svmbers

[svmbers]

NATALIE SCATORCCIO 3.01 "It Girl"

[svmbers]

just can’t resist you

hiii

pairing…post-rescue!natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

in which…nat is only your friend. she plans on keeping it that way, because she swears a girl like you would never be into her.

before you read…angst with comfort. sexual and vulgar language. reader is described to be girly! nat thinks you’re straight. creepy guy being a weirdo. wc 3.4k.

the trailer smells like burnt popcorn and spilled beer.

you had burnt the popcorn; nat’s spaghetti-o-stained microwave is nearing its end, and apparently, three minutes had meant burning the kernels to a nearly inedible crisp. natalie didn’t complain, she grabbed a bowl and snacked on it with pleasure.

not surprising, she's also the same woman who picks black licorice in a candy store.

natalie had spilled the beer, knocking it over on your cherry red skirt when she moved in closer to you on her couch, peppered with small circular burn holes and fur from a stray cat she lets sleepover during stormy nights. she apologized immediately and with an insane amount of worry, like the liquid would cause you to melt.

you were fine, you told her that again and again, even when she was wiping the fabric of your skirt with the nearest dirty laundry on the floor and a rushed hand—you had grabbed hers softly with your own to stop her.

she looked at you with those gleaming puppy eyes that always made you weak.

it was a miracle you made it seven months on the dot with her—just like this. two people who somehow fit in this dull town like pieces from different puzzles, that still managed to click. natalie had even called you her friend. and she didn’t use that word lightly…it made you blush. whatever this was, it wasn’t something she could have with just anyone.

it’s special.

you are too fucking sweet, and initially that made her want to vomit.

when you fluttered your eyes at her at the diner, offering her the special pie of the day with a kind smile she didn’t commonly receive. she said ‘no,’ with a lifeless expression; the first time.

the second occasion, the ‘no,’ was spoken above a whisper. she was sitting in the corner and avoided your eyes at that time.

you didn’t pry; you had absolutely no room to. a pretty and mysterious stranger’s problems were not your own.

then came the next week, when you saw her one-of-a-kind face again. she had looked at you, all of you, from the top of your head down to the tip of your white gym shoes. you wore the same inviting smile but spoke with less cheer. natalie had to ask you what pie was on the menu; it had seemingly slipped your mind.

you served her peach pie that evening. next, blueberry. then apple on saturday. it was an unspoken routine, and no wonder why hanging out with her outside of that lonely diner came so fast.

why you’re sitting in her trailer, curled up on the worn brown couch, painting her nails.

“stop fidgeting, natalie,” you warn with no real threat, leaning in closer to angle the brush better. you just barely miss her skin, the black paint still somehow almost perfect despite the woman growing antsy. “alllmost done.”

“shit takes five years,” nat whispers, though the painting itself isn’t why she can't remain still. she’s done this shit time and time again, though less precisely. she'd leave the dark smudges and would shrug it off. natalie is unsure she’s ever even owned a bottle of nail polish remover. what is making her shift so subtly, she doesn’t even know how you notice—is your hand holding hers.

for the past half hour. so incredibly soft to her calloused. they’re consistently scraped, but natalie liked to joke with you, too much at the serious times. she’d say she fought the new jersey devil or ran into the ninja turtles. fucking stupid, and you’d laugh at it. that noise she’d kill a man to hear on repeat.

“got a date or something?” you tease her, doing the last few strokes on her pinky. there’s a strawberry shortcake band-aid on her knuckle, placed by you the night prior.

the cut wasn’t deep enough to warrant worry, just your undying care. she didn’t even feel like washing the dried-up blood off, eager to get really close to you on the sofa without saying it was cuddling. but you’re you. treating her like porcelain. it makes her sick. nauseous with hot and vile love.

but that, that wasn’t allowed. she swallows those forbidden thoughts, pissed at herself for going there again. down the route that allows her to fall for you—just to embarrass herself when you put on that over-friendly voice you first did at the diner while you reject her.

because you…you weren’t any of this. you might be the beautiful wallpaper, but not the yellowing from the smoke that left her lungs.

maybe even the angel figurine abandoned by her mother, placed on a shelf with the rest of her junk. it got damaged in a moving box, and the wings had fallen off. she’d still catch herself studying it when the sun peered through the blinds at the right time, at the right angle.

the dozens of layers of glass within it would make it reflect a rainbow. she never had time to admire that when she was younger.

you’re not a guy she picks up when she’s so pathetically lonely—while you’re probably with some country club dipshit that’ll try to make you his housewife. someone undeserving of you and everything that you divinely are. natalie could not say the same for herself—that prick she distracts from bothering the bartender isn’t all that better than her.

you are. you must know that. the idea this friendship was based on pity filled her mind constantly, but you really fucking good at making it feel genuine. something you want. she wishes you wanted more, then she thinks shes a moron for hoping for such a thing.

she states blankly, “i might. is that a problem?”

“it is if it’s another jason—or something, again,” you respond, natalie taking notice in the way you remembered his name when she’s pretty damn sure it was uttered once in a regretted mumble. he siphoned her gas the morning after. but, she doesn’t know why you even care about who she sleeps with. it irritates her.

“won’t be…” natalie says, almost bitter. you don’t seem to catch it or acknowledge it. you twist the nail polish shut and place it beside her ashtray on the oval table and continue to talk, “or what was it—michael? that literally stole your cash?”

It’s not meant to come out so ill or make natalie uncomfortable. you wouldn’t hide your disdain towards who she was into because nat had some god awful taste. she never kept the good ones, and you wondered from the little details she’s spared about her past lovers, if she was the one who pulled away.

you lean back on the couch, and natalie straightens up at the very same time. any emotion on your face drains—realizing nat is upset. it happened when you asked too many questions; she despised those.

“you keeping track or something?”

the annoyance in her tone is evident, and you’re immediately shaking your head.

“no, i just—i don’t get why you keep doing that.”

“doing what, exactly?” she asks back like it’s a challenge; it’s nat, so it is. there were few times arguments occurred between you two, they never mattered though. it was over tiny things like you making her bed when she’s ‘super capable of it.’

you were always the calmer one; you had to be.

and now, you still are, even leaning in closer with a gentle approach. your perfume hits her in the motion, a warm sugary vanilla she wants to suffocate in. then, her eyes fall to her lap when you reach over, placing your palm on her knee.

“settle for…i don't know…pieces of shit?” your voice is soft, followed by a short chuckle, an attempt to ease the newfound tension. the truth, delivered in a way that wouldn’t have her even more pissed at you.

if only.

“well,” natalie’s mouth opens before her mind can form a coherent sentence, “maybe that’s what i fucking want and you should mind your damn business.”

she barely even pauses, “not like i tell you what prissy daddy’s boy you can go fuck.”

you blink at her.

a painfully heavy silence hangs in the air, thick like the nasty humidity outside. you don’t know if the heat in your cheeks is due to the summer evening or the carelessness of her sentence, which came out so raw. as if it’s something that crosses her mind, you and another.

she angles her body away from you.

“you should go…” natalie says with a hushed voice, and you’re trying to understand why and how the moment with her had been ruined so abruptly. an innocent night tainted by something so minor. she’s right; it’s not your business. anything nat does isn’t. or who she does.

you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

“okay.”

you get up, adjusting your skirt with her guilty, watchful pupils. she gulps, following you to the door; she never let you walk out alone.

natalie brings you all the way to your car, her fists in the pockets of her ripped jeans and a cigarette already lit when you’re in the driver’s seat. only two words are exchanged. short byes.

you don’t see her the next day.

she doesn’t even stop by the diner the rest of the week. nat, honestly, feels like an asshole. and it itself is another reminder why she picks people like her—she doesn’t have to carry this unbearable weight of guilt with someone else. only you.

and maybe it’s self-punishment to avoid you.

but you hated it.

it is a cool friday night when you drive over to her place, but your knocks are left unanswered. through the cracks in the blinds, you notice it’s dim. only the orange porch light is left on. you even called out her name, worried this was nat really ignoring you.

that’s when you hear a rattling off of a car. it’s not natalie’s. there’s a headlight out, driving down the path to her trailer, the bass pounding to metallica.

you step down the stairs from her door, hugging your arms, kicking yourself for not throwing a jacket over your dress. it’s one of natalie’s favorites on you, a pale yellow that could nearly appear tea green. it’s short and thin for the heated weather, complementing the traces of your skin she sees in her dreams.

though, when the navy car parks and an unfamiliar face gets out of the driver's seat, you wish you wore something else.

natalie exits the passenger side, speed walking towards you while glancing at the dark haired man taking his time behind her. he’s eyeing you in ways that he doesn’t have the right to.

“what is this?” nat questions when she’s stood in front of you, her poorly chopped band tee lifting slightly when she puts her hands on her hips.

“i wanted to se—”

“could’ve fucking’ called, you know?”

“you wouldn’t have answ—”

“exactly,” she cuts you off for the second time, not releasing her eyes from yours, her tone sharp and mean. you have nothing to say back to her. you wish you did call and saved yourself from her hardened eyes and the wandering ones from the stranger.

a typical bar pickup. you could gag.

“is this…?” his voice is rough when he speaks, and not in the way nat’s is when she just woke up or fighting a nasty cold. it brings you shivers, especially when he points between you and natalie, then himself. he chuckles, “shit, i ain’t complaining.”

“no.”

natalie turns her head to the guy, shutting down the disgusting idea he assumed, and regretting her decision to invite him over. she mistakenly thought maybe your face would slip from her mind for the night. that’s all she fucking saw on the drive home.

if anything, she manifested you on her doorstep. she truly has no right to be so angry.

you scoff. “guess i’ll go.”

“the fun’s just starting, princess,” the man laughs through his nose, inching closer. you’re subconsciously clinging to yourself tighter and averting your gaze to the dirt you stood on. nat notices, of course she does.

her knuckles twitch.

natalie drops her purse from her shoulder, digging in the leather bag and finding her keys, placing them in your hands that just barely open in time. with a head tilt, she motions to the door. you don’t say anything, and neither does she. she’s already telling the man to start walking to his car while you’re letting yourself in the trailer.

you shut the door behind you when the yelling begins. or, the yelling begins the moment you shut the door. perhaps nat waited.

you flip the lights on, even tidying some of the mess she abandoned earlier in the day. you’re unaware that natalie has him pressed against his own car threatening his life—a rusty pocketknife taunting his manhood through his pants. she’s done worse than whatever she’d do for you.

the door opens and shuts again when your back is turned, putting a collected pile of dishes in the sink before facing her. she throws her purse on the couch, scratching the back of her head and figuring out what the hell to say. you’re first.

“really know how to pick them, nat.”

“i didn’t fucking know you were here.”

“and that changes what?” you ask her, an already defeated voice while you cross your arms in defense. you’re irritated, not just by tonight, but the fact she’s been blowing off your calls. pretending like she didn’t care and that your absence hadn’t bothered her at all. not when she can just be with someone else.

why can’t you?

“do you seriously not have somewhere better to be?” natalie takes a step closer, pupils blown and canines showing when she speaks, “get a fuckin’ boyfriend already—i know that shit isn’t hard for you.”

nat takes your breath away.

not the good kind where when her touch lingers too long while the credits roll on the tv. or when you sit next to her in the diner booth after flipping the sign on the door to closed, watching her lips curl around the fork when she’s finishing her dessert.

this is nothing like that.

her words are heavier than she surely pictured them in her chaotic brain, and it’s not as though you haven’t heard it before from nat. it’s been casually said in passing: why you’re you and how on earth you’re single.

the same way she avoided your nosy inquiries, you laughed it off sweetly, the answer lingering in the air.

“maybe i will.”

it’s spoken quietly; you almost allowed it to die on your tongue.

“good.”

her nostrils flare and her teeth grind, then the quietness of the trailer starts to swallow you both. you’re unsure if this is the part where you walk out. you fear if you do, you won't be back for a long, long time.

that was the last thing you wanted.

this is all so fucking stupid because what you want is standing a few feet away from you—with hurricane eyes that you’re drowning in the longer you hold this unspoken staring contest.

natalie chews the inside of her cheek. you fold in your bottom lip then gnaw at it, your heart picking up speed and thumping loudly in your ear. you’re both waiting for something from the other.

she’s expecting you to exit with the slam of the door behind you. nat often pictured the worst outcome first, and she's searching for the strength to prevent that. she’s so pathetically desperate for you to stay here. even if that means this awkward as fuck standoff you're having.

at least you’re looking at her through your long lashes. and she can still smell the heavenly perfume you showered in. it’s all over that pretty little dress you’re wearing. probably wore it just for her.

she mutters a ‘fuck’ to herself, squeezing her eyes tightly and running her fingers through her unbrushed hair, before looking at you again.

she says a lot without saying anything at all. the light brunching of her brown brows and her mouth parted slightly, glancing at the soft skin of your lips. you do the same to her—and she takes a timid step closer. giving you time to say something, do anything.

you don't.

then, nat is closing the space between you.

fast and at once.

her hands find your waist first, gripping the material of your dress and slightly clawing the skin beneath it. she could break the fabric, and you wouldn’t care. natalie could tear it off of you, to unrecognizable shreds, and you’d watch her with admiration.

with zero patience, she pulls you into her. one palm on the back of your head while her rough lips crash against your smooth ones. you taste like a strawberry shake, topped with your cherry chapstick that's now coating her tongue.

it's messy, but unrushed. she's simply greedy, satisfying the constant craving she’s had for you. a lazy yet precise tango with your tongue, taking you all the way in.

nat isn't the only one hungry.

you’re pushing yourself into her, taking the hand she had on your waist and traveling it down to the lower side of your back. natalie does the rest without your guidance, resting it on your ass, listening to the beautiful noise of you moaning into her mouth. you feel on fire. unable to tug away and put yourself out, her lips burn so fucking good against yours.

you've never been with someone like her. a woman you loved so intensely in your head—that she was almost the only soul you thought about. yet, you couldn't show her how you felt in all the ways you possibly imagined. and that hurt more than any heartbreak you’ve ever experienced.

to hold her hand fondly. trace love letters on the bare skin of her back. you want to give her a lovely bouquet on a random thursday morning solely because you could. you didn't need a special reason. loving her and her letting you, was enough. she'll let them die and still keep them.

little do you know, natalie had the idea first.

it’s the next saturday night when you're closing up the dead diner, a wet rag in your hand as you drag it across the counter. kate bush plays throughout the restaurant; you're humming along when the bell above the door rings. you don't pay attention, not until you hear her dramatically clearing her throat.

“i believe these are for you?”

you look up to natalie, your wrist stilling and pupils widening on the yellow lilies and pink roses wrapped neatly with brown paper at the base.

the ribbon keeping it together is pale and twisted into a pretty bow; you almost forget to speak amid the trance of admiration. she reaches out to give them to you over the counter, her own cheeks flushing red as she does so.

you take them, bringing them to the tip of your nose, breathing them in. like a thriving meadow on the world's most perfect day. when you peek at her over the flowers, you could almost giggle at the contrast from the pastel colors to her leather jacket and midnight eyeliner. that grin she's unable to hold back reminds you just how gentle nat is despite it all.

she slides onto an empty stool, and you tilt your head at her sweetly, “apple pie, on the house?”

“s' long as you're the one serving it,” natalie says lowly, elbow on the counter and holding her chin up with her fist. you roll your eyes at her, turning around and disappearing into the back. with a sway of your hips that she does not fail to notice.

when you come back out, you place a plate in front of her, humming again in harmony to the upbeat song over the radio. nat watches you walk around the counter, swiftly pulling the stool beside her closer with her foot. you don’t realize, sitting on it and allowing your knees to touch, her dark and worn denim against your sheer tights.

nat takes a bite, nodding her head in bliss.

she manages with a mouthful, “wouldn't taste this good if someone else served it.”

“you're stupid,” you playfully mumble, a fidgety hand finding her thigh, fingers fiddling with one of the many rips, twirling one of the stray threads. you wait for her, and when you look up again, she's licking the fork.

there's filling on the corner of her mouth, and you wipe it with your thumb instead of pointing it out.

embarrassed, she licks her lips, gawking at you when you slip your finger into your mouth. your teeth scrape against your skin while you suck away the delightful cinnamon. her throat dries, and she blinks dumbly—you had done it so casually. innocently.

even holding to her thigh again, tenderly, with your irises twinkling beneath the fluorescent lights.

natalie gulps. she's only had you, all of you, for a few days. and she swears you're already the death of her. a death as sweet as candy.

