#flayed!reader

[thefanfictionkingdom]

I am reading this and I am on tenterhooks.

Part 1 of 2: Pagtingin (Feelings) [Steve Harrington x Reader]

a/n: let's pretend this hasn't been sitting in my completed list since ferbruary. it was initially a 3-parter, but i decided the 3rd one to be part of the sequel. guess who's the dumdum who doesn't have a title for it? i'm using the Ben&Ben song I listened to while writing this chapter. it was either this or "baka sakali (Maybe, just in case)". it also annoyed me because "pagtingin" means "look; gaze" but in its context it means "(hidden) feelings," so it's neither wrong or right. language, ammarite?

summary: based on this blurb on a hanahaki au/flayed!reader

word count: 2.1k (brace yourself because the next chapter is almost 5 times long. yep. you heard me.)

warning: steve is an oblivious himbo; unrequited feelings / pining; minor violence; implied underage drinking (it's season 2, ykyk?); stranger things season 2 canon

You had a crush on Steve “The Hair” Harrington. Then again, who didn’t have a crush on King Steve?

Growing up with Steve, albeit shy of two years from the senior, had you following him around like a puppy. You watched him jump from one girl to the next before he surprisingly settled with Nancy Wheeler last year. “She’s different,” he had said before asking you for help on how to woo her.

Stop flirting with other girls around her. Actually listen to her and try to be interested in what she says. Get to know her instead of treating her like another girl. Surprisingly, he listened to your advice – everything you wished he would do for you – and got the girl.

Steve always got the girl.

However, something strange happened when Nancy’s best friend, Barbara, went missing, not much later since Will Byers as well. With your overprotective parents dropping a curfew on you, you barely hung out with Steve anymore. You knew nothing good will happen when you left him too long with Tommy and Carol, and you were right.

Much to your surprise again, Steve and Nancy lasted until his senior year. You couldn’t argue that being with her made Steve want to better himself. You even got to know Nancy for a bit, and for someone quite reserved, you actually liked her.

“Haven’t you ever considered dating?” she had asked you once.

You hummed for a bit, pondering on your answer. “Steve knows most of the nitty gritty on the guys on Hawkins High,” you explained. “He scares the bad ones away, and the ones that are decent are too intimidated with him being my friend since forever.”

“You never thought of dating Steve?”

You laughed lightly. You had a crush on Steve, but you didn’t like him enough to act out on it. “What an odd question from his own girlfriend,” you pointed out, and interestingly enough, it made her uncomfortable. You guessed a lot of Steve’s exes were also pretty intimidated by your friendship with Steve.

“Nope,” you lied smoothly. “Steve never asked me, and we never had the conversation on crossing that line in our friendship.” Still, the pinched look on Nancy’s face remained, and you began to wonder if it was more than just jealousy… or if she was hiding something else.

That inkling you had took form in Jonathan Byers half-carrying a wasted Nancy during a Halloween party. You asked around for Steve only to find out that he also ditched you. You aggressively poured yourself a glass of spiked punch before catching yourself, pouring the contents back in the bowl.

“Smart move.”

You didn’t need Steve to tell you that Billy Hargrove was bad news.

“Harrington ditched you, pretty girl?”

“What do you think?” you shot back. You walked out of the kitchen to find a house phone, only to find a couple making out right against it. “Seriously?”

Billy snickered right next to you.

“You’re still here,” you sighed in exasperation to show your annoyance. “Why?” You narrowed your eyes at the blonde.

“Oh, please, no need to be short with me, pretty girl,” Billy said, flashing you what he probably thought was his charming smile. “Harrington isn’t here for you to be his loyal lapdog.”

“What are you talking about?”

Billy stepped closer to you, and you were overwhelmed by the smell of beer and cigarettes from his person. “From what I saw earlier, Wheeler and Harrington seem to be over,” he whispered in your ear, “so you might actually have a chance this time.”

Rage quickly filled your veins, and you shoved his bare chest, pushing him away from you. Your reaction only amused Billy further. “You don’t know anything about me,” you spat out.

“As a matter of fact, I know everything just by looking at you,” Billy retorted, giving you a once-over. “I don’t often help out girls like you, but you’re just pitiful. Pathetic even.” He continued, “Guys like Steve don’t stay single for long. Takes one to know one, pretty girl. Best make your move soon.”

You hated how you knew Billy was right. Nancy clearly had feelings for Jonathan, and it wouldn’t be long before Steve would be looking for a rebound. Maybe if… maybe if he could see how you and him worked so well over the years, Steve might also see you as someone worth long-term. Even longer than Nancy.

For the next two days, you muddled over how you would tell Steve how you really feel. You settled for simplicity. Just give it to him honest and straightforward. With a motivated resolution, you drove to his house and caught Steve just in time as he was leaving his house.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Steve smiled, pulling his keys out. “Come with me. I need your help picking out something. I’m driving.”

Ten minutes later, you and the florist locked eyes, seeming to have an understanding with each other, while Steve fawned over the bouquet that you chose for Nancy.

There’s just something fucked up over choosing a bouquet you want for your crush to give as a reconciliation gift for his ex.

Mysteriously enough, Nancy wasn’t at her house, but Dustin Henderson, a friend of her younger brother’s, was. You observed how the boy dragged Steve over to the car, where you were waiting, and talked about “a baseball bat with nails.” Steve succumbed to Dustin’s demands and opened the trunk of his car.

“Why the hell do you have a baseball bat mace, Harrington?”

Dustin directed his attention to you. “Are you good with pets?” he asked randomly.

“I used to have a cat and a dog?”

“Perfect. You can come with us.”

For the next three hours, you and Steve followed the boy in his storm cellar, finding a tunnel dug by an animal too big to be a dog. Dustin explained to you about a monster he cared for as a baby, until it ate his cat. Now, he made plans that you and Steve would come back the next day to find it before it was fully grown.

By that point, you simply indulged Dustin and his games. It was all just bad unskippable side quests on your way to confess to Steve. … right?

When morning came, Steve picked you up, telling you that Dustin called him to buy meat to bait his rogue monster pet. Again, you indulged them and came along. If Steve was losing his sanity over his breakup, so were you by still trying to confess in these conditions.

“Why are you still friends with me?” Steve asked all of a sudden, his eyes were focused on the road to the way to Dustin’s house. “I’m no longer popular. My girlfriend broke up with me. I’m currently hanging out with my ex’s brother’s friend finding a cat-eating monster.”

Tell him. It’s the right time. But what if it’s not? Of course, it is. What if he’ll think I’m only taking advantage of his situation? What if he’ll think I’m only friends with him for that reason?

“Don’t be full of yourself, Steve,” you snorted, picking at your chipped nail polish. “I’ve known you since you were a loser. It isn’t so different now.”

“You’re such an ass.”

Your heart mellowed at the sight of Steve’s soft smile. Maybe I don’t have to tell him. These quiet genuine moments didn’t have to change. You loved it as it was.

~~

“You kept something you knew was probably dangerous in order to impress a girl who... who you just met?”

“You have to admit, Steve, that’s pretty metal,” you commented, bumping Steve’s shoulder.

“What does that even mean?” Steve asked while still tossing pieces of chopped meat along the abandoned train tracks.

“It means it’s an awesome gesture,” you said, patting Dustin on the back. The boy smiled at you, preening from your support. From the past hour, you held a soft spot for Dustin who lacked in confidence but still put himself out there for a crush.

He’s younger but definitely had more guts than you.

“I just feel like you’re trying too hard,” Steve admitted.

“Hey,” you elbowed your friend in the side in warning.

“Well, not everyone can have your perfect hair, all right?” Dustin said quite glumly.

“The key with girls is just…” Steve trailed off, while you cut in, “Oh, I’d love to hear this.” He continued, “… just acting like you don’t care.”

And you burst laughing. You laughed for a good minute with tears leaking from the corner of your eyes. “Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” you said, “stop giving the boy bad relationship advice, Steven.”

“Are you telling me you never chased after a boy who didn’t show that much interest?” Steve asked, but just as he shot the question, he immediately followed with, “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“I wanna know,” Dustin piped in.

“Just one boy,” you whispered in the boy’s ear but still loud enough for Steve to hear. “It doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me that way.” Before anyone could catch your hidden meaning, you added, “Besides, I only go for guys who genuinely adore me.”

“As they should!” Steve exclaimed, pointing a finger at you. “Remember what I told you: Never take less than what you deserve.”

“As I was saying,” you emphasized, pointedly looking at Steve for interrupting, then crouching to meet Dustin’s eyes, “just be true with your feelings and yourself, and the right girl will come around for you.”

“I mean, that works too,” Steve mumbled. “Some girls are just special.”

“Like Nancy?”

… and that was your cue to walk ahead of them. You should’ve known that a wholesome moment wouldn’t last. Unfortunately, it would only go downhill from there.

In the next few hours, you were being chased by reptilian dogs, rendezvoused with Chief Hopper and the Byers, and met a punk kid who had mind powers. If you weren’t constantly fighting to stay alive, you would’ve demanded context from Steve. And now, you were in a tunnel under a pumpkin patch farm that led to an evil alternate dimension.

Some side quest for romance.

Steve led the group while with you last in case something snuck from behind. You were all careful not to breathe too hard, and you made sure to avoid touching anything on the walls, keeping eye on the kids as well. Doing so proved more difficult the further you went down the tunnel looking for what Mike called “the hub.” The vines and plant bulbs for some reason looked aware of your presence in the tunnels. In fact…

“Dustin, watch out!”

You shoved him to the side only to be sprayed with spores from the flower bulbs. Coughs and wheezes broke uncontrollably from your mouth as you tried to expel what seeped through your kerchief mask. You just hoped that you managed to get most out when you did.

After the little mishap with the flower, your group – much more carefully this time – finally succeeded in setting fire to the tunnels. You ignored the burning in your lungs when it did, especially when you ran back for Mike who got caught by one of the vines as its last resort. Running on instinct, you snatched Steve’s bat and rushed over to the boy.

“Grab him!” you barked at anyone. You stomped the offending vine with the heel of your boot and swung over and over. You screamed and cried out, not knowing whether it was out of aggression or from the burning in your lungs, until Mike was freed and the rest of the vines retreated back to God knows where.

Steve stared at you in awe and slowly approached you, retrieving back his bat but keeping his other hand locked with yours. “That was awesome,” he chuckled, squeezing your entwined fingers.

Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last because a pack of demodogs came barrelling down the tunnels in pursuit of us. Interestingly enough, one of them still managed to listen to Dustin – D’Art. So, he was real... Their reunion and goodbye were enough time to escape to the opening of the tunnel.

Steve climbed out into the farm first, and you began hoisting them up, saving yourself last. You barely managed to get Dustin out, who was putting up a fight to see D’Art until his last moments. Then the strangest thing happened…

The demodogs just stared at you.

It remained that way until they dropped dead, signalling the gate finally being shut.

You were frozen and was only pulled out of your stupor when Steve hoisted you out himself.

The way those monsters clicked and growled at you felt familiar. As if they knew you. Yet you didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

It was over.

[floredaqueen]

"The kindest mask is usually the strangest one"

Did a little Billy Hargrove (Dacre Montgomery) study doodle! It's from that one picture of Dacre from bts pics of ST season 3. If you know you know♡

Anyways, it was super fun and relaxing to do. I need to do more of them, but of now, this is all I have for now! Hope you ENJOY!♡

[dark666posting]

Obsession

TW: NON-CON, NON-CON, NON-CON *** Flayed Billy, dark!Billy

Oops I started this story in like 2022 lmao. Here it is, more Flayed Billy™️

Happy New Year!!!

"Yeah? Well, next time you want your dick sucked, you can call Mrs. fucking Wheeler!" You screamed into the car before slamming the door with all your strength. You successfully held back tears as you stomped away from your now ex-boyfriend's car and shoved through your front door. In the Camaro, Billy sat fuming.

A common occurrence for him on the job is to flirt frequently with the older, married women. He never intended on going anywhere with it, until he did. And he got caught pretty quickly after. Billy's mommy issues tied him to the maternal comfort of older women, but you were the only woman he cared about. The only woman he wasn't letting get away. Breaking up certainly wasn't an option whether you knew it or not.

Billy tried to mentally talk himself down before he followed behind you. Your parents are out of town for the week, so he doesn't worry about being stopped.

"Y/N, can we please talk about this? I don't know what you think you saw-" his gaslighting is cut off.

"I know what I saw! Get the fuck out of my house!" You yell, throwing a book in his direction. The two of you weren't strangers to getting physical with each other.

"Hey!" Billy dodges the book, quickly turning to face you again. A look of pure anger is plastered on his face, but he remains poised as best as possible. "Darling, I am trying to fix this. We aren't breaking up." His voice trembles with the strain of withholding his rage.

"We are broken up. This is fucking over." You've never backed down from him before and you didn't plan on starting today. "As of right fucking now, Hargrove, I am single."

"Oh, you're single?" His voice is quiet and he's eerily calm compared to his struggle earlier. He steps toward you and at first, you stand firm, but the closer he gets, the more you shuffle backward. "You're single?" He asks again, expecting a response.

"Y-Yes. Just like you pretended to be." Billy slaps you across the face quicker than you could register, knocking you to the floor. "What the fuck?!" You clutch your cheek as a fiery sting spreads across your skin.

"Let me show you what happens to sluts that don't have boyfriends to protect them." He grabs you by your hair and damn near drags you to the couch. You kick and fight, doing everything in your power to loosen the pull on your scalp.

"Billy, stop!" You scream as he wrestles you onto the couch. He's exceptionally strong and you are no match.

"Look at you. This isn't even hard for me. You need me to protect you or else someone could have his way with you any time he wants." Billy's voice sounds like a taunt. He successfully pins your wrists together under one of his hands and the other starts to roughly rub your cunt through your jeans.

"What the fuck? Let me go, what are you doing?" You squirm and jerk away from him, feeling panic and pleasure as his hand creates friction against you. "Billy, please stop!" Tears well in your eyes. You've never seen him like this, and he doesn't seem to be letting up. He stares down at you with a blank, serious face. You beg him repeatedly with your eyes, wishing you would've just locked the door behind you.

"You're not safe without me. I have to show you." Billy's emotionless expression sends chills down your spine. It's like any part of him that held morals or empathy has been completely shut down.

"No, please," you whimper, but to no avail. Billy slips his hand in your pants, past your panties, slipping a long, nimble finger between your folds. You release a yelp, earning a small, short-lived smirk from Billy. He continues to delicately rub your clit, you melt into his touch before something seems to click in his mind.

"But this is how your boyfriend would touch you. Look how wet you are, you love it. Now I'm gonna show you how a whore gets fucked." Suddenly he tears his hand away, leaving you silently begging for contact. He effortlessly slips your pants from your body and tears your skimpy tank top in half, leaving you in nothing but your panties. You blush as your exposed breasts bounce from Billy's rough treatment.

You assume he's just going to keep toying with you. Another attempt to win you over with an orgasm as he had plenty of times before, even if this was a bit scarier. You're torn from your thoughts when you hear the sound of his belt buckle jingling against itself.

Your eyes go wide as he reveals his throbbing erection. He looms over you, stroking himself as he drinks in the image of you trembling beneath him.

"Billy, I don't want to have sex. Get out of my house. We aren't gonna fuck and pretend we're fine anymore-" he stuffs his length down your throat, cutting you off.

"I don't know how to make it any clearer for you, Y/N. You're too fucking stupid to realize what's happening. It's almost cute." Billy plugs your nose, effectively cutting off all your oxygen as he holds your head against him despite your arms swatting at him for dear life.

It finally dawned on you, that this was not his usual roughness and inability to take "no" for an answer. And you weren't about to get away from him. Panic takes over, controlling your next move. You try to kick and swat him away, but he's inhumanly strong. Stronger than what you're used to, you realize. When he finally allows you to take a breath you look up at him with watery eyes.

"Billy, please," you garble through the drool pooling in your mouth. Your jaw aches from the invasion.

"If you're not mine, I'll make sure nobody wants you," he growls as his expression grows darker. His eyes seem like they belong to someone else and small, black veins rise all over his skin. He looks like a monster, a creature you can't describe. You release a horrified scream before he jerks you from the couch and slams you down on the hardwood floor. Your head smacks the wood with a sharp thud, knocking your vision unsteady.

"Baby, listen. I-I'm sorry. Let's just fuck and make up, okay? Like we always do," you try so hard to reason with him as a sharp ache echoes through your skull. You're petrified, certain he's contracted some sort of rabies-like illness causing this outburst.

"Something's... Happening, Y/N." Billy stares off into the distance, looming over you. "I just... I just need to hurt you." The black, spidery veins beneath his skin grow darker as he admits his intentions.

"Please," you sob uncontrollably. "Please don't hurt me, baby." Billy ignores your pathetic pleas and stares down at your exposed supple chest. A primal, starving sigh exits his body and in the blink of an eye, his large, powerful hand is clasped tightly around your throat. You wheeze and gag, but to no avail, your oxygen is completely cut off. You're certain that with any more effort, he'd crush your windpipe like an empty soda can.

Billy's free hand slaps your breasts around and roughly tugs at your hardened nipples. Each touch he lays on you is sharp and jarring, devoid of any amount of love and care he barely showed even on a good day. You're clawing at his hand around your neck, turning all new shades of purple and blue and he holds you down. Slowly, your hits become weak and sloppy and your vision fades from blurred to black.

Once you're out cold, he tosses your unconscious body over his shoulder and lugs you into your bedroom. Not to be kind or show you any kind of comfort or mercy, but because the bed is the perfect height for him to splay your legs open and tear you to pieces.

He carelessly tosses you into the mattress, stroking himself as he watches you lie there, seemingly lifeless, wearing nothing but a pair of white lace panties. Those are short-lived as he effortlessly snaps the fabric from your body. You're his, completely. He wastes no time toying with you since you're already unresponsive, so he positions his cock at your entrance and shoves himself inside.

He's rough and unyielding as he bucks into you, forcing your body to lubricate his erection for easier access. You're still unconscious, unknowingly being fucked by your ex-boyfriend. He huffs and grunts like a wild animal, continuously readjusting his hands around your body parts for more leverage.

Your legs are lazily tossed over his shoulders, and he holds your wrists to pull you against him with each thrust. Suddenly, you wake up. All the violent fucking you'd endured before waking up seems to hit you all at once and you release a pained cry. The sound of your distress elicits a vulgar moan from Billy.

"Please, no! Billy, stop!" You whine, writhing and squirming against him, only stimulating him further. He moans some more, clearly approaching his climax. Finally, somehow, you're able to angle your leg to kick him away. You land a sharp, calculated kick to his jaw and he stumbles backward, giving you time to take off down the hall.

Billy screams your name like a monstrous roar, tearing through your home to chase after you. He knocks over shelves and side tables, breaking a lamp in the process. Your house looks ransacked. When he rounds the corner and spots you again, you're struggling to get the door open, loud sobs hiccup from your chest, and tsunamis of tears fall from your eyes.

"You're fucked now. That was me being gentle." He cracks his knuckles before slowly, confidently approaching you. You scream again in fear before finally getting the lock to unlatch. You frantically spill out the door and onto the porch. You're nearly off the last step when he grabs you by your hair, yanking you backward into him.

"Billy, no. Billy-" Your words fall out of you quickly with a more collected, serious tone to them as you begin to panic. You don't know if he's going to continue fucking you, or just kill you here on the front lawn. It's dark and your house is a little more secluded than most, something you saw as a good thing until tonight.

Billy holds you by the wad of your hair he's wrapped his hand in and your wrist, keeping you pressed flush against his broad, muscular body.

"I just need to hurt you." He echoes his own words before shoving you cruelly to the ground. You land on the front of your body with barely any time to catch yourself. The rough grassy yard is less than pleasant when it catches you. Billy swiftly climbs on top of you, pinning your arms behind your back and pressing his bulge against your ass.

He forces himself back inside your abused cunt and ruts into you like his life depends on it. You're right next to a road, but it's so late, that it'd be nearly impossible to see someone pass by at this hour. Until they do. You spot a set of headlights coming down the road and you try to thrash around to get their attention. Billy notices this attempted call for help and buries your face into the ground, continuing his mission.

As the car draws closer, you realize that it is too dark for you to see the thick shrubbery completely concealing you and Billy from the road. The car drives right past and you release a quiet sob into the dirt.

"No one's coming for you, Y/N," he growls between thrusts. Finally, his rhythm begins to waver. His breathing becomes labored and unsteady and he finally slams into you one last time, filling you up for a moment before he pulls out and finishes cumming all over your back and in your hair. He lays a brutally aggressive slap on your ass cheek and leaves you there. You hear his car start and pull out of the driveway, all the while you remain on the ground.

Silent, blank-faced tears fall down your face. You manage to peel yourself off the ground and drag yourself inside before the sun begins to rise. You sit in a warm bath, still in shock when you realize your hand is wandering to the sore opening between your legs. You can't help but relive every second he tore into you. You don't understand this feeling, but it brings you to orgasm in mere minutes.

The rest of the night you're anxious and afraid. Afraid he'll come back, or worse, afraid he won't. You recall all the parasitic veins spreading over his skin and you shudder. He's not well, and you were merely a casualty of that.

He just needed to hurt you.

[deniable-masterpiece]

but like... flayed!Billy with all those veins and making you part of the hive mind in a sexy kinky way

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

i am once again asking for a flayed!Steve fic you can take it however and wherever u want to I just wanna see some angsty :3

gonna do the aftermath from the first flayed!steve fic.

“pick up, pick up, pick up, fucking pick-“ “hello?”

“nancy! steve’s back, but he’s- he’s been flayed. he- he was trying to choke me tonight.” absentmindedly grazing your fingertips over your sore throat where you can feel the bruising starting to form.

there was shuffling on her end before her voice came through, “where are you?” “steve’s house. i was searching the woods and then i saw his car in the driveway and he opened the door… he seemed normal but also loss of memory.”

“okay i’m on my way. jona-“ and the line cut off. the strom was getting worse. the harrington house was cloaked in darkness, none of the lights working.

with slow, shakey legs you brought yourself back up the stairs and down the hall to steve’s open door. before you called nancy you made sure to seat steve on his desk chair and managed to find some duck tape and used the whole roll on his torso, wrist, and ankles. you couldn’t afford to be caught off guard again.

he was still unconscious, you think. maybe he’s just playing his game, pretending to be one thing when he’s actually another. maybe he heard the call and is just waiting for the right time to-

“you sure are a vision.” steve’s voice but distorted broke the silence. your heart stopped beating and your blood went cold. eyes slowly dragging to his face, the dried blood matted some of his hair to his temple with two thin streaks sliding down his face to his chin. “no wonder he keeps worrying about you.

“let him go, you monster!” screaming at steve’s face. all it did was grin devilishly and chuckle demonically. “no, i quite like this one. planning to keep him even after his body decayed.”

“well we stopped you before and we’re doing again. you don’t get to keep our loved ones hostage.” wishing nancy could hurry up, maybe bring a gun with her. just for safety.

“oh but you won’t trust him the same if i leave. there will always be that sneaking suspicion that i’m just lurking around a dark corner…” he then ripped his binds free and lunged for you.

[sweet-villain]

Playing With Fire~ Flayed B.H

Words : 3.2K words

@babyloutattoo89 @palomam18 @becca-alexa @sadbitchfangirl @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @steddieandstonathansprincess @haileighboi @bookshelf-dust @moonchildquinn @strangerfreak

Angst

Summary : Flayed takes interest in you after you have been following him a couple times, you finally ask him to speak to Billy. He grants it to you but the second time comes with a dangerous price.

He grin grows hearing the mutter of your voice as you slap the flashlight in your hands trying to get it to work. He heard you from a mile away entering the abandon factory where he has been tryin to figure out how you could track him. It was the first time you had track him down and he was growing frustrated in hiding away from you. 

