitated. “Why are you down here when it’s dark? I gave you explicit instructions to not be wandering around the house after sundown.”
You stammer, checking behind you and seeing that the sun had in fact set. The sky was a twilight blue, hushing the first floor into a growing darkness. You look back to him when you hear him begin to walk down the stairs.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise- I’ll go to my room now, but I just- I have to know, am I fired?” Your words are desperate, mentally praying that he decides to keep you. Your eyes are wide as you look at him pleadingly. He just stares at you as he reaches you.
He says nothing for a minute, keeping his cold gaze on your anticipated one. Your breath hitches. Finally, “You’re not fired.”
You visibly deflate with relief, eyes closing and mouth curling up into a smile. “Oh. Thank you, sir, really, I won’t-”
You’re cut off when he reaches up swiftly, gripping your upper hand to steady your relieved swaying. His hand is cold, and you gasp, looking from his tight hold to his eyes. His face hasn’t changed. He managed to hold you in place effortlessly. Your chest flutters and your stomach drops simultaneously.
When he speaks next, his voice is grave, goosebumps raising on your arms. “Get to bed.”
You stare at him a second as you replay his words in your head. The look in his eyes is enough nightmare fuel for a lifetime. They’re slightly wide and he looks almost furious. But why? Because you’re up past your bedtime?
You just nod wordlessly. He maintains eye contact with you another moment, the only sounds being your shallow breaths and the floor creaking as he shifts his weight. He lets you go, and you nearly stumble. Your arm throbs where his fingers dug into you. He doesn’t look away. You do. You rush past him, and up the stairs, feeling him watch you as you go.
A thousand things are rushing through your brain. You feel uncomfortable and you’re unable to suppress the swirling feelings of anxiety, and confusion—the worst part is you find you didn’t hate him touching you, even in such a way. But hey. You’re not fired.
You only remember that you didn’t lock the door the next morning. Then you remember that nothing even happened.
The next few days pass without incident. You get up early, have a shower in the bathroom opposite your room (in which you always take forever, trying to figure out the buttons), then clean. Go to town when you need to stock up on food or get more appliances. Clean some more. Eat alone. Be in bed before sunset.
You haven’t had any more run-ins with Isaac since that night. It’s like the lightbulb of interest has finally clicked off in your mind. You’re his maid, and he’s your employer. You shouldn’t be trying to speak with him, shouldn’t be snooping around his portraits, you should just be dusting them. Shouldn’t be going up to the third floor, because clearly, your services aren’t needed up there judging by how clean it is. Follow his instructions like a good employee. Keep the job.
Except, you don’t follow all his instructions. The act of locking your door, and unlocking it, is tedious. The lock is rusted and old, and you have to twist the key so hard that there’s deep indents left in your fingers afterwards. And after finding out that there’s no point to it, you stopped. Must be some humiliation ritual. Nothing happens. The key collects dust on that little table.
You know a thing or two about being detached and indifferent. So that’s what you become.
You even gain a little comfortable routine. You feel as if you live alone in this big house, and instead of being a maid, you fantasise that you’re a rich, classy woman living here and that you’re cleaning your own property. You avoid Francoise’s smiling face at all costs when you dust the portraits. But your eyes seem to always drift over to Isaac. Not his expressionless face that you’ve become accustomed to, but rather where he’s forcing a weak smile. You wonder what his real smile looks like.
You even forget that he lives here too sometimes. Never any sounds coming from up there, never comes down. The only reminder you get is when each morning, you open your door to see an envelope on the floor, containing all the cash you need. He always seems to know how many hours you’d worked that day.
Cash is a little annoying, but you doubt he even has a phone. No service up here, and he seems to think far too high of himself to have a bank card. It’s money. You can’t complain.
But you do get lonely sometimes. Back when your father was alive, whenever you’d feel completely isolated, you’d go and sit with him. Wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t even hold his cold hand like you used to. You’d just sit in the chair beside his bed, and watch him struggle to breathe properly with his illness. You wouldn’t admit it aloud, but you’d mentally tell yourself you’re not alone yet. He’s not dead yet.
You can’t exactly go and sit with anyone here. Your only human interactions are a brief smile and a ‘thank you’ with people behind tills whenever you pay for whatever. You think you’ll probably go insane the longer you’re here. Would probably make you fit in better.
You realise being here has made you a lot more cynical. There are some positives. Like now. The highlight of your day is probably getting ready for bed. The sun shining through your bay window, where you’ll sometimes sit with a book you’d taken from downstairs, or just look out at the rolling hills beyond Jericho. Remind yourself that there’s more to life than this myopic hell.
Your eyes trace where the sun hides behind the horizon, its last rays swirling with the decaying green of the trees. Trees that sway gently with the growing wind, a hint at the colder months that are fast approaching. The sky above is a shade that can’t be replicated, a mix of violets and soft blues as night creeps in. You sigh, and stand. Your knees click softly as you do so, and you mentally scold yourself for always sitting so still for so long, even though you’ll do the same tomorrow.
You shuffle over to your bed, exhaustion from the days activities catching up to you. You’d finally gotten a vacuum. Then remembered there’s no sockets in the house. So you had to take that back to town, refund it, and then buy a wireless one. Vacuuming the entire first floor and second took more effort than you’d care to admit.
And another thing about living in basically the wilderness, is dust settles quick. So with your new companion, the duster, you’d wasted away another hour. Then you’d mopped the floors with the new mop you’d bought a day prior, which isn’t as good as the ads make it out to be.
Your arms ache, and your legs. Without hesitation, you clamber under the sheets as darkness begins to infiltrate your room. Fatigue pulls at your eyelids, and you pull the sheets up to your chin. You fall asleep almost instantly.
You don’t know what time it is when you wake up. Opening your eyes is too difficult a feat, but you’re awake. You turn over, trying to get comfortable and go back to sleep. But something tugs at you, urging you to get up. Something’s off.
You begrudgingly open your eyes, hands reaching to rub them harshly in your frustration. You sit up, your bed frame creaking. You squint your eyes as you scan the room. It’s pitch black outside, and you can hear rain lashing harshly at the window. You sniffle tiredly. Nothing is wrong—
Then you see it. Your door is wide open. Your eyes open fully, and you sit a little straighter. It was closed when you went to sleep, you’re sure of it. Fear curls in your stomach as your legs shakily move from beneath your sheets. The floor is so cold on your feet that it practically numbs them instantly.
You take slow steps towards the door. Your hand grabs the doorknob, and you reluctantly peer your head out to look down the hall. The sight is haunting, the hall is empty as usual, but seems longer at night. The window at the opposite end shines with moonlight and raindrops, casting shadows along the length of the floor. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary. You straighten up, swinging the door shut, fully intending to just go back to bed.
You turn, swiftly beelining for your bed. Just as you grab the corner of the sheet to pull it back, there’s a booming slam from downstairs. You jump so hard that you accidentally pull the sheets halfway from your mattress. Your wide eyes look back over to your now closed door.
“Shit.” You whisper to yourself, voice shaky with fear. You reach down to grab the candle thats on your dresser beside the lamp that doesn’t even work, frantically fumbling with a lighter to light it. It takes a few attempts with your quivering fingers, and you sigh with relief at seeing the flame gently grow. You grasp the handle, turning and looking at the door with heavy breaths. You’re the one who takes care of this house. It’s your responsibility to go investigate the noise. “Shit, shit, shit… ohhhhmygod.” You close your eyes and inhale sharply, before walking with reckless abandon, swinging the door open and stepping out into the hall.
The shadows that lined the floor are flushed away with the candlelight. It reassures you slightly. Only slightly. You slowly pad your way down to the stairs, goosebumps raising on your entire body. It’s cold out here.
You hold the candle in front of you as you take one step down. It’s just an old house making noise, you tell yourself, or if it is an intruder, it’s just some curious kids. You’ll yell at them and tell them to get lost. Another step. Maybe you left a window open and the draft from outside caused a door to slam shut. Yes, that’s probably it, you’ve not heard anything since.
Another few steps. You inhale sharply as you turn the corner to the last few steps. The part of the main hall you can see is empty. No one is here. No one would dare to come, what with the fear circulating this house. You pause, holding the candle far before you to look further, bending slightly. Still seeing nothing, you continue down the stairs with a little more confidence.
You finish the last step, eyes looking around the room. No sounds coming from the room with the piano, and nothing coming from the connecting kitchen. You swallow as you look to the last room down here. The one that seems to always be engulfed in darkness. The door is shut.
Your breath hitches, and you look behind you. No windows are open. Your heart skips a beat.
You decide you want to go back to bed.
There’s been no sounds since, so it’s all okay. Probably. You take a step back, then turn on your heels and moving back towards the stairs. The floorboards squeak loudly beneath you.
And just as your hand grasps the railing, and you spin to step up the first step, you hear the damned door creak open.
You freeze.
You slowly tilt your body to look through the gaps of the railing, squinting through the darkness, but the light of your candle prohibits you seeing very far. With reluctance, you tremble as you bring the candle close. Quietly as you can, you blow it out. The room is immediately smothered in darkness.
You blink rapidly as your eyes adjust to the darkness, and you look back through the gaps of splintered wood. The door is definitely open. You tense and hold your breath as you shift your face closer.
Your shoulders deflate in relief as Isaac steps out. Of course. No one would come here, never here. What else were you expecting? He’s always downstairs at this time. You’re about to stand straight and just go back to bed, but something roots you to the spot. You watch closely, as he walks out of the room and the silvery light moon reflects on his face.
Your heart stops.
Blood. Lots of it. All around his mouth like when a child finds chocolate. It dots his neck, beneath his eyes and cheeks.
You tell yourself you’re crazy. You must be seeing things. You’re tired, or it’s so dark that your mind is playing tricks on you. This house is making you mad.
But he reaches up with a gloved hand to wipe at his mouth, smearing crimson along his chin, and you know you’re not hallucinating or making this up.
Is your boss a fucking cannibal?
Your breath hitches on a gasp. He freezes. You slap your hand over your mouth. His head snaps in your direction, and his spine straightens.
You stare at each other for a moment, not unlike the way you did a few days prior. Your eyes begin to water as you begin to completely register the sheer amount of blood on his face. Your hands tremble violently. You drop the candle.
It smashes on the wood, the resounding clap seemingly breaking you both out of your trances. The step he immediately takes in your direction makes your heart drop to your feet.
You won’t be able to reach the door. Not with him already making his way to you, looking furious. No, murderous. So you do the next best thing. You spring into action, nearly tripping over your own feet as you sprint as fast as you can up the stairs. So hard that your toes bash into the end of the step multiple times. You don’t register the pain through the adrenaline, only growing as you hear the stairs creak dangerously behind you—he’s chasing you, and he’s fast.
You reach the second floor, and you waste no time in beelining for your room. You bolt down the hallway that seems impossibly long, ears straining as you hear the staircase railing rattle as he grabs it, turning rapidly to keep up with you. You don’t look back. You’ve seen too many horror movies.
You’ve felt fear before. When bullies in the sixth grade would send you notes in class that you were getting beat up after schools out. When you read a question in an important exam on a topic you didn’t study. When the doctors first told you that your father’s illness was terminal. You’re no stranger to the feeling of anxiety curling around your stomach and choking the breath from your lungs. But you’ve never experienced it quite like now.
You reach your door, springing inside and slamming it shut so roughly the window rattles. You push against the doorknob to keep it closed as you reach for the key. Just as you’re about to jam it in, Isaac slams himself against the door so hard that it hits your head as it swings open. The key clatters to the floor and the door hinges squeak in protest as the door hits the wall with great force. You stumble back, one hand on your temple where the door hit you, the other settling on the wall behind you as you back up against it. Your heart is beating so fast that it might as well jump right out of your body.
He wastes no time. He walks towards you with such rage in his darkened eyes that it’s the most intense emotion you’ve ever seen on him. On anyone.
You attempt to sprint past him, but he tuts and grabs your throat with his right hand tightly, his left gripping your elbow as he slams you back against the wall. The back of your head smacks it hard, and you cry out as pain buzzes in the backs of your eyes. The force causes the lamp on your dresser to go tumbling to the floor, the pretty glass smashing loudly, shards flying across the wood.
His heavy breaths are all you can hear. You can’t hear the rain, or the wind, or the squeaks of the walls. Just him. Your glossed over eyes narrow with pain and frustration as you look up at him, cold fear taking root in your stomach as you make eye contact. He’s staring at you with wide, frenzied eyes. Dried blood is still coating his face.
“What did I say?” He spits, his voice shaking with fury. His hand tightens on your throat, his glove scratching at your skin as your breath becomes shallow. “Hm? Don’t come out after dark. Are you so incompetent that you can’t follow simple rules?”
You squirm in his grip, one hand reaching to grip his wrist tightly. He just rags you forward before slamming you against the wall again, his chest to yours as he pins you back against it. His harsh breath fans your face. “Now look what you’ve done. You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”
Your temple throbs. You tilt your head up, trying to find some leverage against his grip for air. You choke on a breath as you squeeze out, “Ruin what?”
At that, he scoffs, the corner of his lips twitching as if he were going to smirk but couldn’t find it in himself. He shakes his head softly. His words are quieter, but not calmer. “I was going to kill you.”
You muffle out a cry, fighting against him harder, but he just tightens his grip as he leans against you harder, his weight knocking the air from your lungs. He shushes you quietly, the hand thats wrapped around your elbow tightening.
“I was going to kill you,” he continues, lips curling into a sick smile. “I still could.”
You snarl at him. “Then why don’t you?” Your voice is scratchy and fraying at the edges.
He sighs through his nostrils. “I’ve been watching you. I always play with my food, but I’ve found that playing with you is more exhilarating than it would be to just eat you and be done with it.”