[svmbers]

hi i have a request! jordan li x reader where jordan tries to break up with reader to stop readers parents from refusing to pay tuition/disowning them

thanks !!!! <3

oh nonnie, thank you so much for your request! i hope i delivered and that you like it <3 also, the jordan li brainrot is still very real, so i’m always happy to get requests about them! i can’t wait for s2 in sept

———————————————————————————

It’s Because I Love You

pairing: jordan li x fem!reader (refrained from gender specific details, but my writings are generally assumed to be fem!reader since i’m female)

summary: jordan and you have been dating openly for almost a year … well, openly to everyone except your parents. when they find out you’re dating a bigender supe, they forbid you from seeing jordan and threaten to take away your tuition. jordan decides to take matters into their own hands.

content warnings: angst, transphobia, toxic parent relationships

word count: about 4.0k

notes: seeing jordan sad or in pain breaks my heart, but i’m also a sucker for angst 💔 please let me know what you guys think of this! feedback is always welcomed and appreciated <3

———————————————————————————

Godolkin University was your dream school. Ever since you found out you had powers, you’d dreamed of harnessing those powers for good at God U so you could eventually make it into The Seven. What you didn’t expect was to meet the person of your dreams as well.

You were starting your first year at God U and taking Professor Brink’s crime fighting class. You felt immensely grateful to be accepted despite only being a freshman, and you knew you had to do well to further solidify that you belonged. Which is why, when you end up with a lower than expected grade on one of your early semester assignments, you visit Brink’s office to ask him about.

Only Brink wasn’t there — his TA was. Jordan Li. That’s how you first met Jordan. They were cold and callous at first, giving you offhanded comments about how your work could be better and that you were too young to even be in the class. But as you continued to push and work harder, you proved that you did in fact belong in this class, and Jordan admired your ambition and dedication.

Jordan was slow to warm up to you at first. Even though they admired your work ethic, they’re the kind of person to not let their guard down right away. Plus, you were a freshman and they were a junior. They were in the thick of their college career while you were only getting started. But as you visited Brink’s office more and more (sometimes only as an excuse to see them), they couldn’t help but develop a soft spot for you. You two would hang out as friends, run into each other at parties, and they’d even helped you study for Brink’s tests.

During one of these study sessions, they confessed their feelings to you — which you of course reciprocated — and the two of you began dating. You were absolutely smitten, and so were they. You guys didn’t keep your relationship a secret from anyone…except for your parents.

Which brings you to where you are now. You’ve just finished up your freshman year at God U, and you’re feeling antsy about summer break. Summer break meant seeing Jordan less than usual, and it also meant having to come clean to your parents that you’re in a relationship now. If you wanted to spend time with Jordan over the summer, you couldn’t sneak around your parents, and you didn’t want to.

You’re packing up the last of your belongings in your dorm when you hear a knock at your door. You open it to see your parents standing in front of you, immediately embracing you in a hug before stepping inside. You’re happy to see them, even if you are a bit anxious about telling them how you’re no longer single.

“We’ve missed you, Y/N. You’ll have to catch us up on what’s been happening since spring break,” your mom says with a smile. You’d visited home that week of spring break, and that week felt achingly long without seeing Jordan in person. You were stuck with only texting, not wanting to reveal your relationship to your parents yet.

You weren’t ashamed of Jordan — actually, the opposite. In fact, around campus, almost everyone regarded you as a power couple. But your parents are strict when it comes to school and what goes on in your social life. They believe that school is top priority and that you shouldn’t even be thinking about dating until after you’ve graduated.

You offer your mom a sheepish smile as you continue packing up your last box before heading home.

“Yeah, I’ve missed you guys, too,” you respond, your mind overthinking every single scenario that could play out in result of telling your parents your secret. You haphazardly tape up your last box of belongings, clutching it to your chest as you make your way out of your dorm with your parents.

You’re reaching the exit to the dorm hall when Jordan simultaneously enters, their eyes lighting up when seeing you and saying your name before taking in your parents’ presence. They had come by to say one last goodbye before you left, but now they look like a deer caught in headlights. Your face flushes from anxiety and dread, knowing you can’t avoid this any longer. You go to step beside Jordan, box still clutched to your chest, when you steel yourself to look at your parents.

“Y/N? Who’s this?” your dad asks curiously, his voice a bit guarded as he takes in Jordan. Jordan is currently in their male form, and they go to shake your dad’s hand out of politeness and respect, wanting to make a good first impression.

“Hi, I’m Jordan Li,” they introduce themself, offering your mom a warm smile after shaking your dad’s hand. Your parents offer smiles back, but they both look strained. You feel your heart pounding against your ribs, wanting to be anywhere but here. Just rip off the bandaid, you think to yourself. You clear your throat and stand a bit taller, your shoulder brushing against Jordan’s.

“Um, Mom? Dad? This is Jordan. They’re my partner,” you say a bit timidly. You hate how nervous you are about introducing your partner, the person you love with your whole heart. It doesn’t seem fair to you that you can’t freely express your relationship to your parents without feeling some resistance.

Both of your parents notice the pronoun you used to describe Jordan, and they look at you apprehensively.

“They?” your dad asks, his brow furrowed. You never noticed how harsh the lines on his face are until this very moment. Jordan interjects, wanting to take some of the pressure off of you. This is about their power, after all.

“Yes, Sir. I can shift and change genders, both offering different kinds of powers depending on which form I’m in,” they explain. They’re trying to put on a brave face, but you can tell by the way they fiddle with their rings that they’re nervous. They’re always nervous when telling someone new about how they’re bigender. They seem to relax a bit when they feel your hand slip into theirs, squeezing it gently to comfort them.

Both of your parents seem flabbergasted by this. You feel dread swirl in your stomach, and you can’t help but wonder why Jordan’s power in particular would make them uncomfortable. Your parents had injected you with Compound V as a baby, just like Jordan’s parents did with them. Any power was on the table.

Your parents’ demeanors turn cold and disbelieving, and your dad lunges forward to grab your forearm, pulling you away from Jordan. “Let’s go, Y/N. We want to beat traffic so we can get home at a normal hour,” he says gruffly before turning towards Jordan one last time. “Nice meeting you, but we have to get going now.”

Your dad tugs you out of the dorm hall, your mom trailing closely behind. You whip your head around to look at Jordan, your face etched with dread and worry. Jordan is staring back at you, their face resembling a kicked puppy. Your heart aches in your chest as you try to pry out of your dad’s hand.

Your dad takes your last box from your grip and throws it into the trunk of the car with the others before rushing you into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind you. You sit there, dumbfounded, your heart racing in your chest. Your dad climbs into the driver seat while your mom slides into the passenger seat. Your mom hasn’t said a word, and your dad’s shoulders are as tense as the air feels.

“What— What the hell was that about?” you sputter with a bewildered expression, still dumbfounded by what just happened. Your dad holds up a hand as if to stop you from talking.

“Enough. I forbid you from seeing that boy— person— whatever they are— any longer. Do you understand?” your dad announces sternly, his knuckles turning white from how tight he grips the steering wheel. Your mom shifts uncomfortably in her seat but doesn’t make an effort to disagree with him.

“Is this because of school and my grades? Because I’m doing great! I made Dean’s list both semesters. Jordan even helped me study for the crime fighting class since they’re the professor’s TA,” you try to explain, your phone vibrating in your pocket. You hold off from looking at it for now, wanting to appease your parents so you can continue seeing Jordan.

“I don’t care. You know school comes first, and the fact that you’re dating someone who doesn’t know which gender they want to be tells me you’re slipping. This is ludicrous. No more seeing this person, Y/N, I mean it,” your dad responds gruffly. His tone holds such disdain that you’d never heard in him before. You knew revealing that you’re dating now would be a sore spot, but you weren’t quite expecting this.

You guffaw at him through the rearview mirror, but you can’t bring yourself to argue any further when you see the fury in his eyes. You sink into your seat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Your phone vibrates again, and you finally take it out of your pocket to check it.

Messages from Jord <3:

Is everything okay? Did I say something wrong with your parents?

They don’t like me, do they? They’re freaked out that I’m bigender.

You feel your heart drop to your feet as you wipe a stray tear away from your eyes. God, this is so fucked up. Why couldn’t your parents just let you be happy? Your thumbs fly across your screen as you reply back, wanting nothing more than to be with Jordan instead of in this stupid car.

You didn’t say anything wrong, Jord. You were so polite and respectful. I’m so sorry they acted like that. I knew they’d be apprehensive about me dating, but I didn’t know they’d go to this extreme.

Your teeth worry your bottom lip as you press send, awaiting a response. When you don’t hear back from them right away, you don’t let yourself panic. They’re probably just needing some time to debrief and clear their head after this experience. But when you make it back home a few hours later with still no response, you start to worry.

Jord? Are you okay? Please respond when you get this, I want to know you’re alright.

You hadn’t spoken to your parents the rest of that car ride home. The tension in the air was palpable and thick, practically suffocating. As soon as you made it home, you rushed to bring all of your stuff inside to your bedroom, wanting to isolate yourself and avoid your parents as quickly as possible. Now you’re sitting on your bed, shaking your leg anxiously as you await a reply from Jordan.

Instead of texting you back, they call you. You breathe a sigh of relief before accepting the call, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Oh, my God, Jord, are you okay? I was so worried,” you murmur when you answer the phone. Your voice is shaking from the adrenaline of everything that’s happened today. You hear Jordan breathe through the other line.

“I’m fine. I just needed some time to think. Are you okay? Your dad pulled you away so quickly,” they respond, their voice sounding conflicted and raw. You wonder if they’d been crying.

“Not really. My parents — or rather, my dad — forbid me from seeing you anymore,” you explain, your voice starting to crack as you replay the conversation in your mind.

“I don’t get them, Jord, I just don’t. My grades are fine, so why can’t they just want me to be happy? They’re out of their minds if they think they can stop me from being with you.” You hear shuffling through the receiver before Jordan speaks again.

“They— They forbid you from seeing me?” they ask, their voice sounding choked up. Your heart aches as you imagine their brown, baby cow eyes looking so sad.

“Listen, baby, it doesn’t matter, okay? I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions,” you try to reassure them, your voice soft and comforting. They clear their throat before speaking again.

“So we have to go back to sneaking around them,” they state rather than ask, their voice sounding defeated. You run a hand through your hair as you sigh, wanting nothing more than to be physically next to them instead of being separated by a phone.

“I guess so,” you murmur. Your lips twist as you fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“But we can make this work, okay? I’m not losing you,” you state, trying your hardest to keep your voice from wavering.

“Yeah. Okay. I don’t want to lose you either,” they respond after a moment. You can tell they’re feeling insecure and conflicted about all of this, and it makes your heart clench. You both eventually say goodbye to each other and hang up. A dull headache is starting to form in the middle of your eyebrows from how much you want to cry.

We’ll make it through this. It’ll be okay, you think to yourself as you drift to sleep that night.

———————————————————————————

It’s been a few weeks since that car ride home with your parents. You’ve spent the beginning of the summer walking on eggshells around your parents — especially your dad — so as to not get into any more arguments. Dinners as a family were tense. Your dad’s face was still set in those hard lines, and your mom looks between the both of you to see which will break the quiet first.

Your mom has been kinder than your dad about everything, but still not as supportive as you’d hoped she’d be.

“Think about your grades, sweetheart. You don’t need any kinds of distractions,” she’d said. It’s like she’s trying to be Switzerland in all of this, to appease both you and your dad. It’s not working.

Text conversations with Jordan haven’t been enough to hold you over from seeing them in person. You’d made plans one night shortly after everything happened to secretly meet each other at a park close to the both of you, and you both could barely keep your hands off of each other when first seeing each other.

“Y/N, I hate that we have to sneak around your parents,” Jordan had said that night, their face crumbling as their voice sounded defeated again. They’re feeling insecure, and they know part of the reason your parents forbid you from seeing them is because they’re bigender. They’d said this in their female form, and you ran your fingers soothingly through their short hair.

“I know. Me too. I wish they were supportive of us. But their opinions don’t matter, okay? I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured softly, your voice gentle as you bring them into a hug.

You got home late that night, and your mom was still awake, sitting in the kitchen. You’d told her you were hanging out with your best friend, but she looked at you suspiciously, like she didn’t believe you. Still, she didn’t say anything as you headed up to bed.

Tonight, your parents are going out of town for their anniversary, leaving you home alone for the weekend. You’d let Jordan know, inviting them over to stay with you while they were gone. What your parents don’t know won’t hurt them. Your mom and dad pack up the car with their bags and head off onto the road after telling you goodbye.

Things with your dad have started to calm down, relieving some of the tension that’d been hanging around the house for weeks. You made sure you knew when your parents would be back so Jordan could leave before then, not wanting them to catch you guys.

Jordan arrives, overnight bag in hand, and immediately pulls you into a hug, lifting your feet off the ground and spinning you briefly. You giggle softly in their ear, feeling ecstatic that they’re with you.

“God, I’ve missed you so much,” they mumble into your neck, pressing a kiss to your soft skin. You shiver and feel butterflies swarm your tummy — lovesick. Nothing that feels this right could ever be wrong.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you murmur back. You pull away to look at them, a big smile on your face.

“Let’s drop your stuff off in my room, then we can settle in for the night and have a movie marathon,” your tone is jovial but suggestive, and Jordan’s eyes twinkle with amusement.

“I can get into that,” they smirk, walking with you to your room. They plop their bag down on your bed as you linger behind them in the doorway.

You both can’t help yourselves in this moment, the tension in the air thick, because you’re suddenly moving them to sit on your bed as you straddle their hips, pulling them into a deep kiss. Their strong arms loop around your waist, fingers fisting the fabric of your shirt as if to keep you close.

Your hands tangle through their inky locks, tugging softly at the roots and causing them to gasp into your mouth. You smirk, the kiss growing deeper.

“What the hell is going on here?” you suddenly hear your dad shout, his voice booming. You jump and scurry off of Jordan’s lap, your lips pink and swollen as you’re slightly out of breath. Jordan’s cheeks are red, looking mortified and guilty.

“Dad! I thought you guys were away for the weekend?” you ask, voice high pitched from shock. Your mom lingers behind your dad in the hallway, her eyes showing disappointment. You feel sick.

“Our plans were cancelled. Don’t try and change the subject. What did I tell you, Y/N? I forbid you from seeing—,” your dad pauses, jerking his hand in Jordan’s direction, “and you purposely go against me?” Your dad’s voice is loud. Scary. Practically shaking with fury and rage. Tears burn your eyes as you blink them back, not wanting to cry in front of everyone.

“I love them, Dad. I’m an adult. You can’t stop me from being with who I want.” Your heart is pounding against your chest, and you swear everyone can hear it. Your jaw clenches, moving to stand in front of Jordan so they don’t have to look at your dad’s stony face.

“Oh, you’re an adult, huh? Then good luck paying the rest of your way through college. Godolkin University isn’t cheap, Y/N, and I refuse to pay your way through if you’re going to continue seeing… them,” your dad threatens. He’s so full of disdain, his heart probably black and unfeeling.

It wasn’t the money part that made you despise your dad in this moment. It was how disrespectful they talked about Jordan, especially when they’re sitting right behind you, hearing everything. You look over to your mom, and her eyes are glassy. But she doesn’t interfere or stand up for you and Jordan. Coward.

You grab Jordan’s hand and their overnight bag, pulling them out of your room. Past your dad, past your mom, past everything in this house that’s linked to your parents. The door slams shut behind you as you both stand in your driveway. Silent tears managed to slip down your cheeks. You’re furious.

“Jordan, baby, I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry. If I had known they’d come back—,” Jordan interrupts you, softly putting their hand on your arm.

“It’s okay. You didn’t know,” they murmur. They have a far away look in their eyes, one you didn’t like. Jaw clenching, you narrow your eyes at them, studying them.

“What?” you ask, voice strained from distress. You cup their jaw, wanting them to look at you.