Each step you took has alerted him you were close and ready to pounce on him if needed. He licked his lips as he sat against one of the walls hidden away from your sight with his legs outstretched. His hair matted down and strands stuck against his face and forehead as sweat roll down his cheeks. 

The goosebumps on your arms crawled like little ants and you felt that shiver down your spine. Not the same one that Will has when he felt the MindFlyer was around. Not that. You knew you were close. 

“ I’m not afraid” you stated. Flayed raised his eyebrow in amusement on what you were tying to get at. If you weren’t afraid of him then what did you exactly in hopes of doing.  His lips drew in a thin line as his mind wondered what did you want from him. He has taken your Billy away from you and here you were fighting to get to him.

You were warned to stay away from him. Flayed was dangerous in his own way. You had seen it with Heather, with her parents and you seen him struggling in fighting his own mind. Deep down a part of you wants to know if Billy was in there, swimming in his own fear as he waited and watched. 

“ You won’t hurt me” you spoke up. Your voice wasn’t even shaky or sounding like you were scared which made Flayed more interested in you. He thought you were like the others, pathetic, useless and no human was worth it to him.

Now, it was turning into something different and Flayed was interested. 

“ You would of done it by now” your voice was drawing closer where Flayed rested and he chuckled to himself thinking you are such a brave girl to walk alone, with nothing with her but a flashlight. 

You rounded the corner just where he sat at when his body rose up and pins you to the other wall with narrow eyes, the veins on his body visible as he glared at you through matted strands of hair. 

“ Isn’t it past your best time?” He mumbles. Part of his arms is holding you by the neck as you were pressed against the wall while looking at him. 

“ I’m not 12” He snickers as he eyes you up and down. 

“ You know, kitten. You have a pretty face, tell me. Do you have a boyfriend?” He asked. He removes his arm away from your neck as he steps back. You were right, he wasn’t going to hurt you. 

“ You took that away from me, remember?” Flayed hummed as he licked his lips with a grin. It wasn’t a grin that was inviting. It was more cold and sinister. 

“ That’s right, poor Billy is washed away like a pathetic little puppy that he is. Always crying to be saved. Always looking for a way out…” 

Your eyes blinked as tears began to shield your vision hearing him.

“ Is Billy still there?” Flayed scoffed at the mention of “ Billy.” 

“ Can I talk to him?” You thought asking Flayed in person, alone, he would let you even if it was for a couple of minutes. Flayed chuckled as he clapped his hands like he had an audience. 

“ Oh you’re funny one” Flayed points a finger at you as he laughs. His laughs stops after a few moment seeing you weren’t joking. “ Did you really think?” He takes a step towards you. You remained standing still showing you weren’t afraid of him. “ By coming to find me, I would let you talk to that nobody?”

Your eyes blink away the tears with your fist by your side clenching them as tight. You felt like you were holding your breath in feeling him come closer and his glare harden.

“ You don’t get to make any decisions here. I’m in control…” he says as he’s hovering above you. You rose your head to meet his gaze. His eyes held nothing but hollowness in them. 

You know he doesn’t feel. You know he has no feelings but yet you stand there, wanting to save him. Save your Billy. 

You rose your hand up confusing Flayed on what you were doing as he watches your hand in mid air and catches it. 

“ What are you doing?” He asks. “ I don’t want to be touched.” 

You stared into those cold and lifeless eyes as his face was completely blank. 

“ I’m not going to hurt you” is what he hears that perks his interest. He’s hesitant at first and scans your face making sure you weren’t joking and lets go off your hand. Your hand slowly rests on his chest. 

He’s in the white tank top that is mixed with sweat and there are some sort of grease splatter too. Your fingertips feel warm on his body. He shifts away as he hisses at the feeling. 

“ It’s just me” you tell him. He hesitates but lets you touch him again. Your hand slides up towards his face. Your fingertip hit his lips first feeling the coldness of his lips. They don’t look to full color rather chapped and a little blue for your liking. 

Flayed stands there in slight freight at your touch. He likes it. It slightly burns and he lets it watching your fingertip trace his lips. He watches your teeth nibbling on the bottom of your lips as you keep your focus on him. Your fingertips trace over his cheeks where Flayed can’t help but flutter his eyes closed at the touch. 

He doesn’t notice as his face leans into your touch and he feels a sort of calming over him. The burn has vanished as well. 

Your fingertips go into his matted hair and brush away the strands from his face that you can see his face clearer. His eyes fly open as he steps back, shaking his head and refusing to accept whatever this was. 

“ Enough” he says. “ What do you want?” 

A deep frown appears on your face and your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“ What are you talking about?” 

He chuckles, “ Don’t play dumb with me, kitten. You’ve been always trying to find me and for what? To be a savior? To magically think you’re capable of doing anything. You’re nothing. Just like you precious Billy.” 

“ GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!” You yelled, raising your words. Flayed blinked a couple of time as dark look crosses his face.

“ Kitten…” he warns. 

“ I said, give him back to me. You’ve had your fun” Flayed threw his head back as he laughed. 

“ I see why Billy likes you, you’re cute” he says reaching over and patting your head since he isn’t used to any kind of affection let alone know what a kiss is. He moves around you making his way up the stairs where you turn around staring at his back in confusion. 

“ Where are you going? We aren’t done with the conversation” Flayed doesn’t seem like he’s hearing you as he carries on making his way up. 

“ I’m not talking to a wall, am I?” You followed the way he went which he picked up as he turned around to look, rolling his eyes in annoyance. 

“ You know, I’m a person that uses her mouth to talk and I mean, how hard could it be for you…I don’t know.. use your words?”

“ You’re such a comedian, kitten” he finally speaks making his way outside of the factory. 

“ Oh thank you” Flayed groans hearing you follow him as he heads towards the Camaro parked to the side. You can see the damage from it still there when Billy must of crashed and your heart crashes into your stomach thinking of how helpless Billy must of felt and scared. 

“ Finally you’re quiet, something the matter?” Flayed eyes follow where you were looking at. The part of the Camaro that is damaged. He chuckles and wave his hand. 

“ That’s just a scratch” your eyes turn to his, glaring. 

“  Let me talk to him” you pleaded, “ It’s the least you could do and I won’t follow you anymore if you let me talk to him.” 

Flayed thinks this over, he likes that you keep finding him. He likes that you’re clever. He likes this game but he can see the desperation on your face too. He rolls his eyes. 

“ Clock will be ticking, kitten. I will be watching too.” 

Flayed hunches over the Camaro like he’s in pain and you rush to his side not thinking that he’s going to hurt you or worse but rathe you were worried something bad was happening. 

“ Are you okay?’ You placed your hand on his bare shoulder and you hear pants, a deep breathe take in and the head turns as you lock eyes with eyes that you have missed so much. They were full of apologies, full of I miss you’s and full of love. 

“ Billy?” You asked, eyes filling up with tears and that one nod was it all it took for you to crash into his arms and hold him like your life depended on it. Billy wrapped his arms around you and buried his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent. He closed his eyes as tears shed down his cheeks. He was holding you. It’s all he wanted. 

“ I miss you so much” you mumble into his tank top drenching it with your own tears Billy could only squeeze you tighter. 

“ I’m going to save you” you continued thinking he’s heard it and it was safe to tell him. Billy pulls away as he stared down at you with worry in his eyes. 

“ He’s going to hurt you, I need you to stay away from him doll.” 

“ No” you shake your head,  “ I need you to come back to me.” 

You could tell by the small smile on his face that he was still here and that Flayed was giving you some time. 

“ I can’t, he has the control and I can’t come back to you no matter how hard I try” he says through his tears. You cup his face with the both of your hands and leans up on your toes resting your forehead against his. 

“ Come back to me” you pleaded, “ I needed you.” 

It broke Billy to see you like this but there was nothing he could do because Flayed was in control. Billy knew he was losing himself feeling Flayed fighting to come back, he pulls you into him and crashes his lips against yours wanting to remember the feeling of your lips against his. He wants a taste. A remembrance. 

You kissed him back, letting him hold you as tears shed down your cheeks feeling him slip away as hands squeezed at your hips as a tongue shoves into your mouth. But you quickly pull away seeing it was Flayed who was back.

“ Missed me, kitten? You know it’s quite rude to pull away when someone you love is kissing you” 

You scoffed, “ I don’t love you and you don’t know anything about it.” 

He laughs, “ I don’t, but you are so desperate for it that I thought I’d play your game.” 

“ Love isn’t a game” He rolls his eyes and lets you go. 

“ It’s pointless” He says as he walks over to the driver side of the Camaro. “ Where are you going?” You asked. 

“This again” he mumbles to himself and walks back over with his hands folded together like he’s praying as he eye levels with you.

“I’m going” he says like he’s talking to a childish that doesn’t understand any English. “ and you” he points to you with his index finger, “ can go home or whatever place you came from” he says moving his around him. “ Does that make it clear?” 

“ I am not a child. I can understand what your saying. I’m not going home. I’m coming with you” Flayed pinches the bridge of his nose feeling quite annoyed with you and he’s about done with this.

“ What do you want from me?” He asks calmly. He feels the anger risen in him. He is about ready to get into the car and drives off, leaving you behind.

“ I want you to give Billy back to me” Flayed jaw clenches tight as his hand drops from his face. 

“ What are you not understanding here is, I am in control. Little girls like you do not give me orders and I’m not going to give you your Billy back. You don’t need him.” 

“ I love him!” You yelled with fist by your sides. 

“ I love him!” Flayed mocks you doing the same thing you were doing with his own fists. 

“ Stop that!” Flayed mocks you agains as he throws in a smirk.

“ You’re so annoying” you mumble pushing at his chest where he pretends to stumble back like you had some affect on him when he’s much stronger than he looks. He leans against the hood of the car with amusement written on your face. 

“ I could beat you up” you continued to mumble which brought more amusement to Flayed. “ You’re so full of shit too” you added which he didn’t miss because he chuckled after you said it. 

“ You talk a big game of being this big bad wolf and yet, you let me talk to Billy. Is Flayed going soft?” You teased. 

Flayed frowned and stood up from the hood making his way over to the driver side and getting in his Camaro. He was about done with you and this game you were playing with him. 

“ Wait, you’re seriously not going to give me a ride home?” You asked coming up to the window. He doesn’t answer you and starts the car. His foot presses on the gas leaving you alone near the abandon factory. 

You kicked an imaginary rock muttering to yourself on how you could be so stupid letting him leave you like this. You looked around to see if there would be a passing car driving by but there was nothing. Not even a soul out here. 

A chill ran up your spine as you tapped on the flashlight muttering for it to turn on and headed towards home, where you thought was home. You didn’t hear the roaring of a car driving your way as you were too focused on looking where you were stepping. The car rolls next to you. 

“ Get in” the voice speak which you thought you imagined at first but you don’t notice the person even step out the car before you were grabbed by your wrist. 

“ What the-“ you were cut off with the person throwing them over your shoulder and you eyes catch on a familiar pair of jeans and the ass you know. He puts you in the passenger side seat without a word and goes to his side as he gets into the car. 

“ You came back for me” you happily reach to grab his arm but he tugs it away. 

“ Yeah, so I don’t need to hear you whining to me the next time you wound up finding me. You’re annoying too, always talking an ear off. Can you just shut up for once? I don’t know how he tolerated you..” Flayed says. 

Sometimes words do hurt and he was using those words to hurt you. You sank into your seat staring at the window at the passing trees. You muttered where to go while trying not to talk to him. Just like he liked it. 

He parks the car in front of your house and doesn’t look at you. 

“ Thanks for the ride” he waves off with his hand and points to the door. 

“ You know, I’m the only one that seems to reach out to you and care. I know you don’t have feelings but you should consider this as a mutual bearing or alliance you can say.” 

His cold and hallow eyes turn to look at you.

“ Get out” he says. 

“ Fine” you muttered, getting out of the car and making sure to slam the door of the Camaro throwing a finger at him. 

Later that night when your in your room, reading a book and too lost into that you don’t notice a figure slip into your room and the next thing you knew was your book being ripped out of your hands thrown across the room.

“ Hey!” You shouted, locking eyes with those very cold, empty looking eyes as they stared down at you. He stood there motionless like something was speaking to him inside his head but it wasn’t exactly that. It was the fact that he’s been thinking. 

Flayed doesn’t think. He does. 

“ What are you doing in my room?” The question you asked goes unanswered. He’s standing like a statue lost in his own world. You had no idea weather to scramble to the phone to call Steve Harrington for help or get him to talk to you. 

He didn’t like to talk, that you knew. Your eyes drop to the phone in the corner which he picks up on because he saw it when he crawled through your window. 

“ Don’t even think about it” he says. 

“ Or what?” The next thing you know is he has you pinning on your bed with your hands above your head. “ That” he answers. 

There is a big wide smirk on his face while he gazes down at you. There is something about that interest him. Weather he finds you annoying with everything you do or the fact that the feeling of your lips made him crave you.

His face leans down and his eyes flutter closed. You are getting the gist of what he wants. You move your head to the side which he notices and pulls away slightly. 

“ What now?”  He asks. 

“ If I let you kiss me, will you let me talk to Billy again?” Flayed eyes squint as he growls. 

“ Why do you even want him?” 

“ Because I love him” Flayed rolled his eyed with heavy sigh.

“  Make the kiss good and we will see” He mutters, leaning down again as his lips brushes against yours. Your breath hitches feeling his lips on yours, they feel a lot different than compared to Billy’s. 

The kiss is surprisingly soft this time, not tongue even happen as he kisses you like you were about to break. He pulls away slightly and his eyes open.

“ Was that good?” He answers you by leaning back down capturing your lips with another kiss. He likes this. He really does. He lets go off your hands and they wound up going into his matted hair that you brush away. 

He pulls away again and this time you see that it’s your boyfriend Billy. Flayed gave in and allowed you to have Billy back.

This time, the clock wasn’t ticking because Flayed hid away angering at himself on what this was between the two of you. He liked kissing you and he was growing scared about it. 

“ Billy” you spoke his name. Flayed on the inside wasn’t too happy how that sounded. 

“ Doll” your boyfriend spoke with a growing smile on his face, collapsing in your arms as he mumbles how much he missed you. 

You were scared too. Scared to have the limited time with your boyfriend before you were playing games with Flayed again. 

[freakycore]

🎧 now playing: queen never cry

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

sukuna’s queen should never cry. so when he finds her in tears, he’s ready to unleash his wrath— only to be met with a situation he never expected.

sukuna never believed there was a force in this world that could bring him to his knees— until he saw you crying.

the faint sound of muffled sniffles greeted him as he stepped into your shared chambers. his crimson eyes narrowed, searching for the source. then he saw you, perched on the edge of the bed, your face buried in your hands, shoulders trembling with each shaky breath.

his chest tightened, a feeling he didn’t recognize—or perhaps refused to admit—clawing at his heart. who dared to hurt her? his jaw clenched, and his cursed energy began to crackle in the air.

“who did this to you?” sukuna’s voice thundered through the room, sharp and biting, his rage barely contained. “tell me, and I’ll flay them alive. I’ll make them beg for—”

“it’s not a person!” you interrupted, looking up at him with teary eyes.

his fury faltered for a moment as confusion replaced it. he stalked closer, crouching before you so he could see your face. his large hands cupped your cheeks, rough thumbs brushing away stray tears. “then what is it?” he growled.

your lip quivered as you tried to form the words. “i… i dropped my favorite dessert.��

sukuna blinked. once. twice. his expression was blank, but his crimson eyes burned with disbelief.

“you’re crying… over that?”

“yes!” you wailed, fresh tears spilling over. “it was the last one, and i was saving it for today! and now it’s gone!”

the room was silent for a beat. sukuna’s hands dropped from your face as he straightened, his cursed energy dissipating into the air. he crossed his arms, his lips pressing into a tight line as his eyes bore into you. “you mean to tell me i nearly destroyed this entire palace… over a shit of sugar?”

you sniffed, your watery gaze meeting his. “it was a really good shit of sugar..”

for a moment, sukuna said nothing, his temple visibly throbbing as he tried to process the situation. then he let out a harsh, frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face. “you’re insufferable,” he muttered.

despite his irritation, he reached out and pulled you into his lap, cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. “stop crying,” he ordered, voice gruff but quieter now. “queens never shed tears over something pathetic.”

you let out a soft laugh, burying your face in his chest. “you’re so cute when you’re mad.”

sukuna froze, his scowl deepening. “excuse me?”

“ you heard me,” you teased, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. your fingers lightly traced the sharp lines of his jaw, and despite himself, sukuna leaned into your touch.

“you’re lucky i adore you,” he muttered under his breath, his arms tightening around you protectively. “otherwise, i’d throw you out for being this ridiculous.”

but as much as he grumbled, you knew he wasn’t truly angry. later that evening, when he thought you weren’t paying attention, sukuna disappeared for a short while. he returned with a boxes containing even larger, more decadent version of your lost dessert.

he didn’t say a word as he set them all down before you, his expression carefully neutral. but the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him when you squealed with delight and launched yourself into his arms.

no one makes his queen cry— not even herself.

[readerviews]

"The Bone Spear" by Alexander Layne

“In a desolate world, good and evil wage war.” #books #bookreview #reading #readerviews

The Bone Spear  Alexander LayneIndependently Published (2023)ISBN:  979-8379375164Reviewed by Megan Weiss for Reader Views (04/2014) An old man cursed with immortality.  A young woman trained by a monster to fight him and fulfill a mysterious destiny.  Both striving to find who they really are in their desolate worlds; both having suffered grievous wrongs in the past.  In the fight for…

[saikokirakira]

Part 2 of 2: Pagtingin (Feelings) [Steve Harrington x Reader]

a/n: hello. it me. i definitely did not forget to post part two. if you would believe it, i was actually getting sick every week the past month because of the insane hours and workload of my new job. so, umm, probably not lasting long there... i wanna be pretty again and lose all the stress hives all over my body.

summary: based on this blurb on a hanahaki au/flayed!reader

word count: 12k words (big boi over here; i definitely bullied our girl throughout this entire chapter)

warning: barely proofread, only edited twice; no use of y/n; steve is an oblivious himbo (but i'll excuse it because he was the ultimate bbg in s3); ANGST TRAIN, hurt no comfort; moms of hawkins summer '85 (i have 911 on standby); billy "walking red flag" hargrove; unrequited feelings / pining; minor violence; body horror (it's hanahaki, what'd you expect?); writer's torture of a self-insert character; stranger things season 3 canon, but Alexei lives fyuck canon actually; metal goodboi cameo

You despised summer. You didn’t used to hate summer, but working in the summer heat when your recently recurring childhood asthma gets triggered by intense heat wasn’t the best option for you. While you couldn’t pass off as a lifeguard at the Hawkins Community Pool, your neighbour and acquaintance, Heather Holloway, pulled some strings to have you manning the snack bar.

It wasn’t ideal, but it certainly opened up the opportunity to listen in to a lot of gossip all around town. Not your favourite pastime, yet Heather enjoyed the very juicy ones, something you noticed she most likely inherited from her father, the chief editor for the town’s paper. Every time her shift ended, so did yours and either you share interesting stories of the day while you drive home or to the newly opened Starcourt Mall.

“Ew, those women are either married or divorced,” your nose wrinkled in disgust at Heather’s favourite gossip topic, Hawkins group of moms. Specifically, their scheduled visits to the pool whenever Billy Hargrove would be on duty as lifeguard.

“He likes the attention, I guess,” Heather shrugged, “and the moms get to ogle eye candy.”

“Still a minor, Heather.”

“Uh-uh, he turned 18 a few months back,” Heather argued, though the distaste was apparent on her face. “The term is barely legal.” Then she suddenly giggled. “I’m still calling the police when they make a direct move,” she half-joked. “I know they call me a bitch behind my back.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And you’re a sissy,” Heather shot back. “When are you going to ask Steve Harrington ou— JESUS!” She clung at the grab handle when your foot landed too much on the gas pedal. “No need to take me with you to hell just because you can’t get a date.” Then with a cheeky grin, she added, “I heard Steve can’t get a date either, and he talks up anyone at that ice cream place.”

You slammed the brakes. “That’s it!” you exclaimed. “You’re walking the rest of the way to Starcourt!” The only reply you had was Heather’s maniacal giggles at getting you so riled up.

You and Heather parted ways when you arrived at Starcourt after telling you that she’d be getting a ride home with her date. You waved her off and headed to Scoop’s Ahoy. A group of girls were giggling as they were leaving when you got there. You also noticed the whiteboard that Robin, Steve’s co-worker, held up, adding another tally on the “You suck” scoreboard.

“See what I have to deal with?” Steve immediately ranted, jerking a finger at Robin’s direction. “If you worked with me, I don’t have to be subjected with workplace abuse.”

You and Robin snorted in sync. “You poor baby,” you cooed teasingly while pinching Steve’s cheek. “How can I ever live without the longer shifts, ridiculous uniform, and being your wingman?” You earned another laugh from Robin while Steve scoffed before shooting you a pout.

“Well, you certainly miss me since you constantly visit as soon as your shift ends,” Steve shot back.

“Sure, I’m definitely not here as Heather’s chauffer to her movie date,” you said, “or just hanging out at the comic book store.”

“You want me to come wi—?”

“Bye, Robin!” you ignored his offer yet still blowing Steve a raspberry to which he rolled his eyes at. Exiting the ice cream shop, you made you way to the pharmacy first before the comic book store. It was mostly empty when you got there, so it was a breeze in getting your prescription inhaler.

It’s been forever since you had asthma, the last one during your elementary days. Your wheezing fits had only come back since that occurrence in those tunnels that you still see in your nightmares. However, after the countless tests and screening from military scientists, they cleared it to just “your body shifting from all the trauma.”

You’d think after opening gates to other dimensions with monsters, they’d be able to create a cure for asthma.

The thought was highly amusing to you that you almost missed the fiery redhead that just entered the pharmacy. Your eyes watched Max Mayfield carefully as she walked through the aisles with her head low, trying to be inconspicuous. Grabbing your bag of prescription, you slowly followed where Max wandered off, which happened to be a shelf of bandages.

You almost let it go, knowing that her skateboard hobby always led her to a number of scrapes and bruises. But when she reached for the bandage wrap on the high shelf, her shirt sleeve revealed a hand-shaped mark wrapped around her pale wrist. Trying to be nonchalant as possible, you approached her and grabbed the bandage for her, ignoring how Max quickly put her arm down and tugged at her sleeve.

“Skateboarding mishap again, red?”

Max’s signature cocky smirk covered the surprise on her face. “It’s one of my better falls,” she said. Then her eyes wandered to the prescription bag in my hand. “Still have those? They said you’d be better in a couple of weeks since the incident.”

“Well, I didn’t, so here I am,” you shrugged. “Hey, listen, I’m heading out to the comic book store if you want to tag along. My treat.”

Once you were at the community pool. Though you resorted to buying your carefully as she skimmed through the new arrival stack. You didn’t really have anything worth buying since most of the comics you read are from Dustin’s collection that he recommends and lends to you every other week. Sometimes you get the appeal, sometimes you didn’t. Still, it was a great way to pass the time when things are slow from working the snack bar at the comic book store if you want to tag along. My treat.”

Maybe you should’ve offered to buy Max a cone from Scoops Ahoy instead.

“You got any good recommendations?” you randomly asked the guy who just walked in. You seem to have caught him off-guard, the look of surprise that you were talking to him. “Munson, right?”

“Yeah, Eddie,” he said after a brief pause. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to read comics.”

You thought so too. But you also didn’t think that monsters that live in an alternate dimension exist.

You shrugged. “I read almost anything to pass the time,” you said. “Henderson lends me a lot of X-men.”