You furrow your brows, coughing in your throat. You attempt to shake your head in disbelief, but his grip just tightens. His thumb reaches up to rub your jawline softly. “No one’s ever lasted this long.”
He must see the confusion in your eyes, because he just smiles smugly and tilts his head. “They always get too curious. Look where they shouldn’t.” Irritation bubbles beneath the surface. “The last snuck into my lab. She was dead before dawn,” You tremble. He doesn’t blink. “Before her, the maid read the portrait inscriptions. She recognised me for what I am, and she tried to leave.” He shakes his head. “But I knew she would. I stopped her. Her, and all the ones before her that refused to follow a couple simple rules.”
You swallow dryly, straightening your spine in the little space you have. Your eyes dart around his face—the blood, the crazed look in his eyes, curls spilling over them. Your breath hitches. “What are you?”
At that, his smile fades. There’s a pause, an almost imperceptible reluctance in him, but then he does the one thing you expected last. He releases you.
You double over, slumping against the wall as you heave air into your lungs and cough so hard you nearly choke. One hand wraps around your neck, where his was, and you wince at the pain that flashes behind your eyes. You lean your weight against the wall as you straighten up, eyes trailing the mess on the floor—glass shards glinting with the moonlight. You can vaguely hear the rain rattling the window over the ringing in your ears. Your wet lashes are cold on your brows as your eyes meet his, and you tense in preparation, expecting another attack. You can’t go for the door. You know it. You just watch him, waiting.
Your heart drops as you see his gloved hand reach for the first button of his shirt. Your gaze is fixated on his movements, and you whimper fearfully through your pants. He doesn’t react. He just unbuttons the next, and the next. Your brows knit together, but you don’t move—you can’t, your body is weak and you feel like you could pass out with the dizziness swirling around your brain.
But what you fear doesn’t come. But you do think you’ve gone mad.
You blink once, twice, thrice for good measure. Your eyes are fixed on the left region of his chest, or, where his chest should be. There’s a jagged outline where his skin has been cut, and in the darkness, you make out a blot on his chest where his heart should be—a black hole in his flesh. Whatever is in there glints as he steps closer. You don’t notice his movements, unable to concentrate on anything else but the impossible contraption before you.
As he takes another step, you’re able to see more. It’s some sort of machine—a regular ticking emitting from the metal like a heartbeat. Exactly like one.
You briefly look up at him to see he’s already looking at you, studying your reaction like he had when you’d both first came into this room. You look back down, numbing anxiety mixing with some sort of sick fascination, brows furrowing as you shake your head.
Your voice is hoarse and no louder than a whisper. “What is it?”
His lips curl up. “My old heart was a failing one. A frail, human thing.” His eyes flicker down, fingers gently taking his shirt and pulling further, so that it’s clearer to you. “I invented this clockwork heart so I could live on.” He licks his lips, eyes darting around your face. “For Francoise.”
You look back to him at that, remembering. Her soft smile, her pigtails. Remembering how she’d died young. “Your sister.”
He nods once, not looking away from you, not for a moment. “She was sick. Sick with a thing that had no cure. Those in the past with her… condition would die young.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t let her. So I stayed, in this damned world, to try and cure her.”
Your skin crawls, but a sense of intrigue curls in your chest. You relate, no matter how much you wish not to. Except, you weren’t some kind of genius scientist. You couldn’t invent a cure just because you wanted to. You swallow, and your throat burns. “What happened?”
He doesn’t hesitate in his answer. “I died.”
Your brows twitch. He doesn’t seem the type to jest, ever. You search his eyes for any sort of amusement, or dishonesty—you only find sincerity.
He nods once, cementing his words and seemingly reading your mind. “I died forty years ago. But I was brought back.” One hand reaches up, his fingertips brushing your shoulder, as if willing you to believe him. “For ten years, I’ve been living impossibly. Walking the earth as- as an undead. An embodiment of science.”
Your brows knit. You find yourself not shrugging him away. “How?”
He breathes heavier, simple talk of science igniting his deep-rooted passion. “Electricity.” His hand settles on your shoulder. Not squeezing or gripping, just holding. With his other hand, he gently takes your wrist, guiding your hand to his chest. You both watch his movement. “Twice, I should’ve been dead. And twice, I’ve surpassed the laws of life by all accounts.”
You hesitate, your hand still shaking with adrenaline and fatigue. Your fingers twitch, and the fingertip of your middle finger brushes against it. His clockwork heart. His breath hitches, and his hand around your waist tightens momentarily.
You’re breathless with disbelief. “You built this yourself?”
He nods.
“Then why couldn’t you create a cure? For your sister?”
You half expect him to grow angry like before, or for his expression to shift. It doesn’t. He maintains his composure, doesn’t display any change in emotions. You suppose he must be numb to it by now. “Science is trial and error.”
He says nothing more. You don’t think you want him to. You bring your hand away from his heart, feeling yourself become dangerously fascinated—becoming deluded in your hallucinating that tension is crackling between the two of you. He lets you.
You divert as you feel his gaze burn into yours, buzzing through your nerves and furling in your abdomen as desire. “If she died, what are you doing in your lab all day?”
He sighs through his nose, his head tilting slightly, almost in pity. His next words knock the wind out of you. “I wish you came to me sooner. Perhaps your father would still be alive.”
Your eyes widen. He doesn’t budge. “I told you, I’ve been watching you.” The hand thats on your shoulder slides to the side of your neck, his thumb rubbing the skin there, almost reverently. “Their conditions weren’t the same. Only the end to their pursuit. Trying to find a cure for your father gave me a scientific purpose I’ve not felt in a long time.” He pauses. “But I failed.”
Your brain is scrambled—you are crazy. Because all you’re hearing is not that he’s been stalking you for God knows how long, or he’s a fucking zombie, but that he was trying to find a cure. A cure that would’ve saved your father. You hear that he silently cared for you when you felt the like the most isolated person in the world. That he cared when no one else did, not even yourself.
You don’t feel the dull throb in your temple as a bruise starts to form, or the pain in the back of your skull. Just the feeling of his hand on your neck, not gripping, but holding, his thumb rubbing your bruises that he caused so delicately that you don’t half deserve it.
You don’t see the glass on the floor, or the slightly crooked door from where the hinges have loosened, but just his dark eyes. Softer and more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen on anyone. His machine heart, ticking regularly and rhythmically as yours skips a few beats.
His hand shifts, holding the entirety of the back of your neck now with his large hand, looking down at you through his criminally long lashes. The air becomes electric, snapping with every intake of breath shared between you. Thunder rumbles in the distance.
“I could kill you.” He murmurs, his words lacking incentive. “I was going to.”
The anxiety and desire that have made themselves comfortable in your chest beat at the danger of it all. “You won’t.”
He exhales quietly. He doesn’t say anything else. He just leans in, ducking his head down low as he presses his lips to yours in the softest of kisses. His lashes tickle your cheek as his eyes flutter closed, yours following.
His lips are dry but unexpectedly soft, moving against yours with all the reluctance of a man inexperienced, all the patience of a scientist. You can smell the coppery blood on his face. You’re weirdly unbothered by it now.
One of your hands tentatively moves upward, gingerly settling on his cheek. He pulls away, looking down at you with a typical unreadable expression—confusion, desire? It’s hard to tell. You guess it’s the latter when he ducks back down, lips connecting with yours. His hand thats on your neck pulls you in closer, his other hand settling on the curve of your back as he presses himself against you reverently.
Your other hand moves to his arm, holding him as you reciprocate. You don’t know why you do. You’ll think about it later, you tell yourself as you move your lips against his with growing fervour.
You don’t register the iron taste as the kiss intensifies, as your tongue mingles with his in a way that’s not languid, but rather desperate and needy. Your fingers slide through his curls, softer than you’d fantasised when you grew bored around the house.
You feel him growing more frenzied, lips almost violent against yours—it should deter you. It should, but it doesn’t. You only become more enticed, your morals becoming warped and blurred with every wet brush of his tongue against yours. The hand holding the back of your neck tightens, nails leaving crescents even through his gloves. You find you don’t mind it.
When he pulls away, he takes your bottom lip between his teeth—biting so hard that blood spills, crimson drooling into his mouth. He groans low at the taste, keeping his eyes on you as you wince. Your stomach flips. Your own blood drips slowly from the surprisingly deep indents, tricking down your chin like a stream. You nearly moan outright when his tongue flicks out to lap it up, his approving hum vibrating against you as he licks back up to your lips, connecting them with his in a way so sloppy its almost beneath him. A man so composed and indifferent humiliating yourself for a drop of your blood, and he doesn’t seem to care. Your cunt drools.
His hand moves from your back to your waist, and it’s like he’s pawing at you. His lips leave yours, and you heave for air. He doesn’t. He just kisses along your jawline, down to your neck where he bites hard. You gasp a pained yelp, and he moans, rocking forward, his hips catching yours as you sway with him. Your hand tightens in his hair that tickles your chin, feeling him pressing hard against you.
“You have no idea,” He sighs, his voice hoarse and whiny as he rocks against you again, unable to stop himself. “The things I want to do to you.”
Your mouth gapes as your stomach curls at his words, need blooming in your abdomen like a late flower. “Tell me,” You breathe, brows knitting when his nose nudges your cheek.
He reaches down swiftly, his movements choppy and desperate, gripping your thigh tight enough to bruise. He positions it right between his long legs. He lets out a gruff whimper when his clothed cock rubs against it in just the right way.
“I’ll eat it for hours,” He blurts out, the words coming out breathy as his hips push up against you quicker, he’s choking on his breath. “The thought of tasting you tears at my mind, and I cannot find reprieve. Not while you’re under this roof.” He bites at your neck again, like he can’t stand any skin bare of his teeth. “I’d hold you, keep you down. Or let you sit and ride.”
His words kindle the fire thats already roaring in your core, and you can’t help but sigh out a moan of his name.
His hips stutter in their rhythm, and he huffs against the crook of your neck. You shift your thigh to press against him, and the noise he lets out is borderline orgasm-inducing. He continues, “Since I saw you, I knew I’d do it- anything you asked, and it’s unlike me. But I can’t hate it when it’s you undoing me. I’d do it all—bring you the whole town just for a breath of it.”
He’s rutting against you like he’ll do something wicked.
He’s panting against you like how the neighbours dog would in the summer heat, a sound that would normally drive you to retire inside—but now, you’d trade the world for more of it. His chest is heaving up and down against yours so hard that you’re forced up against the wall again. And his thrusts are growing sloppy, fingers digging into you so rough it’s numbing, and he’s choking on a moan—
You feel it. Warmth spreading along the front of his dark pants, seeping into your thin pyjama pants like honey. And he’s punching out a grunt, grabbing at you, pulling you impossibly close- “Oh, that’s— I’m sorry, sweet girl— I’m sorry, fuck..”
His voice is shredded, used up. He’s ruined and he’ll thank you for it. Rutting against you and allowing himself to cum in his pants like a schoolboy. Like hes never known dignity, or pride. The inside of your thighs feel sticky with want.
You let him ride through it, his hips pushing shallow against you in a way that’s so pathetic you can’t help but let your need for him grow to a visceral level. His hips tremble. So do yours.
“Isaac,” You whisper, breaking the intimate silence of rain and his uneven breaths. He doesn’t reply, but his nose drags along your neck as he breathes you in. “Get on the bed.”
And he looks at you with hesitation, as if he didn’t just cum in his pants from a little friction. But it’s inevitable. When he steps over the broken glass as he makes for your bed, you swear you hear his heart skip a tick.
And in this moment, he isn’t civilised. He isn’t undead. Just yours. And just as crazy as you are.
★ summary: you and steve were tangled in each other’s lives from birth, sharing scraped knees, midnight secrets, and every promise two kids could make without understanding the weight of them. as years passed, the two of you shifted with every change the years threw at you, and time kept moving the way it always does. fast and unrelenting. you could only push down the inevitable for so long before you realized all you've ever wanted has been right in front of you, all along.
★ pairing: steve harrington x reader, slight omc x reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, cursing, canon character death, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, angst, emotional cheating, p in v, oral f recieving
★ word count: 16.2k
★ notes: this is an au where nothing supernatural happens in hawkins btw!!! i've spent soo long on this that i kinda hate it but i really hope you all enjoy! i appreciate the feedback so much <3
You had never known a life without Steve Harrington in it. From the moment you were walking, he was standing there right beside you. Your mothers were friends, often leaving you two with the same sitters. With matching sticky hands and loud babbles of nothing, you found a friend in the messy-haired boy.
Steve was there through all of life’s biggest moments. The first time you rode your bike without training wheels, losing your first baby tooth, and your first heartbreak in the fourth grade, when Adam Kelly put gum in your hair. Steve pushed him off the slide, splitting his lip open. He thought the punishment was worth it to see the smile on your face.
Similarly, you were there through his horrible prepubescent hormones, his growth spurt hitting later in life. You tripped Christy Morris after she called him short, embarrassing him in front of the class. Her accident overshadowed his embarrassment when she went crying to the office, chocolate milk staining the front of her white dress. Steve’s eyes met yours across the lunchroom, and you sent him a simple shrug. It was mindless, the urge to protect him. It went both ways. It was soon clear to everyone in Hawkins that the two of you would do anything for the other.
Steve held your hand when your dog died, letting you sob into his shoulders. He came to your house the next day, a bundle of picked dandelions in his hand. It was the first time a boy brought you flowers; he told you that you deserved them every day since it made you smile. And you believed him. When his parents got a new job, leaving him at your house or with strange relatives, he’d hide his face in your pillow, pretending tears weren’t racking his body. You’d run your tiny hands through his hair, and once he was done, you’d force him to watch movies with you. Making him laugh so hard that he no longer felt the absence of his parents. He would never be abandoned, because you’d never leave him.