“Baby, what?” you ask again.

Jordan looks down at you, their eyes solemn and heartbroken. No. Their jaw clenches before they finally have the courage to speak, the next words out of their mouth feeling like a punch to the gut.

“I think we should break up,” they whisper, eyes glancing away from you again as if it physically hurts to look at you.

Your lips part, your heart cracking in your ribs. You immediately shake your head and cup their jaw a little tighter, trying to get them to look at you once more.

“No. No, Jord, please don’t do this. I love you,” you plead, your voice small and thick with tears. They pull away from you, their own face twisting in pain.

“I can’t be what comes between you and your parents. I can’t let them take away your tuition. You deserve to be at God U more than anyone I know. I won’t let them take that away from you just because of me,” they say. They sound determined, but heartbroken. You know they must be feeling insecure and conflicted while you feel like the entire world has been pulled out from underneath you.

Your hands fall to your sides, dumbfounded by their words. You should feel pride at their praise, at how they think you deserve to be at God U more than anyone, but you only feel how horribly your chest hurts. Shaking your head, you step towards them again. You look like a kicked puppy, doe eyed and in agony.

“Please don’t do this, baby, I can figure something else out! I can work my way through school; I don’t care. As long as I’m with you,” you plead. Their face crumbles as they hear your words, taking another step back.

“This is for your own good, Y/N. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I can’t get in the way of your dreams.” They run their hand through their hair with a bated breath, looking as absolutely ruined as you feel on the inside.

“I love you. And it’s because I love you that I have to walk away.”

Your chin trembles as you watch them head to their car, throwing their bag into the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel. The door slams as the engine roars to life. They glance at you one last time through the rearview mirror before pulling out of your driveway, taking a part of you with them.

You feel numb as you walk back into the house. It’s the type of heartbreak where tears won’t form, no matter how much you feel like you need to cry. Your mom is in the kitchen, her eyes wide and concerned as she takes in your expression. She looks guilty, like she regrets letting everything happen. She walks to hug you, but you brush her off.

Your dad had already retreated to his room, the door closed shut. Good. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him right now. You enter your room — the same room you’d just been so happy to be in with Jordan — and collapse onto your bed. Their cologne had already made home in the air, leaving your senses haunted by their memory.

Jordan’s gone. They cut ties with you in hopes of making you happy, of following your dreams at God U. But how can you be happy at God U if they’re not by your side anymore? How are you going to face them in the halls?

You isolate yourself in your room, shielding yourself from the outside world. Jordan is no longer yours. All that’s left of them is the photographs you share, the gifts they’d gotten you, and their scent lingering in the air. They’re a haunting presence in your life now, only existing to remind you of what could have been.

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you guys, things are happening! fics are being written! thank you to everyone who has sent in requests already, they mean to world to me considering i’ve only posted one fic so far <3

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being a nat stan is like…. seeing this amazingly complex character with more baggage than you can imagine for the first time and thinking “wow i really love her and i can’t wait to see more of her! i’m so glad she survived!”

and then you watch her go through the nastiest most horrific shit past AND present day…THEN SHE DIES. and then you think “this cannot POSSIBLY get worse for me….she’s DEAD. she DIED when she FINALLY WANTED TO LIVE…VIA FENTANYL…WHEN SHE WAS CLEAN. HER DEATH WAS RULED AN OVERDOSE WHEN SHE WAS FINALLY CLEAN AND MAKING PEACE WITH HERSELF. HOW COULD THIS POSSIBLY GET WORSE FOR ME?”

and then season 3 comes out…and you’re forced to watch her younger self go through shit that SOMEHOW makes her HORRIFIC DEATH look PEACEFUL. she is FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE left and right and just when you think “okay this is the worst of it” IT SOMEHOW GETS WORSE.

anyways….safe to say we deserved the satisfaction of this episode. she finally caught a fucking win.

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stop, this is so painful 😭

S3E9 "HOW THE STORY ENDS" x S2E7 "BURIAL"

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please send me requests! i promise i’m very nice <3

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I adore that Nat is canonically a terrible driver. She's even got Misty holding on to the dashboard for dear life.

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Have Your Back if You Have Mine

pairing: natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

summary: your best friend Natalie helps you when you’re feeling down. based off the lyrics from the song Chlorine by Julia Wolf :)

word count: 1.5k

cw: none? this is pretty much just fluff/slight pining.

notes: eeek my first fic! i hope you guys like it :) also nocrash!au because I said so. my baby Nat deserves peace

———————————————————————————

You had been having a pretty hard time lately. Even though your school career was finally finished — with above average grades — and you had all the time in the world to figure out what you wanted to do, you were still in a bit of a rut, not knowing your next move. Because of this, you stopped going out as much or responding to texts. You found that your safe haven from your overwhelming thoughts was isolating yourself in your room.

You live in a trailer park in Wiskayok, the same place where Natalie Scatorccio lives. Due to your close proximity since childhood, you two grew thick as thieves and have been attached at the hip ever since. Summers had been about making your own fun. Filling up tubs with water to make a pool in the backyard when you both were younger turned into sneaking out to the recreational pool after closing to swim by yourselves.

Natalie has been trying for days to get ahold of you, texting you constantly. You feel bad for ghosting her, but your mind can’t seem to shut off. Not only are your anxieties about your future, they’re also about your secret feelings for your best friend.

Texts from Raccoon 🦝 :

Mon. 11:38 a.m.: Hey, what’re you up to?

Mon. 12:35 p.m.: Want to hang out?

Tues. 10:46 a.m.: Hello?

Wed. 11:52 a.m.: Is everything okay?

Thurs. 6:26 p.m.: Okay, I’m this close to barging through your front door, and I don’t think your mom would like that.

And like clockwork, you hear a knock at your front door not even ten minutes later, followed by your mom yelling to you that Natalie is here. You groan and shove your pillow over your head, the anxious thoughts still swirling in your mind. You’re wearing a hoodie that swallows your figure, hiding your hands in your sleeves. You hear a knock at your bedroom door.

“Hey, it’s me. Open up,” Natalie says, her voice sounding agitated and concerned. When you don’t immediately open the door, she persists her knocking until you finally roll your eyes and swing it open, presenting the bleach blonde. She takes you in, dark circles and all, and abruptly brushes past you into your room.

“You look like hell. Why haven’t you texted me back?” she asks bluntly, her brow furrowed. She sits on the edge of your bed, taking one of your stuffed animals into her lap and fidgeting with the fabric. Her eyes are outlined in her signature eyeliner, and she’s wearing her usual combat boots, a stark difference to the adorable stuffed animal in her hands.

“I haven’t felt like texting. Sorry,” you murmur, your eyes looking down to your feet in the carpet to avoid her gaze. You can feel Natalie’s eyes boring into you, and you awkwardly shift your weight on your feet. It’s like she can see right through you. She regards you, taking in your anxious demeanor and contemplating something, before finally standing up and tossing the stuffed animal in her ringed hands back onto your bed.

“C’mon. We’re going for a walk,” she states, her tone leaving no room for argument. She grabs your arm and pulls you through your house and out the front door, both of you saying goodbye to your mom on the way out. Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you walk along the streets of the trailer park, streetlights already cutting on as evening approaches.

The flip flops you’re wearing provide little protection from the gravelly roads, causing rocks to scrape your feet. You feel Natalie glancing at you, her green eyes concerned. She pokes you in your arm to grab your attention.

“What’s going on with you? You seem off,” she inquires, her tone gentle despite her words sounding blunt. You meet her gaze and shrug, unsure of how to put what you’re feeling into words. But you try for her.

“Do you ever feel like life is going by too fast? That you’re just waiting for life to happen or figure itself out one day, but that day ends up never coming because all of the sudden you missed your opportunity?” you murmur in thought, your brows furrowing and nose scrunching as you glance at the stars slowly appearing in the sunset. You kick your heels against the road, causing more gravel to stick to your feet.

Natalie takes a moment to think over your words, trying to comprehend what you mean. If she understands, she doesn’t say anything, instead opting to nudge you in your side with her elbow. She has a mischievous smile on her face, her teeth digging into her lower lip.

“You know what would be fun right now? Sneaking into the pool. C’mon, you could use some fun to get you out of your head,” she insists, her tone jovial and caring. You let out a chuckle, your shoulders deflating at the idea. It actually does sound like fun.

The recreational pool is just down the street from the trailer park. You both cut through lawns to make it to the fence surrounding the pool, climbing over it to get in. You land on the concrete with a soft thud and kick off your flip flops. You’re still wearing your oversized hoodie when you think better of it and discard it with your shoes, leaving you in shorts and a T-shirt.

Natalie pads over to the edge of the pool, the underwater lights cutting on now that the sunset is beginning to fade into night. She beckons you over, assuming you’ll both just sit on the edge with your feet in. But when you make it over to her, she pushes you into the deep end with a big smile, laughing when your head resurfaces from underwater.

“Nat! Are you kidding?!” you exclaim, a scowl gracing your features. She’s still laughing when she jumps in after you, clothes and all. She resurfaces and rolls her eyes playfully when she sees she’s still met with your scrunched face.

“Loosen up, y/n! It’s summer! You need to get out of that pretty head of yours,” she says with a playful smirk, gently tapping your forehead. You glare at her, trying not to give in and smile just yet.

“Yeah, but now my clothes are full of chlorine,” you mutter, crossing your arms underwater. The sight both endears and amuses Natalie, making her snort.

“Just wring them out when you get out, it’ll be fine,” she persuades, wanting you to have fun. You finally relent and sigh, leaning to float on your back in the water. You see the stars in their full glory now, and you allow yourself to be in the moment for the first time in a while. After what feels like a lifetime, you stand up straight to ease your spine and look at her, a genuine smile gracing your features.

“How do you always manage to get me out of my moods?” you ask her, your expression and tone fond of the girl in front of you. She shrugs with a pleased smile, floating slightly in the water.

“We have each other’s back, right? We’ve always been that way,” she murmurs thoughtfully, like the answer to your question is obvious. You feel your heart swell in your ribs, and even though Natalie is your best friend, you can’t help but always feel something a little more for her, even if it’s secret.

“Right,” you nod in agreement, your smile almost lovesick as you look at her. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything, continuing to float in the artificially lit water. You guys stay in the pool for hours, watching the stars and talking about the future. She helps ease your anxieties, making you laugh and feel better about how life’s moving.

You both eventually walk back to the trailer park, wringing out your hair and clothes as best as you can before you make it to your homes. She stops with you outside your house, taking you in and raising a concerned brow as she fiddles with her rings.

“You gonna be okay?” she asks softly. You nod and give her a gracious smile, appreciating her warmth and kindness despite being distant lately.

“Yeah. See you soon?” you peer at her through your lashes as you wring out the last of the water from your hair. She nods and reaches a hand out to your shoulder.

“Yeah. Don’t pull that ‘not texting me back’ shit again, okay? I don’t like it,” she says, trying to appear tough while still being vulnerable for her. You chuckle and nod, giving her an apologetic smile.

“Never again,” you murmur. With that, you bid each other farewell for the night.

When you make it back to your room, you look out your window that had been cracked open for fresh air, watching Natalie make her way to her house. Your heart flutters, and you hope one day you can tell her the truth about how you really feel.

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poor bbs :(

JACKIE TAYLOR & NATALIE SCATORCCIO Yellowjackets — 1x01 "Pilot" | 2x03 "Digestif"

[svmbers]

a warm body

Stranger Things x Horror Movie Collection

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

13.7K words

warnings - sexual allusions lol!, descriptions of wounds/violence (blood n gore n such), bimbo reader bimbo reader <3, jennifer’s body au

summary - You drag Robin to The Hideout in hopes of fulfilling your fantasy of hooking up with a boy in a band. Hijinks ensue and suddenly you’re a succubus that only your bestest friend can satiate.

“Hey, we’ve gotta go to The Hideout tonight.”

“Ew,” Robin gags, “Enough of Munson, okay? I’m sick of going to their gigs.”

“It’ll be fun,” you pout and lean your head against the locker next to Robin’s, “besides, there’s a new band showing up today. Heard it straight from Gareth in the lunch line - Bombed Grave, or some shit. Should be good.”

“Oh my God,” Robin shakes her head, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, “You need to get over this fantasy of being a groupie, it’ll get you killed.”

“It will not get me killed, it’s just a one-time thing, you know?” you fiddle with one of the rings Robin had gifted you a couple of years back, “Some stupid boy in a stupid band and me, just once. It’d be fun. And then it’s over.”

You shrug like it’s simple - like you’re talking about a piercing.

“Well, as long as I’m here - no stupid boy from a shitty band is getting anywhere near you,” Robin grins sardonically.

“Hey,” you stick out your bottom lip, elbowing Robin in the side, “I’m a big girl now, I can take care of myself, Rob,” then just to tease, you throw out, “Mom.”

“Don’t call me ‘Mom’,” she groans.

“Then don’t act like I need a savior,” you look away, immediately finding the gaggle of math club members staring at you.

Robin watches as you wave and giggle and they nervously return the gesture.

Robin hates to call you an airhead, but sometimes you didn’t think things through. Going to The Hideout every Tuesday in an effort to sleep with a band member, she suspected, was one of them.

“Fine, okay,” Robin doesn’t know why she puts up a fight anymore, she always gives in. Perhaps it’s just the illusion of debate - the back-and-forth - that she likes, “I’ll go. And I won’t be your little savior.”

“Okay, then!” you perk up, reaching into the collar of your cheer uniform and pulling out your half of a BFF magnet necklace.

It was your part of a heart-shaped strawberry charm. You held it out proudly and Robin, despite how much she’d pretend to hate it, couldn’t help but pull out her own half. She connects your pieces and watches you light up at the way they click.

“I’ll drive you home to drop off your shit and change,” you pause, narrowing your lashes, “And I need to borrow a shirt,” she raises a brow and you just shrug, “People dig the short cheer skirt, but the uniform top makes it a little too real.”

“Gross,” Robin shuts her locker as the minute bell shrills.

“Uber,” you bump her shoulder with yours, “‘kay, I gotta go. See ya!”

“See you later!” she sighs once you’ve left.

What shirt could she possibly lend you that you didn’t already steal?

Every cute shirt - or article of clothing period - she owned was most likely already stashed in your closet. Not that Robin necessarily minded, it isn’t like she wore those clothes very often (or at all) anyway.

Robin has no fucking clue how you and her stayed friends after elementary school. She was adopted by the Hawkins’ middle school band and you became one of their beloved cheerleaders. Your rise to popularity was swift and unmatched by even King Steve himself and even now, you haven’t fallen from your pedestal.

She assumes it’s because you, unlike most other popular kids, are actually really nice. Chrissy Cunningham is your cheer co-captain and if it weren’t for Robin, you two would be the most iconic duo since Sonny Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs.

Now, as you’re both seniors, Robin remains a band geek, and you queen of Hawkins High (if not all of Hawkins itself), and you two are still tied at the hip.

Seriously, how Robin is your little friend after X amount of years, is an absolute cold case to her, but she’s not about to give it up.

So, Robin just bites her tongue and goes to her Spanish 3-4.

“No, no, no, no,” you pause your cycling through clothes and Robin looks up from her peeling black nail polish, your head is tilted and you pull out whatever has caught your eye, “When’d you get this?”

Robin’s cheeks flush and she huffs, reaching out to rip the offending sweater from your hands, “Oh my God, just put it down!”

“No!” you whine, clutching the pink fabric to your chest, “It’s adorable. I like it.”

You hold the sweater up. Robin usually buys her clothes in bigger sizes than what she actually is, that’s why you like borrowing her clothes - it’s rare to find something of hers that won’t fit you too.

It was something you’d have to work with - just a plain pink sweater with red hearts. And it’s not like it’d go with your cheer skirt.

You throw the garment over one shoulder and move to where Robin stored the skirts she doesn’t wear anymore.

“See, this always happens,” Robin rolls her eyes, all in good fun, and leans back on her elbows, “‘Just a shirt,’” she mocks, “You’re a little thief.”

“Whatever,” you chuckle and pull out a short, black skirt, “As if you were gonna wear these.”

“It’s the principal of the matter,” Robin stands, sighing loudly and draping her arms around your shoulders.