Eddie was about to reply when Max approached you with two Wonder Woman comics. “I can pay for the other one,” she offered.

You scoffed lightly and ruffled the top of her head. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “Didn’t I say it was my treat?” Before she could argue, you snatched both copies from her hand and headed to the counter with her trailing behind you. “See you around, Munson.”

You and Max wandered aimlessly around the mall. You offered to go watch whatever movie was in the cinema, but Max turned you down, saying that she had plans with the party later that week once their campaign planning was through. After you ran out of things to do, you offered to drive her home, which she sheepishly accepted.

Before you could even pull out the parking area, Max said, “I know you saw the bruise. You didn’t have to do all that to make me feel better.”

A surprised smile tugged at your lips, impressed on how quickly she caught up on your intentions. “I don’t really have any sisters to dote on,” you said, “so it isn’t entirely on pity. I know you can stand up for yourself, red.” You continued, “But promise me one thing?”

Max nodded.

“You tell me when anything gets too much, okay?” You held her hand to show your support. “I’m always going to be here for you.” Trying to lighten up the mood, you added, “Billy is a prick anyway.” Then you pulled the car into drive.

“He has it worse than me.”

You tried to hold in your composure, but you couldn’t help your eyebrows rising up at the unexpected information. You always suspected something going on with Billy. No one suddenly becomes an asshole overnight. That you knew from being friends for a long time with Steve. Aside from the horrible friends he used to have, Steve grew up with his parents barely around, and even if they were, his father was always either hard on him or emotionally absent.

“Well, it doesn’t give him the right to take it out on you.”

“I know.”

Later that week, you were at your usual spot at the snack booth. The heat was especially brutal that day at it almost felt that your lungs were constricting every time you tried to breathe out. Not even ice water seemed to help, and when the thin clouds cleared, the blaring sunlight only made it worse, even though you were under the shade of the booth.

“Hey, watch the stand for me?” you said to your co-worker who mostly just tried to look busy by restacking cans of soda and rearranging the chips as a way to avoid kids yelling out their orders. He sighed but nodded, getting up to man the counter. On your way out of the booth, you pulled out your inhaler out of your backpack and staggered into the searing sunlight to make your way to Heather.

As you took a blip of your inhaler, you didn’t notice the person near you and collided into them, sending your inhaler flying. “Shit,” you muttered, picking up the plastic case. “Sorry about that.” You looked up and paled upon the realisation that you bumped into Billy Hargrove.

Billy didn’t seem to mind and just grunted before brushing past you. If anything, he looked as disoriented as you, dishevelled and profusely sweating. He had an obvious stumble to his step on his way to the locker room to what you assumed was to get ready for his shift.

You had half a mind to approach him when you heard “Hey! No dunking, Curtis!” from the pool area. You were suddenly reminded of your current task and shrugged off the Billy’s concerning state. For all you know, he was still probably drunk from whatever party he was at last night. It was summer break after all.

You carefully avoided being splashed near the poolside as you circled over to where Heather was stationed at the lifeguard post. Unfortunately, you almost tripped from another dizzy spell again and collided with another person. Just your luck.

“Oh, dear,” a woman this time voiced her concern. “Are you okay, hon? Maybe you should stay out of the heat.”

You steadied yourself and stared into the eyes of Karen Wheeler. “I’m okay, Mrs. Wheeler,” you wheezed. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Drink some water!” Mrs. Wheeler called out before walking off.

Finally, you were able to tell Heather that you were cutting your shift short and that you couldn’t drive her to her dad’s office as you agreed on earlier that day. She waved you off and told you to drive carefully, assuring you that she could always call her mom to pick her up later.

On your way out, you noticed Mrs. Wheeler coming out of the locker room looking distressed and teary-eyed. She didn’t seem to notice you staring at her as she made her way back to the pool area. A few moments later, Billy came out of the same room, still looking as physically uncomfortable as before.

For the past weeks of working at the pool, it was no secret that one of Billy’s favourite moms was Mrs. Wheeler. But was there really some illicit affair between them? You probably wouldn’t put it past Billy, but the woman had three kids, for goodness’ sakes. You made a mental note to ask Heather what she knew about it tomorrow.

After a gruelling half hour drive while cranking your A/C up to full blast, you finally got home. You barely got a mouthful of ice water when your door rang. You wondered who it could be when the neighbours knew that you and your parents were usually at work during the entire day.

“Hey, can you drive us to Starcourt?”

You stared into the wild grins of El and Max, standing excitedly on your doorstep. Fifteen minutes later, you were back in your car, playing chauffeur for the two girls giggling from the backseat of your car.

“I’m telling you, El, boyfriends lie,” Max insisted. She poked you. “Tell her.”

You chuckled dismissively at their tween antics. “I wouldn’t know.”

Both El and Max paused and focused their attention on you.

“You haven’t dated anyone?”

“I’ve been on dates,” you clarified, “but I never really dated anyone.”

“Why?” El asked. It was more inquisitive than mocking or accusatory. She was very curious, that one.

“Because she has the biggest crush on Steve.”

“Oh, my God!” you exclaimed. “Does everyone just know about that?”

“Well, anyone with eyes, yeah,” Max said, rolling her eyes for good measure. “The only reason why he hasn’t caught up is because boys are dumb.”

That made you laugh out loud despite the discomfort in your ribs.

When you arrived at the mall, you expected to have them run off to who knows where while you hung out at the waiting area, taking advantage of the air conditioning, but those two dragged you to every clothing outlet at the mall. You tried to not exert yourself, but it was hard not to match their energy when they were clearly having so much fun. It was even so endearing to see El emerging from her shell, trying out outfits that she genuinely liked and not those lumberjack fits that Chief Hopper had her on all the time.

By the third store, you insisted to sit that one out and merely watch them try on a bunch of different hats. You giggled at them posing at the mirror as if they were at a fashion show. However, you only had a moment of peace before Max approached you with a sundress that looked way too close to your size.

“No,” you stood your ground.

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes, then we’re going to Scoops Ahoy to get cones after this.”

“Ask Steve out on a date,” El urged, smiling encouragingly.

“What happened to ‘boys are dumb?’” you said, raising your brow.

“He’s not going to ask you out first, so you will do it for him!” Max said. She and El both grabbed each of your arm and pulled you to your feet and into the dressing room then tossing in the dress and pulling the curtain shut.

You stared at yourself in the mirror and the dress you held in front of you. You hated to admit it, but it was a pretty dress. Even if you couldn’t score a date with Steve, at least you had a great addition to your wardrobe. With that positive thought in mind, you pulled your shirt over your head and hung it on one of the clothing hooks.

You carefully pulled down the zipper on the dress when you noticed something odd on your reflection. Peering closer on the mirror, you stared at your ribs, noticing the almost black veins that almost seemed to be moving underneath the skin. What the…

“Are you done?!” Max called out from behind the curtain.

You snapped out of it and quickly pulled on the dress. All your initial worries faded once you saw yourself in the mirror. For good measure, you pulled your hair out of your scrunchie and let your tresses fall out in waves over your shoulder.

“Wow,” El and Max chorused.

You didn’t even notice them pulling the curtain open.

When you made your way to Scoops Ahoy, Max and El apparently had already made plans that you don’t come in with them. “Let it be a surprise,” Max had said. It was almost ridiculous that you were letting 14-year-olds dictate you on how to get a date from your crush.

“Okay, here you go, you got a strawberry and then a vanilla with sprinkles, extra whipped cream.” Steve paused and looked at the two girls suspiciously, especially at El. “Wait a second,” he thought out loud, “are you even supposed to be here?”

The two girls giggled, and El said, “A pretty girl drove us here.”

The words ‘pretty’ and ‘girl’ caught Steve’s attention. Predictable. “Yeah?” he grinned, leaning forward as if asking for more details. “She still with you?”

“You know her, silly,” Max giggled before running off with El. On their way out, they both flashed you a thumbs up and mouthed, “good luck.”

You stepped inside Scoops Ahoy with a newfound confidence. It was definitely the dress, and you hope it paid off. When Steve caught sight of you, his eyes brightened up and flashed you his charming smile.

“Hey, stranger,” Steve greeted. “I see the girls made you their babysitter and chauffer.”

You tried not to let your smile falter when you didn’t get the reaction you hoped. You laughed, trying not to give off the fact that your confidence was quickly crumbling. “Yeah,” you said, “my shift ended early at the pool.”

“That’s great!” Steve cheered. “Listen, Dustin just caught Russians on his new radio thing, and we’re trying to translate it. Spy shit and all.”

You blinked. “Dustin’s back?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded animatedly, “he’s at back with Robin translating the tape. Well, mostly Robin. Didn’t even know she’s amazing at languages.” He continued, keeping his excited energy, “She already knocked down a couple phrases. Isn’t that cool?”

Then it clicked.

Steve liked Robin.

Too late again.

“Listen, we can use your help because there’s this music at the end that I couldn’t remember where it came from,” Steve said. “Robin and Dustin say it’s stupid, but you can back me—”

“Um,” you breathed out. You cleared your throat, wondering why you started to get out of breath again. “I still have to drive the girls home before dark,” you said, gently turning him down.

“Oh.”

“Um, call me if you find something cool?” You didn’t wait for him to reply and turned your back on him. As soon as you left Scoops Ahoy, you pulled your inhaler out your pocket and took a blip, but it seemed to only make your lungs angrier and cramp even more.

As agreed upon earlier, you found the girls at the main doors of the mall, but they were in a heated conversation with Mike and the rest of his party. You sighed and quickly approached them before it turned into a full argument.

“I dump your ass!” El declared, making you stop in your steps. Lucas and Max were flabbergasted at the outburst, except Max looked somewhat proud. Mike just looked lost and was clearly at a loss for words. Will just looked uncomfortable enough to be witnessing the entire thing.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you interfered. “We’re leaving, come on.” You looked at Will who seemed to be the most aware among the boys at the moment. “You guys need a ride?”

He shook his head.

“You take care, okay?”

Will nodded.

The walk to your car between you and the girls was quiet. Though Max decided to break the silence when you pulled out of the mall compound. “What happened?” she asked.

You simply shrugged, ignoring the burning in your ribs from the simple motion. “Boys are dumb.” Then the car ride was silent again.

Later that evening, you laid in your bathtub in cold water, finally relaxing when you can breathe easily again. The summer heat fatigue really got you today, you thought. Suddenly remembering what you saw in the fitting room, you looked at your ribs again and was relieved when all you saw was nothing but your usual skin.

You were pulled back to your thoughts and remembered the beautiful sundress that was now laid discarded on the bathroom floor. You groaned at the memory of what just occurred this afternoon. You sighed and slid down to submerge the rest of yourself in the almost freezing water, leaving all your worries for the few seconds you had underwater.

Don’t be afraid. It’ll be over soon. Just stay… very… still.

You were scared. You couldn’t open your eyes, and the water suddenly felt too thick. The searing pain that was becoming too familiar in your lungs felt like it was begin to crawl out of your chest and into your throat.

But it was all gone in a split second.

Panicked and scared out of your wits, you immediately crawled your way out of the bathtub, not caring if you were curled up naked on the bathroom floor. You reached for the first thing you could grab to cover yourself, until you realised that it was still the same damn sundress. Suddenly, all the air just left your body, and you were starting to wonder if it was still an asthma attack.

You hoisted yourself up on the sink, both coughing and wheezing, trying to do everything you can to get yourself some oxygen.

“Sweetie? What’s going on?” the familiar voice of your mom came muffled from the other side of the door. When you replied with nothing but aggressive and painful coughs, the knocking became incessant, and her calls turned to worried cries. “Open the door!”

The same sensation of something crawling out of your throat came back. This time, you were more aware than your paralyzed state a few minutes ago. You stuck your fingers in your throat, feeling for any obstruction.

And you did.

With one forced cough, you were able to pinch out something smooth but foreign. You yanked it out, clenched it in your fist, and spat whatever fluid it brought out. You were initially worried that it was blood, but as you looked at the white ceramic of the bathroom sink, it was black.

When the bathroom door burst open, you quickly opened the faucet, flushing down whatever it was. Your mom rushed over to you and covered your hunched figure with a bath towel before pulling open the medicine cabinet behind the mirror to fish out your emergency inhaler.

“Come on, sweetie,” she carefully urged the inhaler in my mouth, pressing down to dispense a dose, but you could barely bury it down. “Let’s go to your room. You’re freezing.” She led me step by step to my bed and laid me under the covers, but the warm blankets only made me feel worse. “Your dad is coming with the nebulizer. Don’t worry. Just careful breaths.”

You didn’t remember how long it took for you to fall asleep that night, but you woke up the next day to your mom entering your room, already dressed in her office attire. She must’ve seen the panic on your face when you realised that it was way past your alarm.

“I called you in sick at the community pool,” your mom said. “Your dad will be picking you up after work to bring you to the hospital. In the meantime, just rest, okay?” She pressed a kiss on your forehead before she left the room, and you were alone again.

Then you felt the soft thing that you had in your fist the entire night. You raised your hand and held the foreign object over your head.

A black petal.

Panic bubbled up at the base of your spine, and you wasted no time in getting out of bed and getting dressed. You needed to tell Chief Hopper or Mrs. Byers. Or even just any one in Mike’s party.

And Steve.

Suddenly, it hit you. Dustin would still be around Steve decoding whatever Russian code they were on. The kid can easily call a code red for your situation. You grabbed your keys with the intent of going to Starcourt.

Just as you locked the front door, Max and El came rushing in their bikes, looking as alarmed as you are. They rushed to you, especially El who gave you a pleading look.

“It’s Billy.”

~

“As much as I appreciate you calling a grown up to investigate, this seems highly unnecessary.”

You were clearly uncomfortable as you turned the corner to Cherry Lane. You already gave them an earful when they admitted that they were spying on random people during their sleepover last night. Personally, you didn’t think that Heather would suddenly go for Billy when she just went on a date with someone else the other week, but maybe Billy was just that convincing.

“But the screams,” El reasoned.

“When Billy is alone with a girl, they make, like, really crazy noises,” Max argued, making you laugh at her words. Case in point.

“That’s surprising,” you noted. “I assumed that because he’s such an asshole he doesn’t…” you trailed off when you caught El’s clueless look from your rear-view mirror. “Never mind.”

“They scream?” El voiced out her confusion.

“Yeah, but, like… happy screams.” Then Max turned to you. “Oh, just that house right there.”

Your laughter came out in breathless snorts at this point. You pulled the car in park around the curb. “Okay, that’s enough,” you interrupted. “You don’t need to know about that yet, El.” You watched the house and hummed in thought. “His car’s not there. This’ll be easy.”

The three of you went inside the house and headed to his room. You knew that their family was very far from a loving one, but you tried to wrack your head for a reason as to why Billy’s bedroom door had a hinge lock from the outside. You barely had any thoughts about that little detail before Max pushed the door open.

“Why do I get the feeling we’re gonna find all sorts of wrong here?” Max said.

“Well, his tastes in music aren’t half bad,” you commented, flicking through his stack of cassette tapes by his stereo. You pulled open his bedside drawer and laughed at its contents. “Jackpot.”

Max rushed over to peek, only to see his collection of ‘printed ladies.’ “Ugh!” she exclaimed. “Gag me with a spoon.”

Then we heard El calling us from the bathroom.

We followed her to see empty ice packets around his tub. The unsettling feeling crept in again as you remember that you were also trying to keep yourself cold last night. But you weren’t the only one who was unsettled.

El, who was breathing heavily, stared off into the corner, and when Max and you followed her line of sight, there it was. Blood. You carefully opened the trash bin and pulled out a utility bag from Hawkins’ Community Pool.

“Let’s go.” You didn’t waste any time leaving the house and getting into the car.

Despite the darkening skies and thunder rumbling, you got there in record time. You ran to see a co-worker of your closing the pool area. Protocol. But he definitely wasn’t pleased to see you.

“Didn’t you call in sick?” he said, sounding annoyed. “You’re the second person to bail today.”

“Heather didn’t come in?” Max asked.

“Obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing thi— Hey!”

The three of us ran back to the car to figure out what to do next.

“We can go back to my place,” you suggested. “Wait out until Heather comes home next door.” Then you remembered. “Shit,” you cursed, turning on your car before the girls agreed. “My dad is supposed to pick me up for a doctor’s appointment.”

Luckily, your dad wasn’t home yet when you got back. Probably due to the storm. However, the girls already had their own plans in mind when they walked over next door to the Holloway’s.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hissed, jogging over to them. “Don’t go running off without me.” You looked at the now open front door. “Did you just unlock the door? This is trespassing!”

“She’s inside,” El whispered. She and Max entered the house, and you had no choice but to follow.

The three of you carefully treaded towards the voices in the dining room. There you found Billy with Mr. and Mrs. Holloway chatting away. The sight of your three by the hallway halted their conversation.

“Um, hey, Janet, Tom,” you greeted. “We tried to knock, but you probably didn’t hear us over the storm.”

“What on earth are you doing here?” Billy cut in, his eyes trained on Max and El.

“Where is she, Billy?” you asked firmly, staring straight into his eyes.

“Where is who?” Billy smiled innocently, but it didn’t give you any ease.

“Well, they’re a little burnt! I’m sorry.” Heather walked in from the kitchen, carrying a tray of cookies. “Oh, hey, girl! Is your shift over?”

“Heather!” Billy called. “This is my sister, Maxine.” He gestured to Max before his eyes landed on El. “I’m sorry. I did not quite catch your name.”

“El.” Eleven responded with her eyes pointedly trained on Billy.

“El,” Billy echoed, his polite smile turning into something menacing.

It definitely unnerved the three of us. Your hands held onto their shoulders and pulled them behind your back, leaving you to face Billy. “You guys weren’t at work, so we got worried,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Heather wasn't feeling so hot today, so we thought we'd take the day off to nurse her back to health.” Billy turned to Heather. “But you’re feeling just fine right now. Aren’t you, Heather?”

“I’m feeling so much better,” Heather smiled, but there was something about it that didn’t seem right to you.

Max and El tugged at your hand. You looked at them to see them silently pleading at you with their eyes. You gave a brief shake of your head before turning back to Billy. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” you said carefully. “I’ll take the girls home.”

“Thank you for looking out for my sister and her… friend.”

You made sure that the girls walked ahead of you, and right before you passed the front door, Billy pulled you to him. You barely could get a noise out as he pressed his hand over your ribs.

“You’re one of us,” Billy whispered before he shoved you out and shut the door.

It all happened in a split second that the girls didn’t even notice the exchange. The fear stabbed you deep in the gut that you basically dragged them back to your house, forcing them not to look back. Only when you got inside your house that the tension released from your body but only just.

“I’m taking you guys home, and tomorrow, we’re meeting up with the party, okay?”

“You’re not going anywhere, young lady.”

You winced and found your dad staring you down with his arms crossed.

Damn it.

~

“As soon as we’re done here, you’re grounded for a week.”

You groaned and held back the urge to roll your eyes. You were in the hospital waiting area for your family physician, but because there were a handful of minor accidents because of the storm, the wait was a bit long, especially when you were not priority. It was fine during the first ten minutes, but after half an hour, you were starting to get cranky.

“I’m going to the restroom.”

Your dad made a move to get up, but you stopped him. “There’s literally a storm out there, and you drove me here,” you pointed out. “Where else can I go?”

Your dad just scoffed but leaned back in his seat, waving you off. “Bring me back a coffee then,” he said.

You walked down the hallway but turned to the payphones instead of the restrooms. You dialled in the number you were so familiar with and hoped that he’d be home by this time.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice rang through the speaker, sending relief through your body.

“Pick me up at the hospital,” you said.

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, and do it in half an hour.”

“There’s literally a storm outsi—”

“I’m also staying at your place tonight.”

“Hey! What is going—”

“Thanks, Harrington.”

Steve arrived at the hospital in twenty, still dressed in his sailor uniform. With your dad still busy with his coffee and a random medical pamphlet, you cocked your head to the side and sent Steve a signal where to wait while you made your escape. For the second time, you got up to your feet.

“I think I want a coffee actually,” you said. “Be right back, daddy.”

Your dad hummed, not even lifting his eyes from the pamphlet.

For a split second, your heart seized at the sight of your clueless father. You wanted to tell him and mom about the monsters and how they were this close to taking you, but they were better off not knowing. It wasn’t worth risking their lives when it could be just you.

With a heavy heart, you kissed the top of his head and walked down the hallway, heading for the exit and into Steve Harrington’s getaway car.

“Okay, but what the hell is going on?” Steve asked, pulling the car in drive.

You didn’t answer and just hugged your knees to your chest while crying silently. You’re one of us. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to level your breathing, which now felt like such a laborious task. Now that you knew the truth, it was almost like you could feel it all inside you. Taking every piece of you.

You were quickly pulled out of your thoughts by a warm hand clasping yours. You raised your head and looked at Steve, who kept his eyes on the road, but continued to squeeze your hand. You managed to stop crying and thread your fingers through his and bask in his warmth.

You knew it was just temporary. You knew who he really liked. And as if the universe was aware of your feelings, they decided to cut the moment short by sending your chest squeezing and blocking your airways again. You dropped Steve’s hand and clutched at your chest as you exploded into another coughing fit.

Steve panicked and quickly glanced between you and the road. “What’s happening?” he asked frantically. “Should I take you back to the hospital?”

You violently shook your head. “N-no,” you managed to wheeze out. “Dr-drive.”

“Where’s your inhaler?” Steve asked to which you left unanswered.

Finally, you managed to cough out a chunk of something, freeing your airways. You quickly shoved it in your pockets without checking before Steve noticed it. You exhaled in relief and leaned back in his seat.

“It didn’t use to be that bad,” Steve pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Was that why you were at the hospital?”

“Mm.”

“We should go back.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re near your place anyway.”

By the time you got to Steve’s house, he rushed to his parents’ room to find you something to wear from his mom’s closet. “Go take a shower and warm up!” he called out from the second floor.

You dragged your feet into the downstairs bathroom and rinsed your mouth. As you spat out the water, swirls of blood and black goo circled around before disappearing down the drain. You pulled out the clump that you hid in your pocket and teared up at the sight of a fully formed flower.

It was cruel that something as hauntingly beautiful as this was killing you from the inside.

When you flipped the flower over, you noticed thin tendrils from where the stem should be. You were horrified that the tendrils were actually moving like tiny tentacles. It reminded you of that day when you were in the tunnels under the pumpkin farm.

Without any more thought, you dropped the flower in the sink. Remembering that they were susceptible to heat, you immediately turned on the faucet to its hottest setting. As the water hit the flower, your lungs were suddenly set on fire.

Out of instinct, you turned the faucet off, relieved that the flower immediately dried out and broke off into ashy flakes. The burning stopped as well but still lingered under your skin. Almost tripping over your own feet, you staggered over to the shower, stripping yourself of your drenched clothes and turning on the water to its coldest setting, and only then did you find relief.

You’re one of us.

It took over almost half an hour to compose yourself and figure out what to do from here on out. You put one of the fluffy robes in the bathroom and headed out to the living room where Steve was already lounging on one of the sofas, shirtless but with a towel hanging over his neck. He only seemed to notice your presence when the sofa dipped beside him under your weight.

“You okay?” Steve asked when you rested your head on his shoulder, not minding that his hair was still dripping wet. “Jesus, you’re freezing.” He moved to grab the throw blanket and pulled it over both of you then rubbed his hands on your arms to warm you up.