The summer before high school, the two of you made a pact. Bound in the blood of scraped knees and years of friendship.
“We’re gonna be friends forever, you know that, right?” Steve asked, both of your backs pressed against the hot fabric of the trampoline. His hair was getting longer, his voice already deeper.
You had changed, too, your body developing in ways that made boys in school look at you longer. You started caring more about your appearance, making Steve call you gross every time you’d put on lip gloss. In the same way, you’d smack him with the hairspray can he stole from you.
“Of course I know that,” You said, “Why?”
He huffed, throwing his arm over his forehead in an attempt to quell the Indiana heat. “High school is just scary. What if we make new friends?”
You shrugged, not really thinking too much about it. “We both have other friends already.”
“But none of them are like you.” He said the meaning of his words wouldn’t come to him until much later.
“I know.” You smirked, kicking his shin with your foot. “Even when the world changes, our friends, school, and even when we change as people. It won’t matter because our friendship never will. We’re unchangeable.”
He laughed at your word choices, pushing your foot away from his playfully. “Growing up is scary.” He admitted after a brief moment of silence.
You hummed in agreement, reaching your hand down to grab his. Lacing your fingers together as if you’ve done it a thousand times, because you have.
“You make it not so scary.” You smiled, the two of you staring at the clouds.
“Pinky promise?” Steve asked, his voice betraying him. You just smiled, bringing up your other hand that wasn’t in his, holding out your pinky. He did the same, lacing your two pinkies together in an unspoken vow.
Time is a fickle thing. Nothing ever happens as you plan it; it’s the only consistency in the world. When the two of you stepped foot into Hawkin’s High, it was inevitable that things would change. He made the basketball team, coming over to your house with his jersey in hand. Jumping up and down, swearing you needed to join the Cheerleading team. You smacked him upside the head for even entertaining the idea. He made fun of you for joining the library club, a realization coming over you two that your High School experiences were heading into different directions. You promised to go to each of his games, and he said he would read one book a year for you. A compromise of sorts.
At his first basketball game, Trina Robbins kissed him courtside, her pom poms shaking wildly at her sides. It was the first time you saw him as a man, not just the little boy who’d help you catch fireflies in the backyard. You ran to him after the game, arms slinging around his shoulders in congratulations. He spun you around, his joyful laugh ringing in your ears.
“I’m so proud of you!” You gawked, his arms still wrapped around you. It wasn’t until you heard a loud cough from behind you. Trina and her friends were standing behind you, evil smirks on their faces.
“Y/n! This is my girlfriend Trina.” He smiled widely, his arm leaving your body quickly. He walked over to her, his arm slinging across her shoulders. “Babe, this is my friend I grew up with.”
Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched, “Oh? Steve didn’t mention you.”
You hoped the sound of the rowdy gymnasium covered the sound of your heart shattering. He didn’t even tell you he had a crush, let alone a girlfriend. Then he didn’t mention you at all. You knew Steve, your Stevie, would never do this. You brushed it off, a hopeless, dumb teenage boy in love. It was fine.
You braved it with a smile, ignoring their judgmental glares that Steve seemed oblivious to. “Well, nice to meet you, Trina. You did great.”
“I know.” She smirked, pulling Steve away. “Come on, I want ice cream.” And he was dragging her out the door.
He turned back, waving at you. “I’ll see you around!”
You sent him a wave back, riding your bike home in pitiful silence. Absent was the sound of his bike pedaling next to yours, his incessant complaining about assignments and practice.
It was just a simple interaction, one you tried not to dwell on. But little did you know it would be the first crack in the glass. Your interaction with Steve at school was becoming little to none as the weeks passed. Trina was glued to his hip, and when she wasn’t, his mean older teammates were. You still saw him some weekends, helping him study for his English tests. Inevitably, doing the assignments for him. He was still the same Steve you knew and loved, but something was different.
He no longer reached for your hand as much as he used to, and there were no more hugs goodbye. You knew this would happen when the two of you started dating, but soon the phone calls stopped. The weekend hangouts in his parents' basement were replaced with him going to parties. He no longer rode with you to school, biking halfway across town to let Trina ride on his pegs. You passed each other in the hallways, soft smiles and waves were all you got for the majority of the year.
It was the week before Summer break, and you were excited. You and your friends had planned a slumber party, painting nails, hair rollers in, and the stereo in your room blaring your newest cassettes. Preparing your future Summer plans. Celebrating the end of finals, gossiping about going into your sophomore year. You were flipping through a magazine, ready to point out a pair of shoes, when there was a loud tapping at your window.
The girls jumped, eyes wide at the sight of none other than Steve. His arms were clinging to the ledge, tapping on the glass. It feels like it has been ages since you’ve spoken to him, let alone seeing him, ready to climb into your room.
“What the hell?” Imogen yelled, her hand cradling her chest.
You rolled your eyes, ripping open the window. “What are you doing?”
“I just wanted to-oh oh, hi ladies.” He paused, looking past you to wave flirtatiously at your friends.
Your fingers flicked his forehead, “Out with it.”
“Mom wants you over Sunday night for dinner. Said it’s been too long. Still thinks she loves you more than me. Also, just wanted to see you.” He cheesed, to which you pretended it didn’t make your heart pound.
“Okay. You could've called.”
“Can’t see your annoyed face through the phone.”
You glared at him, making him cower. “Okay, okay. See you Sunday!” Then he was off, his feet hitting the ground with a thud. You lay back down on the floor, content to skim through he magazine once again. Trying to calm the thud of your heart. But your friends were not letting it go.
“You have the Steve Harrington sneaking through your window?” Jessica gawked, running and watching where he ran back to his bike.
“He’s my best friend.” You laughed nervously, watching her and Imogen stare at each other. An all-knowing look in their eyes. “He could’ve used the front door; he probably just wanted to show off.”
“Does that happen often?” Jessica asked, her line of questioning not done.
“Not as much as it used it. Sometimes I’ll go to his, but I’ll use the front door like a normal person. “ You shrugged mindlessly, “His bed is comfier anyway.”
What you thought was an innocent moment turned out to be anything but. When you walked into school the last day, you were met with too many eyes on you. From the moment you walked to your locker, the whispers were evident. Your palms were sweaty as you stumbled, unlocking the combination lock.
“Y/n.” Imogen rushed towards you, out of breath from seemingly running to you. “I’m so sorry. I told Jessica not to say anything, but she really wants to be on the cheer squad next year-”
“What?” You sputtered, “Say what?”
Before Imogen could spit it out, the school doors slammed open. Everyone’s eyes are on you. There stood Trina, complete with her group of friends. Her face was red, anger evident. You had zero idea what was happening, assuming Steve broke her heart and she was coming to take it out on you.
“Hey, you whore.” Trina spat, getting in your face within seconds. Your back pressed against your lock, eyebrows raised. Imogen had run off, muttering something about being back. You were left alone, nothing but a pissed off squad of cheerleaders at your neck, with half the school watching. You felt like you were in a bad 70s movie, living out your worst nightmare.
“What’s your fucking problem?” You asked, fingers clutching your stack of books like your life depended on it.
“I knew from the moment Steve introduced us that you’d be a problem. With your pathetic “poor me” face. You just couldn’t accept that he wanted me, huh?” She spoke, your mind still reeling.
“I literally have no clue what you’re talking about.” You tried to push past her, her friends pushing you back roughly into the lockers. Your books going flying from your hands.
“We’re talking about you fucking my boyfriend.” She spoke slowly, “I heard that you guys crawl into each other's windows and you spread your legs for him.”
Jessica. That fucking bitch Jessica. Your heart ached; you thought she was your friend. She knew nothing was happening between you two.
“I never fucked Steve.” A blush crept up your neck at your words, “He’s just my best friend. I’ve known him since I was in diapers.”
“Bullshit. You can lie to me, but she saw him literally hanging from your window.”
You didn’t know where the bravery came from, clinging to your pride as much as you could. “You know, Trina, I know no one ever wants to be around you unless you’re putting out, but there’s this thing called friends-”
Her hand backhanded your cheek before you could finish, the sting making your eyes water. On instinct, you raised your hand back, unable to get anything in before one of her friends kicked you in the shin. The other’s joining in. Pain bloomed through your body as you fought back, getting outnumbered within seconds. It was a blur; in seconds, they were on you, only stopping when they heard a yell down the hallway.
Imogen was running back, Steve in tow. He was in his gym clothes, his eyes wild.
“Get the hell off her.” He barked, his arm coming up to pull Trina’s shoulder back. “What the hell is your problem?”
Her other friends scattered, leaving you slumped on your feet. Arm cradling your stomach, which was bound to be covered in bruises. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but you felt his worried gaze on you.
“What’s my problem? My problem is you. Cheating on me with this loser?” She screamed, getting the attention of teachers who slowly poured into the hall.
“Y/n? Nothing happened. God, she’s like my sister.” It wasn’t the first time the comparison had been made, but it was the first time Steve had said it. He didn’t like the way the words shaped in his mouth, his throat going dry before he spoke back up again. “Y/n is my best friend. I told you that.”
He pushed her aside, dropping to his knees to look over you. He cupped your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Unshed tears were heavy in your eyes, blinking them away when he checked you over for injuries.
“Are you okay?” He whispered, helping you stand upright. You didn’t answer, keeping your gaze on the floor. Willing yourself to wake up from this nightmare.
“Steve, I’m sorry.” Trina whimpered, watching her social status flash before her eyes. Steve pushed you behind his back, his eyes wild with fury, while looking at her.
“You know what, Trina. I don’t think you have the right to call anyone a whore, considering you put out on our first date.” Steve’s words were cruel, an ice to them you’ve never heard before. “You can go to hell. If you ever come near her again, you or your bitchy friends. I will ruin your life. Understood?”
He was met with silence, tears falling down her cheeks. Little did Hawkins know this was the start of the infamous King Steve.
“Matter of fact, if anyone has issues with her, they come to me.” He yelled, right before the teachers swarmed in, grabbing Trina by the arm.
Steve held your hand in silence to the nurse’s office, his eyes squeezing shut when you showed the nurse your reddened skin.
“It’ll probably bruise, nothing bad enough to go to the hospital for.” She said, snapping her gloves off. “I’m gonna have the office call your parents up here.”
All you could do was nod, picking at the skin around your nails harshly.
“Y/n…” Steve whispered, his hand finding yours. You let him lace your fingers together tightly. It had been so long since you held his hand, but it still fit perfectly in yours. “I’m so sorry.”
You shook your head, “S’my fault. I made a joke to Jessica about how your bed is comfier than mine. I didn’t think she’d take it wrong, definitely didn’t think she’d tell half the school about it.”
“No, no. It’s not your fault. I haven’t been the best of a friend lately.” He admitted, letting his thumb rub over the top of your hand. “Can’t believe I let a stupid girl get in between us.”
His pained laugh made you roll your eyes, “Don’t care if you get a girlfriend, Stevie. Just want you to still talk to me.”
“I promise. God, I promise it’ll never happen again.” He laughed shakily, pressing soft kisses to your hand.
Things had still changed, changed so much sometimes it seemed like you were lifetimes apart from the two kids that sat hand in hand on that trampoline. But you’d accept any change, as long as he was still in your life. Without him, there was a hole in the shape of him, lodged in the middle of your chest. You felt the hole close, each moment Steve grinned at you. Promising to take you out for ice cream as soon as your parents show up.
Sophomore year rolled by so quickly, you wished you could have grabbed time, and begged her to slow down. Steve had grown a new reputation in school. King Steve, they called him, claiming him the royalty of Hawkins High. Little did they know the king of Hawkins made you blow-dry and hairspray his hair every morning. His girlfriends, or trysts as you liked to call them, all knew you. Whispers of the Trina incident followed every relationship of his; he just smiled and told them you’d always be more important than them. They either accepted it or they didn’t.
Dating for you didn’t come nearly as easily; most of the boys at school were so scared of Steve they steered clear of you with a ten-foot pole. It only got worse when he began hanging out with Carol and Tommy G. You hated them, despised how they fed into Steve’s ever-growing ego. They were kind to you, most of the time. It was clear they tolerated you only.
Every time Steve would grab you by the shoulders, pulling you into a hug in the hall, they’d groan.
“Gotta hug my girl.” He’d shrug, kissing your forehead goodbye before going off to class. Imogen would just roll her eyes, swearing up and down that the two of you just needed to start dating. You’d cringe, shaking her off. He was just your best friend you’d tell her. When she’d swear her and her best friend didn’t act like that, all you could do was shrug. “That’s just me and Steve.”
You didn’t have your first official boyfriend until the summer before Junior year, and Steve hated him. Hated him for reasons you were still unclear about. He was on the debate team, the most innocent, nerdiest of boys who had captured your heart. So when he broke your heart three weeks into the year, Steve had held you in his arms as you sobbed, brushing your hair down, swearing he’d kill him.
“I really will, I promise. I’ll use the beamer. Catch him on a foggy night and just boom,” Steve spoke, making your chest rattle with laughter. “Blood and guts everywhere.”
“It would ruin your nice and shiny car.” You pouted through your tears. For his 16th birthday, Steve’s dad had presented him with the infamous burgundy BMW. He’d almost spun the tires out pulling into your driveway. That night, the two of you went through a whole tank of gas, driving everywhere around town. You couldn’t imagine your ex-boyfriend's murder ruining that car.
“Would be worth it to see you smile.” He said, watching your puffy cheeks as you sat up.
“He was such a dickhead.” You frowned, rubbing your tired eyes. “I really thought what we had over the summer was good. Then he sees Rebecca in chemistry and thinks she’d be a better lay than me.”
Steve’s brows furrowed, “Did he say that?”