“Okay, turn so I can change,” when she doesn’t move, you shrug, “Fine. Don’t.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Robin has ever seen you change, but it never fails to make her squawk and cover her eyes before giving up. You’d be lying if you said that her watching you change never sent a spark through you.

“What’s even your plan?” Robin tilts her head, trying her absolute damndest to keep her eyes above your collarbones, “Hook up with who? The guitarist or the singer? And then what? Just go after a painter?”

“I dunno,” you grin, “Maybe I’ll keep chasing bands. Maybe it isn’t a regular guy I want, but Eddie Munson, and now I’m just trying to fill the void,” Robin wretches dramatically, “Okay, okay. I’m kidding.”

Eddie’s nice. You don’t have a reason to dislike him, you just didn’t think he was your type beyond a quick fantasy. Not that you spend all day thinking about how he isn’t your type, mainly because if you do that then you have to confront what - or rather, who - is your type.

“What about after, though? Are you still gonna drag me around so you can screw with guys who don’t deserve you?”

“Haven’t thought much about it,” you move to look yourself over in Robin’s full body mirror, “Best friend approval?”

Robin hums as if thinking, eyes narrowing and lips pressing thinly before she ultimately nods, “Best friend approves.”

“Yay,” you cheer under your breath, grabbing your purse from her vanity and skipping over to her bedroom door, “Ready?”

She looks around as if there’s anything of importance that she could possibly be leaving behind. Everything she needs is already at the door, ready to flutter out and right into the arms of some guitarist. Or vocalist. Anyone but the drummer.

“Maybe the drummer,” you announce to Robin, parking in front of The Hideout.

“How low will you go?” she gasps, scandalized, then giggles when you shoot her a glare, “I’m just saying, bunny, it isn’t that big a deal if you go with the drummer instead of the guitarist. I bet 99% of people won’t even know who you’re talking about if you tell them who you’re with. Just saying.”

“You know what I think?”

The both of you climb out of your car and Robin tilts her head, watching as you wait to hear your doors lock.

“Hm?”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to get out there.”

Robin scoffs and you bounce up to the door, lugging it open for Robin to enter the dingy, dim, dank bar.

You see Eddie immediately and Robin hates to say how jealous it makes her when you squeal and throw yourself on him with a giggly, “hi, Eds!”

“Hey, bubble-brain,” his eyes flick to Robin, “Someone’s outta their element.”

“Huh?” you rear back and nod, “Oh! Yeah.”

Robin tries smiling at Eddie, but it comes out strained, her hands packed in her pockets and clenching tightly. Her rings indent her skin and she can feel her teeth digging into the thin stretch of skin inside her cheek.

“Hey,” you reach into her coat pocket and take her hand, “if you really don’t wanna be here, we can go.”

She considers it.

Honestly? Honestly - she’d rather be back at her house, with you. Eating ice cream with bad romcoms stuffed full of cliches she makes fun of but always cries to at the end. With you, though. It’s only worth it if it’s with you.

“I’m fine,” she looks over at the bar, then past your shoulder, “You go look for your boy toy,” her brows shoot up at Eddie, “Munson, wanna help a girl out?”

“I’d be honored,” he bows and you peck Robin’s cheek appreciatively before bounding further into the bar. Eddie is observant - it’s one of the things Robin hates most about him - and he pulls out a fake ID while staring right at her.

The bartender knows Eddie - hell, everyone in town knows Eddie - and she knows that he’s only twenty. But hey, then again, he’s twenty and it isn’t like she’s being pressed to card the people they serve anyway. Because nobody even gives a fuck.

“What’s your damage, dingus?” Robin can hear how tired she sounds but there’s no room for her to try and pretend she’s anything else, “Staring’s rude.”

Eddie orders before looking down at Robin, “I think you should get it over with and just take her home.”

“You’re crazy!” she swats his shoulder, “Also, shut up.”

Eddie finding out Robin is a lesbian was a massive accident. She didn’t know he was behind her and Steve during Ferris Bueller and kept whispering about how hot Ally Sheedy was. It was way after hours at Starcourt, how was she supposed to know anyone else was there?

But he kept her secret.

“I’m just saying,” Eddie hands over a glass ripe with condensation, “You’re gonna watch her flirt her cute little sweater off with some douche, and then you’re gonna whine and ask me to drive you home. ‘Cuz if you go with her, she’s gonna drop you off and you’ll have to walk through the door alone knowing the one you love is about to get her shit rocked.”

Robin stares down at the cocktail. If she was a little smarter, she would’ve asked what it was before taking it. It’s clear, if a little auburn. Just a tad.

She doesn’t even know what to say, “It’s my sweater. She’s ‘borrowing’ it.”

Eddie coos, pouts, and pats her head, “Poor thing. You’re so fucked.”

Robin takes a cautious sip of the cocktail and her face immediately screws up, she gags and holds the glass away as Eddie laughs, “Dude, what the hell is this?”

“Moscow mule,” he clinks his glass to hers, “Vodka. Ginger. Lime. Enjoy and don’t drink it too fast.”

“Won’t be an issue!” she huffs, watching his stupid vest’s stupid Dio back design disappear into the crowd, “Atthay assholeyay.”

She takes another sip, somehow more careful than last time, and that’s when she sees you. You’re talking up the lead singer of the other band and he’s eating it up because who wouldn’t?

You’re sweet and, yeah, simple, but you’re more than that. You’re not just a best friend, you’re her one. Her person. The Nancy to her Margaret. The burger to her fries. The Shaggy to her Scooby. You two are Wham! You stay up until midnight just to call and wish her a happy birthday. She holds back your hair and helps you out of your heels when you go overboard at your popular friends’ lame parties. You feed each other soup when the other is sick.

You try really hard. All the time. Doesn’t matter what it is. School, cheer, dressing, befriending, shopping, whatever it may be - you try like someone will die if you fail. It’s intense and admirable to her at the same time.

And right now, you’re trying really hard to get the singer to like you. Robin would bet her entire college fund that it’s working, too.

So she stays out of your way and pretends that seeing that stupid guy’s hands pet over her sweater on your body doesn’t make her silently languish.

This time, her drag of Moscow mule is longer. Stronger. And she thinks that somewhere in the back of her head, or perhaps the back of the bar, Eddie is laughing.

“They’re not good,” Robin mutters as soon as you’re back at her side.

You wrap an arm around hers, yanking her shoulder into your chest, “Yeah…” you sigh, “but he’ll do. Not like he’s gonna be my boyfriend after this or anything, so no need to pretend.”

Robin has hated every single one of your boyfriends.

“You, uh,” she swallows the marble in her throat, “you giving him a ride?”

You giggle and she groans, “Jeez, Rob, talk about forward.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she tosses her head back and when you just keep laughing, it’s almost like things are how they should be.

Then your cheek presses to hers and you nod, “You need a ride home?”

“No,” she clenches her eyes shut, “Munson said he’d give me one.”

“Aw, he’s such a sweetheart,” you pull away, one hand wrapping around hers, “Call me if you need anything, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Robin watches you reapply her favorite gloss that you own, “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“Impossible,” you search the crowd and wave over your beau for the night, “Seriously, though. I’m a ring away. Maybe just gimme an hour or two before you have an emergency.”

“Sure,” Robin knows she’s being curt, but it’s not like she can help it. She can, but she shouldn’t. If she talks in longer sentences then everything will come loose and all her secrets will be like a rippling wound.

Eddie hangs an arm over Robin’s shoulders and laughs in her ear, “Hmm, did I get it word for word? Or did I get it word for word? I need to be reminded.”

“Shut up and get me another, Munson,” Robin shoves her glass into his chest.

To her, boys were ugly, red, agitated zits (except maybe Steve, who was a smaller, healing zit). To you, they were momentary fun when Hawkins felt a little dry. If she wasn’t so desperately wishing she could be the boy you give a ride, then maybe she’d be happy for you.

You wait for your car’s heater to thaw at Hawkins’ chilled night air before pulling away from the bar, “Your place or mine?”

“Actually,” the singer, Robbie he’d told you, lays a hand on your thigh. Toothy grin and pink lips on display, “there’s this cute little place in the woods. Think you’d like it.”

Robin didn’t like drinking. It gave her a headache and made her stink. Made her have to sneak back into her room just to avoid her parents finding out. Made her mind somehow less aware of her words.

So she laid in bed - face down in sunset sheets and stripped to her shirt and underwear - with one hand on the bedside table phone. Her fingers were wound tight around the receiver in a wavering display of determination. She wants to call you.

Make sure you got home safe. Make sure that idiot didn’t hurt you. Make sure you’d sleep well.

But you’re probably busy, so she also wants to leave it be.

Her fingers don’t move though, and when the sheets grow too hot with her breath being shot back in her face, she angles her head to the side. Her hair falls into her eyes and over her cheeks; she can’t be bothered to fix any of it, so it remains.

Fuck it.

You said to call, right? You want her to be able to call, right? Yeah, of course, you do. Robin knows you well, and she knows you don’t say things you don’t mean.

So she picks up the receiver and her fingers fly about the numbers in muscle memory. Turning onto her back, Robin blinks up at the ceiling as the phone rings.

A few streets down, your bedroom window is still open from when you forgot to close it before school. Inside your bedroom is an egg-shell white nightstand on the side of your bed not pressed to a wall. On the nightstand is a bubblegum pink phone gifted to you by your parents. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Robin blows a stray hair from where it’d tangled into her lashes.

Four times.

The line beeps and your family’s voicemail message plays.

She slams the receiver down and picks it back up. You usually don’t let the phone ring more than twice - even if you don’t want to take a call; you have the balls to either pick up and say so or simply pick up the phone and immediately hang up. So she dials your number again and sighs.

A handful of blocks away, there’s a forest that hides Lover’s Lake. A few miles from Lover’s Lake is Skull Rock. Against the side of Skull Rock is a young girl - you, in a torn pink sweater that wasn’t even yours - bound and screaming through a gag. You watch, wide-eyed and seconds away from pissing yourself, as Robbie unsheathes a knife, his drummer readies a printed prayer to Satan.

In your bedroom, a pretty pink phone sends its unlucky caller right back to voicemail.

Robin groans, scratching at her stomach, and lets the receiver tumble back into place.

She debates calling again. You probably aren’t even home.

You probably aren’t even home.

The thought makes her turn back onto her stomach and groan louder into her pillow.

The night is dark and cold. Robin hates the cold. It reminds her of the dead - of how her Aunt Shauna looked so pale and plastic in her casket. Young Robin made the mistake of touching Aunt Shauna’s hand and now teenage Robin has to deal with the consequences.

It’s agony.

She awakes with a shiver and looks to where her peachy curtains are dancing gently in the wind from an open window. Of which, she was sure she shut.

Robin rises from bed and yawns, one hand on the window frame and the other rubbing at her drool-crusted cheek. Just as she goes to shut the window, she sees it - right on the ledge of the frame are two big bloody handprints.

That’s when she wakes up a little more - realizes that her bedroom door was open when it’s normally shut. She hears it then, too, the rustling in her kitchen downstairs.

Someone’s inside.

Robin scurries to her closet and pulls out the bat full of nails that Steve insisted she keep for him. Her bare feet touch cold wood and her legs shake as she makes her way to the kitchen. The lighting there is limited to the bulb inside the fridge.

There’s more rustling. Things unwrapping and ripping open. Tupperware lids thrown across the tile and the sounds of something - an animal - eating straight out of the containers.

She wants to run, but her parents are upstairs and even if they don’t get along at the best of times, she’s not going to let them be attacked by… by…

There’s a sharp gasp of pain and her resolve is wavering.

Then the thing comes up, and it casts a human shadow on the wall opposite the fridge. A feminine silhouette dances across the ugly pistachio paint.

A croak. A cough. A call.

“Rob…in?”

It’s broken and pained and inhuman, but it’s your voice. Undoubtedly.

Robin’s bat clatters to the ground, just narrowly missing her feet and she runs into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” she clasps her hands over her mouth, eyes wide at the sight of you.

You’re fully leaning against the counter, arms limp at your side and head slid against the side of the fridge. You look like hell.

You swallow, sputter, and blink at her miserably, “Robin.”

“What…” her eyes roam - sweater torn open down the middle and stomach gaping with blood and prickled flesh, shoes missing, socks ripped and stained with dirt and blood, skirt weathered to threads at the end and thighs slashed. She can’t look you in the eye, “What the fuck happened to you?”

She flies forward, hands cradling your face. She can feel her heart in her stomach and throat simultaneously.

You’re so out of it, your eyes don’t even seem to be seeing her. They stare straight through, like she’s not even there.

You smile and that’s when she sees the blood staining your teeth, it spills out between your split lips and you giggle when she gasps.

“Oh my God,” she backs away, head on a swivel to find the paper towels, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God- “

You wrap your arms around her waist, chin leaning on her shoulder and temple pressing to her cheek, “Robin…”

“Yeah,” Robin extends her arm, fingertips just brushing the paper towels, “I’m Robin - and I’m gonna get you cleaned up. Then we’re going straight to the hospital,” she stops, “Or should we go to the hospital now? We should go to the hospital now.”

“Uh-uh,” you tut, squeezing her tighter, your tone drops a little lower - how it does when you flirt, “Are you scared?”

“Scared of you?” Robin tries worming from your grasp but you’re holding too tightly, “I’m not- I could never. But we need to go, right now. You’re really hurt and I can feel you bleeding on me and you’re- “

“Good,” you coo and stumble back. There’s a rumble, you belch, and then your jaw drops open - black mucus-tar amalgamation spills out. It spots and bubbles and Robin throws herself backward - spine cracking against the doorway. Her hands clamp over her mouth to muffle the scream that rips her throat sore.

Her eyes squeeze shut and she slides down to her ass, hands covering her ears. There are tears and her chest burns and she can’t breathe. The air is too thick and she squeezes into herself, as if it’d make her physically disappear.

She starts rocking. It’s all she can do.

This is a nightmare. A nightmare. A horrible fucking dream.

When she opens her eyes, everything is the same. The fridge door is tossed wide, there’s blood smeared on her counters and floor, and the thick muck you tossed up is spreading across her floor.

But you’re missing.

Bloody footprints lead from the fridge to the where kitchen meets hallway - then vanish. Her bat is gone, too.

“What the fuck?” her eyes bubble with tears and she collapses onto her side, legs pulled tight to her chest, “What the fuck?”

The room smells like death. It’s cold. So very freezing cold.

“Hey,” you look tired, books hugged tight to your chest as you approach Robin and Dustin at her locker.

“Hey,” Robin stares. Eyes almost cartoonishly popping from her skull.

She knows what happened was real. She spent hours cleaning and scrubbing and showering. Unless that was all part of the dream.

Jesus, Hawkins was fucked up if that was passing as a mere nightmare now.

Dustin nudges her with his elbow and shakes his head, then turns to you, “Are you… feeling alright?”

“God, no,” you frown and droop into the locker beside Robin’s, “I’m breaking out and I pulled out so much hair in the shower this morning. I thought I was about to go completely bald.”

“Maybe you should go home,” Dustin leans down to see your face when your head hangs, “You really don’t look good.”

“I’m fine, Dusty,” you pat the boy’s shoulder before turning to Robin, “I think I have to cancel tonight, though,” you pout and if it were a normal day, she’d just want to make that dismal expression go away, “Gonna stay in and hope whatever this is passes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Robin looks into her locker and pulls out a random textbook, she slams the door shut and clicks the lock back into place, “No worries, just…” you looked like something from a horror movie last night, “What happened last night? After you left.”

Dustin figures this conversation isn’t for him and wanders off when he spots Eddie in the crowd - wishing you well as he goes.

You shrug and scoot closer, “Normal stuff. I mean, nothing even happened with that guy,” you shouldn’t be lying, but it isn’t like she’d believe the truth, would she? “He figured I was a virgin and when I corrected him, he - like - demanded that I bring him home.”

But you didn’t correct him. Didn’t have the time. Didn’t get the chance.

Now you’re hoping that Robin figures last night was all just a nightmare - and from the look in her eyes, you know she’s teetering on that edge.

She wants to ask, you know that. You know her. If she wasn’t so terrified of speaking last night into reality, then she would. But asking would make it real. Outside of the gates and monsters and girls with telekinesis, Hawkins was normal and there was a certain level of abnormality that a person could take before they snapped.