Meanwhile, you wrapped your hands around his waist and just closed your eyes at the sound of his heartbeat. You were mad that his was steady when you couldn’t even control the fast drumming of your own heart whenever you were near him. Still, you held Steve as if you were afraid to let go, as if he was your only reminder that you were still you. But why did it hurt, even physically, so much to hold on?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Steve whispered, stroking the back of your head. “I don’t think we held each other like this since middle school,” he chuckled to himself at the memory. “When Vicki Carmichael took stole your partner for the Snow Ball and kissed him in front of everyone? You slept over and cried in my bed, telling me you hated her for it and me for going with Tammy Thompson.”

You wracked your head trying to remember what Steve was talking about. Maybe because it was a long day, but you couldn’t remember him holding you like this in middle school. Still, it must have been a beautiful memory if even Steve remembered it.

Sometimes it felt like you were the only one holding on so tightly in this relationship with him.

“Don’t you remember?”

You just hummed and snuggled closer to Steve.

“Okay, how about when Lewenski and I got into a fight because his girlfriend tripped you up and you skinned your knee pretty bad?”

This one, you remembered. “Your dad grounded you for a month, and you got benched for two games,” you chuckled softly.

“And you still cheered for me in the sidelines,” Steve said, sounding relieved that you were finally talking. After while a long pause, he said, “What happened? You used to tell me everything.” He continued, “I know I joke about it a lot, but I was really worried when you didn’t sign up with me at the mall. And you being sick all the time now?”

“Steve, just drop it,” you said, almost in a plea. “We’re okay. You never have to worry about me.”

Steve scoffed playfully. “That’s never going to happen,” he argued. “I’m always gonna worry about you. You don’t even notice how much trouble you get yourself into without realising.”

You tried not to think about it, but for the rest of that night in Steve’s arms, you almost felt like the vines were moving inside you, growing and taking up what was left of you that you haven’t already given to Steve.

~

“So, basically you’re a fugitive now?”

You chuckled and tiredly patted Dustin’s back. “Man, I missed you, kid,” you said. “And to answer your question, technically yes. I’m facing a lifetime of being grounded if I’m caught.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dustin began, his eyes trained on your plain black shirt that obviously belonged to Steve, “Steve snuck you out of the hospital, and you stayed in his house the entire night?” He leaned close to you. “And nothing happened?”

“Jesus, Dustin,” you wrinkled your nose at him. “People serve food here.” You gestured at the small cup of ice cream you were eating as breakfast slash brunch. Though you were wallowing your sorrows in cold, cold sweets, it did make you feel like a kid again.

“Steve is so stupid sometimes it amazes me,” Dustin thought out loud.

“I’m surprised you caught on. Seems like everyone in the world knows except him.”

“That’s because I’m me,” Dustin grinned proudly. “I bet the rest of the party doesn’t even know.”

“Who doesn’t know?” Steve entered the backroom with Robin in tow.

“Probably that you’re a dingus,” Robin snickered. Then her eyes trailed over to you. “So, we have another addition to the team,” she pointed out. “Who’s bringing her up to speed?”

“Dustin,” Steve said the same time that Dustin also said, “Me.”

Of course, it was Dustin.

While Dustin explained to you that the Russian military was most likely running a secret base right in the Starcourt Mall, you worried about El and Max, especially with not-Billy on the loose. Though they probably were already with the rest of the party right now and alerted Chief Hopper and Mrs. Byers. There was absolutely nothing to worry about.

Right?

“Got it?” Dustin finally said before narrowing his eyes at me. “Were you just zoning out the entire time?”

You snorted. “What do you take me for?”

“Fine, what did I just say?”

“Okay, I probably zoned out halfway through,” you admitted. “But your problem is pretty simple.”

Steve, Dustin, and Robin waited for you to continue.

“You just need the blueprints for the mall.”

“Why haven’t you called her the moment we were cracking the code?” Robin said, rushing outside and grabbing the tip jar. Ignoring Steve’s calls for her, she was off leaving us three at Scoops Ahoy.

~

“Touch my butt! I don’t care!”

“Can we keep it PG in here?” you frowned at the ridiculous show Steve and Dustin were putting by trying to get into the air ducts. “Just pull the boy down before someone gets hurt.”

“He can’t get hurt. He’s missing bones like Gumbo.”

“Like what?” you tilted your head.

“He means Gumby,” Dustin corrected, grabbing hold of Steve’s shoulders as he got hoisted out of the vent, “and that’s not how cleidocranial dysplasia works, Steve. I’m missing collarbones, not nerves.”

“Whatever,” Steve said. “We just need some else who could fit in there.”

Just as Steve said those words, Robin burst in the backroom, looking like she had an epiphany for the second time today. You were beginning to think she was the reason how Steve and Dustin had gotten this far. Behind her stood Lucas’ younger sister, Erica. Ah, the epiphany.

It only took the rest of the day of convincing her. The kid knew how to play hard ball. You’d give her that. She wouldn’t take anything less than ice cream for life. Frankly, you’d do the same.

You waited until the mall closed, though Robin and Steve cleared up Scoops Ahoy a few minutes early. So far, your parents were a no show, though you assumed that they didn’t think you would be hiding in the backroom of a very crowded mall. Frankly, they probably wouldn’t even believe you that you were infected with a monster from an alternate dimension and would rather help your friends with a Russian invasion than go to the hospital.

“Free ice cream for life,” Erica smirked smugly as soon as the thick sliding doors – actually odd for a simple storage room – slid open for us.

It didn’t take much snooping to find vats of glowing neon green vats of unknown substances hidden in regular delivery boxes. Without much thought, you grabbed one and made your way to the door. “Let’s just go before someone catches us.”

Again, the universe… just hated us.

“Uhh, which one do I press, Erica?” Dustin asked, insistently pressing the “OPEN” button.

Panic began to rise among all of us as mechanical whirring buzzed between the walls. Between that and the fact that we were trapped, we definitely knew we were screwed. While all of them fussed over the buttons that were no longer working, you stepped back, feeling something prickle under your skin.

“Just open the door!” Robin cried out, echoing into someone… something different.

Open the door.

Open the door!

Open the goddamn door!

Suddenly, you were on fire. You barely noticed your screams rising over everyone else’s. You fell to the floor, convulsing in agony as flashes of different people appeared in your head as if you were them. An old lady in a hospital bed, Heather, her parents, so many people who barely even knew in Hawkins… then Billy.

It was quiet with him. You saw flashes of a beautiful blonde woman calling out to him, her face concealed in a sunhat, then the beach with sand in between your toes. There was a moment of peace and tranquillity, and like someone playing a sick joke, you were in a dark place, standing in Billy’s place in front of people who were lifelessly standing still right in front of something. Something that you didn’t recognize but was so familiar to you, inside you.

He made me do it. It’s like a shadow, like a giant shadow. Please believe me, Max.

“Billy, it’s gonna be okay,” Max’s voice echoed in his head as if it were yours.

“It’s gonna be okay,” a different voice filtered through from all the noise.

“She’s unconscious. How is her inhaler going to help?” “I’m pretty sure that’s a seizure, nerd.” “Check for a pulse, Steve.”

Your consciousness fell right back on you like a pile of bricks. Your eyes fluttered open to see Steve hovering over you with your inhaler tucked between your lips. Once your eyes locked with his caramel ones, a huge wave of relief washed over his face as he pulled you into his arms.

“Oh, my God,” Steve gasped, clutching on to you for dear life. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Get… out.”

Steve tensed and pulled away to look at you. “What?”

You weakly pulled up your – actually Steve’s shirt up to your ribs, revealing angry black veins that were now crawling over your torso. You cried out and clutched at you. “Get it out!”

“Holy sh– what the hell is that?!”

You rolled to the side and fell into a coughing fit, your back hunched over. Your nails clawed at your throat, feeling something trying to crawl itself out. Whatever happened somewhere in Hawkins pissed off the plants inside you, and you can feel them twisting and curling throughout your torso.

With much straining and the remaining oxygen in your lungs, you managed to pull out the parasite from your oesophagus. The action made Dustin and Robin gag in the corner, while Steve and Erica warily looked at the slithering vine with a fully bloomed flower you dropped on the floor, leaving a trail of blood and black goo.

“You guys, by any chance, have a lighter?” you panted, pressing your cheek against the cold metal floor for any cool relief you can take.

Silence told you no. You hoisted yourself up with much difficulty and leaned back into the crate then immediately had an idea. Albeit, a bad one. With shaky knees, you got on your feet and lifted the vat of green goo that rolled away when you dropped unconscious. You looked for the right twist to open the container when Dustin stopped you.

“What are you doing?”

“We have to kill it,” you said nonchalantly. “I mean, I could just drink this to get it over with, but I don’t want to die that quick.”

“Are you…?” Then Dustin’s eyes widened. “That day. You were… because you saved me.”

“Wait, wait, are any of you nerds explaining what’s going on?” Erica interrupted.

You sighed. “Monster,” you pointed at the vine. “Infected,” you pointed at yourself. “Must kill monster with something. Preferably fire.”

“You killed one of those before?” Robin asked.

“It was smaller last night,” you shrugged, finding the latch to open up the vat. “Hot water took care of that sucker easily.” Twisting the lid a certain way, it clicked and released. “Aha!” you exclaimed. “This is gonna hurt.” You eyed the goo apprehensively.

Then Steve snatched the lid and sealed back the vat. “There has got to be a way to do this without you in pain,” he said.

“We don’t have time, and we’re stuck here in a metal box with a monster crawling towards Erica’s sneaker!”

“Why are you yelling?!”

“I’m not yelling!” you shouted. Then you turned to Dustin with a much softer voice. “How did Will get rid of his the last time?”

“Space heaters, a lot of them,” Dustin answered. “Anything from the Upside Down hates the heat, including D’Art.”

“Well, we’re not waiting until you cough all the flowers out, so I say we dump you into a hot tub and crank the heat to full,” Steve suggested, keeping the vat out of reach. “Once we get out of here, of course.”

“Boiling her alive,” Dustin scoffed. “That’s genius, Steve.”

“Or,” Robin interrupted, “we just use the same space heaters. It worked before, so it might work again now.”

“Thank you,” you said, pointedly looking at Steve. “At least someone is trying not to kill m—” Suddenly, your lungs were set aflame as you dropped into a heap on the cold floor, convulsing in agony with your mouth open in an open scream. You briefly heard Erica speaking before ultimately passing out.

“What? You only kept one of that green acid away from us. At least the monster’s dead.”

After passing out for the second time that night, you seemed to be sleeping much longer, but when you woke up, it wasn’t much of a surprise to hear Dustin and Steve still bickering. You opened your eyes to see Steve’s legs hanging from the ceiling. Again, not a surprise.

Probably nothing else would surprise you at this point.

“Shh! Jesus Christ!” Steve hissed before disappearing entirely to the top of the elevator.

Now that spiked your curiosity.

Robin was preoccupied with Erica, and both of them didn’t even notice that you were awake. You sat up and climbed on the stacked boxes leading up to the opening on the elevator ceiling. The burning in your ribs and your shortness of your breath was easier to ignore now that you were too lightheaded to actually feel the discomfort. Still, you managed to poke your head out the opening, accidentally ending up eavesdropping.

“I heard you guys talking all night,” Dustin whispered to Steve before his eyes landed on you. He winced and shot you an apologetic look.

Steve turned and saw you by his feet, making him jump in surprise. “What are you doing up?!” he scolded. “You scared all of us last night. I thought Erica killed you.”

“Gee, your welcome!” Erica called out from inside.

“’Last night’? It’s morning?”

Dustin smiled emptily. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been trying to reach anyone on the radio since the mall is open. I think we’re too far down though.”

“Okay, take Dustin down with you please,” Steve said, facing the wall. “I’m gonna take a leak.”

“First of all, ew. Second, good morning,” you said, hopping back down with Dustin right behind you.

“This is one looong sleepover,” Steve called out before the sound of a stream hitting the ceiling echoed inside the elevator. “Two nights of being your personal pillow!”

“Two nights?” you muttered to yourself. “Was I with Steve the other night?” you turned to ask Dustin, who gave you a weird look.

“You stayed over his place, and he drove you to the mall, remember?”

“He did?”

“Hey!” Robin called out. “We have company.”

One fight with a Russian later, which Steve won – finally – you and the rest of the group snuck into the comms room of the secret Russian base and found out why your lungs had been reacting different once you walked further down that tunnel.

“The gate.”

You, Steve, and Dustin looked at each other in horror before turning back to the machine that was trying to pry open the gate that El had shut down last year. It was your first time seeing it, but the same dark familiarity was tugging from the deepest part of your mind. There was no reason to dwell on it, so you tugged Dustin and Steve, urging them to leave and quickly warn the others as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, leaving was harder than getting in. Guards were alerted, and all of us were sent into running. It ultimately sent us to the direction of the gate itself with Dustin almost running into the laser machine that was opening the gate if it wasn’t for you tugging the back of his shirt collar.

You didn’t like being that close to the gate. Between the soldiers yelling and Steve barking which way to run, a louder voice was whispering crystal clear voices inside your head. You surrendered to the voices for one second to try and understand what they were saying, which proved to be your mistake.

In that one second, you were teleported to an incredibly vivid memory of meeting Steve for the first time.

“Sweetie, say hi to Mrs. Harrington and Steve.”

Your hand curled into a fist on the hem of your mother’s dress. It wasn’t the first time you saw Steve Harrington. Your classmate pointed who Steve was when he passed you at the hallways of Hawkins’ Elementary. She boasted that her older sister was Steve’s “girl friend” after he kissed her during recess yesterday.

You didn’t know what any of that meant, but when you glanced at Steve Harrington, you thought he was the prettiest boy you ever seen. Steve Harrington was exactly what you imagined the princes looked like that your mother read to you at bedtime.

And now, you were at their front door because your mom worked with his mom, and Mrs. Harrington thought it would be nice to have her and you over for tea.

And Steve was still the prettiest boy you ever seen.

You were catatonic while staring up into the gate opening.

While the rest of the guards were chasing after Steve and the others, the scientists urged that the guards don’t touch you, seeing that your pupils had turned entirely black. Your exposed neck revealed raised veins that they could tell were black even under the dim, unsteady lighting in the lab.

Your blank state was finally broken when the Russians took you in a secluded room, further away from the gate. Your mind was wildly fuzzy as if you were in the middle of sinking badly in your own subconscious. You inner daze didn’t last long when the door opened again, and Steve and Robin were dragged in and also cuffed like you were.

“What happened to you there?” Steve said in a low tone. “You just froze.”

The soldier didn’t like the chit-chat and struck Steve across the face. The sound was loud enough to echo in the room that you winced upon impact. “No talking!” he spat in a thick accent. “Now, who do you work for?”

“I’m confused,” Steve said, trying to sound unphased from the hit. “Do I not talk or do I tell you who I work for?”

That earned him another hit.

~

“We have many stories of monsters from where I’m from.”

“So do we,” you groaned at the man pacing the room. “You’re not that special, dude.”

Robin and Steve were taken away over half an hour ago, mostly likely for their own interrogation. So far, on your end, this soldier has done nothing but talk your ear off about stories from where he grew up while you were strapped in an examination chair.

“I suppose you know about flowers that grow on lungs?” The surprised look on your face told him everything he needed to know. “No one knows where they come from,” he said, “… until now.” He leaned in close to you. “You are very important test subject.”

“Not for long,” you said spitefully. “I’m dying anyway.”

“Well, I suppose you will be buried in Russian soil by then,” he said, sending chills in your spine. “But now, I need to see the flowers itself.”

Your breathing quickened at the thought being sliced open.

But…

They wanted you alive enough to bring you to Russia. That meant…

“Steve!” Your eyes widened at the sight of him as they dragged him inside the room and dropped him in a heap on the floor. Your heart clenched at the blood streaked all over his mouth and his eye swollen shut. “What did you do to him?”

The soldier and the rest of the guards merely looked at you struggling from where you were restrained while Steve remained unresponsive on the floor. The soldier looked displeased at the results before him and barked out another order. Soon enough, Robin was also dragged inside the room, and similar to you, she was as distraught at the sight of him beaten up.

Then… they just left the three of you in the room alone.

“What do they want?” Robin asked. “We told them everything, and you’re the only one not strapped with us.”

You gulped. “They, uh, they know what’s wrong with me.”

That gained Steve’s attention. With much difficultly, he raised his head and slurred out, “They’re not taking you, and we’re getting out of here.”

“Right,” you snorted. “Unless you have a way of getting to those scissors and cutting yourselves free, I’m on the next flight to Russia by the end of the day.”

“Those morons. They left scissors here?” Steve scoffed.

“I think that if we move at the same time, we could get over there, and then maybe I could kick the table and knock them into your lap,” Robin said, her voice rising with desperation. “So, on the count of three, we’re gonna hop.”

You smiled as hope bubbled when they succeeded the first two swivels. But on the third, the chair legs slid, knocking them both on the floor. Robin, who had her back to you, began shaking. At first, you and Steve thought she was crying, until her quiet giggles turned into full-on laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Robin laughed, trying to contain herself, “but I just can’t believe I’m gonna die in a secret Russian base with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, while his girlfriend gets shipped off to another secret lab in Russia.”

“We’re not gonna die,” Steve huffed, “and she’s not my girlfriend, okay?”

“Gee, we’re tied up and have no hopes of escaping, and you choose to correct that?” you snarked at him.

There was a moment of quietness, mostly just to collect our wits, but Robin was the one to speak up again. She talked about Mrs. Click, our history teacher. Turns out she had been in the same class as Steve for the longest time, remembering every detail about him.

Just like you.

“Do you even remember me from that class?” Robin said, her voice lowering into a whisper. “It didn’t matter that you were an ass.”

And her next words just crushed you.

“I was still… obsessed with you.”

There was nothing else to do but watch as Steve’s eyes — well, eye — softened. In that moment, you felt like you were in someone else’s moment, just an audience. But wasn’t that what you always have been in Steve’s life?

“You know, I wish I’d known you in Click’s class,” Steve said, a fond smile growing on his lips. “Maybe instead of being here, I’d be on my way to college right now.”

Last semester, you wrote two of his history papers just so his grades would be high enough for him to play during the basketball playoffs.

“And I would have no idea that there were evil Russians beneath our feet,” Robin chuckled, “and I would be happily slinging ice cream with some other schmuck.”

“Gotta say, though, I liked being your schmuck.”

And there it was…

The burning in your lungs intensified, sending you in a painful fit of coughs. It was hard enough not to curl over because of the restraints on your chest. There was no way to claw at your throat or to grasp at your chest from the twisting pain.

You were too engrossed in trying not to choke from blood and black goo that you didn’t notice the door open. A different scientist came in, this time more sinister-looking, and leaned over you. “I knew it,” he smiled. “He feeds the flowers inside you.”

“W-wha…?” you managed to gasp out. “P-please… can’t… br-brea-eathe… In.... inhal-er.”

In the midst of the black spots tinting your vision, you barely made out a jet injector and something bright blue before you heard Steve yell out and everything went dark.

“… up. Wake up!”

You opened your eyes to see Dustin’s face. “Am I dreaming?”

“Come on! We have to go!”

You were so groggy that you followed Erica and Dustin to a hijacked mini-truck with Steve and Robin giggling along. Both their antics only heightened when we finally ascended back up to the mall. Steve couldn’t stop booping Dustin, while Robin was saying stuff about food and death.

“Did they give you something too?” Erica asked me.

“They probably took something instead,” you rasped out, feeling your throat. “They baited one out and pulled it out while I was trying not to choke to death.”

“Where is it now?” Dustin turned to me, smacking away Steve’s finger from booping his nose again.

“How the hell should I know? I was tied up!” you scowled at him.

“We just saved your asses!” Erica and Dustin chimed back at your tone.

The bickering didn’t end until you were all forced to be quiet as you hid in a cinema that was showing ‘Back to the Future.’ Once upon a time, it seemed to be a fun movie to watch with the kids, maybe even with El, but now, you could barely keep your knees from fidgeting as your eyes constantly watched between Michael J. Fox and the cinema doors for any evil Russians.

It wasn’t long when your lungs began burning again. You didn’t feel the need to cough this time, but it didn’t stop for a metallic taste bursting in your mouth. You grabbed an empty popcorn bag nearby and spat into the paper. Even under the dark theatre, you could see that it was mostly blood now.

You were out of time.

~

“Jesus, you look far worse than El.”

You shot Max a very unfriendly look. “The girl who just pulled a monster out of her leg using your mind powers?” You glanced at El who was cuddled up with Chief Hopper while Mrs. Byers attended to the open wound on her leg.

“Well, both you are bleeding out of your noses, and you are also growing monsters inside you.”

“ERICA!” you screeched while furiously wiping your nose.

“Just the facts!”

“What?!” Everyone else in the party, including the adults, chorused.

“You’re dying,” Will said as if he could still tell. He gave you a look of empathy and a little bit of familiarity. You knew he went through a similar thing last year, and it somehow made you less scared that he was here with you.

You nodded solemnly. “I don’t have much time,” you admitted. “It grows faster the closer I am to the gate… or when I feed it.”

“’Feed it’?” Max asked.

“We don’t have to talk about that,” you waved her off. At this point, you were just desperate to stay alive. All of you were so, so close. “If we close the gate, we can cut off all connections, right?”

“Theoretically,” Lucas added.

Since there was no other option but that, we all based our plan on that ‘theory.’ A man named Murray, who also got into a tiff with Erica, came in with a map of the underground Russian base from a guy named Alexei. With the goals in place, everyone began splitting off into groups.

“You’re coming with us, right?” Steve asked.

You bit your lip as you shook your head. “I’m staying with the girls,” you said. “You go with Dustin and Robin to Cerebro.” At the sight of his worried look, you added, “I’ll be okay.”

Steve shot you a scowl. “Don’t die without me.”

“Hard promise to keep,” you smirked, smacking his hand away from ruffling your already messy hair. Your fingers tangled with Steve’s, and he ended up holding your hand completely. “Don’t die first, Steven.”

Steve chuckled and was about to pull away when you tugged his hand back.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I know you and Robin…”

When you trailed off, Steve raised his brows at you, urging you to continue.

You shook your head, waving it off. “You guys just got drugged,” you reminded him. “Drive safely.”

“You say that as if I don’t have any experience from partying.”

“That isn’t comforting at the very least.” Then... you let go.

~

Turns out that it wasn’t just the gate that was triggering the growth.

When the Spider Monster burst through the glass ceiling for Starcourt Mall, the flowers in your lungs reacted the same way when Billy had grabbed you at the Holloway’s. It was one thing to lead the monster away from El, but it was another thing to be hunched in the trunk space of the Wheeler’s hatchback with said monster chasing you down the road.

“The answer to a never-ending story…”

You laughed at the song number from the radio in between coughs. “That definitely takes the sting out of dying,” you said. You can only imagine Erica’s face during this whole ordeal.

“Don’t say that.”

You looked at Steve in deadpan. You kept eye contact as you spat blood and body matter into an empty soda cup you found discarded in the car. It was a low-blow towards him, you knew that, and he didn’t deserve it.

But you were so tired, and you were so mad at yourself for always being late, for being cowardly.

So, when Jonathan turned the car to follow the Spider Monster that turned back to the mall, you immediately hopped off and went looking for El instead of going with them to set off the fireworks. Steve, as expected, put up a fight, insisting that you all stick together.

“I won’t go near it,” you reasoned. “I’m finding El and getting her out of here, while you keep it distracted.” When he looked unconvinced, you added, “The fireworks will also distract Billy. It’s going to be okay.”

“That isn’t comforting at the very least,” Steve said, making you laugh at your early words being thrown back at you.

“Hey!”

You turned to see Nancy Wheeler toss a bundle of fireworks at you. At your raised brow, she shrugged, “Just in case.”

Following a broken gate not too far from where Steve rammed Billy’s car, you found an employee’s corridor where Max and Mike passed out nearby with angry bruises on their faces. You rushed over for Max and shook her awake. Her eyes immediately shot open.