“It was implied.” You grumbled, fumbling with a loose thread from his shirt. “Can’t believe I lost my virginity to someone who asked if he was going to put it in the wrong hole.”
A loud laugh tore from his chest, “Wait, what?”
“He wanted to make sure, and I quote: “Is it in your vagina or your pee hole?” You burst out laughing, rubbing your face.
The two of you laughed until your chests hurt, Steve going on and on. “Dude, poor fucking Rebecca,”
“Poor Rebecca.” You wheezed, taking a deep breath in. It was good to laugh. It was good to be in Steve’s arms, the two of you lazily lounging in his bed.
“Hey,” Steve spoke up, “Do you wanna order pizza and disgrace his yearbook picture?”
You scoffed, “I’m offended you’d even ask Stevie.”
The two of you did just that, you ended up falling asleep on his bed. The two of you waking up in a tangled mess of arms. His body pressed against yours. In an awkward shuffle, you pulled away, and he nearly flung off the bed. Stuttering that he had to go to the bathroom, the door slammed shut. All you could do was laugh.
He drove you to school that morning, and you walked alongside. When you passed by Nancy Wheeler and her friend, Barb, Steve paused, sending a flirty wave her way. Your eyes squinted, waiting to speak until you got to his locker.
“Nancy Wheeler, huh?” You asked, ignoring the blush creeping up on his face.
“We’ve just been talking a little.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. You hadn’t seen him this flustered before. Not over a girl. You ignored the weird sinking feeling in your stomach, smiling teasingly at him.
“Oh, so someone has a crush.” You sang, making him shush you. Looking around, like everyone would hear.
“Just because my love life failed this year doesn't mean yours has to; ask her out.” You encouraged him, closing his locker for him.
He gave you a sympathetic look, patting your cheek gently. “Just because that loser broke your heart doesn't mean you can’t try again. Now I don’t think any men in this town deserve you, but I do want you happy.”
You nodded against his hand, mourning the loss of warmth when he pulled away.
“Go get him, tiger.” You smirked, watching him run down the hallway.
It was no surprise you were once again regretting your words a few weeks later, doing your best to avoid where Steve had his tongue shoved down Nancy’s throat in the middle of the hallway.
“They’re disgusting.” Barb had spoken; you didn’t know the girl well, but as Nancy joined your orbit, she had followed.
“Sometimes I wonder if she ever gets tired of him slobbering all over her face.” You said, causing Barb to giggle.
“Hey, you and Sam aren’t much better. Staring longingly at each other in homeroom.” She teased, making you roll your eyes. Sam was your friend, just a friend. There had been a few moments you thought something more could bloom between the two of you, but you shrugged it off. Unsure if you wanted to deal with another inescapable heartbreak.
“Y/n! Barb.” Nancy stuttered, just now realising the two of you were standing next to her. Her face was flustered, and Steve stood there unbothered as usual. “What are you talking about?”
“How Y/n needs to woman up and ask Sam out,” Barb said.
“No, don’t ever ask a man out. That’s the man's job.” Steve shook his head, pulling Nancy to his chest.
“I think if she wants to ask him out, that’s fine. Cute even. I have art with Sam, he’s really sweet.” Nancy smiled, staring nervously at you. You were friendly with Nancy, but the two of you didn’t have much in common, it felt like sometimes. Steve went on and on about how Nancy thought you hated her.
“I’m not asking anyone out, but thank you, Nancy.” You sighed, your head hitting the locker. “I’m just gonna die alone.”
“Little Y/n not able to get laid?” Tommy’s shrill voice ruined the moment the four of you were having.
“That’s not what your dad said last night.” You squinted your eyes at him, Carol responding with a sarcastic laugh.
“You kiss Steve’s ass with that mouth?” He asked, making Nancy tense. You didn’t miss it, Steve did.
“He has this running joke that I feed Steve’s ego blindly, that’s why we’re friends. Tommy finds friendship as this impossible-to-grasp concept. One could only wonder why.” You told her with a smile, “He also thinks he’s much funnier than he actually is.”
“Hey, cut it out. God, you two fight like animals.” Steve sighed, “While we’re all here. My house. Tonight. Parents are gone.”
“It’s Tuesday.” You deadpanned, not ready to get roped into another one of the Harringtons' infamous get-togethers.
“It’s Tuesday.” Tommy mocked, grunting when Steve elbowed him in the stomach.
“A party?” Nancy asked, her innocent face looking up at Steve.
“Ding, ding!” Carol laughed, making you roll your eyes.
While they broke into conversation about the party, your eyes followed Nancy’s. Watching Jonathan Byers tacking up missing posters for his brother.
“Oh, God, that’s depressing.” Carol snickered, and Barb walked away before the conversation got worse. You didn’t blame her; every time the couple spoke, it made your skin crawl.
“Should we say something?” Nancy asked, eyes full of empathy. You knew her little brother was friends with his.
“I don’t think he speaks.”
“How much you want to bet he killed him?” Tommy laughed, your head turning to meet Steve's.
You scoffed, “Your friends are fucking assholes. You know that?” And with that, you stormed off, determined to find Sam. You were going to ask him out; you deserved your own happiness. Your own life outside of Steve’s little bubble.
-
Your fingers twirled in the phone cord, “Y/n, please. Tommy said he’s sorry. Please just come.” Steve begged through the phone. You could hear them snickering in the background. He wanted you at this stupid party; he cleaned his pool out and everything. Even got your favorite wine coolers.
“I’m with Sam.” You blurted out, The man you spoke of caught your eye. He was sitting on your bed cross-legged, shirt askew. Maybe you did decide to ask him out and sneak him in through your window.
“So bring him,” Steve said after a brief pause. “Barb is here. If she’s here, there’s no reason you can’t be. Please.” The begging in his voice made your resolve crumble. Sucking you right back in.
About an hour later, you were stalking into Steve’s backyard, hand in hand with Sam. Sam was beautiful. Taller with shaggy hair, you couldn’t help but immediately notice how different he looked from Steve. Wondering why your brain forced you to compare the two. There was no time to dwell on that.
You introduced him to everyone, making sure to flip Tommy the bird while doing so.
“Steve. I heard a lot about you, man.” Sam spoke, holding his hand out for Steve to shake. It took Steve a moment to shake his hand. Probably gripping harder than he needed to.
Once that was out of the way, you all found a good rhythm, chatting and drinking cheap beers. You're sipping on your strawberry wine coolers, Carol cringing with each sip of beer.
“No fair, why did she get nice drinks?” She whined.
“Because she doesn’t drink beer. They’re her favorite.” Steve laughed, a billow of cigarette smoke falling out of his mouth.
You couldn’t help the smirk that graced your lips, leaning back into Sam’s chest. As much as they loved King Steve, none of them knew him the way you did. He knew you like it was the easiest thing in the world, while Tommy and Carol barely scratched the surface. They knew it too. Nancy was different; you knew she really cared for Steve. You just worried he’d break her heart; you warned him if he did, he’d never hear the end of it. She was different from the other girls.
“It’s different this time, Y/n.” He swore, flicking his pencil on the library table.
“What, like you love her?” You asked.
He paused, thinking for a moment. “I think so. Not as much as I love you, and not in the same way. “ He hummed.
“Aww, wait, so you’re really falling in love with her?” You cooed, “What happened to King Steve?”
“Oh shut up.” He grumbled, right before the two of you were shushed by library goers.
When your brain came back into focus, they were shotgunning beers, your eyes rolling at the dick measuring contest Steve and Tommy were perpetually in. You looked back at Barb, forcing her to join you and Sam’s little group.
“When they’re around women, they turn into animals. Everything is a contest.” You said, making the first smile appear on her face this night.
“Sam, you don’t wanna join?” She asked, making his chest rumble in laughter.
“I don’t think I need to chug a beer to impress Y/n. She’d probably call me a meathead.”
“You know me so well.” You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
A large splash made you gasp, watching Carol come up from the pool. Tommy was standing there with a smirk on his face.
“What the hell, Tommy?” She shrieked, him jumping in beside her. It was then Steve’s turn to copy him, throwing Nancy and himself in the deep end.
“I broke my arm in this pool when I was 6. Don’t get any ideas.” You told Sam.
“So you’ve known Steve a while, huh?” He asked, watching the couples play about in the water.
“Since we were babies. We grew up together.”
“You guys couldn’t be more different.” He said it was an innocent comment. But it made you feel weird, frowning slightly.
“I guess I’m a little boring. A lot nicer to look at, though.”
“Disagree with the first part, but agree to the last.” He said, nuzzling his head in your neck.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Steve yelled, ruining the moment by splashing water at you two, “Get in.”
You shook your head, “I’m not ruining my shirt.”
“So take it off.” Tommy whistled. Carol smacking him upside the head.
“Didn’t know you wanted to see me shirtless that bad.” You teased back, Sam’s arm draping across your chest.
“I think everyone would enjoy the show, some more than others.” He whistled, Steve’s eyes shooting daggers into his skull.
“At least get in with us, Y/n,” Nancy spoke up, a smile on her face.
You turned to look at Sam, “I’ll get undressed if you do.” He teased.
“Fuck you all.” You grumbled, sitting up. You let Sam’s hands travel to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head.
“Fold it, it’s cashmere.” You muttered to him, watching him place it gently in one of the chairs. Leaving out the part where it was a Christmas present from Steve’s parents.
Sam tugged his own shirt over his head, ignoring the hollers of the boys. You ignored the gazes, keeping your shorts on. Clad in those and a plain black bra. Thankful it at least wasn’t white today.
“Okay on-” You started, readying yourself for a countdown before you saw Sam running at you full force.
“Wait-no.” You squealed, being pushed into the pool. The cold water shocked your body, coming up with a shriek. “Fuck that’s cold.”
Sam’s hair was dripping all over his face, swimming over to hold you in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto his shoulders for dear life.
“We should play a game,” Carol spoke up, a devilish grin on her face.
The group of you didn’t stay in the pool much longer after that, a few games of chicken before you were all shivering. There were only so many times you could push Carol into the water aggressively before someone got mad.
“I’m so cold.” Carol’s teeth were chattering while you wrapped the towel around yourself.
“I heard his mom’s room has a fireplace.” Tommy’s eyebrows waved suggestively at her.
“Gross, Steve, you’re gonna let them fuck in your parents' bed?” You groaned. Steve turned back, his eyes locking onto yours for what felt like the first time that night. This was while Nancy and Barb had a heated exchange, Barb storming off. You felt bad, making a mental note to bring her a muffin tomorrow morning in homeroom to apologize.
“Unless you and Sam want it first.” He said, making you cringe.
“We’re probably gonna head out.” You sighed, bidding them a goodnight.
“Hey man, thanks for inviting me,” Sam said to Steve, Steve responding with a tight-lipped smile. All you could do was squint at the man, watching him walk into the house.
“I guess we should head back.” You mumbled as soon as the two of you were alone, his hands resting on your hips.
“I guess,” He sighed playfully. “Or we could take advantage of his empty backyard.”
You gasped, “I’m not fucking you in my friend's yard.”
He shook his head, “I didn’t say all that.” He pulled you to one of the beach chairs, laying you down against the cold plastic.
Your heart was beating out of your chest, his lips pressed against yours hungrily. You kissed him back with fever, letting his tongue enter your open mouth. You gasped against him, feeling his hands cup your chest. Squeezing them before his hand trailed south, popping open the buttons of your soaked shorts.
“This okay?” He grumbled against your lips. You weren’t sure if it was the wine coolers or the warmth of his body against yours, but you nodded.
His hand slipped into your underwear easily, fingers finding the spot that had your back arching against the chair. Your eyes fluttered open when he hit that sweet spot inside you.
Your gaze accidentally landed on Steve’s window, the curtains open and wide. The warmth in your stomach grew as, watched his bare back ripple on the bed. There was no doubt what he and Nancy were doing. You looked away quickly, pressing your lips to Sam’s again. Pretending you didn’t just come around his fingers, looking at your best friend. You prayed he didn’t see it, the guilt radiating off of you. You shoved it down, focusing on his body against yours.
Little did any of you know that Johnathan Byers was in the woods just feet away, snapping photos of all of you.
-
Barb was absent from homeroom, and Sam swore to you that there was no reason to be worried. The roads were hard to navigate on Steve’s road, especially at night. It was more likely that she was too embarrassed or tired to come in. It still made a weird, nagging feeling bloom in your chest.
At lunch, you reluctantly joined the band of misfits again. Sam’s arm was lying against the back of your chair, Steve sitting across from you. Tommy was convinced he got frostbite from the pool, putting his disgusting foot on the lunch table, making you gag.
“Hey, Y/n.” You turned around, watching Nancy walk up to the table on a mission. “When you left, did you see Barb?”
You shook your head, Tommy cutting you off. “What?”
“Barbara. She’s not here today.” Nancy spoke, her patience running thin.
“I seriously have no idea who you’re talking about.” He shrugged.
“Come on, don’t be an ass, man. Did you...Did you see her leave last night or not?”
“No, she was gone when we left,” Tommy answered, Carol leaning over the table.
“Probably couldn’t stand listening to all that moaning.” She moaned, beginning to moan Steve’s name loudly. Tommy joined in mocking Nancy loudly.
Steve kicked him under the table, telling them to cut it out. You rolled your eyes, “I was worried this morning, but I think maybe she’s just skipping. We were out late last night.”
“Yeah,” Sam perked up, “She’s not usually a party goer, you know? Not used to running on a few hours of sleep.”
“Yeah, sure,” Nancy said with a tight lip.
After lunch, you were excited to finally go home, kissing Sam goodbye when he left for his art club. It was then that you saw Steve walking towards you in the hall, grabbing your arm harshly.