And you and Robin both knew that this was just outside her limit. So she doesn’t ask and you don’t tell.

Instead, you yawn and shake your head to keep yourself awake, “Anyway, I gotta go to Mr. Peters’ math. See ya later?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, though. Her lip balm tints her lips a soft red and you like the way it looks. She accepts the kiss you press to her cheek, “See you later.”

In the meantime, you catch Sully Vacks outside of your shared first period. You drag him away from the door by the sleeve of his varsity jacket.

He looks at you weirdly and you already know it’s more about your lack of makeup than the fact you’re a living zombie wanting to take him somewhere private. Well, private-ish.

Sully isn’t a nice person. He dated your fellow cheerleader, Stacey Bennett, for a while and you knew firsthand about the explicit polaroid pictures he’d taken of her without her permission. And you knew secondhand how he shared them with the football team.

You can justify this to yourself. To what remains of your conscience.

“Do you have any plans later?” you tilt your head and gently run a finger over his bicep, “If not, I was thinking maybe we could… hang out?”

You put on the show of what boys like and you watch, half there and half out of control, as he dumbly falls into your line.

But you remember how much he hurt Stacey, and you can imagine she isn’t the first (or last) girl he’s hurt. So you decide that you can justify this meal to yourself.

Like a cheat day - he practically doesn’t even count.

“So,” Sully’s brows draw tight as he looks up at Skull Rock, “you bring all the boys here?” then he looks at you, “Or am I special?”

You simper and loop your arms around his neck, “Which do you prefer?”

“I like to think I’m special,” he leans down, nose nudging yours.

You nod slowly, “You’re very special, Sully.”

He practically collapses into your kiss and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t amusing how desperate he was. Your hands settle over his chest, then sink lower, lower, lower until your fingers are grazing under his shirt.

“Is this okay?” you whisper against his lips, watching your work through your lashes.

Sully’s breath stutters before he nods, “More than okay.”

Your nails scrape his stomach, just enough to be there without hurting, “Good.”

Prey should be at ease before they die and prey should die quickly - it’s inhumane otherwise.

And the news spreads as Robin gets out of the double doors after the final school bell rings.

“Did you hear what happened?” Steve is glaring right at Robin, “No, I am not letting you walk home. Get in the damn car.”

“Steve,” Robin sighs, “how’d you even know I needed a ride? You stalking me now?”

He gives her a pointed look and she relents, throwing open the passenger door of his BMW and climbing in.

“I didn’t know you needed a ride but I wanted to make sure,” his brows furrow as he continues to wait outside the school, “Also heard your little girlfriend wasn’t feeling well.”

“She’s not- “ Robin smiles at the thought though and the retort dies under her tongue, “Also, what happened?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“Obviously not, dingus.”

“That varsity kid - Vacks? He…” Steve sounds winded, he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes wide, “His torso was torn open. Literally. Apparently, it looked like something was eating him.”

“Oh my God,” Robin’s hands fly over her mouth, slowly lowering for her to ask, “Do they know what did it?”

“‘What’?” Steve shakes his head, “No. That’s the weirdest part. It wasn’t like a wild animal did because it wasn’t those wounds that killed him,” Robin tilts her head. Steve looks out at the double doors and honks when some of his kids pile out, “Something snapped his neck. He died fuckin’ instantly.”

He puts up a finger to preemptively shush Robin as Dustin leans into the driver-side window.

“What?”

Steve nudges his head toward the backseats, “Get in.”

“No way,” Mike folds his arms, “We have to get Will and go to Hellfire tonight, we can’t just skip it.”

“Eddie will literally kill us,” Lucas tacks on.

“I can name something else that will literally, actually kill you,” Robin pipes up, earning a glare from Steve.

Mike and Lucas come closer to the car and Steve can practically see their hearts in their throats.

“It doesn’t look good,” Steve sets both hands on the wheel, “We don’t know what did it, but… Sully Vacks was more or less turned into a Thanksgiving dinner.”

“‘Don’t know what did it,’” Lucas shakes his head, “Yes, we do! Obviously, we do!”

Steve spots Max in the throng of people exiting Hawkins High, “No. Hopper said it didn’t look like anything we’ve seen, but I don’t want to rule it out entirely,” he drags a hand down his face and briefly wonders when his gray hairs will grow in, “Ask Mad Max if she needs a ride, will you?”

“There won’t be enough room,” Mike points out.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Steve grumbles, “Someone sits on a lap. I don’t care, you’re not staying late and I’m making sure you little shits get home.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” Lucas backs away, jogging over to where his girlfriend is sitting on the curb, fiddling with her walkman.

“How the hell did you even hear about this?” Dustin stands straight.

Steve rolls his eyes, “I may or may not have gotten a call that I legally can’t admit to,” his gaze darts between the boys to Robin, “From someone that may or may not have been Hopper.”

“Is El with him?” Mike asks, and Steve hates to see the way his face deconstructs in worry.

“Yeah, she’s with him,” Steve waves them off, “Go get Will and come right back. Do you hear me?” when they walk away with no confirmation, he shouts out the window, “I’ll hunt you all down, I’m not kidding!”

“You’re a regular Mama Bear, Steve,” Robin throws her head back against the rest, mind flooding with thoughts of you. More specifically, if your sudden change has anything to do with the possibility of the Upside Down being open again.

“These kids have seen too much,” Steve grips the steering wheel as Lucas approaches his car, “If possible, I want them as out of this whole thing as possible. If it’s even a thing,” his shoulders are tense and his mouth is distastefully dry, “Hopefully it’s just some psycho.”

But he doubts it.

Lucas leans down, one eye closed when the sun hits it dead on, “Max says Eddie can give her a ride. I’ll hitch with them, too, so your car’s not crowded.”

“Alright,” Steve nods, “Radio in when you’re home. Tell Max, too. I want to know you two are safe.”

“Yes, Mom,” Lucas rolls his eyes, waving off Robin as he walks away.

Will, Dustin, and Mike come upon the BMW. Will shakes his head vehemently, his hand brushes the back of his neck and he continues shaking his head.

Robin takes note of how at ease Will’s body is. As if everything, aside from this new paranoia, was totally fine.

Maybe this isn’t the work of the Upside Down. Which would usually be good - great, even - but it would raise more questions than it answered.

Who slaughtered Sully? Why would they do it? Why were you so suddenly ill? And what the fuck kind of dream did Robin have last night?

The Upside Down was officially ruled out as an option to the spectacle of violence when neither Eleven nor Will felt that it was open. Things were… safe.

You’re just glad Robin excused you from the meeting, on account of you being “sick”, before you could even hear about it. You don’t know how long and how hard you can lie, but you don’t plan on testing it out.

You give it a couple days before you return to Robin’s side at school.

And a good sum of weeks before forcing the whole thing out of your head.

Books hugged to your chest and preppy little cheer uniform on in eager wait for the pep rally and game later, you bounce up to Robin and slap a hand on her shoulder, “Boo!”

She gasps and jumps and glares when she realizes it’s only you, “You’re evil.”

“You’re just easy to scare,” you move and lean against the locker next to hers, “So…”

“So…?” she shuffles a couple books around, then flips down the cover to a mirror plastered on her locker door, peering into the glass.

“Prom is coming up,” you lean in close, grinning as she flounders for lipstick.

“Yeah, in two weeks,” she shrugs, “I know your schedule of tryouts for people to be your date is usually packed, but I am not so lucky.”

You roll your eyes and pull a garnet red lipstick from your bag, handing it to her over her shoulder, “I can only go with the people the general population would approve of, so that sucks.”

It was true, you couldn’t bring a girl to prom in the way Robin couldn’t. Unless it was as friends. But everyone knew that if you brought someone to prom as a friend, then you couldn’t dance the way you would want to dance with your date.

Except Robin, but that was more cowardice to confess than anything else.

“We could just go together?” you watch her apply your lipstick and you can hardly find it in yourself to tear your eyes away.

“Nah,” she sighs and caps the tube, “I don’t wanna screw up your chances of being prom queen.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” you accept the lipstick she holds out and replace it in your bag, “You wouldn’t mess up my chances. And it’s not like prom queen is that big a deal to me, you of all people should know that.”

“But this is our senior prom, if you didn’t win then I know you’d be bummed,” Robin shuts her locker and leans back against it. Her face dangles in front of yours like a carrot on a stick, “I might just make Steve bring me.”

“Ew,” your head thunks back on the metal, “I have no idea who I’m going with. All the boys here suck.”

“Are you just realizing?”

You shove her shoulder and huff while she laughs, “As true as that is, I can’t have my judgment mocked.”

“Oh, of course,” she shakes her head, “I’m so sorry, your highness.”

“I forgive you.”

Robin mocks a curtsy and swings her bag over her shoulder.

Things between you and Robin are different. You feel like she knows and she feels like you should know.

Over the same night, with two perspectives, you two are bound into different corners of the same room.

You want to tell her. You want help, you’re tired of fighting whatever it is inside you that tells you to feed. But you don’t want to drag anybody else into this - both for their safety, and yours. If you assume wrong, and there’s no way to help this curse, then you’re already dead.

Robin wants to tell you about her terrifying dream. Or at least, she’s decided it was a dream. She feels like you have a right to know, but you don’t. And also, what a peculiar thing it would be - to tell you about it. You weren’t even acting like yourself, it’d be childish to hold it against you. It is childish to hold it against you.

But there’s a pit in her gut no matter how badly she tries to shake it off.

“Wanna watch a movie together later?” but you’re so sweet and she adores you so much.

“Uh, sure, yeah,” Robin looks up at the ceiling as if it would tell her what’s in stock at Family Video, “Anything specific?”

You hum as you think and she’s always found that adorable about you, “Something cute. I don’t wanna think too hard after what happened.”

“I got you,” she promises, “I’ll get a great movie. No thinking required.”

“Awesome,” you stop outside Mr. Peters’ room, “Alright, I’ll see you at lunch, right?”

“Definitely,” she punches your shoulder, “as long as you remember where the band table is.”

“I remember, I remember,” you swat her hand away and set a hand on the doorknob, “See ya!”

Robin nods dumbly, grinning lovestruck as she waves, “See you later.”

Fifth hour is a mixed bundle.

On one hand, your lab partner is Robin! That’s exciting. On the other, your teacher is Mr. Gordon Vacks. Sully’s father. That’s exhausting.

You wonder, though, if he’d be pressing people to bring justice if he knew what his son was doing with explicit polaroids he took and showed without permission.

Would he even care?

Probably not.

You discovered at a young age that most fathers don’t care what their sons do as long as they can brag to their friends how smart or strong or funny he is.

It might be unfair to lump Mr. Vacks in with such a crowd, but you have yet to be proven wrong (aside from Wayne Munson, he was more of a father than most biological dads in your opinion).

Another study day is laid upon the students. Another day for Mr. Vacks to spend grilling teenagers about if they saw anything, what they heard, where they were, and whatnot without having to worry about actually lecturing.

There’s a sick, twisted glee trapped between the rungs of your ribs every time he mentions his son. It’s bizarre and you don’t like it, but there’s something undeniable about it.

Your hand pressed to your mouth just to hide your growing smile, you act like you’re reading from the study guide while he speaks with Trinity Liú about Sully’s death. She last saw him with Jason Carver.

Good.

A paper pricks the side of your arm and you jump slightly, calming when you see Robin trying not to laugh at you.

You roll your eyes and take the paper.

ouyay okayyay?

“Pig Latin, really?” you whisper and she shrugs, trying not to giggle while you translate.

You pass the paper back.

fine. just worried i guess

As if.

Sully was a bastard.

But did he deserve to die?

Duh. He was awful. He was only going to hurt more people.

Well yeah, but did he deserve to actually die?

Did he?

You’re not so sure anymore. It makes you sick.

Robin passes the paper back.

ouyay ooklay icksay

Huffing, your reply is quick.

write like a normal person

She concedes and crosses out her previous statement. Replacing it.

you look sick

Are you sick because of your cracking mind? Or is it because you’re growing hungry?

You tilt your head and shrug.

i’m fine

Liar.

Though, now that you think about it. It’s been a good month of peace since Sully had to die, and now - you hate to admit it - you do feel weaker. You got a paper cut after feeding last month and it healed instantly.

You look down at your hands now, where you cut yourself removing a staple in homeroom, and it’s still a fine line of puckered, dying skin.

“You can tell me anything,” she whispers.

Not this. Robin doesn’t want to know this - she doesn’t have to know this.

Your eyes flip across the room. Past Robin. Past Trinity. Onto Andy - one of Jason’s best friends. He hasn’t done anything to you other than be annoying, but you know he bullies your friends.

Well, Eddie’s friends that are your friends by association. And the freshmen, who you insist are your friends.

Robin leans forward, brows knit tightly and lips pursed, “What’s wrong? Seriously, you’re being weird.”

“I’m fine, Rob,” she doesn’t look convinced. Not at all, and you don’t blame her. Your hand finds hers under the table and you squeeze, “Really. I’m okay.”

She doesn’t let go of your hand, and you don’t let go of hers.

Robin hates this feeling. She hates distrusting you. She hates feeling like you’re lying - because that’s not you.

You're her best friend. You’re more. You’re her one. Her person.

“I’m here for you,” it's the last ditch.

You nod, “Thanks, but really. ‘m okay.”

And it falls through.

She hates distrusting you.

When the bell rings, you’re quicker than her to pack up. You rush after Andy and she can’t surmise why. You have never liked Andy, never so much as muttered about how he was even cute. Robin wishes she could just look inside your head and see what’s wrong.

Why’re you acting like this?

Or is she being paranoid?

She hates this.

Robin chooses to stay on the sidelines when she sees you pouring the sugar over Andy. She won’t tie you down when you two aren’t even dating, but there’s no chance she’s going to sit there and listen to you hook up a date.

Eventually, you’re back at her side, “Sorry. Had to make plans for tomorrow.”

“You can…” she sighs, “you can go tonight, if you want.”

“I don’t.”

“You sure?”

“Duh.”

It doesn’t fix what’s between you two - whether you’re hiding something or she’s paranoid - but it makes her beam. Pride and joy and love.

Movie nights are simple and easy.

This movie night is different.

You look awful - dried, bumpy skin and heavy bags under your bloodshot eyes. She doesn’t say anything, though.

“Okay,” Robin stands in front of your TV, holding up three videos, “We have: Sixteen Candles, Footloose, and Flashdance.”

“Uhm,” you wet your dried, cracked lips that persisted no matter how much balm you applied, blinking hazily, “Sixteen Candles.”

“Sucker for Ringwald,” she ‘tsk’s but pops the movie in all the same.

“Says the one who liked Vickie McNulty, that girl’s a carbon copy of Molly Ringwald. Have you seen Pretty in Pink yet? They’re the exact same.”

“Yeah, and I liked her. Past tense,” Robin emphasizes, returning to her rightful place beside you on the couch. She tosses an arm over the back and you drag yourself into the open space of her side.

Robin is warm while you shiver. Your skin is cold - like death. Like Aunt Shauna. She tries not to let it show and brings a family favorite throw blanket over the two of you.

Your eyes are already beginning to flutter shut and Robin can’t help but grin. There’s an adorable quality about you - no matter how tired or sick you look, there’s something in the air around you. Sunshine and bubblegum and a BFF necklace in the shape of a strawberry heart hidden beneath your shirt collar.

Robin checks the clock. The game isn’t for another two hours, she can let you sleep awhile.

But then you’re pawing at her shoulders, lips pouting and eyes pleading. The tactics you usually bulldoze through are now lathering thick over her like cement.

“What, uh,” she blanches, hands coming to entwine with yours, “what’re you doing?”

“Hm?” you simper, for real this time, “Playing.”

“Playing?” she quirks a brow.

You nod, leaning up to kiss her cheek again, but this time it’s different. No more friends and no more giggles. This is want.

Need.

You feel foggy, though. Like your actions aren’t yours and when you realize what’s coming, you also realize that they aren’t.

And when Robin’s caged beneath you on the couch, you’re entirely out of control.

The hunger is just a little too strong.

It’s need that makes you lean down - lips pressing to hers.

It’s want that makes her reciprocate.