“Billy, it was Billy,” Max said, panicked. “He took El. You have to go. I’ll take care of Mike. Go!” She staggered to her feet, gripping the pipes for stability.

“I can’t go near him or that thing.” You hesitated leaving Max, but when she yelled at you again to go for El, you turned your feet and broke off into a run. Then the fireworks began…

“Fuck!” you screamed, falling to your knees. Every corner of your body was set ablaze. You cried out as the flowers inside you constricted with every blast.

Max and Mike quickly caught up to you, pulling you to your feet. Suddenly, it was quiet, and a wave of calm washed over you. You saw a beautiful woman in a sundress and a hat by the beach. It wasn’t your memory, but it was being returned to someone after being taken away. Billy.

“She was pretty,” you could hear El cry in your head. “She was really pretty.”

Taking advantage of the situation, you sped through the corridor and into the mall. You found Billy beginning to stand up to the Spider Monster. “When I make a run for it, you grab El and get her out of here, okay?”

“What? You just said you can’t face that thing!” Mike told you.

“Just do it!” You pushed your feet as fast as you could to face the monster.

“No!” Billy roared, grabbing the monster’s tentacle mouth to stop it from reaching El.

Seeing your opportunity, you quickly pulled the taped matchstick from the bundle and ignited the fireworks. Swinging your arm back, you flung it as hard as you could into the monster’s mouth. Right as soon as the explosive left your hand, you caught incoming smaller tentacles headed for Billy’s side, slinging two of them to your side from the crook of your elbow.

“I got you,” you said out of breath, seeing Billy’s surprised face. However, your fight had the monster targeting you, sending two other tendrils to your side instead. You barely felt it, even as its sharp tongue stabbed into your abdomen.

Touching the Spider Monster was as worse as looking straight into the Gate. You cried out as flashes of memories of you and Steve, growing up through the years, bombarded you, while the flowers inside you began crawling outside your ribs instead. You barely heard the last firework go off as you felt the vines throbbing under your skin.

An arm wrapped around your waist and pulled your unmoving feet, dragging you away. Your spotted, blurred vision could only see a head of dark blonde curls with a massive dark mass in the background screeching in agony.

“It’s over. It's supposed to be over!" you heard Max’s muffled voice say. “What’s wrong with her?!” You felt hands on your shoulder, shaking you to snap out of it.

“Steve,” you breathed out. You tried to focus on Max, but with a blink, you were trapped back in your memories. Steve telling you to go home every time as he led a different girl up the stairs to his room. Steve dropping you off while thanking you for picking out a gift for Nancy. Watching him smile ever so fondly at Robin. Seeing the smile that you so desperately desired every time.

All the memories of Steve breaking your heart, you felt all at once.

You continued to unconsciously call out Steve’s name. Even when the paramedics began wheeling you out in a stretcher. You vaguely saw them cutting your shirt open, exposing the gore that was concealed by the fabric.

The black vines had reached out on the surface of your skin. The outline of your ribs was exposed, threading black and purple angry bruises over your torso. The right side of your ribcage had completely sank, one rib twisting outwards and leaking a mix of blood and black goo. The damage was extensive, but the monster you grew and fed inside you seemed to be finally lying still, only remaining dormant once the gate was sealed once again.

“… -eral broken ribs and possible internal bleeding!” a paramedic called. “One of her lungs has collapsed. She's in shock!”

Then Steve was there. You couldn’t tell if it was a memory or if it was happening at that moment. He was struggling against two firemen, trying to get to you with one hand reaching out. With the last bit of energy left, you raised your hand, reaching out towards him too.

“Steve…”

[secretdryrose]

I will be thinking about this all day

Chasm - e.m.

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

‖  summary: You're a researcher working at one of the fault lines throughout Hawkins, studying the closed and dormant gates to an alternate dimension. While you're alone on site, one of the gates wakes up again.

‖  tags: horror. i cannot stress this enough. this is unsettling and creepy and angsty with slight sexual tension. in line with the content in the show. post season 4, canon compliant. emetophobia warning. dubcon kissing. forced consumption (writing it made me gag just warning you. but im also kind of a baby so). no y/n, she/her pronouns used. flayed!eddie infects you. open ended ending. also steve is there sometimes. there's a ton of background lore that is only vaguely explained lol

‖  word count: 8.3k ‖  read on AO3 ‖  the song ‖

None of the rifts have shown any activity in over a year. Months and months of dead readings and no signals. Just waiting.

So what's a girl supposed to do when your EMF meter spikes alone on site? Sit around and wait for a crew to suit up and march their way over to the fault you were at? No fucking way. No chance.

You report in about the sudden spike in gamma radiation and tell them you're going to find the source. The project lead tells you to stay put and wait for assistance, as expected.

Your radiation gear was already halfway on. Oops, sorry boss, didn't hear you.

Handheld voltage meter in one hand, audio recorder in the other, and a pocket full of glow sticks, you push out past the plastic tarps and into the humid night air of Indiana summer.

The readings bring you west, toward the condemned trailer park and the "start" of your fault line. You crack a glow stick and drop it every few feet, marking your path. When the reading jumps up, you make a '+' sign with two at the spot before continuing forward. It was hard to say without exact measurements, but it seemed to be increasing at equal intervals. Like frozen waves on the surface of water.

"I'm approaching the Forest Hills sign," you say into the receiver, your own voice the only sound in the night air. "Current readings are…" You bring the meter up, using the light hanging from your neck to read the display. "Approaching 70 mv/m of high frequency radiation, roughly 31016 Hz. The next… 'Layer', for lack of a better term, will most likely breach Safe EMF levels, not considering the potential protection of the suit."

Lowering the meter again when it gives a beep of warning, you tuck it under your arm and crack another glow stick, leaving a '+' at the boundary to the trailer park. "I'll probably need treatment when I get back to base – as long as I grab a reading from the source and get out quickly, there won't be lasting damage. You hear that, Dr. Pierce?" You say through an over-confident huff, readjusting your arms to keep moving forward. "I'm well aware of the risks and take responsibility for my own actions."

The park itself looks like a bad dream at night – trailers abandoned hastily with doors still hung open and belongings scattered along the ground. Between the sudden fault opening and the bureau rushing in, the existing residents had been given very little time and grace to move into temporary housing across town. And it looked every bit like an entire community of people had just up and disappeared.

The suit you were in didn’t exactly help coordination, so you moved slowly and carefully over and around discarded objects along the dirt. Clothing, kitchen utensils, a quilt, a stack of newspapers, a child's toy. All left untouched for over a year.

Clearing the corner of one of the empty trailers, you catch sight of something strange.

“The fault itself has looked normal up to this point, no activity. But I can see the source now. It’s… It appears to be glowing red, fading in and out in a constant cycle.” Approaching even slower than before, you watch intently as the glow grows and then retreats again. Like waves on the shore.

The meter gives another shrill alarm – making you jump nearly out of your skin as you swat at it with the recorder. “Jesus Christ!” It quiets with a sinking pitch in your hand. 

Before checking the reading, you quickly make another ‘+’ with glow sticks, digging them into the dirt a bit in an attempt to keep them from moving. Still down on one knee, you bring the meter up to your flashlight again.

“The meter is now reading 110 mv/m, same frequency. I’m roughly… 12 feet out from the source now. There’s a, uh, humming sound. Not sure if the recording is picking it up. And feeling pressure on my eardrums,” you explain into the device, eyes locked on the glow ahead. “I’ll continue to approach – see if I can get a closer reading. If it jumps above 150, I’ll fall back.”

Pushing to your feet again with a huff, you readjust your full load and press forward slowly. The closer you get to the source, you can see that the fault rapidly grows in size. The space between the edges looks large enough to fit a car as it rounds out at the end – a red pond in the ground.

“I can see the source clearer now. The glow is coming from within – there’s a…" You take a few steps closer, squinting to get a better look. "It appears to be an opaque membrane covering the space between. The glow is coming from behind it. Still cycling at an even rate, no change.”

The meter in your hand gives its shrillest warning yet, scaring you badly enough that it goes flying out of your hand; it hits the ground and flips closer to the edge. “Shit, fuck!”

You shuffle forward and drop down onto your shaky knees, grabbing for the meter as it continues to let out that grating alarm into the night air. Smacking it once more, the sound cuts off abruptly, giving you a chance to breathe.

Bringing it up to your flashlight, your eyes go wide as you lift the recorder again with your other trembling hand. “I’m nearly at the edge now, only a foot or so away  – EMF reading 187 mv/m. Rapid increase from the last point.”

Movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention, your head snapping toward it.

“There’s… What the fuck?" You pause, tempted to rub your eyes to make sure you're really seeing what you're seeing.

"There’s movement below the membrane. It… It’s just a shadow, I can’t tell what it is, but the movement is rapid and the… The humming is getting louder.” Your heart is pounding now, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin beneath the suit. 

“Going to retreat back to base,” you say, mostly attempting to reassure yourself as you slowly back away from the edge. “Final reading was 189 mv/m at 31016 Hz.”

There’s a crackle of static right before a thumb presses the pause button roughly, silencing the recorder in the center of the table.

“Is that all?” General Richard Highland asks, sounding impatient as he leans back in his conference chair. “That doesn’t tell us anything about what happened to her.”

“No, sir, there’s more.” Private Steve Harrington insists, inclining his head toward the dirty recorder he had delivered. He’s standing by the edge of the table at attention, hands clasped in front of him.  “The recording keeps going.”

Dr. Pierce leans forward from his seat, giving the General a stiff look as he presses the play button again.

There’s a few more moments of static before the woman’s voice fades back in, layered beneath the hum of attempted interference.

“I’m definitely gonna need that rad treatment, Dr. Pierce. My badge is that warning color, even beneath the suit,” she continues with a shaky laugh, the sound of plastic shuffling behind it. “Hopefully I don’t lose my hair or something, but that’s… What?” 

The table of scientists and military personnel sits in tense silence as her voice cuts out again. Half of them are on the edge of their seats, the others showing off a measured calm or disinterest. The general looks particularly annoyed and impatient, while Dr. Pierce looks almost like he wants to throw up.

“There’s… Something’s happening – I don’t–” 

An abrasive crackle echoes out into the room, loud enough to send nearly everyone into a wince, before the recording cuts back in with the sound of screaming. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?! SHIT – I’ve gotta get–" A burst of interference sounds, followed by a metallic grating, like a ship groaning beneath the weight of the ocean.

Her panicked voice comes through, sounding further away than before. "FUCK! It – It’s got my ankle. Let go, you fucking piece of –! SHI–”

The recording cuts out to a buzzing hum.

No one moves for a few moments. Not until Private Harrington steps up to silence the recorder. “We found this recording, a lab issue EMF meter, and a broken flashlight at the edge of the fault." He explains, producing the other two items from the pack resting at his feet. "It was dormant when we got there – solid again.”

“So it just…” One of the other scientists starts, looking at Dr. Pierce uneasily.

“Dragged her through and went back to sleep.” Dr. Pierce confirms solemnly, his gaze locked on the dirty recorder.

“It’s never done this before?” A 2nd scientist, new to the project, asks. The others shake their heads. “So what do we do?”

All eyes turn to Dr. Pierce, who looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“We wait for it to wake up again.”

Wake up.

Come on, little lamb.

Wake up now.

Looks so peaceful.

But you’ve got to wake up.

…

WAKE UP.

There’s something wet on your face.

Feeling is slowly returning to your body, your eyes closed and too heavy to open. But there’s something dripping on your cheek – droplets running down toward your mouth. Sticking to your dry lips for a moment or two before falling off. You’re on the ground on your stomach, your cheek squished against something that feels like mud.

Your brain has yet to kick on fully as it tries to regain consciousness through a pounding ache, resonating with the throb of your left leg. It feels like you’re still wearing the rad suit, but the head piece is gone and it might be ripped in places – mud seeping in to touch your skin.

It’s almost like you’re sinking.

Eyelids fluttering open and you’re faced with a desaturated swamp. Like someone came through and sucked half the color out of it.

Lifting one arm is difficult, suctioned into the mud you’re laying in. Once you’ve freed it enough, you’re able to push off the sticky, wet sludge beneath you enough to roll over onto your back.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?”

You sit up with a start, your abdomen screaming in protest as your brain swims. Blinking through the blur in your eyes, you struggle to see anything at all in the dark – only momentarily granted sight by the flashes of red lightning overhead.

“Who’s there?” You call out into the dark, an attempt to sound brave, but your voice trembles as your eyes rapidly flit back and forth.

“Over here.”

The lightning flashes once more as you whip your head toward the voice – showing the silhouette of a man standing a few feet away. From what little you see, he’s tall and slender, head tilted to the side like he’s curious. There’s no chance you can see his face or anything else about him.

Until he’s in your face, crouched down right beside you – crossing the space and appearing in the span of a blink. It gives you a start, attempting to back up but getting caught up in the mud still suctioned to your lower half.

Your fear seems to bring a small smile to his face, plump lips tilting up at the corner. He looks so familiar… Long curly hair draped wetly over his shoulders, the sparse bangs across his forehead, and the soft turn of his nose. Curiosity gets the better of you as you lean in again slightly, squinting your eyes a bit more in the dark to see him better.

“I know you…” You insist softly, causing his eyebrows to raise slightly in surprise. “How do I know you?”

“No clue, because I’ve never met you in my life.” He replies, lips parting in a grin. “And I’m good with faces – ‘specially pretty ones.”

His response catches you off guard as your brain continues reeling and struggling to intake information, which is normally your forte. There’s a million questions on the tip of your tongue and you have no idea where to start.

“You’ll probably need to lose the suit if you want to get out of that shit,” he continues when you don’t respond, motioning to your stationary legs with a wave of his hand. And he’s probably right, with the way the mud beneath you is stuck tight to the shiny plastic. Your best hope is to try to use the suit as a stepping off point to get to stable ground.

“Where should I step once I pull out?” You ask, hoping he’ll understand your goal.

A blink and he’s gone again – another flash of red light placing his silhouette off to your left. “Think you can make it to here?” He responds, voice raised slightly and sounding like he’s teasing you or challenging you. It makes your competitive side flare up on instinct – a frustrated huff leaving your nose as you plan your escape.

Opening the front of the suit, you slip both arms out and let the upper half fall flat behind you. Pulling out both of your legs next, your butt sinks deeper into the ground, nearly sending you off balance as you quickly shift your weight forward onto your knees, using the suit as a stepping stone. It starts to sink, mud coming up over the edge and inching toward your knees, so you have to move fast.

Pushing to your feet makes it sink faster, wet sludge touching the side of your ankle just as you push off in a jump toward where the man was standing.

You land on the ankle that had been grasped by the tentacle, not realizing the throbbing meant it’d been twisted. It makes you cry out in pain and fall forward, directly into the man’s chest.

“Woah there!” He says in surprise, grasping onto your elbows to keep you sort of upright. Between the aching pain and the tears pressing at your eyes, you just barely manage to notice how cold and clammy he is – especially where his hands grip your bare biceps.

Rocketing back, you press your weight onto your good leg and put some distance between the two of you again, your dirty arms crossing over your tank top and smearing it with mud. “Sorry, my, uh, ankle…” You offer awkwardly, still not even sure who you’re talking to.

“Don’t worry about it, angel. You good?”

He actually sounds like he cares. Like he’s concerned for you. Who is he? 

“I’ll be fine,” you insist stubbornly, swallowing down the lump of tears in your throat. Free from your precarious situation, at least partially, you struggle to figure out what to address first. “How are you doing that? Like… Teleporting? Or are you just moving really fast?”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “What–,” he disappears in a blink and then you feel a burst of air on the back of your neck, making your hair stand on end, “this?”

You lurch forward before turning around to level him a glare. “Yes, that – don’t do that.”

His hands tuck into the front pockets of the leather jacket he’s wearing as he shrugs, looking quite pleased with himself. “Sorry, angel, didn’t mean to spook you.”

Then silence falls, both of you eyeing each other – you suspiciously and him curiously. The extended pause makes you think you aren’t going to be told how anytime soon.

A breeze kicks up, rustling the branches of the trees in the surrounding swampland and sending a shiver down your spine. Suit lost, you’re down to a tank top, jeans, and a pair of no slip shoes (which were required for people working in the field for some reason). You were dressed for the humid interior of the field site tent in summer and it appears that you have landed yourself in a place where that is not enough.

Taking advantage of the silence, you try to remember everything you can about your studies into the ‘gates’ from when they were open. Very little was known beside second hand accounts and old data – some of which may not even be accurate anymore given the nature of the fault lines. If there was anywhere to start, it would be trying to find the gate you’d been dragged through.

With any luck, you could go right back to your dimension.

But that didn’t account for him. The pale, wet, unsettling-yet-somehow-charming guy that was still staring right at you.

“How long have you been here? Do you know?” You question cautiously, not wanting to upset him in any way.

“That depends, what year is it?”

Your heart drops into your stomach, completely at odds with the continued grin on his face. It looks almost manic now – like every time he sets you off balance brings him great joy. Deciding you’d actually rather not know how long he’s been in here, you move on.

“Have you been alone this whole time? Or are there other people here?”

His grin spreads, like he’s in on a joke you’re not aware of. “I haven’t been alone, no.”

This piques your curiosity again, adjusting your weight on your good leg. “Do you have a community here? How many of you are there?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” He suggests, taking a step or two away from you, his hands still tucked into his pockets.

The idea is tempting, if only to learn more about what is going on here, but there’s something nagging at the back of your mind. Something you should be remembering. Something you’re missing. Plus, for all you know, this man does not have your best interests at heart.

“I should probably try to find the gate that brought me here,” you say, slightly regretfully. “See if I can cross back over.”

“Oh, right,” he responds, tapping his forehead with his palm like it should’ve been obvious. “Yeah, I can show you the way.”

This surprises you again, slight concern causing you to stand up straighter. “You can?”

“Sure thing, the closest one isn’t far,” he motions behind him with a tilt of his chin, taking another step back. “Come on.”

So you follow the strange man into the dark, limping after him on your twisted ankle. The mud starts to dry on your skin, hair, and clothing – crusting over and hardening in places. You pick at pieces as you walk, letting the chunks and flakes fall to the ground behind you. From what little you can see, there are vines everywhere along the ground, weaving between tree trunks and layering over each other in place. The man seems to step over them – and you can’t tell if it’s on purpose or a coincidence – but you make a habit of not touching the vines just in case.

It’s unsettlingly quiet here. Every once in a while you’ll hear what sounds like an animal – a howl, a chittering, the thump of feet on the earth. But they are few and far between, leaving mostly just the rush of wind through the trees and a sort of muffled silence, pressure on your ears.

Your paranoia kicks up as the quiet continues, suspiciously eyeing the back of your escort as he leads you forward. For all you knew, he wasn’t leading you anywhere near the gate. You have no reason to trust him beyond the fact that he helped you get out of the sludge you woke up in. He was in this dimension after all, clearly familiar with it. That had to be a red flag if anything, given what little you actually knew about it.

So much was classified beyond your reach – the bureau was very specific with what you were allowed to read and know and what you weren’t. Given the dormant nature of the fault lines, it hadn’t been necessary for you to learn too much about the dimension on the other side. Most of what you studied and knew was about the gates themselves.

Even with the bureau being as paranoid and obsessive as it was – a lowly field researcher getting dragged to the other side and needing to survive hadn’t seemed to be on their radar.

The pessimistic part of you not-so-helpfully supplies that was probably just because they weren't very interested in your survival at all. They’d probably prefer it if you died here. If anything, your exposure to the other side made you more of a liability.

Maybe one they could experiment on, if you got lucky and survived.

This train of thinking isn’t helping anything. You could worry about what your life would become if you made it out.

Walking up to the lifeless and solid gate turns that into a very tentative if.

“Looks like the door’s shut tight,” Eddie offers vaguely, rocking back and forth on his heels as you circle the hole in the ground, like seeing a new angle will change something about it.

The opening looks largely the same as the other side, in the center of the abandoned trailer park with the forest surrounding. Your arms are covered in goosebumps as the breeze hits harder in the open field, no longer buffered by trees on all sides. On the bright side, it is slightly better lit here and you can see your companion a bit clearer now.

“Do you know how these things work? Like how and why it opens and shuts?” You ask desperately, looking at him from the other side of the crevice.

The corner of his mouth tilts up minutely, his shoulders shrugging. “Yes and no.”

The scowl returns to your face, frustration mounting as another shiver of cold racks your body. “Are you intentionally being unhelpful? Or are you just an idiot?”

His lips part in a surprised ‘o’, his eyebrows raising like he’s impressed. “That hurts, angel. I’m no idiot, and I think I’ve been plenty helpful. After all… I could’ve just left you to drown out there. Or maybe led you into a trap. Or left you for the dogs.” He taunts, returning to a toothy grin. The question of if he has your well being in mind gets more and more clear with a resounding no.

A fearful jolt runs down your spine as you stare him down, trying not to let your fear show. Grappling tightly to your anger, you taunt back, “Oh yeah? Then why didn’t you?”

A blink and he’s gone.

Your entire body goes on alert, tensing for attack as your heart starts to pound against your ribs. Eyes searching the immediate area in front of you come up empty. He’s either behind you or far enough you can’t see him in the low light. You never got an answer as to whether he’s moving quickly or teleporting or exactly how far he can get in the time you blinked.

He’s either long gone or… Trying to surprise you.

As soon as you have the thought, the hair on the back of your neck stands up – like some kind of unconscious sense of danger.

You turn in a quick 180 and he’s right there. Only a foot away from you with a sadistic sort of smile on his face. Your breath catches in your chest as it feels like a fist grabs tightly to your heart, suddenly much more terrified of the man in front of you.

That appears to be the way he prefers it.

“I think we can help each other.”

You blink at him, muscles pulled taut and ready to bolt as you try to figure out what the fuck he’s doing and what the fuck he wants. “What?” You question, your voice coming out a bit breathy and scared.

“I said, I think we can help each other,” he repeats calmly. “You help me, and I can help you get back home.”

“Why– What– H–how could I possibly help you?” You sputter, trying not to sound as terrified and confused as you feel.

His grin turns cheeky again, slightly less unsettling than it was a moment ago. “It won’t take much, angel, scout’s honor.” He says as he lays a hand over his chest. “You help me, then you’re free to crawl right back over to the other side and continue your life.”

Disbelief and uncertainty nags at you as you fidget in your spot, wanting desperately to put some more distance between the two of you but nervous to offend him. “So you can open the gate? You just want something in return?”

He shakes his head emphatically, appearing to be genuine in his denial. “I can’t but I know who can. They opened it before you were brought over.”

“And they would open it again? Just because you asked?” You question suspiciously, studying his facial expression for a sign that he’s pulling your leg again.

“Let’s just say that me and them have similar goals and leave it at that.”

There are 100 more questions on the tip of your tongue, but with the potential of getting back to your own dimension on the table, you’re reluctant to press too hard. He seems to recognize the battle you’re fighting with yourself as he laughs to himself. “You know what they say about curiosity, angel.”

An annoyed exhale punches out of your nose. “And I assume in this case that I’m the cat.”

“Bingo!” He says happily, tapping the end of his nose with his index finger. “So what do you say?”

There is so much you want to say. So many questions you want to ask. So much more info you need. But beggars can’t be choosers, you suppose.

“What would I need to do?”

His smile goes sharp again. “So glad you asked. I’d just need a kiss.”

A beat of silence. Then your expression drops in disbelief and disappointment. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Dead serious,” he insists, laying his hand on his chest again as he regards you intently. “And it’s gotta be real – gotta kiss me like you mean it. None of those little pecks you give on the cheek.”

A strange swirl of intrigue and revulsion mixes together in your gut as you continue waiting for the punchline. The ‘just kidding, your face was priceless’. But it doesn’t come.