“Steve, what the fuck?” You asked, letting him angrily drag you into the parking lot with him. “What’s going on?” Carol, Tommy, and one of Carol’s friends, Nicole, followed along. Steve’s sights were on Jonathan Byers as he walked to his car.
“Steve, if you’re going to be an asshole to him, I’m not-” You were cut off by Carol, looking at you for the first time with genuine sympathy in her eyes.
“Y/n. Apparently, he was taking pictures of us last night.” She said, your eyes widening. Nicole simply nodded. You turned your head back to the disaster that was waiting to unfold.
“Hey, man,” Steve shouted, his voice wavering in anger. You don’t think he was this angry when Trina had you pinned against the lockers freshman year.
“What’s going on?” Jonathan stuttered, looking at all of you with wide eyes.
“Nicole here was, uh, telling us about your work.” He said Carol and Tommy agreed. Swearing, it sounded like the coolest art in the world.
“And we’d just love to take a look. You know, as... connoisseurs of art.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He lied, Tommy snatching his backpack off of him, tossing it over to Steve.
“Please, give me my bag.” He pleaded, Steve, ignoring him. Rifling through it to pull out a stack of photos. You leaned against his shoulder, watching him shuffle through the photos. Your heart fell into your stomach, seeing photos of you all getting out of the pool. Then Nancy upstairs, undressing in the window. Then his focus was on you, Sam’s hands down your pants. Your head tilted back in pleasure. Tears stung in your eyes, ripping the photos out of his hand.
“Let me see,” Tommy said, snatching a few from Steve’s hand. He and Carol taking turns looking through them. “Yeah, this isn’t creepy at all.
“I was looking for my brother.” He tried to defend himself, unable to look any of you in the eyes.
“No. No, this is called stalking.” Steve spoke, “Not only did you trespass, but you took perv photos of my best friend and my girlfriend. On my property. During private moments.”
Nancy took the perfect moment to walk up, her face concerned, watching the tears in your eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Here’s the starring lady.” Carol smirked, “One of them, anyway. I have to say Y/n, looks like he was rocking your world.”
You crushed the photos in your hand, shoving them frantically into your bag. Steve shot Carol a look that could kill, “Shut the fuck up for once, Carol.”
“This creep was spying on us last night,” She said, ignoring Steve’s outburst, handing Nancy a photo. “He was probably gonna save this one for later.”
Her expression matched yours, one of embarrassment and disgust.
“See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but…” Steve reached out to wipe Jonathan's sleeve, the boy flinching. “Man, that’s the thing about perverts... It’s hardwired into ’em. You know, they just can’t help themselves.”
You couldn’t watch this; the whole situation made your stomach turn.
“So…We’ll just have to take away his toy,” Steve said, grabbing the camera.
“Steve…” Nancy warned.
“No, please, not the camera,” he begged, watching Steve pretend to give it back. Your whole body cringed when Steve dropped the camera, the lenses shattering on the asphalt.
He stepped into Jonathan’s face again, pulling him by his collar. “If I find out you have pictures of her anywhere on that thing, it’ll be the last thing you see.” He spat, pushing him back roughly. Steve didn’t have to specify who he was referring to by the way he looked at you, before storming away.
You and Nancy were frozen, watching the ripped-up photos crumple to the ground.
“He shouldn’t have done that,” Nancy spoke quietly, eyes on the broken camera.
“Please don’t make me verbally agree with Carol and Tommy.” You begged, “He wasn’t just creeping on you. There are pictures of me on there, too.”
“Yeah, almost seems like Steve’s more upset about those than mine.” She mumbled under her breath.
“What do you mean by that?” You stopped her, grabbing her arm.
She jerked it away, snatching up the rest of the pictures. “Nothing. Just nothing, Y/n.”
You were left standing there, dumbfounded. You looked back between Jonathan and the remains of his camera.
“I hope you find your brother.” You managed out, walking back towards the group. Steve’s arm wraps around your wrist, pulling you to him.
“You still going to the game?” He asked, his skin still warm from frustration. You shook your head no, pulling away from his grasp.
“I’m just gonna head home.”
He looked down at you, concern lacing his features. “Call you later?”
All you could do was give him a weak smile. He paused, holding out his pinky. You stared at his finger; you hadn’t done a pinky promise with him in years. You laced yours with his, “Promise.”
You avoided Nancy’s stares when you walked away, holding your hand close to your chest.
-
They found Barbara’s car in a ditch a mile from Steve’s house, 3 days later. In a ditch you passed on the way home that night, unknowing that her body was pinned inside the vehicle for days.
A week later, they found Will Byers alive in the woods, malnourished and traumatized, but alive. You were thankful there was at least one positive to the recent events in Hawkins. Nancy was in hysterics at Barb’s funeral, and Sam held you through the guilt. The two of you eventually made it official. Dating him was easier than it had been before, almost too easy. Sometimes it felt like you were putting on a show, living your life as you were taught you were supposed to.
Time passed, as it often did. Senior year was full of jobs and college applications, and getting swept up in talk of the future. Despite your insistence on Steve studying and you doing half of his English assignments, his grades weren’t good. You held his hand, swore to him it would all be fine. But you knew his dad, and you knew the type of son his dad wanted him to be. Somehow, Halloween had crept up on you; flyers to Tina’s party floated around the halls.
Despite Steve’s incessant begging to get you to join the pair, Sam was out of town visiting family, and you weren’t interested in third wheeling. Nancy had already been distant with you ever since the Jonathan incident; the last thing you wanted to do was make it worse. Late that night, you stayed in bed, only being roused by your phone ringing. You tried to ignore it, but the caller was only calling again. You rolled over, angrily gripping the phone off the hook.
“Hello?” You barked.
“Y/n..” Steve’s faraway voice came in through the phone.
“Steve?” You questioned, confused as to what number he was calling you from.
“Y/n. I need a ride. Nancy left me.” He mumbled.
Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at his words, jumping up to slip on some clothes.
“You at Tina’s?” He responded with a mumbled yes.
“I’ll be there in 15. Please do not go anywhere.” You made him promise, not holding drunk Steve to anything. You sped there, parting drunken bodies to find Steve. Sunglasses still perched on top of his head, his eyes hazy.
“Guys, it’s my best friend.” He laughed, flinging his body onto yours. You pushed him off with a grunt, grabbing him by the arm. Dragging him out into the yard. Using all your strength as he kept going, deadweight on his feet.
This wasn’t the first time you had to pick a drunk Steve up from somewhere, but this was the worst.
“Bullshit.” Steve slurred, his body slumping more in your hold.
“What?” You were exasperated at this point, just barely able to toss his body into your passenger seat.
“Bullshit. Nancy said it was all Bullshit. Didn’t love me.” He whined, his face pained with each word.
Your brows furrowed, “Nancy loves you.” That was all you could manage to say, reaching over him to buckle him in.
“No, no, she doesn’t.” He whined by the time you started the car, driving him slowly to his house. You only had to pull over once for him to throw up, thankful he didn’t ruin your floorboards.
Getting him up into his room was easy, seeing as he threw up a portion of the alcohol in his system.
“Come on, Joel Goodson, let’s get you to bed.” You sighed, taking the sunglasses off of him despite his protests. He took his own shirt off, not bothering with his pants, as he curled up in the bed. You watched his eyes flutter closed, his chest rising and falling. He looked peaceful, the frown lines he had earlier melting away. You moved the blanket over him, ready to leave before he stopped you.
“Please don’t leave me.” He whimpered, not even opening his eyes.
Your heart splintered open in your chest, crawling into bed with him. He nuzzled into your side, probably going to drool all over your sweater. That was fine, as long as he got some sleep.
“Thank you,” He mumbled, “M’loving me. Wish it was you.”
“What?” You asked, your heart falling into your stomach. The only response you got was his gentle snores. You didn’t get any sleep that night, content to lie on your back. Brushing your hands through his hair, staring at the ceiling, wondering what he meant. Or if he’d even remember.
That wasn’t something you had the time for, deciding to push it into the back of your mind.
Safe to say he didn’t when you woke up to him throwing up in his side table trash can, making you cringe. You did what you did best, taking care of him. He told you the story of what happened between him and Nancy, not liking your response.
“I don’t think she deserves you, Stevie.”
“Come on-”
“I mean it, I know she’s going through a lot, but you didn’t kill Barb. It was an accident.”
He was quiet for a moment, hesitant to say the rest of the story. “She also thinks I’m in love with you.”
The mood in the room shifted, the tension thick. “W-what? Why would she think that?” You stuttered out.
He shrugged, not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t defend her honor enough with Jonathan, which is funny considering she forgave him.”
“She forgave him?” You scowled, trying to do your best to forget that night ever happened. The pictures were burnt in your fireplace, alongside photos of you and your ex.
“Told her she wasn’t allowed to do that since he took pictures of you, too. She didn’t like that.”
“What a bitch.” You mumbled, grabbing his hand in yours.
“Dating is hard.” He gave you a sad smile, to which you nodded. “How are you and Sam?”
You shrugged, “Fine. I think it's a little too fine. Sometimes I feel bad that he’s too sweet, too forgiving, too- I don’t know, is it mean to say boring?”
“He does seem a little lame,” He teased, you hitting his chest playfully. He winced, holding his head, “I might throw up, don’t do that.”
“He’s not lame. I just think something is wrong with me. Sometimes it feels like I can’t love him like I’m supposed to. Like I'm broken.” You admitted, watching his eyes soften at your admission.
“I think you love me just right.” His words were quiet, heavier than before. “You’re not broken, Y/n.”
“You don’t make it easy.” You joked, unraveling your hands. Maybe one day you’d explain to him that loving him was the easiest thing in the world, because you never had to think twice. From the moment you were born, there was an invisible thread tying you to him. Instead, you pushed it down, slapping his chest playfully.
“Especially when you smell like an expired liquor store.”
“Hey!” He whined.
It was all fine, everything was fine. He went to shower, and you went home. He was going to buy Nancy flowers, and you were going to wait by the phone, waiting for Sam to call. So why did it feel so wrong?
-
You got a call from Steve the next afternoon, asking if you’d come over. You obliged, only to be godsmacked by his bruised and bloodied face.
“Oh my god? What the fuck?” You asked, rushing inside the door.
“Am I an asshole?” He asked, ignoring your concerns.
“What?” You muttered, dragging him into the bathroom. You immediately grabbed the first aid kit, ready to wipe his face with an alcohol pad. He stopped you, grabbing your wrist loosely.
“Am I an asshole?” He repeated, his dark brown eyes heavy with sadness.
“I mean, sure sometimes,” You’d never lie to him, “But you aren’t an asshole, you can just act like one.”
“I did something really stupid.” He admitted.
“Oh, really? I can’t tell.” You snarked, pressing the pad to his face. Making him wince in pain while you cleaned off the dried blood. “Let me guess, Nancy.” Her name tasted bitter on your tongue.
He cocked his head to the side, “You don’t like her?”
“I’m starting not to Stevie.” You admitted, bandaging the cut under his eyes closed.
“Went to apologize to her with flowers for the other night, Jonathan Byers was in her bed. Tommy and Carol convinced me to spraypaint some bullshit at the theatre about her being a slut, he kicked my ass.” You took a moment to soak in his story, finishing with one last pink bandage.
“Well, I guess you deserved a small ass kicking, but not this bad.” You winced. “Am I allowed to beat her ass?”
“Y/n..”
You threw your hands up, “Sorry, sorry!”
In the silence, you cleaned up the bloodied paper, washing your hands in the sink. He stayed still, his brows furrowed in thought. A frown line forming into the crease of his forehead, you wanted nothing more than to rub your thumb over it. Releasing all the tension from him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, placing your hand next to his on the counter. Propping yourself up next to him, your arms brushing.
“Do you ever think about it?”
“Bout what?” You asked, oblivious to what thoughts were rolling around in that head of his.
“How much easier it would be if we were in love.”
Who would have thought 11 words would tilt your world on its axis? You must have been silent for longer than you thought. Steve speaking up again, “I mean, imagine how easy it would be. We’re already basically a couple anyway. Imagine if we were in love.” There was a subtle hopefulness in his voice; you told yourself you were reading into things.
“Yeah. Imagine.” Your voice felt foreign to you.
The silence was thick again, Steve’s eyes heavy on you.
“Penny for your thoughts?” He copied you, his arm rubbing against yours, intentionally this time. Like he needed your touch to ground himself with each word he spoke. The sensation makes chills go up your spine.
“I think,” You cleared your throat, “That you just got hit in the head a lot. You need ice.”
If Steve was going to speak, you didn’t hear, too busy gliding out of the bathroom into the kitchen. Your hands shaking with adrenaline as you get him an ice pack ready.
“Y-yeah.” He laughed, “Probably have brain damage or something.”
With your doctoring, you gave Steve a clean bill of health, leaving him with instructions to ice and call you if his head hurt any worse. The entire drive home, all you could think about was Sam.
Sam made you feel steady, like you were safe on the shore. Feet planted in the sand, a war, breeze flowing through the air. Why wasn’t it enough? Why didn’t it make you feel alive?
-
Adulthood snuck up on you, graduation coming and going. You were ashamed to admit you were relieved he and Nancy were finally done. He seemed sad, but lighter. You had Dustin to thank for that, the kid he semi-adopted, despite him claiming he didn’t. The kid adored him. When he went off to summer camp, Steve nearly shed a tear, swearing you to secrecy that you’d never tell him that. He’d never live it down.
When the mall opened up, it was the perfect opportunity for ‘real world experience’ as Steve’s father called it. Scoops Ahoy had hired him on the spot, complete with the cutest little outfit to go with it. You found a simpler, less embarrassing job at a bookstore at the end of the hall. The two of you were still able to spend too much time with each other.