Her hands are on your sides and you feel something burn at your skin. It's sparkling. Sensual and smooth. Robin keens into your lips and you feel a little better than before.

But Robin’s brows furrow and she pulls back.

She wants this, but it feels odd.

You don’t feel like you and this isn’t how she wants this to go down. But she also doesn’t want to outright reject you. So she settles for the middle.

A cowardly, stupid middle.

“Maybe not now,” she whispers, eyes avoiding yours.

You jump off of her and nod. You press your lips to gather the lasting taste of Robin’s watermelon chapstick, and you notice your lips are pillowy instead of rough. Your skin feels fuller. Firmer.

You think Robin notices by the way she stares at you. You look down at where you cut yourself removing that damned staple.

Completely healed.

“You can…” Robin clears her throat, “see him. If you want.”

You have to. You know that.

And rather than assume Robin is just conflicted, you accept this as rejection. Because what in God’s name would it be otherwise?

“Right,” you have a little under two hours until the game, “Right. Sure.”

“Sorry- “ Robin stands, hands outstretched for you when you begin walking away.

“It’s okay, Rob,” you pull on your shoes, head too full of thoughts about the next meal to even begin conceptualizing the fact that the girl you love is directly turning you away, “I’ll see you at the game.”

“See you at the game,” she wrings her hands, already regretting her decision, “Things don’t… they don’t have to change.”

“Yeah,” you pause before you leave, leaning over to press a cautious kiss to her cheek, “Bye, bye.”

“Bye,” she waves.

Why did she do that?

It felt wrong. Not the same kind of wrong in how it would if you had been high or drunk, but also not entirely different. It was like something was moving for you. She’s known you for a long time. She’s seen you - studied your movements and mannerisms and she knows how you behave.

She’s not being paranoid, there is something wrong and she’s convinced that the “nightmare” wasn’t a nightmare at all.

So why isn’t she stopping you from visiting Andy?

You wouldn’t hurt Andy. You’re a sweetheart, you wouldn’t. Bizarre happenings or not.

Robin doesn’t know what to do, so she calls Steve. Stupidly.

“What would you do if I told you someone was off?”

A few streets away, you’ve already got Andy on his knees at an abandoned construction site. You’re trying to think of things he’s said before. Things he’s done. Anything to justify this.

“Your girlfriend? Yeah, the whole group knows she’s been off her rocker lately.”

He’s pressing strangely kind kisses up your thigh as you wind a hand in his hair. It makes you salivate in sick and hunger all at once.

“She’s not my- ! Whatever, I’m just saying. I’m worried. I know we agreed that the Upside Down isn’t open but… I dunno. What if they were wrong?”

You kneel down to Andy’s level. You cup his cheeks in your hands - gentle and tender and loving. You bat your lashes and his lips quirk upwards.

“I guess. Maybe it took a new host?”

Your hands wretch his head. Sharp and quick. Prey shouldn’t suffer - it’s inhumane.

“Maybe. We shouldn’t mention this, huh?”

You feel disgusted. Just until your stomach growls and the hunger grows. No longer can you sustain yourself on watermelon kisses and sun-bleached hair and pretty freckles.

“Probably not. That sounds like a one-way ticket and I don’t think we’re ready to use it yet.”

There’s nothing you can think of. Not that you’re thinking while you eat. If you think while you eat then you have to present, and if you’re present while you eat - you think you might go completely mad.

“Right. I gotta go get ready for the game. I’ll talk to you later, Hair.”

Before he can get out a “don’t call me that!” Robin hangs up. There’s a dagger in her gut and she can only rub at the ache building behind her eyes - it’s overwhelming. It crashes over her - unlike the ocean as it fails to build. More like a firework, sudden and unforgiving. Bright. Loud.

It hurts.

Robin wanders to her room and tries to fight off the urge to check if her bat is there. She hasn’t looked out of fear. If it’s still missing…

She doesn’t even want to think about it, so she doesn’t. She thrives in blissful, selected ignorance. But a glance outside her bedroom window, still unclean of blood and split open, shows your car left on the curb. Abandoned. Not even the cherry charm you keep hanging on your rearview mirror is swinging. Completely untouched.

Robin, foolishly, saves her concerns until homecoming that night.

“Hey! Someone’s lookin’ better!”

You turn at the coo and smile sunshine bright at your favorite drug pusher, “Hey, Eds!” you wave him over with a pom-pom, “Thought games weren’t your thing?”

“They aren’t, but post-game athletes in need of recreational fun,” Eddie holds up his black lunchbox and jingles it in front of your face, “they are.”

Humming, you look over his shoulder to where the Hawkins band is lining up in front of the bleachers. Lips pressing and head tilting.

There should be enough time, and it’s not like you’ll have any fun with anybody else. Besides, if you go to prom with Eddie and Robin brings Steve - it’ll be a friendly reunion. A nice reunion. There should be enough time between feeds.

Your face falls.

Jason’s running around the gym. He asks basketball players, cheerleaders, teachers, band members, and stray students alike. Where’s Andy? Where’s Andy? Where’s Andy?

“Hey,” Eddie settles a hand on your shoulder, face gentle but prodding, “you good, bubble-brain?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, airy and tired, eyes fluttery, “Sorry. Just, uhm, worried. I guess. Nobody can find Andy.”

Eddie shrugs and purses his lips, as if he has no idea why that might be alarming, “Probably fucking off somewhere. ‘s gonna work out. He’ll be here.”

Robin bursts through the doors with Steve hot on her tail, she searches for something. Someone. You.

She grins despite the saran wrap bundled relationship you’re sharing and rushes to you. A keyring is looped around her finger, fitted with three keys - each one with a different fruit painted onto it - and a fluffy pink and white ball charm. Robin presses the keys into your chest, hand lingering just long enough for you to cage her hand there with yours.

Your heart thunders and you wonder if Robin can feel it. You wonder if she knows why.

“You left these at my house,” Robin mutters, eyes staying on your glossed lips just a little too long for a friend - for a girl, “along with your car,” her voice is a little raspier than usual, you like it, “You should really keep better track of your things.”

“Right, sorry,” you release her hand and hand the keys to Eddie, “I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning. I’m kinda… tired.”

“Of course,” Robin nods shortly, then takes you by the arm and drags you away from the boys, “Look, bunny, something is definitely up. And- and don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely…” she laughs, hollow, “I’m into you, that way. I like you, like, a lot. I think I’m crazy for you, actually. Just- I wanna get this all figured out before we start anything.”

Nothing will ever be figured out. Not really, anyway.

But you nod slowly because you don’t know how much longer you have to be with her like this.

“I get it, Rob,” you reach out and clench her hand, squeezing with a saccharine smile, “‘m still gonna flirt with you.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she grins, bottom lip tugging between her teeth.

You’re not dumb - lots of people think you are, but you aren’t. You know that the demon sleeping inside you was satiated by Robin’s touch and you now choose to keep that in your back pocket.

You’ve never gotten full off of mere touch, so the fact it happened with Robin will be a last-ditch effort. A just in case. For the worst scenario. You don’t want her in this more than she has to be. If she has to be at all.

You leave her side, prancing off to the line of cheerleaders in front of the bleachers.

Robin watches, face screwed in wonder. She’s not dumb, either. She can hear Jason asking where Andy is. She knows you were more than likely the last person to see him alive. She knows something’s wrong.

Upside Down host or not, you’re you now. That’s unmistakable.

She watches from the band section as you cheer with the others. It’s you. She can feel it. There are times where she can’t. Where she senses something else. Something off. Like a store-brand coffee or a cheap copy of a dress.

Sometimes it’s you. Sometimes it’s a mix. Sometimes, rarely, it’s that dread from before. When you were keeping her down, she felt it. Darker. Twisted. A thick rainstorm, a deathly hurricane that smothers the sunshine.

But now, as you cheer on the Tigers and subtly wave to her with your sparkly green-and-yellow pom-pom - she knows you’re you. Undeniably and absolutely revocably you.

...

“Thanks again, Eds,” you’re in Eddie’s passenger seat by the end of the night. Your feet kick up onto the dashboard and twirl the ring Robin gave you around your finger, “So, how much did you make tonight?”

“You know, you’re lucky you’re cute,” Eddie pops you in the thigh with the back of his hand, “And I made a shitload. Haven’t counted it all yet, but - it was a lot. Not that you’re seeing any.”

“Aww,” you lean over the center console, pouting dramatically, “you’re so mean.”

“Go tell your girlfriend about it,” he smiles at you. Big and fake and dumb.

“Oh, you know what- “ you fold your arms, lashes narrowing at the metalhead. Then, your eyes go lax and hands fall into your lap, fingers now picking at a peeling edge of cotton candy tinted nails, “Do you really think she likes me?”

“You two are so oblivious.”

“Well, I mean, I know she does, it’s just…” you look out your window, watching trees skim past the skyline, “I dunno. Maybe it’s the childhood friends effect.”

“I’m gonna lose my mind,” Eddie shakes his head, eyes lingering on your side profile for just a second longer, “I feel like I’m listening to a bad rom-com,” when you stay silent, he sighs. Over-the-top and thoroughly done, “Even if it is the childhood friends effect, it’s still there, right? You two are still into each other.”

“Yeah.”

But for how long?

How long can you hold yourself together?

“Wanna go to prom?” your voice is a little too distant, a little too caught up in your own thoughts, “I mean, I’ll be with Robin, but we need someone to bring us and I figure you’re going anyway.”

You gesture to the backseat of the van where Eddie’s black, metal lunchbox has been tossed - originally onto the seat but it tumbled to the floor as soon as Eddie started driving. He should really get his driving under control.

“Wow, just call me a chariot next time,” Eddie mumbles, hands knocking on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the radio, “Sure, I’ll take you.”

“Great!” you punch the ceiling of his van, quickly earning yourself a glare that could kill, “Thanks a lot, Eds.”

“Mhm,” he slams to a stop in front of your house and holds up a fist, “Don’t get killed by whatever thing is hunting hot teenagers, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you hope your voice doesn’t shake too much, hope your giggle isn’t too nervous, “You either, ‘kay?”

When you bump your knuckles with his, Eddie then moves to twirl his hair - voice drawling up comically higher to supposedly mimic you, “‘kay!”

“Oh, get a hobby,” you roll your eyes and hop out of the van, “Drive safe!”

“Never!” he shouts through the window, honking twice and speeding away.

You jump at the sound and flip Eddie off as he drives, fully knowing he may not even see it.

A few streets away, Robin is laid back in her bed. Eyes on the ceiling. She feels like she could call. Surely, you’re home. But the idea makes her sick - so she shuts her eyes and lets the thought die.

Her room is so cold.

Grossly so.

Robin doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, she falls into a fitful rest on top of her comforters. Cold and restless. Cold and unwelcome.

…

You’ve always been a firm believer that hell is just the day of prom. Over and over again. Even before recent developments that left you exhausted and drier than a bag of prunes without a good feed.

It’s a day chock full of last-minute promposals and athlete douchebags trying to somehow act too cool whilst begging you and your fellow cheerleaders to go with them. The begging is in subtext, but it happens nonetheless.

“You should probably skip that meeting with Ms. Moora,” Robin leans into you, watching as your gentle hands rub your temples, “Don’t look so good, bunny.”

“Yeah, I know,” you’re quiet, eyes scrunched at the volume of the cafeteria, “I feel like hell.”

Robin purses her lips, nodding while taking one of your hands and squeezing it, “Are you gonna be okay to drive?”

You sigh. Shrug.

“Yeah…”

You don’t have much of a choice.

Robin visibly cringes, “I dunno, you can barely keep your eyes open.”

“I’ll be fine, Rob,” you huff, ripping away your hand to cover your eyes, “Sorry. I just. I don’t feel good.”

“I figure,” she laughs dryly, the glee dropping from her face just as quickly as it’d arrived, “Sorry, I’m only worried. You’ve been acting really weird lately, and with the… you know, everything going on. I have a bad feeling.”

“I’m fine, Robin,” you groan and lean back, head tilting towards the ceiling, “Really.”

“But how do we know?”

“The only victims have been boys, right? That’s gotta mean something.”

“Well, yeah, but still. Don’t you care?”

“About a couple douchebag athlete dickheads getting ripped open? No, not really.”

Robin pulls back, eyes wide, “What?”

You pry your hands down from your face, giving the confused Robin a once over, “What?”

“Dude,” Robin shakes her head, “how could you say that?”

Robin wasn’t ever a fan of the Hawkins’ meatheads, but there’s something about the venom with which you said such a thing. The way you’re so apathetic. It’s not you.

“It’s just…” you toss your hands up, “boys! Stupid, asshole boys. What does it even matter? There are a thousand other jocks just like them.”

“Okay,” Robin guffaws in disbelief, “but this isn’t like you. They’re still people. You just… I don’t- “

“People change, Robin,” you rub your cheek and groan at how dry it feels, your stomach stinging with emptiness, “It’s totally not a big deal.”

“Are you sure?” Robin furrows her brows at you, “I don’t like this change.”

“Well,” you stop yourself.

You cover your mouth as your brain finally catches up to what you just said. What the fuck did you just say?

“I don’t…” you blink, slow and tired, dazed and confused, “I’m sorry- I don’t know why I said that…” Robin leans down to lock eyes with you, taking your hands in hers, “Any of it. I don’t know why I said any of it.”

Robin cups your cheek, gently rubbing a thumb over your cheekbone, “I think you should have your parents call you out of school.”

Your cheeks are sullen and eyes sunken. You look dead.

Something in the back of Robin’s head whispers. Aunt Shauna.

“They’re both at work,” you run a hand over your face, frowning as you pull the hand away, “I could probably just leave now.”

“Will you be okay to drive?” you stand, pressing Robin down by the shoulders when she tries following.

“I can ask Eds, he doesn’t plan on coming back after his stupid lunch deals,” you nudge your head towards the Hellfire table - noticeably lacking in a boisterous leader.

“Alright,” Robin chews her bottom lip, reaching under the collar of her Jem and the Holograms T-shirt, “Hey.”

She holds up her half of a strawberry heart BFF necklace.

You smile, earnest but exasperated, and pull out your own half of the necklace - bending down to click it in place with hers.

“We’ll be okay, right?” Robin wants to go back.

Before your stupid band and before Sully Vacks got killed.

But you lie.

“Yeah, we’ll be okay,” you kiss her cheek, leaving it faintly red in your lipstick’s stain, “See ya.”

“See you later,” she can’t help but feel like there’s something missing.

Torn out and shredded.

You find Eddie at his infamous picnic table in the woods, finishing up a deal with Stacey Bennett. Excitedly, he waves you over.

“The queen of Hawkins High! How can I help you?”

“Can you give me a ride home on your way out?” you sit next to Eddie and plop your head on his shoulder, “I feel like slush.”

“Aw,” he pouts, packing up his lunchbox of drugs, “muck, even?”

“Mucus, actually,” you giggle when he gasps, apparently horrified.

“Alright, get her started for me,” Eddie hands over his keys, and you grin, jangling them as you skip off to his prized van.

Robin can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

It persists even as she gets a ride home from Steve. Even as she gets in her pantsuit for prom. Even as she applies her makeup. It burns, eating at the fraying edges of her brain. Or what’s left of it, at least.

A few streets away, you slam your window shut and shake your head at how long you must’ve left it open. No wonder your room is practically freezing cold. That’s it.

You turn back towards your open closet and pull down the dress you’d picked out with Robin mere days ago. It’s a salmon pink affair to go with her baby pink pantsuit. Eddie will be in his usual attire with the addition of a blazer and aggressively neon pink tie. You hear Steve bought a hideously Barbie pink suit because he lost a bet to Robin.

It’s a beautiful dress. Dips and hugs where you want it to - lacing on the skirt (which falls to your ankles perfectly).

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Absent eyes. Irritated skin. Lips chapped. You look ill. So unlike yourself that it’s hard to believe this face was ever yours. You can’t stop staring, though.

It’s odd.

It’s you.

You’re hungry.

Just to punctuate the damn thing, your stomach rumbles - your head feels light and for a split second, you can’t see. You stumble, one hand flying out to catch yourself on the vanity and the other clutching your dress.

You wish you never went to The Hideout.