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Been so lonely out here that you have to twist the arm of a desperate girl just to get some–”

“Hey.” He interrupts, his tone intense and cold. It shuts you up immediately, though you can’t say why. “Don’t be mean, angel. This isn’t just me trying to take advantage of you. It has a real purpose.”

The dubious look you give him makes him crack another small smile. “Cross my heart and hope to die, I’m telling you the truth.”

“And am I allowed to know what this purpose is?”

He shakes his head again, displacing the curls draped over his shoulders that still appear to have not dried at all. “I’ll tell you when it’s done, how about that?” He offers, using your curiosity against you to try to sweeten the deal.

Really, it’s a no brainer. Sure, he’s a strange person that lives in an alternate dimension that has some strange abilities. Sure, you know next to nothing about him despite that itch in the back of your head telling you that you know him somehow. And sure, this could be a huge mistake. But having to kiss this admittedly-attractive dude just to get out of this nightmare dimension and get back home? The choice is simple.

Which only makes you more certain there’s a catch you aren’t seeing.

“Fine. If you swear I’ll be able to go home, then I’ll do it.”

His expression brightens excitedly, a sort of childlike joy appearing on his face. It’s different from any of the expressions you’ve seen on him so far – like genuine surprise. “You will?”

“Yeah, sure.” You reply, trying to brush it off as nothing. “Not like I have a lot of other options here.”

His excitement fades slightly, though he still looks pleased with the outcome. “Glad you made the right decision.”

An unsettling silence falls as the two of you study each other once more, now much closer than the last time. Fear and anticipation builds steadily as you find yourself glancing down at his lips – realizing you’re about to know what they feel like on your own.

“Do we, uh,” you pause to clear your throat as you awkwardly break the silence. “Do we do it now? Or… What?”

He takes a step closer, entering your personal space. His voice is lower, stickier, and richer when he responds. “Do you wanna do it now, angel?”

You suddenly feel like a fly stuck in a honey trap – eyes widening as you struggle between wanting to further close the distance and to run away from him. “Now’s as good a time as any, I suppose?” Though you meant it to be nonchalant, it comes out as a nervous question.

The uncertainty in your voice only seems to make the man crack another amused smile. “I suppose so,” he replies softly, gently teasing you as he gets even just a little bit closer. You can feel your heart pounding in your neck, constantly flipping back and forth between fear, interest, nerves, and embarrassment. Looking at you through slightly lowered eyelids, he leans in toward you. Close enough you can feel the exhale of his breath on your face.

“Kiss me like you mean it, angel.” He reminds you quietly, the tip of his nose nudging against yours as your eyelids flutter closed instinctively. “Don’t forget.”

Then his lips are pressing to yours. You make a small noise of surprise, both in that you weren’t sure if he was actually going to do it and because he’s so cold. But his lips are plush and soft as he places your lower lip between his own. As promised, you kiss him back, trying not to think about how strange it feels that he’s cold and the situation you’re in – focusing on the gentle pressure of him as he steps even closer and brings his hand up to cradle your jaw.

It’s gentle and sweet as you find yourself starting to forget the reality of it all. Your hands find the edges of his leather jacket, tugging him closer as he hums happily. His other hand finds your waist – cold through the thin fabric of your tank top.

Teeth nip lightly at your lower lip and you make another small noise of surprise, a flash of heat through your chest at the pleasant feeling. It distracts you further – not even questioning the adventurous flick of his tongue against your mouth. You part your lips on instinct; his hand flexing happily against your jaw as he tests the waters to run his tongue along yours.

You return the gesture, encouraging the touch as you breathe heavily through your nose. You’re running low on air and will need to part to breathe soon. You’re surprised to find that you aren’t really sure that you want to stop to do so.

He seems to recognize the impending need too; his lips pressing against yours more insistently, like he’s getting what he can before it ends. His tongue ventures past your lips one more time, pressing further than he had before. Is… Is his tongue longer than normal?

In the same moment that he pulls away from you, the hand on your jaw claps over your mouth to keep it shut. And there’s something in your mouth.

There’s something moving in your mouth.

You make a high pitched noise of panic as your eyes double in size, looking at him in terror while he holds you tightly to his front and keeps his hand firmly over your mouth. “Ah, ah, angel. You gotta swallow it.” He coos, his palm clammy and cold against your slick lips.

You shake your head as well as you can with his grip, making noises of protest as you struggle to keep the smooth, wiggling object from sliding down your throat. Your hands grab at his wrist and forearm, trying to pull him off, but his grip is too strong. Begging him with your eyes, sharp and stuttered breaths coming out of your nose as you hyperventilate, he just gives you a sad smile. “It’s not that bad, I promise. Just gotta swallow and it’ll be over – don’t make me plug your nose.”

Painful tears poke out of your eyes and start to descend down your cheeks, nails digging into his skin to try and get him off. It seems not to affect him at all, his other hand giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, baby. It’s gonna be okay. This is it – you won’t have to do anything else. Come on, angel. You can do it. Just swallow for me.”

His words of encouragement make your head spin in confusion, panic mounting as the outcome seems inevitable. More tears pour down your cheeks as you choke on a sob, inadvertently allowing the object to slide down your throat. 

“There we go,” he sighs in relief, grip on your face loosening, “Good girl.”

Somehow he knew that you’d swallowed it because he releases you right as you start to cough roughly, stumbling away from him and bending forward. You can still feel the strange coating from the creature on your tongue and down your esophagus – thick and wrong as you cough and gag.

Get it out, get it out, get it out, GET IT OUT, GET IT OUT!!

“What was– How do I– I’ve gotta–” You stammer, stumbling over your words as you tremble wildly and gag, your body responding to your panic by wanting to reject the new contents of your stomach.

He appears right beside you again, gripping both of your wrists with his hands as he forces you upright. “Don’t throw it up.” His voice is a command, his expression intense. “If you throw it up, I’ll have to force feed you another one. And trust me, it’s way less fun the 2nd time.”

Tears continue to pour from your eyes as you rapidly shake your head. “What was– What is– Why are you doing this? What was that thing?”

“Calm down, angel, please calm down,” he begs, starting to look distressed himself. “It’s gonna be okay, I swear, it’s gonna be fine. You’re a part of something bigger now. It’s all going to be okay.”

You try to pull out of his grip on your wrists, alternating between yanking back and rushing forward to push him away. “What the fuck does that mean?! What have you done to me?!” You shout through your tears, white hot panic spreading through your body. “It’s not too late – I can still, I can still throw it up, I can…”

He drags you in, wrapping you up in a tight bear hug with your arms trapped between the two of you. He shushes you, standing steady against your weakening struggling against him. “Shhh, shh, it’s alright, angel. It’s okay. You’re gonna get to go home, okay? We’re gonna get to go home.”

“Sir, we’ve got activity.”

Dr. Pierce pushes out of his desk chair fast enough to make his head spin – lack of sleep and too much coffee weakening him beyond measure. He’s barely left the main building since you went missing.

Since you were dragged through.

There have been constant patrols of the fault line you disappeared into, hoping for any sign of it waking up again. It was on his order and against the wishes of General Highland. She’s a level 1 researcher. She knew the risks. It’s not worth the cost.

But you didn’t know the risks, not really. Pierce knows he didn’t do enough to prepare you, to warn you. He didn’t do enough to protect you.

This is his fault.

He’s not the only one buzzing with anticipation as he exits his darkened office; several other scientists and field agents are reacting to the news of activity with a rush. Not everyone will be allowed to go to the site, as it would be a madhouse, but several live cameras and other surveillance equipment have been set up in the area. At least a quarter of the bureau across the country will be intently watching whatever happens next.

Pierce says nothing as he makes his way for the garage and the people he passes know better than to approach him now. He can still feel their eyes – judgemental, curious, concerned. He’s felt their eyes for days.

There are several SUVs already prepared by the time he arrives, most already full of people who were approved to be on site in the case of reactivation. He recognizes the soldier standing by waiting for him as Private Steve Harrington, the same man who brought in the recorder originally. He’s one of the few people at the bureau with prior knowledge of the other dimension despite his low rank.

“Sir,” he greets with a respectful head dip, opening the backdoor of the SUV for Pierce as he approaches. Pierce returns the gesture before climbing into the backseat, sliding across the bench to the opposite side. Steve gets in after him, his bulky gear forcing him to sit far forward on the bucket seat as he slams the door closed behind him.

It only takes another minute or so before the caravan lurches and begins to move, following after the identical black SUV in front of it.

The walkie-talkie on Steve’s shoulder kicks to life quietly, a short and concise signal coming through that Pierce doesn’t understand. The exhausted scientist looks over curiously as Steve murmurs an, “Affirmative,” into the device before clicking it off.

“Any news from the fault?”

Steve glances over, surprised to be addressed, before he turns back to look out the front windshield. “Nothing yet, sir.”

Pierce keeps an eye on the soldier as they travel – watching with intrigue as the man continuously searches the vehicle’s surroundings, like he’s expecting an attack.

“You seem on edge, Steve.” He straightens in response, looking even more uncomfortable at being referred to by his first name. “Is it because the gate is active?”

A muscle in his jaw rolling with tension, Steve keeps his gaze firmly forward as he responds. “It doesn’t supply a good feeling, that’s for sure.”

“And yet you still volunteered for the theoretical strike team to go through?” Pierce wonders aloud, phrasing it like a question.

There’s a tense moment of silence before the private answers. “At least I already know what to expect on the other side.”

The two don’t interact again for the reminder of the drive.

The SUVs all pull into the vacant field beside the field tent in a line, the leader of the patrol team coming out to meet the first vehicle. Pierce watches General Highland step out of it and start to converse with the uniformed woman. By the time he makes it way over, he seems to be catching the tail end of the conversation.

“We have each unit spread out in even intervals along the fault; so far there has been no change since it first activated.”

“And they all have their protective equipment on, I presume?” Dr. Pierce cuts in, surprising the patrol leader and earning an annoyed look from General Highland.

“Yes sir,” she responds with a head nod. “I was just telling the general that they’re all outfitted with gear to protect them from the worst of the radiation, but it would still do good to regularly swap out the unit in the center, where the worst of it is.”

Pierce agrees with a stiff nod, not waiting to hear the general disagree before he turns to look back. As he expected, Private Harrington trailed him over, waiting a respectful distance away as to not eavesdrop. “Harrington.”

Steve turns at the call, jogging over to Pierce. “Sir.”

“Suit up. You’re coming with me to the source.”

“Yes sir.”

The pair of them push into the field tent, currently staffed with 15 more people than usual. There are researchers and scientists bent over displays and documenting readings, soldiers standing by with weapons, field agents watching over the researchers shoulders. Pierce walks past all of them, parting the way as he does, and starts to strip off his lab coat while pulling a radiation suit off the rack. Steve follows suit, removing a majority of his gear to reequip on top of the plastic suit.

The buzz of excited chatter is nearly grating on Pierce’s ears as he goes through the annoying process of putting on the PPE. But he misses it when it suddenly cuts off, directly after one of the researchers announces, “We’ve got a spike in activity!”

Pierce looks over at Steve, who is still clipping things to his belt again. “We’ve gotta move.”

“Yes sir,” Steve repeats once more, gathering the bare necessities in his arms to try to equip as they move. The pair of them push out the other side of the tent and set into a jog towards what used to be Forest Hills Trailer Park.

They pass a few pairs of outfitted people as they move – soldiers patrolling and scientists maintaining the monitoring equipment placed along the fault. None of them interact as the pair jogs past, heading for the end of the fault line. They can see a small group ahead – presumably gathered closer to where the spike in activity happened.

“Make some room!” Steve barks out as they approach, the gathered group moving further away from the fault line in response. Some look back to see who is coming while others keep their eyes locked on the glowing source beyond.

“Keep at least 10 feet back from the fault at all times,” Pierce orders the group as they pass. “Stay in pairs, don’t go off on your own. We have very little idea what we’re dealing with here, but we have reason to believe there are things that will try to drag you through the gate. If something comes out, fall back and call out. Don’t let your partner get grabbed.”

There is some murmuring in response, but no one openly disregards the order, starting to pair off as a few people move further back along the fault line. Pierce approaches a pair hunched over a meter near the source, keeping his eyes on the glowing red below. “What are we looking at?”

“It’s fluctuating slightly; was 116 mv/m at 31016 Hz at peak.” The researcher responds, keeping a close eye on the EMF before them. “Nothing close to the reported 189 mv/m. We might not be looking at full activation. Or maybe it’s building up, it’s hard to say.”

“Wait,” Steve cuts in, holding a hand out for the researcher to pause. “Do you hear that?”

They all fall silent, listening closely.

Then Pierce hears it – the hum from the recording. The one you were talking about hearing.

The scientist gives him a nod of agreement before looking back to the researcher. “Any sign of movement from the other side?”

“Not that we can tell from here,” the field agent answers for them. “We’ve been following the guidelines to stay back so it’s hard to catch anything from here.”

“Radio? Portable EMF?” Dr. Pierce asks, and the field agent presents both. He takes them and then looks back at Steve. “We’re moving up.”

Even behind the protection of the face shield, Pierce can see the tension in his expression. Regardless, the private still answers with a confident, “Yes sir.”

Keeping the meter within eyesight, the two push ahead, closer to the large opening at the source. Pierce watches it tick up with each step closer, crossing the 150 mark as they get within 5 feet of the edge. Looking out across the opening, the glowing membrane pulses and hums with energy, louder and louder as they approach.

There’s very little movement on the other side, but every once in a while Pierce catches a glimpse of a dark shadow moving beyond.

“Never gets any less unsettling to look at,” Steve murmurs beside him, shifting his weight between his feet as he keeps his eyes locked on the unbroken membrane.

“Dr. Pierce, we’ve got another spike!” The researcher calls from behind, voice sounding a bit concerned. “We’re edging 170 now.”

The humming increases steadily along with a slight vibration in the ground beneath their feet. Steve steps up beside Pierce, a hand out like he’s ready to drag him back from the edge, as Pierce stares into the membrane intensely.

Come on. Come on. Come back through. Just be alive. Come on. Please be alive.

A more defined shadow moves along the edge closest to the trailer and doesn’t pull back. “We’ve got movement!” Steve calls back, alerting the nearby units as Pierce’s hand flies out to hush him. They both watch with a certain level of horrified fascination as the shadow grows defined enough to make that section of the membrane appear black before it begins to tear.

A bare hand extends out of the membrane, blindly grasping for the nearby edge. Steve twitches forward, like he wants to go and help them, but Pierce holds him back wordlessly, leaving them both standing perfectly still as another hand appears and grabs onto the edge.

The person uses the grip on the edge to pull themselves through – a woman in a filthy tank top and jeans struggling to pull herself onto the flat ground. As soon as she is through, she quickly turns around on her knees and reaches back through the membrane.

You’re… You’re actually alive.

Several soldiers approach slowly with their rifles out, aiming at you as you take hold of someone else’s hand and start to pull them through. A pale man with long, messy hair appears from the other side, holding on tightly to you as you help him reorient to the change in perspective. “No way…” Steve whispers, standing frozen as he watches them start to sit up and look around.

“Dr. Pierce!” You call happily once you spot him, waving at him like you’re excited to see him. There’s a huge smile on your face, a stark contrast to your utterly disheveled appearance. “I made it! I���m back!”

The soldiers continue to keep their weapons trained on the newcomers, watching for some sign of aggression. You slowly get to your feet, offering your hand to your companion and helping him up too. Steve takes a few mindless steps towards them, Dr. Pierce no longer stopping him. “Eddie?” He calls uncertainly, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Eddie, is that you?”

The man’s head perks up, looking in Steve’s direction. “Harrington?” He replies, sounding just as uncertain and confused. “Is that you in there?”

“Eddie, as in Eddie Munson?” Dr. Pierce asks Steve, still unmoving as he stares at you, seemingly unharmed.

“Yeah…” Steve breathes out, still looking stunned. “And he doesn’t look like he’s aged a day.”

You and Eddie start to walk over when a soldier barks at you to stay back, both of you nervously putting your hands up as you look between the armed soldiers, Steve, and Pierce.

“It’s me, Dr. Pierce. It’s really me.” You insist, looking at him pleadingly. “And this is Eddie, he helped me find my way back. He saved me.” You add, motioning to the man beside you. The two of you are close together; you stand slightly in front of Eddie, like you’re protecting him. Eddie just offers a sheepish smile and a shrug, like it was no big deal.

“Sir? What do we do?” One of the soldiers asks, glancing in Dr. Pierce’s direction.

The two of you look exhausted, dirty, hungry, but… Harmless. No worse for wear despite the time spent on the other side.

“Bring them in.” Pierce orders. “No excessive force. They’ve been through a lot.”

The soldiers nod, lowering their weapons and urging you both to come forward. You look particularly relieved, while Eddie appears mostly unphased by all of it.

“Thank god, I need a shower so badly.” You announce with a happy laugh, walking toward them as you shake your head and make a disgusted face. “No one smell me, I’m begging you.”

If anyone finds your behavior unsettling or strange, they don’t say so. Everyone mostly looks relieved it didn’t turn into some kind of fight. While there is something off about how you’re acting, Dr. Pierce can’t find it in himself to feel anything besides relief at your return.

Steve stands motionless and tense as Eddie approaches, looking every bit like he’s seen a ghost. There is no excitement, no relief, no… Trust. Like this is all a bad dream and he just wants to wake up.

Just before you and Eddie pass the two of them, you flash another excited smile. “And not a moment too soon – I’m so thirsty.” You look over at Eddie, who nods in agreement, before you continue walking toward the field tent in the distance, flanked on either side by armed soldiers.

Eddie stops by Steve, giving him a tilted smile. “Hey Harrington, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same to you,” Steve replies, his tone apprehensive and flat. If Eddie catches on, he doesn’t show it, just continuing to show that same smile – like he knows something you don’t.

“What can I say?” He offers with a shrug and a wink before he continues to trail after you and toward the growing crowd beyond. “It’s good to be back.”

-

-

-

-

-

thanks for reading, please let me know if you liked it!!

[bookishlyvintage]

The Fury by Alex Michaelides x

[checkeredflagggs]

Please Don’t

Pairing: max verstappen x girlfriend!reader

summary: max didn’t realize that an increase of pregnancy hormones would also mean an increase in willingness to fight people in his behalf…or the 5+1 fic of fighting people for love

a/n: seriously redbull??? This was not what I had planned next but c'est la vie…

a/n2: I have a request for another piece of this series that I’m really looking forward to writing — there’s a little Easter egg for that in this one!

a/n3: congrats max!

Masterlist | Taglist

Duckies Rookies Masterlist

Private Messages, Max and y/n

f1

liked by user, y/n, user, and 934,821 others

f1: BREAKING: Daniel Ricciardo to leave RB, the team have announced

view all comments

user1: NOOOOOOO

↳user2: what the fuck

↳user1: I am utterly heartbroken

user3: did you see the paddock this weekend??

↳user4: it’s obvious they all knew even if it wasn’t said…

↳user5: I’m so fucking mad — they didn’t give him a proper goodbye! 😡

user6: Danny legit looked like he was gonna cry…

↳user7: I don’t fucking blame him

↳user6: fuck redbull

↳user7: fuck marko and Horner

user8: ok but did anyone see y/n??

↳user9: she was not fucking around this weekend

↳user8: I didn’t even think she was supposed to be in Singapore?

↳user9: I didn’t either — I thought max had said she was still back in Monaco

↳user8: do you think that she flew last minute just to be there for Daniel?

↳user9: oh my god

user10: omg i was in the paddock this weekend and y/n was a BEAST. she showed up, she verbally flayed the redbull management, she slayed, then she left

↳user11: you have to spill everything!

↳user10: ngl I couldn’t hear everything but when she saw Horner I swear to god she pulled something out of her purse and threw it at him

↳user11: what a fucking Queen

↳user10: they disappeared back into the garage proper after that but man…

user12: raise your hand if you’re not shocked y/n went to bat for Danny 🙋🏾‍♀️

↳user13: 🙋🏻‍♂️

↳user14: 🙋🏼‍♀️

↳user15: I’m a new fan — why aren’t we shocked?

↳user12: don’t worry hun I got you — Danny and max are really close (going back to their days together in redbull)

↳user12: and y/n has said multiple times that she thinks of Danny as an big brother — he’s stepped in and helped her out with a few things over the years apparently

↳user12: and she’s been very vocal in previous years (against McLaren 🤮) about how certain teams have treated Danny — who’s given so much to the sport

↳user15: ooooohhhhhhhh thank you!!

↳user15: then 🙋🏽‍♂️

y/n

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, charles_leclerc and 1,823,193 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

y/n: THATS MY MAN!! I GUESS WINNING IN THE FASTEST CAR ISNT FOR EVERYONE HUH?

view all comments

user16: damn Queen 👸🏻 dragging team principals all over the grid

user17: ok but is it just me or is y/n dodging the drinks tonight?

charles_leclerc: Congratulations!

maxverstappen1: mijn leeuwin…really?

↳y/n: THERES MY CHAMPION!!!

↳y/n: YOU DID JT!!

↳y/n: AND SOMEONE HAD TO SAY IT

↳maxverstappen1: 😂😂

lewishamilton: A well earned win man 🖤

user18: am I missing something? Was there something funny about her caption?

↳user19: haha a little bit — Brown (McLaren’s ceo) had made a comment previously that max only won WDC with the fastest car

↳user18: ohhhhh! So she’s pretty much saying suck it?? liked by y/n

↳user19: knowing y/n? Yes

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Bluesky

user20: oh my god this is exactly what I needed #teammax

user21: come on max went too far — to put George’s head into the wall?? #teamgeorge

↳user22: oh come on — we all know that’s a load of shit #teammax

user23: can I say something?

↳user24: go for it

↳user23: I’m #teamy/n cause I know max wouldn’t do anything but race his best but y/n? Oh she’s got that rabid energy to her

↳user24: bold but I agree

↳user25: I’m sat. I’m seating. I need to know how y/n responds

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Private Messages, The Pride

assholegossippage

liked by user, user, user, and 1,293,933 others

tagged: y/n

assholegossippage: y/n l/n, longtime girlfriend of F1’s World Champion Max Verstappen, looking disheveled as she shows off her pregnancy belly

view all comments

user26: wow

↳user27: I’ve never seen such a fucking asshole comment before

maxverstappen1: Have fun hearing from my lawyers.

↳user28: Max I’m gonna need you to fucking bury them

↳y/n: Max!

liamlawson30: What fucking bullshit is this??

↳isackhadjar: Why would you say something like this?

↳user29: loving the kids coming to mom’s defense!

↳isackhadjar: Of course we are!

↳y/n: let’s not pick to many fights guys…

olliebearman: This is such disappointing behavior ☹️☹️

↳y/n: It’s fine Ollie

↳olliebearman: It is not!! They have no right!

↳user30: You tell them Ollie!

jackdoohan: Trying to shame a pregnant women for going outside? Do you have no shame??

↳gabrielbortoleto_: obviously not…

↳y/n: you guys…

↳user31: when they’re protective…

kimi.antonelli: Che essere umano disgustoso! What a disgusting human being!

↳y/n: Kimi…

↳kimi.antonelli: No! They can’t say these things!

Private Messages, The Pride

Taglist

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[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 13 — BITING/MARKING

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — dan heng, boothill, phainon, dr ratio

— warnings. — fem! reader, biting/marking, kinda dark, possessive men, doggy/prone bone, lots of spit

⚝ DAN HENG

dan heng kisses you like he's starving, like you're a confession he's never stopped whispering— on his knees, in your throat, between your legs, you felt him wherever you wanted with his lips trailing down your collarbone— softly when his teeth sink in at last, a sudden flash of hunger making you jolt, "don't move now," he breathes, voice low and shaking as his fingers slither down your waist, leaving your skin in tremors.

going further, he bites down harder and makes sure to emphasize the sharpness of his canines, slow bruises blooming like violets on your throat and your chest— because do you get it now? after all, dan heng wanted everyone to see them, no, he needed it for his soul, it's the only way he'll believe this wasn't a dream.