His co-worker Robin became your best friend, much to Steve’s chagrin. If he thought you were picking on him, each time the two of you were together, it was Steve’s own personal level of hell.
Today’s topic of discussion was his horrible flirting skills. Being back on the market had made him rusty, fumbling around every single girl that walked in. Robin’s ‘You Suck’ board had made you cry out of laughter when she showed you.
“Ladies, 3 o’clock,” Robin whispered, pulling your head down behind the window. The two of you are ready to spy on him.
“Ahoy, ladies! Didn't see you there. Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain. I'm Steve Harrington.” He spoke, too high a volume for the quiet store. The girls cringed with each word.
“Oh my god, he’s hopeless.” Robin sighed.
You couldn’t help but agree, “It’s like a car crash. I can’t stop watching.”
He stumbled his way through offering ice cream samples, the girls taking their scoops awkwardly and leaving in a fit of giggles. Steve closed his eyes, “I don’t wanna hear it.”
“Oh, you’re gonna hear it.”
-
Steve’s freckled shoulders were underneath your hands, your fingers digging into his muscle.
“God, you feel so good.” His voice was raspy, the moan coming deep from his chest. He was deep inside you, his hips rutting frantically against your own. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room. The headboard slapping the wall.
“Steve, Steve.” You moaned his name like a broken record, his lips nipping at your neck. His name fit perfectly on your tongue.
“There you go, honey, you gonna cum around me?” He asked, looking down at you. Your eyes meet his as you..
You woke up in a hot sweat, fingers twisting in the sheets. There was a thin layer of sweat covering your body, chest rising and falling. Sam lay next to you, as still as a board. You let out a shaky breath, the throbbing between your legs reminding you of what you just experienced. Slipping out of bed silently was easy, grabbing a glass of water with shaky hands. The fantasies your mind conjured up played like a highlight reel as you stared into the dark room.
“What the fuck.” You breathed, laying your head down on the cool counter. Hoping the granite would quell the fire blooming through your body.
Steve’s words from last fall echoed in your mind.
“Have you ever thought about us?”
You felt queasy, content to head back upstairs. Crawling into bed with Sam as if nothing had happened. It was fine; you can’t control your dreams. There’s no such thing as bad thoughts, only actions. And nothing had happened, nothing will happen.
-
The dream was haunting your every move, every time Sam tried to initiate anything, his face blurred with Steve’s. It’s like you were cursed. You began to see Steve in everything. Every place around Hawkins you frequented, memories lingered on all of your clothes. You couldn’t escape him, and a sick, cruel part of you didn’t want to.
“You okay?” Sam asked, his hand still steady on your hips. Sam. He was kissing you; he wanted you. You blinked away the faraway look in your eyes, nodding weakly.
“Just got distracted.”
You refused to be haunted by make-believe, bringing Sam down to your level. Kissing him hard. Fingers pressed into his shoulders. Your brain continued terrorizing you, flashing you images of your dream. Before you realised it, you were mirroring the exact position. You moaned and twisted your body every which way, fighting for that feeling. When he slipped inside, all you could think about was Steve. Would he touch you like this?
“Is that good?” Sam interrupted your thinking, noticing how quiet you had been. His hips slowing down. Catching onto your wood behavior.
“Y-yeah.” You lied, smiling up at him. “Maybe just a little harder?”
He obliged, the headboard creaking against the wall. Your eyes fluttered shut again, letting yourself indulge. Just for a moment. You told yourself it was to test your theory, but you knew what it was. It was the carnal urge to let yourself crave him. Just once, to let your mind wander into the feelings you’ve pushed so far back in your mind.
You thought about his plump lips, the way his hair falls on his forehead after basketball practice, the swell of his biceps, and the happy trail you see when he stretches. Steve. All you could think about was Steve, every neuron in your body lighting up at the mere thought of him.
“You like that?” Sam asked, watching your back arch.
All you could do was nod, watching a highlight reel behind your eyelids. You imagined what his body would feel like against yours, heavy and slick with sweat. How he’d feel pressed inside you. How attentive he would be. You couldn’t take it, your legs shaking around his hips.
“Stev-Sam.” You stuttered, covering it up with an obnoxious moan. Pushing it down, pushing down every single thought of him that made you feel alive. Your eyes stayed shut when he came, scared your eyes would tell him everything.
“God baby, you really liked that, huh?” He yawned, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
That night, you cried in the shower, scrubbing every inch of your body raw. Doing everything you could to feel clean, the sin and disgust clinging to your skin like a bad perfume.
-
The next day at work, your hands were shaky. You were spacy, constantly zoning in and out. The mall patrons only occupied you when they had questions. Working at a bookstore was the ideal place for peace and quiet, but now it felt like your own personal hell. Trapped in these walls.
When the clock hit noon, you were running through the mall, nearly knocking down entire families in your path.
The familiar Scoops Ahoy sign made you sigh. Steve would be on break right now. At least you didn’t have to face him. Your body collided with another, his cologne alerting you to his presence before he did.
“Where’s the fire?” Steve laughed, his hands falling to your hips. That was normal, that was something that happened. But now it felt like the fire was inside of you, burning you from the inside out.
“Uh, I just need to see Robin. I’m out of girl things. Pads, tampons, you know.” You stuttered out a lie, trying not to watch the way his lips parted when he spoke.
“I have some in my car for you, you know.” He started, you cutting him off.
“Yes! Thank you. Can you go get them?” Your eyes were wide, your voice too loud, and he just squinted at you.
“Okay..I don’t remember your period making you this weird.” He grumbled, letting go of you. “I’ll be back. I can get you some chocolate from Bon Bon?”
“I’d love that.” Your face softened, feeling horrible for lying to him. As soon as his back disappeared amongst the crowd of people, you jumped over the counter, Robin’s scooper flying out of her hand.
“What the hell?” She asked, eyeing your disheveled appearance.
“Hey Robin.”
“Hey, Y/n.” She mocked your cadence.
“Can I tell you something, if you swear on your life to never mention it to another living soul?” Her face got serious, noticing your expression.
“Yes, of course.”
You took a deep breath, saying the next sentence so quickly that only someone like Robin would have been able to understand it. “I had a sex dream about Steve last night, and that’s never happened before, ever. I’ve never thought of him that way, maybe once or twice in passing as a curious teen, but never seriously, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Her eyes were wide, your chest heaving from the speed at which you word vomited at her.
“A sex dream?” Her jaw was on the floor, “Steve? Your best friend since birth, Steve?”
You shushed her, spinning around the empty Scoops Ahoy like a woman on a mission.
“Yes.”
“I mean, I’ve had a sex dream about Smurfette once, so I wouldn’t think too much about it.” She offered, watching your still panicked face.
“Wait,” She paused, “What do you mean you can’t stop thinking about it?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You grumbled, knowing Robin wasn’t going to let it go.
“Nope, you can’t drop a bombshell on me and not elaborate.”
You grabbed her arm, pulling her into the backroom. Watching through the window anxiously as if he was going to materialize at any moment.
“I just keep thinking about it. Like earlier, he was speaking, and all I could think about was that my dream lips had touched his dream lips. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.” You rambled, “Then I look at him and feel guilty. Like I’m dirty and sinful because I can’t stop thinking about, dreaming about him naked. And inside of me-”
“Whoa! Too much information-” Robin cut you off.
You ignored her, “And he’s my best friend. My Stevie. So what do I do? I can’t even look him in the eyes anymore.”
“Do you like him?” She spoke slowly, like she was poking a frightened bear.
You stopped your anxious pacing, tears welling up in your eyes. You were so overwhelmed you could barely think, and you shook your head. “N-no?”
“Babes, you didn’t sound too confident there.”
“Can I tell you something else awful?” You whispered, there was never a filter between you and Robin. There probably never would be.
She nodded softly at you to speak.
“When Sam and I had sex the first time, I almost called him Steve. A-and I thought maybe I just you know? Two S names and all,” You laughed manically. “Then the dream, so I’m wondering if it’s always been subconscious. So when Sam and I had sex last night, I closed my eyes and imagined Steve. And I did it again.”
When it was off your chest, you felt lighter, albeit dizzy.
“And?” She added, her eyes wide.
“I was really sad to open my eyes and see Sam.” You cried, tears pouring down your cheeks now. “And Sam was like Wow, you’ve never been so into it before and I’m so awful. I’m such a bad person.”
Robin was the only person in the world you could trust to tell. You liked Sam, you really did. But you couldn’t feel a fraction of what you felt just thinking about Steve with him. You felt broken, stringing the man along because you couldn’t face the music.
“Honey.” Robin frowned, pulling your shaking frame into her arms. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I just think you’re in love with Steve.”
You shook your head frantically, “I can’t be. Can’t. It’ll ruin everything.”
Robin’s lips tightened in a straight line, choosing her words carefully. The entire Summer Robin has had to endure similar conversations with Steve. How they still didn’t see it was beyond Robin. The entirety of Hawkins thought they had been dating for years.
“But there’s that chance he could feel the same way. You won’t know unless you try.”
You were saved by the door busting open. Steve’s arms are full of various bags. Pads, tampons, and various snacks. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, just got one of everything. Robin, I got you some gummies-” He rambled, looking up to see the two of you embracing, tears pouring down your face.
He held out the bags to you nervously, “I’m sorry your vagina is bleeding.”
The moment the words left his mouth, you and Robin fell into each other laughing, Steve’s face going red.
“Women.” He muttered, tossing the bags onto the table with a thud.
-
Robin’s words sat heavily on your mind, but instead of listening to her sound advice, you ignored it. Ignored the horrible feeling in your gut and prayed it would go away after some time. Now you were walking up to Steve’s front door, Sam’s hand in yours.
The kids had conned him into hosting a movie night, complete with all the junk food you all could gather. You, Sam, Robin, and Steve were the designated chaperones. Although it’s not like they actually listened to anything any of you said. You were bombarded when you walked through the door, getting tugged in different directions by various kids. The girls wanted your advice on something, Dustin needed you to convince Steve to let them swim after dinner, and the rest of the boys were screeching about some game.
“Go ahead,” Sam had chuckled, “Love you.”
That was another new development. Sam had told you he loved you multiple times now. Each time you sent him a tight-lipped smile, no words escaped your mouth. It broke your heart that you couldn’t love him. You loved being loved by him, and you were selfish enough to drag him along.
“That was awkward,” Max muttered. You ignored it. Letting them drag you into the house.
After the kids had run you ragged, you found Steve in the kitchen setting up the multiple boxes of pizza.
“Remind me again why I signed up for this?” Steve sighed, gesturing to the gaggle of children currently destroying his living room.
“Because they were getting sick of the mall. It’s summer break.” You laughed, “And you are the one who designated yourself as the babysitter.”
He sighed, “Still..”
“And you love me?” You giggled, grabbing a stack of plates from the cabinet.
“That I do.” He said, his eyes meeting yours before they caught Sam’s hovering behind you.
“I love you. Love you enough to tell you that I’m not helping you clean this up tomorrow.”
Sam cleared his throat, and you whipped around. Startled by his presence.
“Hi-”
“Can we talk?” He cut you off, shooting Steve daggers behind your back.
“Okay?” You stuttered, taken off guard. Steve excused himself, patting your arm gently before he slid past you two. Leaving you both alone in his kitchen, Sam’s eyes dark on yours.
“What’s wrong?” You asked.
“Why do you let him do that?”
Your brows furrowed, “Let who do what?”
“Steve. You let him give you those pathetic puppy dog eyes.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh come on,” He laughed, the tension growing thick, “He glares at me like I’m going to attack him at any second, then he looks at you like a kicked dog. He touches you whenever he gets the chance. And you just let him.”
“Sam, it’s-” You stuttered, “It’s how we’ve always been.”
“Yeah, well, it’s getting sort of ridiculous, Y/n.” He scoffed, spinning around to head for the door.
You followed, ripping the door open behind him. “What is?”
“You!” He yelled, his hands waving in front of you. With all the commotion, you gave it a few minutes before Steve and Robin followed you outside. No doubt the kids had their ears pressed to the door. What an embarrassing disaster this night has turned into
“Sam-”
“Have you just been playing in my face for over a year?” He asked, his voice thick with emotion.
You shook your head quickly, tears welling in your eyes. “No, no Sam no. I would never.”
“So you love me?”
You went silent, your bottom lip wobbling.
“You can’t even fucking say it.” He spat. “That’s all I wanted from you, but you can’t even give me that.”
“Is this because I told Steve I love him?” You whimpered, willing the tears not to fall. “We’ve been telling each other we love each other since we could speak.”
He shook his head, “No. Something changed. Either you’re too blind to see it or-” He cut himself off, letting out a heartbroken laugh. The front door opens behind you. You knew who it was, without turning around. Steve would always come for you; he always has. What you’ve truly wanted has been right in front of you, and you never realized it until now.
“There’s your knight and shining armor.” Sam scoffed, rubbing his mouth with his hand.
“Y/n, are you okay?” Steve ignored Sam’s words, his soft voice speaking to you only. The voice he used before kissing your bandaids over scraped knees. The voice that got you through the darkest times. The same one that asked you that night, he asked if you’d ever thought about it.
“She’s fine. We’re talking, can we please have a moment?” Sam spoke when you didn’t, tears falling freely down your cheeks now.
“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Steve responded, his hands on his hips now.
Sam laughed, a cruel one. “I know you can’t fight Harrington, so don’t bother.”
“Stop.” You spoke weakly, turning around. “Steve, just give us a second.”
His eyes met yours, the two of you having a silent conversation with your eyes. He was ready to turn inside, but this only angered Sam further.
“Actually, no, Steve, you should stay.” Sam’s voice chilled you to your bones, your eyes snapping to his. Despite your protests, he continued. “We were just talking about how Y/n doesn’t love me. Apparently, you’re all she can think about.”