You need to feed quickly. You don’t want to think about the people you’d be hurting. Your friends. Robin. Last time was too close a call, you can’t possibly risk it again.

A sharpness hits your gut like you’ve been pierced, you whine and fall to your knees. Your mouth runs dry and you can feel your muscles twitch.

You need to feed quickly.

Eddie had a crush on you last year - you know that. You feel bad because you like Eddie as a friend and want him happy, but that can never be you. Something inside you, though, can’t stop thinking about it.

The way he looked at you. How he’d bend over backwards for you. How he still lets you put your heel-clad feet on the dashboard of his van.

“Hey, pull up here,” you’ve got half of a BFF necklace pulled up to your chin, pressing the cold metal against your skin.

Eddie concedes, looking over at you, “Alright, bubble-brain, what’s going on up here?”

He pokes your temple twice before you catch his hand - he laughs when you glare.

“Wanna check out the abandoned pool house?” you nudge your head in the direction of the aforementioned pool house. Moss bitten and vine slathered. It’s cracking the higher you look and kids like to dare each other to go inside on Halloween.

“Mmm, I dunno,” Eddie rests his elbow on the center console, chin digging into the meat of his palm, “We sort of have somewhere to be.”

“So?” you lean forward, nose at his cheek, grinning when he flushes, “C’mon, there’s fun to be had before prom.”

He backs away, arms folding. He’s trying to smile like this is lighthearted, like he isn’t half considering it and half afraid of you laughing in his face.

“What about Robin?” his brows furrow. Tongue pressed to cheek.

“What about Robin?” you run the half-heart charm over your lip.

“No,” Eddie laughs again, but he’s breathless, “You- no. No way.”

“Eds,” you puff out your bottom lip, “Eds.”

“No,” he’s firmer this time, “Alright, we can check out the pool house, but nothing is happening, do you understand? I don’t know what the fuck your problem is right now, but you’re being weird.”

“Nothing’s my problem,” you roll your eyes and hop out of his van, speaking before shutting the door, “Now, let’s go before we’re late.”

Eddie watches you cross the yard, you stop before the door and turn back to him. Calling and waving your hand impatiently. He reaches into his glove box and pulls out a walkie-talkie Dustin forced him to start carrying (not that he knows why, but when it comes to Henderson, it’s easier to simply go with it). He keys into the proper signal before calling out.

“Harrington? Come in, Harrington. I know you like dressing yourself up, but this is gonna be important.”

…

Robin looks at the walkie, then where Steve is still in his bathroom - eyes narrowed at his reflection and fingers burying in his hair every two seconds.

“Hello,” the ‘o’ is stretched out, “pretty boy, I’ve got serious shit going on.”

It’s Eddie. Robin might not be allowed to get into Steve’s shit, but this seems like a fine exception. So she grabs the walkie off Steve’s desk and tunes in.

“Eddie? It’s Robin, what’s going on?”

“Your girl is actin’ fucking weird. We’re stopped at the pool house. I think you two should hurry here before she decides to leave.”

Robin drops the walkie and darts out of Steve’s room. If she was thinking a little more clearly, a little less pressed for time, a little smarter - she would’ve dragged Steve to his car.

But she’s got that bad feeling and Eddie might be in trouble and you might be the cause.

She fucking knew she wasn’t paranoid. She knew something was wrong.

You were the last person to talk to Andy, and she knew that and she kept quiet because she didn’t want to be wrong. No, she wouldn’t have been wrong - she knows that now and she knew that then. She just didn’t want you getting caught.

There has to be something else. There’s no other option.

Her feet ache in the platformed dress shoes she stuffed herself into - but she doesn’t stop running. Her lungs are fucking burning and her legs are screaming at her to stop.

Something told her it was wrong. She saw you at the end of the hall - she saw you grab Sully’s sleeve and she could feel it when you trapped her against the couch. You looked like she’d never seen you - like you were twisted. Inverted and crushed and ground up and spat back out. No life. No warmth.

She should’ve listened to the whispers.

Aunt Shauna.

You’re not you. You’re not human.

…

“I’m telling you right now, bubble-brain, if you don’t let go - I might think you’re gonna try something.”

“Hm? And if I do?”

“I already told you, nothing’s happening.”

Your hands have found a place on Eddie’s sides, he can feel your nails through his layers of clothes. Your face pressed to his back.

“No fun,” you pout. Your stomach growls - stronger, louder, more vicious. You pry yourself away to clutch at your tummy, “God- fuck-!”

Eddie turns, eyes wide, “Are you…” his hands hover just above your shoulders, “What’s wrong?”

“Hungry…” you collapse into his chest, forehead pressing into his neck, “So hungry, Eds. ‘m so weak. Can barely fight.”

“The hell’re you fighting?” he tries laughing, really tries, “I doubt it’s that serious, bubble-brain.”

“Can you help me?” your jaw feels loose. Hanging by a string of muscle, the bones detached. Tongue dry and numb and gut clenching, “You’re a good friend, right? You care about me? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course, we are,” he pulls you back by the shoulders and if you were just a little stronger then maybe you could’ve broken away like you did with Robin, “We can go eat right now. Where do you wanna go? I’ll use that game money to buy you anything you want.”

“Eddie…” you groan miserably, another growl and it rocks through you - a whole-body spasm. You snap forward at the hips as you yelp in pain. It’s like having that stupid bowie knife locked and twisted and dragged through your stomach again and again and again.

Your hands come back up to his sides, beneath the overcoat. Fingertips skimming up his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” you bury your face into the crook of his neck, nails digging sharply into his ribs and keep sinking even when he grabs at you and tries pulling away. Even when he screams - even when he rushes you into the wall. You take it and you don’t know how much longer you can, “I’m so sorry.”

It’s desperation and agony and you don’t think you can live like this anymore.

You can’t justify this life - you want to stop but you’re too scared to die.

Or rather, too scared to find out what happens if you stop trying to drown out whatever thing inside you feeds on flesh. At least this way you control the meal. Somewhat.

But now you’re picking Eddie.

Eddie is your friend.

You scream as he does and you hope someone finds you two. You hope they shoot you through the back and pierce your blackened heart.

He bleeds.

“Bunny!”

You dart away from Eddie at the sound of her voice.

Not her. Anybody, sure. But not her. Not Robin. The only one who loves you instead of the cheerleading prom queen, the only one you love. She can’t see you like this.

Her sweet, rasped voice carries outside and you hide in a dark corner; Eddie collapses back into the wall with hisses of pain and Robin smashes through a cracked, spotted window.

Robin crashes in with glass scraping her knees, slicing through the legs of her clothes. Her eyes find you though - just like they do at every party and the cafeteria and friend get-together. She finds you. Under the grime and darkness, she sees you.

“Bunny,” one hand scrambles in hidden view while the other reaches out for you, “you can come out, sweetheart, come on out.”

You try. You move an inch before Eddie gurgles in pain and your stomach wretches.

It’s too much. Why did she ask before shooting?

It should’ve been Nancy that found you.

“Robin!” you wrench back, hands covering your ears and eyes clenched. Your back hits the wall and you slide down to your ass, “Robin, Robin, Robin- !”

Robin runs to you, her shaky hands try and steady on your shoulders, “It’s okay,” she laughs, hollow and dry, eyes heavy, “it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here, bunny.”

“I don’t like this,” you whimper, legs pulling up as close to your chest as possible, “I hate this- “ you gasp and sputter, a scream is building beneath the surface, “I’m not me.”

“You’re you,” she presses a kiss to your forehead and her arms come around your neck, “You’re you right now, right?”

You nod weakly, hands coming down and winding into her overcoat, “I’m me.”

“You’re okay, bunny,” she kisses your temple and gently pries you away from the wall. Your back is exposed, “Everything will be okay…”

You sniffle and bury your face into the crook of her neck, “Robin- I- I don’t know what to do…”

She nods. Silent. Because she knows that if she opens her mouth now, everything will come spilling out.

“Robin, what do I do?”

Robin’s face scrunches and she kisses your cheek, “I’ll take care of it, bunny. Just let me take care of it, ‘kay?”

You go lax in her arms, a smile - finally, a real smile - spreads over your lips and you hug yourself impossibly closer. Her voice, raspy and scratchy and comforting, lulls you in like a siren’s song. And you hurdle towards her song like a lovestruck pirate - you hurdle right towards the whirlpool.

And you drown.

Robin cringes when you screech, but she digs the glass deeper into your back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry- !”

Your hands scramble to her shoulders and you push and push and push until you can finally squirm out of her arms. You fly back into the wall, nudging the glass deeper. Your head rocks back and thuds into the dirt-caked surface as you scream.

You yank the glass shard from your back and watch the blood glint in the moonlight that leaks through cracked windows. Your eyes hesitantly flutter to Robin and you hate what you’re met with.

Wide eyes and heaving chest. She’s terrified. Terrified of you.

Then you look at Eddie. Bleeding and writhing in pain. His eyes can barely stay open long enough to properly watch you.

What have you done?

What have you done?

You drop the glass shard and it shatters across the concrete floor.

You like Eddie. He’s a good friend and a sweet person - an angel right to his core. If there was no way to justify hunting Andy and Jason - how in God’s name could you do it now?

Your knees ache when they hit the floor - a pain that rings up your thighs and nestles into your pelvic bone. Your forehead rests on the cold stone, dangerously close to the glass and you feel your stomach tighten. It growls and you wrap your arms around yourself.

“I’m hungry,” you whisper, head moving so your chin is on the floor and you’re staring right at Robin, “So, so hungry…”

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Robin clatters forward, on her hands and knees, face lowering to yours, “You were full with me, right? Why didn’t you just come to me?”

Your lip wobbles and you can feel the budding fears rise to the surface.

Months pretending. Months wasted trying not to think about it. It’s not real. The missing posters, the blood you scrub away, the voice in the back of your head - none of it is real. The suffering, the hunger, the violence, all because some shitty metal band mistook you for their ethereal virgin. All because they wanted fame more than they valued their fellow man.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, Rob…” your eyes burn and there are tears that drag down your face, “Didn’t wanna risk hurting you…”

“You wouldn’t,” she cups your face, brows furrowing, “We- “

Eddie comes to a stand, still leaning against the wall, still cupping his hands over his bleeding sides.

“We can go.”

You and Eddie both look at Robin, but her eyes are trained on you.

She can’t go through with it. Not you, she can’t lose you.

You’re sunshine and bubblegum and a BFF necklace in the shape of a strawberry heart hidden beneath a shirt collar. You’re her one. Her person. The burger to her fries. The Juliet to her Romeo.

“We can go, bunny,” her hands fret over your face and she lifts you onto your knees, “No more Hawkins.”

“What about the others?”

She shakes her head.

“What about Steve?”

Robin has said it herself. Her and Steve are Platonic soulmates with a capital ‘p’. She isn’t very sappy, but sometimes when it’s his birthday or is feeling especially emotional, she spills it all. To you, to Steve. To anybody who’ll listen.

If you’re her person, Steve is her schmuck. If you were to drop dead, Steve would be your eventual replacement. The mere step-bestie.

They’ve gone to war together, been interrogated and tortured together, almost died together. Steve is more than a brother, he’s the entire family.

Robin steels herself and tries to shrug off the weight she’s slinging over her shoulders as she says, “What about Steve? There’s a million people like him, but… but there’s only one you, bunny.”

You don’t believe her, and you can tell that she doesn’t even believe herself.

“I should’ve never gone to that fucking bar…�� you heave, throat tight and stomach aching, “Those fuckers - Robbie - tried sacrificing me as a virgin and now I’m- “ you reach for Robin’s leg, thumb brushing over the exposed red lines of where she cut her knees on the glass, “I don’t know what I am, but it isn’t human.”

“Just stay with me,” Robin picks up your jaw, cradling your head tenderly and forcing you to lock eyes with her, “If I can help, I will. You feel full with me, so just be with me, bunny.”

“What if I hurt you?” you sniffle, eyes wet and body limp, “I can’t- “

“You won’t,” Robin kisses your cheek, “And if you do, we’ll deal with it together. You’re strong, bunny, you’re smart - I know you can handle this.”

Your turn towards Eddie, “He knows.”

Robin’s hands go to your shoulders, pulling you tight to herself, tucking your head into the crook of her neck. She stares at Eddie. Pleading and weak and uneasy.

“Munson, I know you haven’t been around for a lot of Hawkins’ shit like we have, and we’ll explain later - but just- “ her breathing is shaky, she shakes her head, “Please, this wasn’t her. I swear, this wasn’t her.”

Eddie is silent. It’s bizarre. He looks between the two of you.

He doesn’t know where to go. What to say. He wants the old you back, whenever you changed he doesn’t know but he wants you back. He doesn’t even know if that’s entirely possible. He doesn’t know what to say.

How does he laugh this off? How does he wave this away? This isn’t you mistakenly hitting a fence when he was trying to teach you how to drive. It’s more than you passing out on his bed after a late night. Bigger than accidentally missing Corroded Coffin’s gig at The Hideout.

Robin hugs you closer, “I know we’re not best friends, but you have to know - it’s Hawkins. She’s sick with whatever fucked up curse is here.”

Eddie stands up from the wall, he pulls his hands away from his side to inspect the blood there. He’ll live, most assuredly, but he doesn’t know how long it’ll take him to forgive this.

Should he forgive this?

His hand shakes as he points at you - past Robin and right at where you’re trying to hide, “I want an explanation… and- and answers for whatever Hawkins’ curse you’re talking about.”

“Will you keep quiet?” Robin’s trying so hard to sound like she has the power, but it’s all bravado she never mastered. She’s pleading. Begging.

You look at him now. Shaking and horrified. You don’t look like the girl he knows.

“Yeah,” so he submits, hands raising in surrender, “I’ll keep quiet.”

He slides back onto the ground and Robin turns your head to her, she smiles and you try to return it. You really, really do try. But you’re tired and you’re hungry and you want to disappear from his pool house. From the world where you’ve done what you have.

“You’re starving, huh, bunny?” Robin brushes a thumb over your bottom lip before kissing you, “We should take care of you.”

“Do you hate me?” you clutch at her despite the question, desperate to keep her close even if she does, “For the… for what I did…”

“No,” Robin kisses you again, hungrier, harder, “Not at all, bunny.”

Dare she say it, she loves you.

And one day, you’ll tell her you love her back.

“Come on,” she stands and you take her hand. She squeezes - your skin is warm. You’re you, “Let’s get you taken care of, bunny.”

You’re warm.

[svmbers]

nat 🥺

NAT SCATORCCIO YELLOWJACKETS | 3.10

[svmbers]

how bad do u want me | natalie scatorccio x reader

“Cause you like my hair, my ripped-up jeans, you like the bad girl i got in me.”

SUMMARY: After a quiet conversation with Coach Ben in the wilderness, you come to a realization about yourself that you’ve been avoiding for a long time - you’re in love with your best friend, Natalie Scatorccio.

warnings: nsfw, smut with plot, slight angst!

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The fire was dying again.

You and Coach Ben sat across from it, the silence thick between you. Most nights, no one really talked anymore. But tonight—tonight felt heavy, like something needed to be said. You were chewing on a piece of dried something (you didn’t ask), half-listening to the hiss of the flames when he broke the silence.

“You ever been in love?”

The question felt like it came out of nowhere. You blinked at him. “What?”

He gave a tired shrug. “It’s the kind of question you think about a lot out here.”

You stared into the fire for a long time, the heat kissing your cheeks. “No,” you answered too quickly. Then, quieter: “At least, I don’t think so.”

Coach nodded, then said gently, “What about boys?”

“I dated some, but my heart was never really in it.”You shrugged, pulling your knees up to your chest. “It’s always been like that. I tried. I kissed them. I let them take me out. But it just felt like going through the motions. Like I was acting out a scene someone else wrote.”

He looked at you, not with judgment but with something like… curiosity. “So what does feel real to you?”

Your heart stuttered. The answer lived right there, under your tongue, ready to spill. And once you started talking, it didn’t stop.

And someone came in your mind.

Natalie.

You let out a long breath and started speaking, your voice softer than usual.

“When me and Natalie were younger… I don’t think I ever realized how much I needed Natalie. But there was always something between us, something I could never quite explain.” You paused, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. "When we were at my house, my mom would always be downstairs, cooking or doing something. And Natalie and I would go up to my room, lock the door, and just... be together."