"mine," he whispers, but it sounded more like a prayer turned threat, voice hoarse and splintered as he presses his lips to the curve of your hipbone. he's already inside, throbbing in you, in fact, you're brim full and feel carved open being shaped around him, fuck, and still, he bites, agonizingly sharp, the flat of his teeth sinking in like a man afraid you'll vanish unless he brands you. his fingers tremble where they hold your thigh, not from weakness, but from holding himself back, from the way he's choking on everything he cannot say, everything he's too disciplined to scream out loud.

"don't run from me don't leave me," it's almost like dan heng was begging you while sinking into you further, dagger alike thrusting through the tightness of your hole, breath shaky against your skin, "don't ever leave me like that again," and then another bite, harder this time, cruel and filthy all at once— because you do not belong anywhere but under him, while being full of him, trembling from how much he loved you deeply.

your skin felt flayed open by slick delirium, heat and spit mingling with the ache of every place he sank his teeth into as you moan out his name broken and wet, your thighs twitching around his waist as dan heng, who was usually so quiet, becomes louder and groans when you squeeze him, chest rumbling against yours, biting down on the space beneath your ribs like he wanted to leave something permanent, in fact, like the man wanted you bleeding from it.

⚝ BOOTHILL

"calm don't baby," boothill grins, his sharp fangs already pinching at your throat and glinting white, "not unless you want the whole town to hear how sweet you sound when i ruin you," and then he bites, playful but hard, dragging his teeth along your neck like he's gutting a peach as you feel the marks rising instantly— they're pulsing hot, swollen and shameless on your flesh as your breath leaves you in a shiver when he grinds into you hard, making the bed creak and your nerves spark instantly.

his hips jerk rough against yours, his cock thick and punishing where he splits you open yet all you could focus on was the way he won't ever stop biting you— no matter where, if it was your shoulders, your tits or thighs, his mouth was everywhere.

before you know it, he cums for the first time, thick and heavy— right between your legs like it's nothing, like the mess of him already leaking out of you wasn't enough he had to do it again.

your back arches as it hits hot against the previously dried slick already smeared across your thighs, battering into the raw, glistening ache of you with the slow rub of his cock inside. it all came crushing down on you when you felt his fingers sneak down on you, between your legs, targeting your clit and pinching it between his rough fingertips, filthily matching the rhythm of his hips.

"that's it," he rasps, lips dragging along your lips, voice shredded with the kind of wicked pride only a man like him could wear while ruining you, "all slicked up and still so tight around me, you feel that, sweetheart? feel how you keep squeezing like you don't wanna let go?"

dumb question, correct? because you do, you feel everything and boothill knows, the shaking in your legs when he bottoms out was enough to expose you. truly, you cannot stop clenching around him, cannot stop crying either, boothill just kept marking you up and fucking you through it, believing that if he put enough hickies and bite marks on your body, maybe he'll finally stop going insane.

⚝ PHAINON

phainon's mouth shakes against your shoulder as his bites don't come fast, instead, they build gradually with his teeth dragging softly, teasing you, jaw always tensed and breath held like a man hoping for solace— yet you kept pulling him deeper, kept clenching around him like your cunt's trying to milk him dry and that's when phainon breaks.

he bites, yet it's not gentle.

even so, you won't stop tightening around him, fluttering, spasming— like your body's trying to wring the heat from his spine, desperate to drag him under with you as he shudders at the harsh grip, teeth sinking into your shoulder without grace, without pause— just need, rabid and raw.

phainon devours you endlessly, the sheer force he was using to fuck you into the stained mattress was almost scary, yet you were used to this by now. 

he breathes something ruined into the hollow of your throat when you circle your arms around his neck— no language needed, only sound required— low and passionate and raw, like it's breaking him just to hold back as his arm curls around your body, not gentle but possessive, the other fisted tight in your hair like a man clinging to a single thread of sanity, dragging you closer even when there's nowhere left to go.

the air was thick, cloying with sweat and salt, with the raw scent of skin and sin as your breath catches in hiccuped sobs with your body trembling, helpless under the slow, relentless rhythm of his hips, each push deep and calculated, yet he doesn't care if the room burns down around you, as long as you do not stop taking him.

it's brutal, in fact, every thick push made you feel the stretch in your spine even further, "is that why you're shaking?" phainon breathes, his tongue slick, "poor thing," as you're nodding at him, a stuttering motion as if your body was in utter shock.

it turns him on, seeing you helpless and in awe of him as his mouth drags slow over your skin, biting again, harder— until you flinch underneath his broad body, until your whole flesh attempts to escape on instinct, "don't cry," he hisses, voice gutted, "you asked for this, wanted to be owned, didn't you? feel it now, feel what you did to me."

you do as he commands, yet you're still aching, gushing and full, every thrust feeling like you're being split and stitched up all at once as phainon's tongue flicks over your nipple, afterwards rubbing over it with his teeth.

he marks them up too, obviously, and then your collarbone, later your ribs, fuck, he cannot decide anymore, maybe he'll do it all, right? step by step, inch by inch, he wanted to feel you under his teeth everywhere he could look at, so when he's alone and aching, he'll remember exactly where he belongs.

⚝ DR RATIO

if veritas ever carved the truth out of his chest, stripped it down to bone and nerve, he'd have to confess that he doesn't bite you out of love, instead, he does it so you'll wear him, so it bruises, so it aches, so it sinks in deeper than memory.

well, you could say it's not tenderness— it's compulsion, a mark of possession scalded into flesh with his hunger made visible and undeniable as he bites so there's no forgetting, no pretending, so you never once think you're untouched.

his glove sinks between your shoulder blades like it's been there all your life— like it belongs there, pressing you down with a reverence that felt more like ritual than restraint as his other hand ghosts over your throat— not clenching, not claiming, just resting there, skin to skin, a quiet violence simmering beneath the tenderness as your pulse betrays you— hammering against his palm, fast and fluttering like a creature caught in his cage.

you cannot move— he won't let you, one hand pressing your spine down into the mattress, the other cradling your throat like he's trying to memorize how it jumps under his touch, "tell me if it hurts," he groans, rolling his hips so slow it's brutal, your ass jiggling at the impact so deeply you choke on your own breath, "you'll remember this every time you swallow."

his bite leaves a raw spot on your shoulder, then another once more, it's hot, yes, disgusting? fuck, and intimate too— veritas fucks you like he's trying to erase every inch of untouched skin, "i want you sore tomorrow," he presses his mouth to your shoulder, tongue dragging slow over sweat dampened skin, voice catching on the taste of you, "i want them to see the marks and know you let me do this, begged me to."

and fuck, you did, you are, you're so full your stomach's tight and your brain's fogged and your mouth can't form words anymore— veritas licks one of the bites, then bites again, your pussy clenching around him so hard he grunts out loud, hissing into your skin like he might break if he stops.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[wonderlandwalker]

Hell Hath no Fury like a Buckley

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 / 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x buckley!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.2k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: there's exactly two thoughts left in Steve's brain: you, and the fact that he's about to majorly violate the bro code 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: the usual I guess, hopeless pining, smut, mostly those, seems the only writing style I have is 'falls desperately deeply in love at first sight' and I'm not in the mood to psychoanalyse it so here's more of that

𝐚/𝐧: was gonna work on this more but I had to commemorate Pope Francis' morbidly entertaining demise somehow x

Steve Harrington was many things—

Former King of Hawkins High (retired, thank you very much). Babysitter extraordinaire (unofficial title, of course, but the kids would back him up). And, according to Robin Buckley—his best friend, partner-in-crime, and personal tormentor—a ‘walking disaster with good hair’.

But right now?

Right now, he was fucking mortified.

Okay.

Wait—

Let’s rewind.

Five minutes ago, life had been simple: Steve had been doing his best impression of a responsible lifeguard, which mostly meant leaning against the chair with his sunglasses perched low, pretending he wasn’t counting the minutes until his shift ended and he could stop caring about pH levels. The Hawkins community pool was the same as ever— the sharp tang of sunscreen and chlorine in the air, kids cannonballing into the deep end, and Debbie — the one lifeguard who actually gave a shit about the rules— blowing her whistle at some poor kid for running. Steve?

Steve was here for two reasons. One: free access to the pool after hours — unofficial, of course—courtesy of Keith’s lack of managerial oversight.  And two: A pay cheque that barely covers gas money but is still better than listening to his dad rant on to him about ‘loafing around all summer like a goddamn bum.’

And then— 

Then he saw you.

Which, okay, is not that unusual— people come to the pool all the time.  And it wasn’t that you stood out, not really. No, you were just— there. In a swimsuit like half the other girls, a loose cover-up tied around your hips, but fuck— As you stepped into the sunlight, it was like the universe had hit pause. You moved like a struck match in a room full of shadows—vivid, flickering, impossible to look away from. Everybody else blurred at the edges, cardboard cut-outs in your wake, but you? You burnt.

And Steve—God, Steve was already half in love with the way the light would destroy him. He knew the story. Knew how it ended. Orpheus wasn’t supposed to turn around. But you smiled at him, and suddenly he understood: some temptations aren’t meant to be resisted. They’re meant to unravel you, thread by thread, until you’re grateful for the ruin.

Oh, shit.

You were walking straight toward him.

Fuck.

Think, Harrington, think.

You looked familiar. Hawkins isn’t exactly a metropolis—if you’d gone to school here, he’d know you. Had you been at the summer fun fair? Sat behind him in chem sophomore year? Christ, this was bad. Steve—King Steve, who used to have the entire school catalogued in his peripheral vision—couldn’t even scrape together a fucking name. Maybe you were—

Your eyes met his—sharp enough to flay him open—and your smirk said you knew exactly how hard his brain was liquidating.

Double fuck.

You were smiling at him—Christ—that stagnant, astute curve of lips that already felt branded behind his eyelids, and he was staring. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Some distant, rational part of his intellect screamed at him: say something cool. Say something cool. 

Instead, all he could track was the way you tilted your head—that loose strand of hair escaping, catching sunlight like spun gold as it tumbled free. His fingers spasmed at his side with the sudden, visceral urge to reach out—to brush it back behind your ear with a touch too tender for whatever this was. The realisation made him feel violently stupid, like some second-rate rom-com hero about to monologue his feelings in the rain.

"Hey," you said, and your voice wrapped around him like smoke. Steve's pulse stuttered. "Have you seen Robin by any chance?"

The whiplash of it—the casual destruction of that moment—left his cerebrum sputtering like a dying engine.

Robin?

Why the hell were you asking about Robin?

Robin doesn’t have friends he didn’t know about. He is her best friend, which means he knows all her people—the band geeks, the weirdos from the record store, and even that one girl who could recite The Hobbit in Elvish. He’d met them all.

And yet, here you were, asking for her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you had the right to know her schedule. Like you—

His mouth moved faster than his brain. "She left to grab beers, like...five minutes ago."

"Figures," you hummed, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched—that tell-tale sign of years weathering Robin's particular brand of chaos. "She swore she'd meet me here, but I guess we're operating on Buckley Standard Time again."

Steve's thoughts screeched to a halt.

Buckley Standard Time.

That was—

No. That couldn't be right. Because that was his bit. Well, technically it was their bit — his and Robin’s— the joke he'd made after she'd shown up forty minutes late to their shift because she'd "gotten into a debate about whether hot dogs were sandwiches with some guy at the record store." 

He'd thought that was theirs. Just theirs.

But you knew it.

Which meant—

Oh shit.

Oh, no.

His stomach dropped like he’d just crested the first hill of a rollercoaster—that awful, weightless second before the plunge. Because there were only two kinds of people who knew Buckley Standard Time: him, and someone who’d known Robin longer than he had. And unless you were some kind of psychic super-stalker (which, given the way his heart was currently trying to break through his ribs, he might’ve honestly preferred), that left only one earth-shattering possibility.

His eyes flicked over your face again, searching for it—the resemblance. The same sharp wit tucked into the corner of your smile. The identical nose scrunch when you laughed. Christ, how had he missed it? He’d been too busy being dazzled, too busy cataloguing the way sunlight caught in your eyes, to notice the nuclear bomb of a truth staring him in the face.

“Y-you’re—” Steve cleared his throat, trying to wrestle his voice into something resembling casual indifference. It came out closer to a pubescent seagull. “You’re Robin’s…?”

“Twin.Yeah.” Your grin widened, head tilting in a way that should’ve had a government warning: Caution: May cause permanent heart palpitations.

Holy.

Shit.

He’d heard about you, of course—the mythical other half of Robin’s childhood stories, the shadow in the Polaroids stuffed in her wallet. He’d even known you were coming to town for the summer. But in his mind, he’d just pictured… Robin 2.0. Same chaos, different zip code. But meeting you in person was a different kind of disaster.

Not only were you Robin’s sister—fully, irrevocably off-limits by the Bro Code in every conceivable universe—but he’d just spent the past two minutes mentally drafting embarrassingly bad poetry about how your eyes reminded him of...something poetic (he hadn't gotten that far). 

And Robin?

Robin was going to murder him.

Slowly. Painfully. With that special look of disappointment she reserved exclusively for when he was being “particularly Harrington-ish”.

"Oh," he said, brilliantly. "Cool. That's—cool." The words hung in the air like particularly unimpressive confetti. You raised one eyebrow, clearly savouring the spectacle of smooth talking. Steve Harrington reduced to a floundering mess. "You okay there?"

"Yep. Great. Never better." His grip on the lifeguard chair tightened until the plastic creaked ominously. "Just, uh—didn't know Robin had a sister." Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid—

The moment the words left his mouth, your face twitched—part amusement, part genuine bewilderment. “Really?” For a second he wondered if he should just fucking bolt, but then your smile returned, and he forgot how his lungs worked. "I've been away at college," you explained, shifting your weight just enough to make the hem of your cover-up ride up, and Steve suddenly developed an intense fascination with the chlorine dispenser behind you, his ears burning crimson. "But I'm back for the summer, and Robin promised me pool privileges." You leaned in, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "Apparently, you're the guy to sweet-talk for after-hours access."

Sweet-talk.

You wanted to sweet-talk him.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His mouth opened, ready to blurt something catastrophically eager like, "You don't even need to sweet-talk me; I'd drain the pool and refill it with champagne if you asked," when—

"There you are!"

Robin materialised like some kind of vengeful angel, arms loaded with a six-pack and a half-eaten bag of chips. "I see you two already met." Her expression cycled from relief at spotting you to instant suspicion as her gaze darted between your amused smile and Steve's deer-in-headlights-meets-fish-out-of-water-meets-man-who-just-remembered-he-left-the-stove-on panic. "Why does Steve look like he's about to pass out?" She asked flatly, already exhausted. "Earth to Harrington. You good?" Robin waved a hand in front of his glazed-over eyes, then shot you a look. "This guy's supposed to save lives? Yeah, right."

Which brings us back to fucking mortified.

Robin doesn’t even wait for you to reach the car, having commandeered you on an urgent towel retrieval mission she absolutely (and suspiciously) couldn’t handle herself. One second Steve's watching you go, the next he's being manhandled behind the snack bar like a misbehaving golden retriever, Robin's fingers digging into his bicep like she’s trying to jump-start his malfunctioning brain through sheer force. "What the fuck is up with you?" She hisses, voice low enough that it bypasses his eardrums and vibrates directly in his panic centre. Her free hand gestures wildly toward the parking lot. "Why are you acting so weird?”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. His throat makes a noise like a dial-up modem trying to connect. "I wasn't—" Robin's eyes narrow into lethal slits. "You were." She releases his arm only to jab a finger against his sternum hard enough to leave a bruise. "The moment she walked in, you short-circuited so hard I could smell burning wiring. You called the pool ladder ‘ma’am’. Twice."

Steve’s pulse kicks into overdrive. “What? I was just—being nice.” He gestures vaguely at the pool, as if that explains anything. “I’m a nice guy, Robin. It’s a thing I do.” She scoffs, nostrils flaring. “Harrington, I’ve seen your ‘nice’. This wasn’t ‘nice’. This was—” She makes a frantic explosion motion with her hands, complete with a “pshooo!” sound effect. “—full-system meltdown ‘nice’. You were sweating.”

“It’s July,” he protests weakly.

“You never sweat.”

“I always sweat!”

“You once fought a demodog in a leather jacket and came out dewy at most.”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “That’s— that’s not—” But before he can dig his grave any deeper, you reappear, sauntering over with a smirk that spells nothing but trouble. “Everything alright over here?” Robin’s grip on his arm tightens like a warning. “Great!” she chirps, voice suddenly three octaves too high. “Steve was just telling me how thrilled he is to have another Buckley around.”

Steve’s smile is less charming Harrington grin and more man awaiting execution. “Thrilled”, he croaks. “Yep. So. So thrilled.” Your grin widens at his words—slow, studious, dangerous. "Yeah?" You step closer, and Steve's heart launches into an Olympic-grade gymnastics routine—triple backflip, perfect landing, gold medal in catastrophic panic. "Because I was just thinking..." Your finger taps a thoughtful rhythm against your chin. "...about all that quality time we'll be sharing. Robin says you throw legendary parties."

Steve’s brain flatlines. Parties. Together. You. Him. Oh God.

Across from him, Robin’s gaze darts between the two of you, her expression morphing from suspicion to outright dread.

Steve's Adam's apple bobs like it's trying to flee his throat. She knows. Christ, she definitely knows. He has just enough coherent thought left to realise:

He is so spectacularly, catastrophically, irrevocably fucked.

He spends the rest of the week trying to avoid you. Trying being the key word here. The universe, it seems, has other plans.

Because you're everywhere—a constant, maddening presence burning at the edges of his vision like the ghost of a flashlight in the dark. He swears you're doing it on purpose, catching his eye just to watch him fumble, that sly smile playing at the corners of your lips every time his pulse stutters under your gaze. And God, does it stutter.

You’re at the impromptu movie night Nancy throws, wedged between Robin and Eddie on the couch, laughing as you recall some childhood disaster involving a stolen bike, a jar of peanut butter, and—if Robin’s dramatic interruptions are to be believed—a "very pissed-off raccoon with a personal vendetta."

"Way more traumatic than this," you declare, gesturing at the slasher flick on the screen where some poor extra is meeting their gory demise. Steve—who’s stranded in the armchair like some sombre, forgotten puppy—can’t manage to join in. Not when your laughter does things to his pulse that’s sure to send him into cardiac arrest any day now.

But then your knee brushes against Eddie’s as you lean forward to grab a handful of popcorn, and something hot and irrational coils in Steve’s gut. It’s��stupid—Eddie’s just a friend, and it’s not like he has any claim over you—but the way your fingers linger near Eddie’s wrist for half a second too long makes Steve’s jaw clench.

Then there's the Hawkins High tailgate, where the lukewarm beer and golden-hour sunlight are the real stars of the show – not the Tigers' tragic losing streak. Steve leans against his BMW, nursing a drink and trying to convince himself that he’s here for school spirit— he’s lying. He’s so fucking obvious about it that Robin’s been giving him that look all afternoon—the one that says, ”I will skin you alive if you make this weird.”

And like his personal reckoning—you appear. One second, he’s staring blankly ahead, and the next, you’re sliding onto the hood of his car like you own it, all long legs and lazy smiles. The dying sun paints your skin in hues of amber and gold, catching on the delicate bend of your collarbone and the smooth plane of your thighs where your cut-off shorts ride up.

Christ.

He wants to map every inch of you with his mouth, starting at the delicate dip of your ankle—that vulnerable hollow where his lips could linger—then leisurely, torturously working his way up. Up the taut line of your calf, tracing the sensitive bend of your knee with his tongue. Higher still, along the trembling skin of your inner thigh, where his teeth might graze just to feel you shiver. An unhurried pilgrimage of worship, every gasp and hitch of your breath another sacred waypoint in his journey.

”Dude, you’re, like, actually drooling.” Dustin’s voice cuts through his increasingly inappropriate thoughts. Steve chokes on his drink, beer burning his sinuses as he wheezes, ”What? No, I’m not—!” But Dustin just raises his eyebrows, impervious. ”Uh-huh. Sure.” And then Robin’s there. ”So!” she chirps, stealing Steve’s beer right out of his hand. ”Who’s ready to watch our team get slaughtered?” You hum softly in your throat – a vibration Steve feels more than hears – as you tilt your head toward him. The calculated brush of your knee against his thigh burns through the denim between you, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. His breath catches when you don't pull away, your leg warm and insistent against his.

He’s so screwed.

Even as the midday sun is brutal at the Hawkins pool, he barely feels it—not when you’re walking toward his lifeguard chair with that look in your eyes —the mischievous Buckley spark.

You hold up the sunscreen bottle , tilting your head with a smile of practiced innocence. "Can you help me?" Before he can answer, you're already turning—presenting your back to him where the strings of your bikini top form a delicate, infuriating knot. "I can't reach," you add, voice dripping with false helplessness.

Steve's soul nearly leaves him: "I— You—Robin can—" "Robin's allergic to coconut oil," you lie effortlessly, glancing over your shoulder. The sunlight catches the curve of your shoulder blade, the flutter of your lashes. His mouth goes desert-dry. "And you are the lifeguard." You let the implication hang between you like the summer heat. "Isn't it your job to protect me?"

Fuck.

His hands tremble as he squeezes sunscreen onto his palms, the lotion warm from the sun. When his fingers finally make contact with your skin, you hum—soft, satisfied—and he swears you lean into his touch, just slightly. The sound goes straight to his gut, hot and insistent. His thumbs press into the dip of your spine, dragging sluggish circles that have no business being that deliberate. “You missed a spot,” you murmur, shifting just enough that his fingers brush the edge of your bikini tie. Steve’s breath comes ragged. This is torture.

And now? Now the bass from Tina’s stereo thrums through the floor, rattling Steve’s bones like a second heartbeat. The air is thick with sweat and cheap beer, the kind of chaos he usually lives for—except tonight, his entire world has narrowed down to you.

All evening, he’s been trapped in a loop of stolen glances and half-formed hopes, wondering if the way your eyes linger on him means something or if he’s just another fool drunk on wishful thinking. Is this real? Is this worth it? The questions gnaw at him, unanswered, even as he drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle down with a clink. And then, as if summoned by his desperation, you’re there. Emerging beside him like smoke, you lean into the wall, your shoulder pressing against his, and suddenly—the music, the crowd, the entire fucking room might as well not exist.

"Trying to hide from me, Harrington?" You taunt, tipping your drink to your lips. The bottle’s rim glistens under the dim light, and your mouth—pink, slow, meticulous—lingers there for a beat too long. It’s a calculated assault on what little composure he has left. His throat goes dry.

“Would it work if I were?” He shoots back, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. His voice is rougher than he intended, betraying the way his pulse jumps under his skin. You laugh, low and keen, before stepping into his space. Your palm lands on his chest, searing through the fabric of his shirt. “Probably not.” You admit, fingers crooking slightly—testing, teasing—and he knows you can feel the frantic hammering of his heart beneath your touch.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning in until your breath ghosts his jaw, “Robin talks about you all the time.” 

His breath hitches.

This is dangerous.

Your knee brushes his thigh, prudent and—holy shit—his thoughts dissolve into static. “But she never mentioned how cute you are when you’re flustered.” The words curl into his ear, sweet and lethal. He should say something clever, something smooth, but all he can manage is a shaky exhale as your fingers trail up to his collarbone, tracing the edge of his shirt. You’re close enough now that he can smell the jasmine of your perfume and the faint tang of gin on your tongue. Your hips tilting, just a fraction, and— “I wonder”, you whisper, lips grazing the shell of his ear, “what else I don’t know yet.”