“Bullshit-”
“You’re dreaming about him, Y/n! You have repressed your feelings so far down that you don’t even realize how pathetic it is. God, it’s so fucking embarrassing being with you, watching the two of you dance around each other.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You cried, confused as to how he would even know about your dreams, your feelings.
“You say his name in your sleep. You say his name during sex.” He let out in a heartbreaking laugh, “You think I didn’t hear you? You think I don’t see that faraway look in your eyes? When you look disappointed to see me there?”
It was as if you could feel your world falling apart all around you; you wanted nothing more than the world to swallow you whole. Steve’s eyes were burning into the back of your head; you couldn’t face him. Not when Sam was laying it all out in the open, flaying your heart open right here for Steve to see.
“That doesn’t mean I never cared for you.” You sniffled, “Sam, I could love you, I could.”
“I wish I could believe that. I really do.” He sighed, shuffling his feet.
Steve stayed quiet, unsure of what to do. He was stuck against the door, his heart aching for you. Even for Sam.
“You know what the worst part of all of this was?” He laughed, tears filling his eyes, “I always knew this would be how it ended. You, running into his arms. Everyone warned me, but I loved you too much to listen.”
“I’m so sorry.” You blubbered, your arms wrapped around yourself. This was it; you couldn’t go back from this.
He shook his head, “No. Not really, you’re not..” Were his last words as he turned around, speeding off down the road in his truck
Everything you had ever known was dissipating in front of your eyes. All the plans you had made. That metaphorical box of feelings you had been cramming to the brim finally crumbled underneath its own weight. You were scared you were going to drown. The unknown picking up your body and dragging you to sea.
“Y/n..” There was that voice again, your forever anchor. You shook your head, wiping away your tears. You couldn’t face him, you couldn't do this.
“We gotta talk about it.” His voice was thick, “We gotta get it out.”
“I can’t.” You whimpered, hiding your face in your hands.
He stepped forward anyway, grabbing your wrists in his hands. Pulling them away to expose your tear-stained cheeks.
“It’s just me. It’s just me.” He reassured you, holding your face in his hands. He held you as if his whole world was resting upon his palms, because it was.
“That’s the problem.” You cried, eyes still squeezed shut. If you opened your eyes and saw him, it would all be real; the weight of this would crash on your shoulders. But you knew he’d be there to catch you.
He let you steady yourself, pressing his forehead to yours. Waiting for your frantic breaths to match his, your shaking hands gripped his jacket. Searching for a lifeline.
“All this time….” He cleared his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Your eyes shot open at his words, his eyes glossy, full of a thousand unsaid words.
“I've spent so many years dancing around it. Pushing it down and just praying it would go away. If I thought about it too hard, if I let the idea cross my mind, it would never go away. So I couldn’t. Couldn’t lose you.” You cried.
“You’d never lose me. Look at me, Y/n Y/l/n.” He promised, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. He wasn't going to let you look away, not now.
“The love I have for you,” his voice cracking, “The love I have for you transcends every possible doubt you have in your mind. I look for you in every room, every time I need you, you are right there, you’ve always been right there. Through it all. If I could go back, I'd kick myself for letting you get away from me for so long, but it doesn’t matter. Because we’re right here. And I'm not going anywhere. However long it takes, whatever it takes. You’ve always been my girl.”
You nodded, “Pinky promise?” It came out as a pathetic whimper, tears slipping down Steve’s cheeks, matching your own.
“Yes,” He gave you a teary laugh, “Pinky promise.” His hand came up, his pinky finding yours. He leaned down, kissing your knuckles. Suddenly, you were both 13 again, the same Indiana sun beaming down on you two.
“I choose you and me, religiously. Through everything, everyone in my life. Not because I felt like I needed to, but because I wanted to. There was no one else, god, there was never anyone else I’ve loved as much as I love you.” He cried, his forehead pressing harshly into yours, “It’s always been us. You hear me?”
“Steve..”
“I love you, Y/n, you’re my best friend, and I am helplessly, unequivocally in love with you.”
“That’s a real big word for you.” You laughed through the tears, making him beam.
“It is a huge word for me, only I even know it because of you.” He sighed, “There are no words to explain just how much I love you.
“I think I’ve loved you my whole life.” You whispered, your noses brushing. “It’s the only thing that’s ever come easy to me.”
Steve’s smile could rival that of a thousand suns, his lips brushing yours. “Can I?” His voice was meek, unsure.
You didn’t even have a chance to nod, closing the gap between you. Your lips pressing softly to his. He kissed you like he was coming home, and you kissed him back as you needed him to survive. The two of you are drowning in the kiss, hands clenching each other tightly as if both of you would wake up from a dream.
When you pulled apart for air, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark. What a mess the two of you looked, tear-stained and blushing in the middle of his driveway.
“I love you.” You said, just to say it. Just because you could.
“And I love you.” He pressed a longing kiss to your forehead, pulling back to look at you.
“This has been so embarrassing. Can’t believe I ruined movie night.” You sniffled.
“Those kids are fine. Robins probably distracted them by now with some ridiculous scheme.” Steve said, kissing away the tears running down your face. You both had a lot to talk about, you needed time to think, and grieve. But the crushing weight of your feelings was finally off your shoulders, and Steve didn’t run away. He ran towards you, holding your hand just like he always had.
You were thankful for the kids who acted oblivious, throwing popcorn at you the moment you walked back in the door. Making you pay for having to listen to Robin monologue about Gremlins, before even pressing play on the tape.
Steve simply shrugged, pulling you down against him on the couch. His arms are around your chest. It wasn’t anything different from how he’d held you before, but it was also so different. New intentions, a new feeling sparking every time you two touched.
That night, neither of you was able to sleep, content to tiptoe over the sleeping children. Steve nearly slips on Mike’s blanket, making you have to cover your mouth to stop the laugh from slipping out. The sliding glass door creaked as you two descended into the night. Steve practically pulling you into his backyard like a man on a mission.
“What are you doing?” You giggled, watching the old trampoline come into view. Your heart ached; it must have been in his garage collecting dust.
“Made the kids pull it out.” He answered you before you even asked, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Robin asked if we wanted candles and rose petals, but I told her this was perfect.”
“It is.” You whispered, your hands running over the rusted springs.
Steve helped hoist you up, the two of you plopping down on the worn-out plastic. Both of you bouncing into each other.
In a rushed fit of giggles, you pulled him down next to you, your head nuzzling into his chest. With his arm around your waist, he held you close. The stars were bright tonight, a rare, clear night this time of year.
“I never thought this would happen,” He admitted, “Always thought you were too good for me. That I’d never deserve you. I still don’t think I do.”
“I didn’t think you’d ever choose me. I mean, out of all the girls in Hawkin’s you’ve been with, and there’s been a lot,” You teased, “I didn’t think I had a shot in the dark.”
“Honey, you are my girl. Everyone knew.” He smiled, thinking back to all the times everyone said you two were practically dating anyway. Looking back, it was painfully obvious; the only oblivious ones were you two.
“Guess I just thought you were fulfilling some pinky promise we made as kids. Like out of some weird obligation to the weird girl who started following you around one day and never stopped.” You admitted sheepishly.
“That’s ridiculous, honey.” That was all he could say, humor lacing his words.
“I mean, looking back, it was kinda obvious,s huh?” You laughed, your mind giving you a highlight reel of the past few years. All the girlfriends of his you hated, the boyfriends of yours he wouldn’t even give a chance. Everyone’s whispers, both of your parents, calling it from a young age. It was always inevitably going to end here, no matter how bumpy the ride.
“Dude, our moms are gonna flip.”
“Ugh, they’ve probably already planned the tackiest wedding imaginable.” You groaned.
“You wanna marry me, honey?” He teased, poking your side.
“Shut up.” You grumbled, your cheeks warming.
“I think,” He said, eyes going back up to the stars, “I think I'd marry you right now if you said yes.”
“I’d say yes.” You admitted, “I’ve never been so sure about something my whole life.”
Suddenly, he was jolting up from the trampoline, leaving you bouncing in his absence.
“What are you doing?” You laughed, watching him stumble around in the dark, hands brushing through the grass. If you knew any better, you’d have thought he finally lost his mind.
“Wait, wait. No! Yes, fuck yes okay.” He muttered, ripping something out of the ground, running back up the trampoline. He was illuminated by the moonlight, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at you. He was on one knee, holding up a dandelion he’d folded into a ring.
“Are you proposing?” You laughed, unable to keep a straight face.
“Yes, not for real, but also kinda?” He chuckled nervously, “Will you, Y/n Y/l/n, take me, Steve Harrington’s hand in marriage? In probably about a year or so from now??”
“You are ridiculous.”
He tsked, “That’s not an answer.”
“What are my options?”
“Yes, and uh.. Oh yeah, yes.”
“God, lots of decisions to think over.”
You smiled down at him, holding out your left hand. “Steve Harrington, yes, I will marry you.”
“Fuck yeah.” He cheered, slipping the weed onto your finger. With the yellow flower against your skin, all you could think about was his bouquet of dandelions he brought you when you were a kid.
“Come here.” You whispered, dragging him back up with you. Your lips meet his. This kiss was different than the first; this was hot and heavy. Your mouth opened, letting his tongue explore. You straddled his hips, pinning him down as best you could while the two of you bounced with every movement.
“Baby.” He groaned, your lips trailing down the side of his neck.
“Hmm?” You hummed, your hand crawling under his shirt. Finally touching the rough patch of hair you dreamed about. His soft stomach underneath your palm.
“Don’t think there’s anyone in the woods with a camera, do you?” He asked, making you fall off of him in a fit of giggles.
“Oh, that’s fucked up.”
“Sorry, I had to.” He threw his hands up, “I mean, weirdly, he’s a cool guy. He and Nancy make a good couple.”
“I think we make a better couple.” You cheesed, pressing another kiss to his lips. Then another, and another. You’d never get sick of it.
“I agree.” He laughed in between kisses. “I also think we should take this upstairs.”
You met his hungry eyes, taking his hand in yours, letting him lead the way. This was one of those times you were thankful for Steve’s rich parents. His room was upstairs on the other end of the house from everyone else.
You had been in Steve’s rooms countless times, even slept in his bed more times than your own. But suddenly it was real; none of this was some dream you found yourself lost in. He was right here in front of you, his hands leading you to his bed.
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He spoke calmly, nerves radiating off of you. You looked up at him, the hunger in his eyes matching your own.
“I want this,” You whispered, “I want you.” With every fiber of being, this was all you wanted.
The rest was a blur, messy kisses, hushed moans, and trembling hands as clothes floated to the floor. He hesitated against your bra strap, staring deep into your eyes when the clasp came undone. Pulling it off your body as he was unwrapping a delicate vase.
“You,” His mouth went dry, his eyes still on yours. “Are the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”
You were burning alive for him. His hands touched you gently, his thumbs rubbing over your peaked buds. With each gasp that left your lips, Steve watched, memorizing every single touch that left you reeling.
“This okay?” He whispered, his face leaning down into your ribcage.
“Yes, Please.”
This was all he needed, his lips trailing wet kisses down your sternum. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bud, flattening before he took it into his mouth, Sucking ever so softly, while his other hand gripped your other tit, massaging the flesh.
“Oh my god.”
You could barely breathe, the pressure between your legs growing with each wet trail of his tongue. He pulled off with a lewd pop, his lips glossy. He didn’t stop there, his kisses trailing down your stomach, until he was perfectly settled between your hips. Arms caging your body in.
“How are you feeling?” Ever the worrier, Steve was going to stop every few seconds, asking if you were okay. Your body was trembling underneath his, in anticipation and nerves.
“Good. I love you.” You panted, his fingers curling in the sides of your underwear.
“Gonna take these off now, that okay?”
You frantically nodded, lifting your hips for him. When he threw them alongside the pile of your other clothes, your legs fell shut on impulse.
He looked up at you, a silent question in his eyes.
“C-can you take your shirt off?” You asked, feeling underdressed. He flung the shirt off quicker than you’ve ever seen before, smiling wildly at you. His bare skin was warm against your legs as he settled himself back in position, hands gripping your thighs.
“Open up for me, honey.”
You let out an embarrassed squeal, “Wait.”
Steve paused, watching your face scrunch with nerves. “S’what wrong?”
“I’ve never…” You trailed off, choking on your embarrassment.
“What?” He asked, taking a minute to put two and two together. He looked down at your clamped legs, and back up to you like he’d seen a ghost.
“Are you serious?” His voice had lowered an octave, hands clenching. “No one’s ever gone down on you.”
“They all said it was g-gross. So I didn’t bother you, know?” You flushed, “You don’t have to.”
He stopped you, unclenching his jaw. “Gross? Baby, I have every right mind to go track them down and beat their ass.”
A squeak escaped your lips, “You’re hot when you’re mad.”
“I am mad, mad because there’s no reason any of those men deserved you. I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you for years, and they just-” He cut himself off, hand rubbing small circles on your calf. “Baby, do you want me to go down on you?”
You nodded sheepishly, “Just nervous.”
“Don’t be. You just talk to me, okay? If there’s anything you don’t like, anything you want. Need you to promise you’ll tell me.”
“Okay, yeah. Promise.” You leaned back, bracing yourself on his pillows.
“Good.” He grabbed your tights gently, “Open up for me, pretty girl.”
You obliged, letting your legs fall open for him. A shock went through you at the sensation of your wet cunt hitting the cold air. Steve’s eyes were locked on you. Practically drooling at the sight of you.
“Gorgeous.” He babbled, pressing kisses up and down your inner thighs. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. Gonna put my mouth on you, okay?”