Before he can respond—before he can even breathe—you’re leaning in, your nose almost brushing his. His hand lifts—to pull you closer? To push you away? —when—

"Oh my God."  

Robin’s voice shatters the moment as she stands there, arms crossed, looking done. “I leave you two alone for five minutes—”

Steve jerks back like he’s been burnt. "Robin! Hey! We were just—"

"—about to make my life a living hell?" 

Steve’s mouth snaps shut, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s still debating whether to reach for you again, and his gaze flickers to your lips — just for a moment— before he forces a laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. The gesture does nothing to hide the flush creeping up his throat. “Come on,” he deflects, “We were just talking.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. And 'talking' now involves you two looking like you’re about to re-enact Dirty Dancing in the middle of the living room?" Steve can feel your pulse kick where your thigh brushes against his, but you don’t back down. You’re clearly used to these sparring matches with Robin, a rhythm he doesn’t yet know the steps to, and he’s equal parts terrified and intrigued.

"Maybe you should’ve knocked," you shoot back, grinning wider when Robin’s jaw drops and Steve’s composure nosedives like a bird that just noticed the window isn’t open.

"Nope. No. Absolutely not." Robin jabs a finger between the two of you like she’s warding off evil. "I refuse to be the third wheel in whatever… this is." She spins toward the kitchen with enough dramatic flair to create wind resistance. "I'm getting another drink," she announces over her shoulder. "Or seven. Alone. Like the abandoned best friend in every fucking rom-com."

Steve takes a half-step forward. "Rob—"

"Save it, Dingus." She pauses, levelling you both with a glare that’s equal parts warning and surrender. "Ground rules," she announces, holding up a finger. "You—" The finger jabs at Steve's chest. “If you hurt my sister, I’ll give you a live demonstration of why The Texas Chainsaw Massacre wasn’t rated PG. Spoiler: It’s the bone saws.” Her finger swings to you, and Steve can practically hear your heartbeat kick into overdrive against his side. "And you—if you give him another existential crisis, I'm telling Mom you're the one who broke Grandma's urn and that you're the reason we had to get the couch steam-cleaned in '82."

Then she’s gone, swallowed by the noise of the party.

The silence between you is thick, charged. Steve exhales, slow and shaky, before turning back to you. The air crackles—Robin’s interruption only fanned the flames, and now it licks at his skin, relentless. His voice comes out rough, just this side of breaking: "She’s never gonna let me live this down." You bite your lip, stepping closer. The scent of your perfume coils around him, dizzying. "Then we might as well give her something real to complain about," you murmur, lips grazing the shell of his ear. His breath stutters when your fingers skate up his throat, nails scraping just barely over his stubble. A whimper claws its way out of him, raw and unbidden. "Christ. You’re killin’ me here." You grin, all teeth. "Good." Your thumb brushes the frantic pulse under his jaw. "We’ve got about twelve minutes until she storms back. Better make ‘em count."

This time, when you lean in, there’s no one to stop you, just the muffled clink of Robin angrily rearranging liquor bottles in the kitchen. Steve finally—fucking finally—learns what you taste like (gin and mint and something addicting), how your lips feel against his (softer than he imagined, but demanding, hungry), and how the dip of your waist fits under his palms like it was made for him. And Christ—the sound you make when he pulls you flush against him, a moan clawing its way up your throat, is enough to unravel him completely.

His brain, stuck on a loading screen for days, finally processes one coherent thought:

Fuck it.

Steve's hand fists in your hair, dragging you closer—Christ, not close enough—until your shared breath turns jagged. Just as he tilts his head to finally taste you properly, you pull back. His stomach plummets like a failed carnival ride. For one gut-twisting second, he's certain he's ruined it—misread the way your body arched against his, all heat and hunger, like you wanted to melt into his skin. Then your fingers lock around his wrist, nails biting just shy of pain, and the look you give him isn't hesitation—it's wildfire. "C'mere," you murmur, already walking down the hallway, tugging him along. Steve doesn't think; his body moves before his mind catches up, pulled by the magnetism of your touch.

The party dissolves into white noise—drowned out by the hammering rhythm of his pulse. Every passive draw of your thumb against his skin is a brand-new dare, burning straight through to his sternum. The hallway diminishes around you, lit only by a sputtering bulb that throws strobe-light shadows across your face. He doesn't miss the way your teeth sink into your lower lip as you glance at the bathroom door—or how your grip tightens like you're fighting the urge to sprint the last few steps.

Then you're shoving him inside, all impatient hands and shared momentum. The door clicks shut behind you with finality, sealing you both in the dark. Somewhere outside, a cheer goes up—maybe for the keg stand, maybe for the universe laughing at how thoroughly Steve Harrington is about to lose his goddamn mind.

The space is cramped, the air thick with the odour of soap and the lingering sweetness of someone’s perfume. The sink digs into his lower back, cold enough to make him hiss—but then your hands are on him, warm and demanding, and he forgets everything else. Forgets the way your thighs had tensed when he licked the salt off his hand before taking a shot. Forgets the way you’d watched his throat bob as he laughed at one of Robin’s jokes. Forgets the way you’d nearly choked on your own tongue when he’d rolled up his sleeves in the kitchen, forearms flexing as he scooped ice into a cup. The party’s bass thrums through the walls, a distant echo beneath the serrated sound of his own breathing and the slick noise of your mouth on his skin. Christ, he hopes the music’s loud enough to drown out the way you whimper when he sucks at your pulse point.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” you admit, voice low, and the crude honesty in it makes his throat go dry. Your fingers dig into his hips, pulling him closer. “All week”, you correct, and suddenly he’s replaying every glance, every brush of contact: the way you’d “tripped” into his side at the pool, how you’d lingered in his space after movie night, your knee pressed to his thigh for a full thirty minutes before Robin kicked you both off her couch. The memory of your breath on his neck when you’d leaned over his shoulder to steal a fry at the diner—had you always smelt this good?

Steve’s hands trail up your waist, thumbs carving possessive lines into that sliver of exposed skin where your shirt’s ridden up. “Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked—drunk on the way your breath hitches, on the way your ribs expand under his palms like you’re already starving for it. “Funny. I thought I was the one losing my damn mind.” You hum—a quiet, perceptive sound—before inching your lips along the column of his throat. He feels the vibration of it like a live wire down his spine, sparking at every vertebra. “Show me,” you murmur against his pulse, and the challenge in it sends his blood south so fast he gets lightheaded. It’s all the permission he needs.

One hand fists in your hair, wrenching your head back as he crashes into you. This kiss isn’t like before—no teasing, no hesitation—just heat and teeth and the slick, filthy slide of your tongue against his. He swallows your whimper when his other hand slips under your shirt, palm skimming the bare dip of your waist. Christ. The whimper you let out when his fingers dig into your hip isn’t just sound. It’s a bloody revelation.

Steve knows he’s on borrowed time. Robin’s sharp and observant—she’ll come looking sooner rather than later, and when she does, she’ll take one look at his flushed face and your swollen lips and know. The thought should sober him up, but right now? He doesn’t give a shit. All that matters is the way your nails bite into his shoulders, the way you gasp when he nips your lower lip, and the way your body fits against his like you were carved from the same damn stone. And when you roll your hips against his—slow, deliberate, maddening—his grip tightens, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to bruise. His voice is rough, wrecked, barely recognisable when he growls against your mouth: "This isn't exactly how I pictured our first time."

The words tear from Steve's throat, rough and wrecked—a confession to his sinful thoughts. The second they hit air, he freezes. Shit.

But you—Christ, you—just beam like you've won the lottery, dragging your teeth over his swollen bottom lip in a way that makes his knees threaten to buckle. "You pictured our first time?" Your voice drips with delight, thumb brushing the frantic pulse in his neck. Heat floods his cheeks, but you don't let him recover. You crash into him, kissing him so hard his back slams against the tiled wall. His hands move on pure instinct—lifting you onto the sink with a grunt, fingers skating up the soft underside of your thighs like he's memorising the map of you. When they dig in, kneading with a hunger that surprises even him, you moan directly into his mouth, and the sound goes straight to his dick.

You moan, and the sound tears something primal from his chest—a growl that rumbles against your lips, vibrating through you. "How about we save your ideal first time for later?" You murmur against him, biting his lip just hard enough to make him jerk against you. Your voice drops to a whisper, all heat and promise: "And focus on fucking my brains out in the next ten minutes?"

Steve's resolve doesn't just shatter—it disintegrates. Any pretence of patience evaporates as his hands find your waist, fingers pressing bruises into your hips that you'll savour tomorrow. His mouth crashes into yours again, but this time he's a man on a mission. He charts your skin like territory to be conquered—the sharp line of your jaw, the salt-slick column of your throat, the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his tongue. When he reaches the swell of your cleavage, you arch into him with a gasp that turns into a whine as his teeth scrape delicate skin. Your fingers are already working at his belt, tugging with impatient urgency.

"Steve—"

"Fuck," he rasps, pulling back just enough to watch your face. "You sound even better than I imagined." And Christ, he has imagined this—in the shower, trying to relieve the ache with his hand, in his bed with the sheets tangled around his thighs, in the fucking Family Video break room when you'd leaned too close to reach a tape. Every fantasy pales in comparison to the reality of your nails digging into his hips as he shoves his jeans down just enough to free himself. Your hand wraps around him in one smooth motion, and for one blinding second, the world narrows to the slick heat of your fingers, the way your thumb swipes over the head just to watch his abs clench.

If this is heaven, he'll sign his own damn death warrant.

But then—then—you spin him around with surprising strength, dropping to your knees on the bath mat. The cool tile bites into his palms as he braces against the sink, but all he can focus on is the way your breath ghosts over him, the way your eyes lock onto his as your tongue—

Jesus.

Fucking.

Christ.

His vision fractures at the edges, tunnelling until the universe condenses to three points: the wicked curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes against your skin, and the sinful press of your tongue where he needs it most. For one suspended, blasphemous moment, Steve's convinced Robin actually killed him—because there's no earthly way this is real: your mouth sinking onto him like you've been starving for it, hot and wet and perfect, swallowing him down to the hilt with a vibration that travels straight to his fucking spine. The sound you make—a muffled, content hum around him as he hits the back of your throat—sends a full-body shudder through him.

Holy mother of God.

He knows better than to look. He knows he shouldn’t—but he does anyway, helpless as a marionette with its strings cut—

Big mistake.

Because now he's watching, really watching, as your lips stretch obscenely around him, as your throat works to take him deeper. Your eyes lock onto his, crinkled at the corners with vicious amusement as you take him deeper, and shit, suddenly he’s sixteen again, stumbling across his first Playboy, heart racing and palms sweating. Except now it’s your mouth, your knowing gaze scalding him hotter than July asphalt as you savour every choked noise he can’t suppress. He should say something, should at least try to form words, but all his head does is thud back again. That look alone—like you’re cataloguing his every twitch and heave—threatens to spill him into your throat right fucking now. If he doesn’t—

A burst of laughter ricochets down the hall, sudden and too close. Your fingers tighten reflexively around the base of him, nails grazing the sensitive skin there, and Steve’s entire body tenses like a bowstring drawn too tight, but his hips jerk forward before he can stop them, dragging a ragged groan from him.

“Fuck—we have to be quiet,” he rasps, but you just smirk around him, all devilish intent, dragging your tongue along his underside in a measured, filthy stripe that makes his vision blur at the edges. His legs actually cave in; he has to brace a forearm against the wall to stay upright.

It’s agony.

It’s ecstasy.

Then your eyes flutter shut, and the soft, satisfied hum you let out vibrates through him straight to his spine. His fingers fist in your hair—gentle, got to be gentle—but his hips jerk of their own accord, chasing the sinful heat of your mouth like it’s his only chance at salvation. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he chokes, voice shredded. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.” And he means it. Because if this is what you do to him in some shitty bathroom, with Robin and half the party just beyond the door—Then what happens when he gets you alone? His mind whites out, fever-bright with the images: Pinning you against the first available surface—his bed, his car, the fucking kitchen counter—anything to finally take what you’ve been tormenting him with. Peeling you out of your clothes with agonising slowness, just to hear you whine and beg for his name. His mouth on every patch of skin he’s watched you expose all summer—the dip of your collarbone, the inside of your thighs, that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp when he accidentally brushes it. The way you’d clench around him when he finally sinks in, tight and desperate after an eternity of stolen glances. The filth he’d whisper in your ear: “Knew you’d take me so fucking good.”

“Christ,” he grits out, hips stuttering as you swallow him deeper. His knuckles tensing against the sink. “You’re so fucking—”

A sharp knock at the door interrupts him.

“Hey, dipshits!” Robin’s voice slices through the haze, sharp with accusation. "You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there."

Steve’s head thunks back against the wall. Goddamn it.

His entire body locks up, every muscle pulled taut between the mind-numbing pleasure of your mouth and the very real possibility of Robin kicking the door in. His fingers twist tighter in your hair—not to stop you, never to stop you, but because if he doesn’t anchor to something, he might genuinely combust. The bathroom light flickers overhead, casting shadows against your cheeks as you glance up at him, and—fuck—he’s never seen anything more obscene.

"Shit," he hisses, voice shredded. "Fuck, fuck—" The litany spills from him like a prayer, like a curse, like heresy. You pull off just enough to smirk up at him, lips slick and swollen, and the sight alone nearly undoes him. "We should stop," you murmur—liar, fucking liar—your breath scorching his skin. Your tongue grazes his tip as you speak, and Steve sees actual stars. He groans, low and wounded, but his thumb trails over your bottom lip anyway, smearing spit as he claims the wetness there. "Yeah. Yeah, we—" Another knock, louder this time, rattling the doorframe.

"I swear to God, Harrington," Robin’s voice cuts through the wood, "if you’re defiling my sister in there, I’m replacing your hairspray with Nair."

You pull back just enough to make him ache, and Steve’s breath hisses through his teeth—sharp, frustrated, barely holding back something far filthier. His hands twitch at your waist like he’s debating dragging you right back, but all he does is adjust himself with a rough groan, his jeans straining. When his gaze locks onto yours, it’s wildfire in the dark, pupils swallowing every last bit of reason. "This isn’t over." The words scrape out of him like a match strike, sulfur-sharp and spark-ready.

A smirk curls your lips as you stand, lips grazing the stubble along his jaw. The shudder it pulls from him is downright criminal.

"Better not be," you murmur against his skin, your tongue swiping the sting from his skin, sweet as poisoned candy. "Or I’ll finish what you started on my own—and trust me, you’ll lie awake trying and failing to picture it half as vividly as it’ll sound."

Steve’s breath catches. "Christ," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. He’s half-hard, wholly ruined, and absolutely fucked when you step back, looking far too innocent for someone who just had their mouth on—

The door flies open under Robin’s impatient fist. Steve barely has time to yank it wider before she’s glaring up at him, arms crossed. But Steve only has one thought consuming him:

Later.

[pt. II]

[morallysuperiorlips]

10 Ways to Ensure Your Villain's Evil Monologuing Dialogue is as Unsettling as Possible!

1.) Make sure you're mixing body language with the words themselves: You can have your villain saying the most twisted shit, but if they're just standing there like a cardboard cutout, their words probably aren't going to hit as hard. Have them touch your protag. Have them toy with a weapon as if they're going to use it. Have them pace. Have them put together the blood ritual they're ranting about. Keep them moving.

2.) Have them use personal knowledge as a tool: Does your villain have some deep dark dirt on your protag? Don't let that all go in one swoop. Let them hint at it in drops before they open the dam. Maybe they use that knowledge as a bargaining tool to get an upper hand, or use it to send the trapped protag into a frenzy because they love to watch them scream.

3.) When it comes to threats, certainty is key: A threat is a threat, but there's nothing like a threat being spoken as if the villain knows it's going to happen. Whether your villain has already caught your protag, or is in the process of doing so, everything they say they want to see happen to your protag needs to come with absolute certainty. Almost as if it's a certain warning, and not just something they’re saying to be scary.

4.) Contradictions are your friend: Nothing indicates a warped villainous mind more than some juicy contradictions. Your villain might be talking about how they're going to flay your protag's hide after catching them in their dungeon, only to throw in a subtle "but, you're probably safer here with me." Find ways to toss in twisted contradictions that also underline the crazy shit they might be saying.

5.) Mess with syntax: Unsettling dialogue calls for unsettling structure. Incomplete sentences, unforeseen pauses, longwinded explanations broken up by more unforeseen pauses. Whatever it is, keep the rhythm offbeat. Don't give your reader a chance to be able to tell what's coming.

6.) Expectations? Subvert those: Your protag and even your readers might be suspecting one thing from your villain, so throw them a curveball and hit them with the complete opposite. Perhaps you've reached a point in your story where it seems like the villain might kill your protag on sight. But no, have your villain mention exactly why they aren't going to do that, and why they want to wait it out.

7.) Mix quiet confidence and loud assertion: Some might say that the silent seether is scarier, while others might agree that the sudden explosive type takes the bigger unsettling prize. In my opinion, you can really capitalize on the eeriness of villain dialogue by tapping into both. A villain that speaks on with refined confidence before very suddenly exploding, without much warning, can really power up the dread behind their words.

8.) Sometimes, ambiguity is better than being straightforward: Whether it's obvious that your villain has a lot of tricks up their sleeves--or not--leaving things to the imaginations of your protag, and subsequently, your readers is great for building dread. You can use dialogue to make it clear that they're up to something, but never make them fully disclose what that is. They might show it instead of tell it, or it might just never happen. Either way, it'll likely have everyone looking over their shoulders.

9.) There might be times where silence says everything: You might be worried about penning the correct verbiage for your villain's big evil speech, but sometimes, silence speaks wonders. When used correctly, a long pause, or a bout of silence after your protag has said their piece can build a sense of uneasiness more than them actually speaking would have.

10.) Find ways for your villain to mirror the hero: A monologuing villain is better when they're throwing your hero's values and beliefs back in their face. A hero that believes in mercy? Well, have your villain talk about how they'll make them beg for it. A hero that believes in the greater good? Have your villain talk about their idea of a greater good.

As always, GO WRITE SOMETHING TODAY! <3

[invincibledc]

ᝰ.ᐟ𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍?

────୨ৎ────

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐒!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

── .✦ Summary: obsessed clown boy versus girl boss who walks him like a dog? Wait, is that the female Robin?

── .✦ Genre: crack fic(?) idk but I wrote this

── .✦ Info: this OC is an OC I’m written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. Jack and reader are in their mid teens, 15-17. Jack is considered canonically handsome. Reader is the twin sister of Damian Wayne.

── .✦ Word count: 1,039

Being a duo, especially another Robin with your twin brother. You were patrolling Gotham in the east, sighing as you looked over the busy streets. It’s boring, but this is what you do now for a living since your mother dropped you and Damian here to meet your father.

Leaning back with a sigh, your vision was soon taken over by gloved hands. “Guess who~,” a deep raspy voice said into your ear.

Shivers ran down your spine, you pulled the hands from you, twisting the arms of the person and forcing them onto their back.

Eyes narrowed, you see the boy joker. Son of Joker and Harley Quinn. “Jack.” “Birdy~” he purrs as he pulls his arms forward. You couldn’t help but yelp, leaning forward. You were soon on the ground as well of the roof of this building.

“Isn’t it nice to just, relax with me puddin'?” Jack says gently, wrapping his arms around your waist. You stared at the boy who gave you soft puppy eyes. You.. hated him. Is what you repeat in your head despite your fingers combing through his dyed hair.

Jack knew you couldn’t resist him, and he couldn’t be with you. “Is the big bat patrolling, or did you come out to see me, sweetheart.” You hum, facing the night sky that has cloudy skies.

“The whole gang is patrolling. And if they see me cuddling up with the son of the most crazed man ever. This might not end well.” You pull your hands from his hair, Jack has already relaxed against you. He frowned at the absence of your fingers through his hair.

“Well, fuck 'em. Keep spoiling me with all your attention birdy.” Couldn’t help but laugh, you rolled your eyes as you moved from Jack. Sitting up til you fully stand.

“I love to entertain you clown boy, but I got things to do.” You said lastly before jumping off the roof. Jack grins, looking over the roof to not see you anymore.

“Damn, she’s good.”

✦

It was another night, you were defeating some goons. A tall goon came behind you, grabbing you in their big arms. Grumbling, you gritted your teeth. “Got you, you little bitch!” The male exclaims as if his favorite football team won.

But as you go to release your arms, a king card hits the goon’s left arm. The card was sharp, apparently so sharp as the male’s arm started to bleed.

“Agh!” The goon lets you go, just to try and take the card out. But you didn’t give him as much chance as you did a spinning roundhouse kick to his face. The man was then knocked out, you picked up the card that had impaled the male’s arm.

“I think that belongs to me, babe.” Feeling arms wrapped around your waist. His heavy hands gripped your hips. You jolted, turning to face Jack who had a soft grin. “You could’ve at least told me you were fighting bad guys. Then I would’ve protected what’s mine.”

Your face felt heated up as he gave your hips another squeeze. “Get off me you clown!” flaying your arms around, Jack had gotten elbowed by you. But he didn't care, he loved it.

You could have easily stabbed him, pinned him down, hurt him, or maybe even arrested him.

But you haven't.

And he loves it.

“Calm down puddin`, let me take care of you.” effortlessly, he lifts over your shoulder. Eyes widen, shocked, you look at Jack’s back, and at the knocked-out man.

“Wait! I need to tie that guy up, so Officer Gordon can get him.” pointing to the slight bleeding man. Jack sighed annoyed, his eyes relaxed and narrowed. There's one thing he hated about you, which is your empathy. He loves it, but damn was it annoying.

“Why should we, he’s just gonna try and mug someone again.” soon Jack felt a smack at his head.

“Do it now.” your voice lowered with authority. “Yes ma’am,” Jack said lastly, complying to you. He never denies his girl, if there’s one thing his mom taught him, was to always give your hardest to get what you want. And it's you.

✦

Jason and Damian hate the boy joker, mostly Jason. Jason wants to strangle Jack. Jack could try and hide, taking off his painted face and looking normally like an average boy. His blonde hair and blue eyes stared into yours as you looked completely over him.

The ‘normal’ looking boy had equipped a rose, smiling as Jason was behind you. Glaring at Jack like a protective and angry older brother.

“Get lost kid,” Jason says pointing out more. “And If I see you close to the manor, I'm shooting you.” “Jason?!” you blurted shocked at how Jason said that. Jack rolled his eyes, “whatever old man.” Jason raised a brow. “Old man?” Jack gave you the rose simply, walking off as he waved at you.

Jason slammed the door, taking the rose from you. “Of course, you get a villain’s son to fall in love with you. I can't believe this.” you chased after Jason as he ripped the flower up. “You are Bruce’s kid.” the tanned male with scars all over his body said lastly.

Scoffing, you kicked the back of his knees, having him fall onto his face. “Shut the hell up, don't try and say that shit to my face when you’re single and miserable.” you walked past his fallen body before he got up and grabbed your ankle. Leading you to scream. “AHH!! Let go!!” you screamed for the whole manor to hear.

Damian came rushing down with a katana, “Sister! I'm here, what's the problem?” “Jason’s the problem!” you exclaimed, trying to pull your leg from Jason’s tight grip. “This little shit is dating the Joker’s son!” he shouted.

“No I'm not!” you shouted at Jason with a shocked expression, your heart racing, you turned towards your twin brother who dropped his katana in shock. His jaw was wide open before he grabbed his sword and walked past you and Jason.

“Where are you doing?” you questioned Damian who went to the front door.

“I'm out to get the head of a clown.”

“DAMIAN NO!”