You nodded, your body jerking the moment his wet mouth came down on your clit. He took it slow, letting his tongue draw circles over you. You were over the moon, letting out choked moans of his name. You didn’t know it would feel this good.
His tongue flattened, teasing your entrance before suckling your clit into his mouth. He ate you out like a man starved, moaning against you. The sensations had your legs shaking, overwhelmed by new feelings that licked up your spine.
“Steve..”
“How’s it feel, baby?” He panted, your wetness covering the bottom half of his mouth when he came up for air. His hand curled around to your entrance.
“S’good. Bab,y it feels so good.” You basically sobbed, your cunt welcoming in his thick fingers. Stretching you out with each curl of his fingertips. His mouth wrapped around you, and that was all it took; your back arched off the bed. Grinding into his mouth messily as you came. He held your hips still, stroking out each morsel of your orgasm. Sweat clung to your forehead, your chest rising and falling quickly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.” You sighed dreamily. Steve had a shit-eating grin on his face, wiping his face on his discarded shirt before crawling back up your body. His lips met yours, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his tongue, moaning weakly when he pulled apart.
“I will do that all day, every single day.” He swore between kisses. His hips pressed against yours; the only thing separating you two was the thin fabric of his boxers. You could feel his hard length pressed against you.
“Can I return the favor?” Your teeth came down to bite your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to run your tongue down his happy trail straight to his cock.
“Another time?” He smiled, speaking before you frowned, “I need to feel you.”
“Just for a second?” You pleased, giving him your best doe eyes. He knew he could never say no to you. His boxers were pulled off, his cock slapping against his stomach. He was huge; your mouth salivated at the idea of wrapping your mouth around his pulsating tip. He fumbled around in his drawer, holding up a condom in his hand like it was a winning lottery ticket. He lay next to you on the bed, letting you switch positions.
Your hand wrapped around him slowly, barely fitting. He gritted his teeth before you could fully pump him. The length twitching in your hand.
“O-okay, baby-” He winced, his head hitting the headboard when your lips wrapped around him. Licking the precum off of him, savoring the salty taste of him. His hips jerked up, his cock sliding into your mouth deeper.
“Fuck, okay, nope. Nope.” He hissed, gently pulling you off of him. This time, it was your turn to have a shit-eating grin on your face.
“What? Can’t handle it?” You teased, squealing when he gripped your hips. Flipping you back onto your back with a thump.
“Nope, my girl has a perfect fucking mouth,” He smirked, “But I wanna feel this pretty pussy more.”
Your core throbbed at his words, hips rutting against the air for relief. He sat up between your legs, sliding the condom over his length.
“Ready?” He asked, to which you nodded frantically.
“Yeah, baby.”
His tip circled your entrance a few times, spreading your wetness around for him. Before he braced himself, sliding himself in slowly. Your hands found his shoulders, fingers creating half-moon indentations as you welcomed the stretch.
“Doing so well.” He praised, pressing kisses up and down your neck and chest. “Taking me so well. So fucking tight for me.”
When his hips bottomed out against yours, tears sprang in your eyes. You were so full, emotions overwhelming you.
He noticed your eyes fluttering shut, his hand moving to cradle your cheek. “Eyes on me. Eyes on me.” He cooed.
You were scared, so scared you’d open them, and it was just another dream. “I’m real. I’m here.” He reassured, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. They fluttered open again, and you stared at your brown-eyed lover. Drinking him in, every freckle, every imperfection. You wanted to count his eyelashes and memorize the patterns in his irises.
“I love you.” Your voice was raw, the words spilling out heavier than ever before. Despite the countless times the two of you said those three words to each other over the years, this was the one that meant the most. That held the most weight. It carried every emotion you’ve pushed down over the past decade. Now it poured out of you, oozing from your very being.
His smile was infectious: “I love you so much.” Another kiss on your lips. Something you’d never get sick of, his plump lips against yours. Moving with a passion that can only be built from years of secret glances and repressed feelings.
You both moved as if the other was going to slip through your hands like water. Hands frantic, but focused. Memorizing every bit of each other’s bodies as your body welcomed him in.
“You can move.” You sighed, the discomfort turning into pleasure. He did an experimental rock of his hips, hitting a spot deep inside you that had you mewling.
“Oh, already, baby?” He cooed, using the hand that wasn’t propped up to rub circles on your cheek with his thumb.
“S’deep.” You slurred, with each expert movement, your body was on fire. The wet sounds of him dragging in and out of your cunt only fueled the burning. The bed creaked when he sped his movements up.
“I love you. I love you.” Steve grunted, his fair falling meassily on his forehead. His eyebrows scrunched up, staring down at you, watching you come apart underneath him. Committing every second to memory.
Your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him even closer if that was possible. His thick patch of hair sits above his cock, rubbing deliciously against your clit, his tip hitting your cervix as he fucked into you.
“I’m gonna cum. Baby gonna cum.” You whined, feeling the tension coil deep in your gut. Steve nodded with a grunt, grabbing your legs and spreading them wide. The new angle had you screaming his name, his fingers rubbed your clit messily while you spasmed around him. Coming so hard your ears began to ring, legs shaking in his hold.
He fucked you through it, keeping you spread wide for him. “That’s it. Take this cock, baby. Feels good? Feels so good.” He muttered, his hips stuttering.
“Come inside me,” You babbled mindlessly, paying no mind to the condom between you two.
“Oh fuck.” Steve gasped, emptying his load into the condom with a gasp. Falling slack against your body with each twitch of his cock inside you.
Your hands curled in his hair, his panting breaths hitting your chest as the two of you came down. Relishing in the sounds of each other’s breathing, and his skin on yours.
After a while, he pulled out of you with a hiss, disposing of the condom and cleaning the two of you up. He crawled back into bed, beckoning you to lie on his chest.
You didn’t hesitate, curling yourself up against him. Letting his hands find your scalp, massaging your head. You cooed into him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” You sighed dreamily, Steve’s fingers expertly combing through your hair.
“My thoughts are worth more than a penny.” He teased, making you roll your eyes at him.
“I have a kiss, take it or leave it.”
“Oh, I’m taking it alright.” He leaned down, pecking your lips gently.
“Okay, pay up.” You ordered, letting his hands go back to caressing your scalp.
“Just thinking about you. Our future.” He hummed, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
You sat up a little, “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah, big house. You’ll have a garden out back. We’ll have a pool. So I can watch you lounge outside while I grill. A couple of dogs running around, maybe ten kids?”
“You’re out of your mind, Stevie.” You gasped.
“Okay, what about six?” He compromised, pulling his face down to yours once again.
“Maybe let’s slow down, become real adults first. Then… yeah, maybe I’ll give you a couple kids.”
He smirked. “I knew it.”
Your mind conjured up images of little versions of you and Steve running around. Growing up alongside the battalion of aunts and uncles downstairs.
“You’re gonna have to buy a minivan if you want that many kids. Can you imagine us taking home a baby in the beamer?”
“Our first two babies are definitely coming home in the beamer, babe. It’s when we get to 3, then we need to start looking into minivan territory.”
“If you’re doing the heavy lifting...” You shrugged, imagining Steve in dad jeans. Pulling carseats out of his car. Your children running around the two of you. Family dinners, vacations, and the stable parents that neither of you were afforded growing up.
“Of course.” He scoffed, not believing you’d think otherwise.
“Guess we gotta find better jobs to support this million-dollar idea, huh?” You laughed, Steve pausing for a minute.
“God, I guess you’re right.” He slumped, trying not to think too hard about the stress of that lingering on top of his shoulders.
“Hey,” You whispered, “It’s all gonna work out, we have each other. That’s all that really matters.”
“Yeah.” He smiled wistfully, “You haven’t been able to get rid of me this long, don’t even try now, babe.”
note: a fic that doesn’t sit right with my spirit. another thing on my mind is cockwarming zombie!isaac… specifically where his dick doesn’t work. need my brain to relax for a second.
preview: “Couldn’t wait?” His voice winds through you with conspiratorial relish and catches in your chest.
→ [ masterlist. ]
His journal lies abandoned on the desk, pages trembling in the draft like frail, papery lungs endeavor one last, desperate gasp, fluttering against the uneven pull of the wind, but your gaze never strays from him. Instead, it is riveted, ensnared by the claim of Isaac’s hands pressing into the hollow of your back. His fingers trace the arch of your spine with inexorable intent, mapping each subtle ridge, each small shiver, each involuntary flex of muscle, as though memorizing you for the next hour, the next day, the next eternity. The warmth radiating from him presses into you with the same leverage he exerts over his machines, a magnetic pull impossible to ignore, effectively suturing your body to his.
“Couldn’t wait?” His voice winds through you with conspiratorial relish and catches in your chest.
You can’t bring yourself to answer; thought has absconded entirely, dissolved into the air like ether. Every sense is drowned by him, by the heat of his chest pressing against yours, by the relentless gravitation of his body pinning you in place, by the slow, inexorable drag of his length claiming every parameter of your awareness. The stretch feels so good — a wet, prurient absence you hadn’t known was festering inside you, gaping and hungry, always meant to be stitched closed by Isaac alone, by this exact thickness prying you open inch by devastating inch.
The low, reverberating timbre of his groan echoes through the hollows of your spine like a summons. Your knees slacken; your breath fractures into ribbons.
You had promised stillness, yet your flesh delates you, slick, needy, pulsating helplessly in waves of longing. It is treachery of the deepest, most delicious kind: your body professing what your voice can’t form. Every contraction of your cunt is a signal he receives in full, and he groans again: lower, rougher, a subterranean roll that seems to emanate somewhere just under your sternum, vibrating through you.
“You think I wouldn’t notice?” he murmurs, voice worn. “Don’t think you can hide anything from me. I feel everything you’re doing. Every tremor, every flutter… you’re practically giving yourself away.”
A slight shift, a feigned adjustment, accomplishes nothing. Your walls cling, pulse, drip slick heat across him, each flutter a secret, shameless surrender. The drag of him inside you is exquisite in its cruelty, unbearable and necessary at once. Your thighs tremble, and your soaked body wrings him higher. When he moans, it scrapes across the nape of your neck like a hot, serrated whisper, scattering your composure.
Isaac’s cock is heavy inside you, slender, yet pulsing with a slow, insistent insistence that makes your breath hitch. The vein runs like a heated cord beneath your slick walls, each subtle throb a private, intimate drumbeat, pressing into you with a quiet, relentless claim. The head is swollen just enough, a gentle, rounded crown that fits against your deepest heat, pressing without motion, teasing without mercy. Wetness slicks over you both: yours clinging to him, drenching him, glistening along the tender curve where he meets you, and the heat radiates from his body.
You concentrate on the vein pulsing insistently against your velvet-soft walls, swollen and straining as if it beats in time with your own fluttering heart. Warmth floods you from the base to the tip, a deep, unrelenting pressure that makes your slickness gleam and pool, dripping with need around him, soaking the groomed hair at the base.
“Fuck… how do you always feel so good?” you gasp, voice trembling, chest heaving. “Could cum just like this.”
“You know I’ve ditched an hour of work already?” His voice is low, rough, the kind of coarse sound that makes your pulse stutter. He leans closer, pressing you against him. The scent of him fills your senses, drowning every rational thought.
“Show me,” he rasps, the word a sonorous edict, thick with amusement and the tremulous undertow of anticipation. His lithe fingers trail from the hollow of your sacral curve, following each subtle undulation, memorizing your flesh. The press of him is relentless, as if your bodies were two pendula caught in perfect, suspended resonance.
“Don’t think I won’t make you work for it,” he murmurs. You can feel the weight of him, the way he relishes your helpless surrender, and it drives your cunt slick with need. Every inch of him pressed against you, the stillness forced upon your hips, the gentle drag of his cock nestled warm and pulsing inside.
And you do. Not with motion, not with will, but with every helpless flutter, every squeeze and pulse of your soaked, needy body. Your walls cling, tighten, wrap him, tremble around him as if your body has taken the lead. Thighs quiver, and every shiver sends slick heat over him, drawing low, guttural groans from his throat.
Still, he refuses to move, but he tilts, a minute, devastating calibration that buries him deeper, the kind of shift that makes your vision static out at the edges. Fingers dig into your back, thumbs brushing over your lower belly, grounding you while your trembling, dripping body coaxes him closer to the edge.
Your chest heaves, voice breaking in gasps and moans. The wet press of your body, the desperate, fluttering clench, the way your slick, shivering walls betray every promise of stillness, it is too much. Every sound, every subtle pulse, every involuntary squeeze propels you higher, until the world narrows to slick heat, trembling bodies, and the delicious torment of being utterly undone while remaining frozen in place.
“Isaac… fuck… you feel so—”
“Feel so…?” His voice is low, teasing, permeating the air like a command and a caress at once.
You moan, hips pressing against him in reflex, the brief pressure feels intoxicating, your eyes rolling but he holds you immobile, unyielding. “Ah, ah,” Isaac murmurs, voice imbued with amused authority. “Remember what you said — you promised.”
Every helpless press of your body against his, every pulse and flutter, is amplified by the restraint. You are trapped, suspended between desire and denial, and the tension coils tighter with each heartbeat, each breath. Your cunt helplessly spasms, gushing around the length of him until the curls around his base lie matted and shining. His jaw clenches so hard the muscle leaps, the sound escaping his throat closer to a wounded growl than breath, cock twitching inside of you.
“Feel so full. Wanna stay like this forever.”
Heat sluices over his features in a molten rush, a spasm of want that leaks through the fracture in his composed exterior, mouth dropping open slightly, eyebrows lifting. For a heartbeat you believe his lips tremble, stirred by some clandestine fracture of control he can’t quite smother.
“Well,” he breathes, husky, the word a concession wrung from him. “How about you cum. And then… we’ll see.”