You ran a hand through your hair, trying to find the right words. “We’d lie there in my bed, close, too close sometimes. I’d press my legs against hers, feeling the heat of her body next to mine.”

“I think I always knew, even back then, that I wanted more. But I didn’t know how to say it, how to make it real.”

Coach Ben stayed silent, watching you as you spoke. His presence was comforting, and yet, there was a pang in your chest as you relived those memories.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You and Natalie were sitting on her bed in the dim light of her room, the air thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and the faint aroma of her cheap perfume. The faint sound of music played low, something from the ‘80s. Queen, maybe? You weren’t sure, but the static from the speakers added to the feeling of everything being just a little bit hazy.

She was sprawled across her bed, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily, her ripped jeans showing more skin than you'd care to admit. Her black eyeliner smudged just slightly, as it always did, and her messy hair framed her face in the way it always did—like she didn’t care, but still somehow looked like she owned the room.

You were sitting a little too stiffly beside her, in your usual outfit of pink, a fuzzy sweater and white skirt with a flower hairclip on top of your head. A stark contrast to her—the good girl, the one who was always so... perfect.

You were used to the way people looked at you both, always wondering how the two of you ended up as best friends. You were opposites in every way. You were the quiet, perfect girl, the one who sat in the front of class and smiled politely. She was loud, messy, always caught up in something she shouldn’t be.

Still, here you were. Side by side, as you always were. Yet tonight, something felt different. You could feel it in the air, that shift that always came before something bigger, something you weren’t ready for but knew was inevitable.

“I don’t get why you hang out with me, (Y/N),” she muttered, her voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. She turned her head, her eyes searching yours for something—maybe an answer. "I'm trouble, you know that, right?"

You glanced at her, biting your lip. You always hated when she said things like that. Like she wasn’t worth it, like you weren’t worth being around her.

“You’re not trouble,” you said, though your voice was quieter than you intended. “You’re just... complicated. But I like complicated.”

She snorted, a sharp sound that made your heart flutter in an oddly comforting way. “Yeah, sure. You like it ‘cause you’re perfect. You’ve got everything together. I’m just a mess.”

That ache you were feeling deep in your chest earlier felt heavier now. The gap between the two of you was always there, but tonight it felt bigger, harder to ignore. You looked at her again, really looked at her. Natalie—your best friend, the one who you’d known for years, who knew you better than anyone else ever could.

“Maybe I like you because I’m not perfect,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And I don’t want to be.”

There was a long pause as Natalie processed your words. She tilted her head slightly, watching you closely, and then a small, almost sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“You’re so good to me, cupcake,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest at the nickname. That nickname. She only ever called you that when she was soft, when she wasn’t trying to hide the part of her that was vulnerable, even if she didn’t always let herself show it.

“I’m not... I’m not good,” you whispered back, your words shaky. You wanted to say more, but the words were stuck in your throat. "You... you’ve been through so much. And you—"

But Natalie cut you off with a shake of her head, her expression turning serious. “You’ve always been good, (Y/N),” she said, her voice like gravel. "You just don’t see it. You always help me, no matter what. You keep me from falling apart."

Her words hung in the air, and you could feel them pressing down on you, making everything feel heavier. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “You don’t have to let me in, you know? You can—"

“I’m not going anywhere,” she interrupted, her voice suddenly more forceful than before. She moved closer to you, her leg brushing against yours as she did. The proximity sent a jolt through your body, making your pulse quicken.

The closeness was something you both had always shared—laying side by side, pressing your legs together when you watched movies, when you talked about everything and nothing. But tonight, with everything hanging in the balance, it felt like so much more.

You stared at her for a long moment, the words you wanted to say stuck on your tongue. But then she spoke again, her voice quieter, more vulnerable this time.

“Promise me something,” she said, looking down at your intertwined legs. “Promise me you’ll never leave me. No matter how... messed up I get.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

The air between you two felt thick now, like something unsaid was hanging there. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud yet. You couldn’t tell her what you were really feeling, not when the world seemed so uncertain.

You were so different. She was so different. And yet, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere but right here with her.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“She kissed me once,” you admitted, pulling your legs closer to your face.

“Said it was practice."

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Madonna crooned from the cassette player, half-muffled by your bedroom pillow.

Like a virgin… touched for the very first time…

Natalie was sprawled next to you, one foot crossed over the other. Her flannel was sliding off one shoulder, eyes smudged with the kind of liner she never wiped off before crashing at your place. She had a joint in hand, laughing at something stupid you’d said about math class.

“Wanna practice?” she asked, not looking at you.

“Practice what?”

She raised a brow. “Kissing.”

You thought she was joking. But then she rolled over onto her side, facing you, close enough to smell the weed and grape soda on her breath.

You hesitated. “Okay.”

She leaned in like it was nothing. Like you were the one being weird about it. Her lips brushed yours, soft, slow, as if she’d done it a hundred times.

You didn’t even move at first. You just felt it—this terrible, perfect spark crawling up your spine. You kissed her back, and it felt like falling. You wanted to cry, and you didn’t know why.

When she pulled back, she grinned.

You wanted her to do it again.

And she did, again and again.

When she kissed you, it wasn’t playful. Not really. It was slow, searching. Her tongue moved against yours like she was memorizing it.

Later, she had pulled back, breathless, eyes darker than the night.

“Damn,” she whispered. “They don’t kiss like that.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

“She kissed me again, later,” you told Coach, your voice cracking. “A bunch of times. And then she touched me.”

You didn’t mean too say it out loud, but it was already gone. Out in the cold air, hanging there like smoke.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

It had been late, after another party, when she’d stumbled into your car, laughing. Her eyeliner smeared, her voice sticky sweet with whiskey.

“You’re always so soft,” she murmured, leaning against you in the passenger seat, cheek pressed to your shoulder.

“You’re always so loud,” you said back, trying to steady your voice even though your hands were trembling on the wheel.

She laughed and turned her head, eyes glassy, breath warm on your skin.

“You ever think maybe I’m loud ‘cause I don’t wanna hear myself think?”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t. Just drove her home in silence, the quiet between you almost unbearable.

That night, she left her bedroom door cracked open like she always did when she didn’t want to sleep alone. You followed, heart hammering like you were doing something wrong.

You helped her change. Her skirt was hitched too high, her shirt sliding down one shoulder. When she sat on the edge of her bed, legs loose and lazy, she reached for the strap of your sando, tugging them, letting it leave your shoulder.

“Wanna practice again?” she whispered, lips brushing yours.

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing. “Yeah,” you said, and kissed her.

God, you kissed her like it would be the last time. Like it had to count.

It started soft. Your lips, her tongue, the way she cupped the back of your neck. But she tasted like smoke and sugar and something that burned, and soon your sando was half off, her hands under your bra, skimming the bare skin of your sides.

She touched you like she meant it. Like she’d been thinking about it.

Her hand slid beneath your waistband, fingers grazing the elastic of your panties. Your hips jolted.

“Natalie…” you gasped, but it wasn’t a protest. It was a plea.

She paused, eyes locking with yours. “You want me to stop?”

You shook your head.

Her fingers dipped lower, slow and careful, until she brushed against the wet heat of you. You choked out a sound, half gasp, half whimper.

“God, you’re already soaked,” she said, voice low and rough, almost reverent.

She kissed your collarbone as she slid a finger inside, then two. Her touch was practiced, but gentle. She curled them just right, dragging them slow, deep, the heel of her hand pressing firm against your clit. You buried your face in her neck, biting down to muffle the moan tearing from your throat.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. Her fingers worked you open, curling and stroking, coaxing you toward the edge until your thighs were shaking, your back arching, your hands twisted in her sheets.

You came like that, trembling in her lap, forehead pressed to hers, a quiet sob catching in your throat.

She kissed you after, messy and slow. Then she pushed you gently down onto the bed and climbed between your legs.

“Wait - ” you started, but her mouth was already there.

She kissed your thighs first, soft, dragging her teeth across the skin. Her hands pushed your legs open, steady and sure. And then-

Her tongue. Warm, slow, deliberate. She licked a long stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, teasing, tasting.

You cried out.

“Natalie -”

She moaned against you like she was drunk on it. Like she wanted to ruin you slow.

And she did.

The last thing you remembered before the flashback burned out was the sound you made. loud, raw, real - and the way she looked up at you from between your legs like you were something sacred, as she enjoyed

You never noticed but the way she looked at you, it was love.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You looked down at your lap. Your hands were shaking.

“It was my first time,” you admitted.

Coach Ben nodded, listening intently.

You thought that was it—that the conversation would taper off into silence like everything else here did. But then he looked at you again, steady and quiet, like he was waiting for something to click.

“Maybe the love you’re looking for,” he said gently, “has always been in front of you. Waiting.”

You froze.

The fire popped. Your heart did too, in a different way.

He said it like he knew something you didn’t. Like he’d seen it in the way Natalie passed you her joint with soft fingers. The way she always sat just close enough that your knees touched. The way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t looking - tired, tender, like she didn’t know how to say don’t go.

“Maybe,” he added, “you’ve just been looking for it in the wrong people.”

Your throat burned. You didn’t have an answer.

Just Natalie’s name echoing through your chest like a secret you’d been too afraid to tell out loud.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe she’d always been right there.

Waiting.

And as you return to the cabin the, faint rise and fall of Natalie’s breathing as she lay curled up on the cot, her face relaxed in sleep.

There was space next to her, an empty spot on the edge of the blanket, clearly left for you.

You smiled softly to yourself, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. It was a small thing, but it meant the world to you.

As you moved closer, the cool night air from the door fading behind you, you hesitated. You knew what you were feeling now. You couldn’t ignore it anymore. You couldn’t hide from the truth.

Coach Ben’s words echoed in your mind—Maybe the love you're looking for has always been in front of you, waiting. You thought about it again, about how, all this time, you’d been searching for something that was never really gone.

It had always been Natalie.

You gently eased into the space beside her, sliding your arms around her waist and pulling her close. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her body fitting into yours like it was always meant to. You hugged her tightly from behind, feeling the warmth of her skin seep into yours.

And in the quiet of that moment, you realized what Coach Ben had meant. You’d been looking for love in all the wrong places, convinced that there was something out there for you, when all along it was right here. Right in front of you. Waiting.

Natalie.

The love you’d been searching for, the love you had been too scared to admit, was already yours.

And as you held her close, the world outside the cabin seemed so far away. The noise, the chaos, it all faded to nothing. All that mattered was the warmth of her body in your arms and the gentle sound of her breathing.

 Coach Ben had been right after all.

THE END

[svmbers]

silent circus

summary. natalie never expected anything kind from the world—not respect, not love. but someone’s been leaving her flowers. one summer evening, near the edge of the woods, she meets the girl who’s been leaving them.

pairing. natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

word count. 6.3k

warnings. implied past trauma, body dysmorphia (nat struggles with her appearance a lot), constant emotional distress, werewolf!nat kinda, overwhelming amount of timeskips (again), angst with a happy (open) ending??

fic note. not very confident about this one but okayyyy i have many things to say. first of all, this is set in the late 50s-early 60s bc i don't think freak shows are still legal (and also because this was inspired by my monthly rewatch of ahs freak show hehe) but it barely affects the story in any way. still i thought it was worth mentioning.

i finished writing this like five days ago but i have a fever and i barely finished editing it like an hour ago sooo there might be some mistakes

writing shauna's pov was also in my plans but i'm not sure if the story's good enough to continue it. lmk if you guys want shauna's story anyway<3 please enjoy<3333

+18. minors do not interact.

The soft, humid wind dragged the tent flaps across the dirt, making a sound similar to a groan from a pair of tired lungs. Evening had settled in—thick and hot, like any other summer night.

The colorful circus lights strung above flickered defiantly against the approaching dark.

Outside, people gathered in line. Dust-covered boots and hushed gossip mingled in the air—farmers who reeked of tobacco, eager children with sticky fingers eating half-melted cotton candy, curious socialites in search of some new form of entertainment, since their opulence stopped being exciting long ago.

They all came for the grotesque. To peer into a glass tank of misery, see something morbid, and remind themselves how lucky they were to be normal.

Inside, Natalie sat in her cage, silent.

The cold iron bars were bolted into the floorboards of the warped stage. Around the cage, velvet curtains hung limp and faded, rustling with the warm breeze. Her fingers—if they could still be called that—dug into the straw-covered ground. Claws now. Sharp and curved. Unnatural and wrong. Like the pointed ears that twitched atop her head.

When she wasn’t performing, she wore gloves and a beret to hide what she had become. To preserve some shred of human dignity.

Mr. Mars, the ringmaster, paced outside the curtain. Natalie could hear the squeaky sound of his leather boots above the loud carny music. Could smell the buttery scent of popcorn in the air, mixed with the cheap and sour cologne he always drowned himself in.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” He began, voice slick and theatrical. “I present to you two creatures—born of women, raised by rabid wolves—or so the whispers say!”

Natalie rolled her eyes, already bracing herself for the scared and disgusted stares and the blinding lights.

“The very spirit of the wilderness made flesh!”

That line always made her skin crawl.

The curtain was pulled back. The stage lights flared, and Natalie flinched instinctively. Her lips parted in a subtle snarl, revealing sharp teeth that glinted under the spotlight.

Loud gasps erupted from the crowd. Always the same reaction.

“Do they bite?” A child shouted.

Natalie didn't growl at the question. She just stared at the crowd. Her eyes, an unusual shade of gold, scanned the view. Not for mercy, or an answer. She'd stopped looking for those things long ago.

Across the stage, in a matching cage, was Shauna. Her sister—not by blood, but trauma bonded after suffering the same fate—was doing all the opposite.

Shauna growled, clawed, snarled. The spotlight painted her wild and furious, hair glowing like fire as she rattled the bars of her cage.

Natalie understood the rage. Shauna carried it like a torch—lit by the time they lost and slipped through their fingers like sand, by the years of hiding, running, surviving. An endless cycle of bouncing from town to town, fleeing from the authorities and men in white coats with scalpels and theories.

But Natalie had let her anger quiet into resignation and grief. Grief didn’t snarl. It just sat there and looked back at you.

“Their bite is said to carry the disease!” The ringmaster said dramatically. “A small nibble from them, and you too may become like them!”

Gasps again, tinged with fear.

It was all bullshit. They didn't carry any disease in their blood, and they definitely had not been raised by wolves. The only truth was that both of them had been attacked by some creature when they were barely kids, playing hide and seek in the woods.

Natalie has never been a stranger to rejection. Some kids during second grade picked on her for being surprisingly good at math without even trying.

But after the attack, she was met with a new, harsher type of rejection—from her own family.

No one could understand how it happened. All her parents knew was that Natalie came back home that day, clothes drenched in blood, with bite marks and scratches all over her body. Then, the next morning, she was healed up like nothing had happened.

It was until the first full moon that she began growing fangs, claws, and fuzzy ears.

Her parents barely even looked at her after that night. And when they did, their lips twisted into a frown of disgust. Natalie learned Shauna was experiencing exactly the same—from the physical changes to the rejection from her loved ones.

They ran away together as soon as they turned sixteen and were on the run for three years until they heard of the local circus in a small town looking for new performers. It was the only place willing to hire them and give them a home, and it paid enough to eat.

Natalie was jolted from her thoughts by a piece of raw meat being thrown against the bars of her cage.

She didn’t even have to look. She knew the act by heart.

She glanced sideways to look at Shauna, who angrily grabbed the meat and threw it back at Mr. Mars. Bared teeth, ears flat against her head and pupils blown with fury.

Last time Shauna refused to carry on with the act, he docked her pay for a month. Natalie had shared her own food with her just so she wouldn’t starve.

One of them had to cooperate. To keep them both fed. Clearly, it wouldn't be Shauna.

So Natalie swallowed her pride and grabbed the meat, bringing it to her lips and tearing into it with her sharp teeth. Blood trickled down her chin, and the crowd gasped in delighted horror—even louder this time.

It was the show they paid for.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“Give me your hands.” Natalie mumbled.

They were in their shared tent, the show long over. A first-aid kit sat between them.

It became their routine. After every show, they'd sit down until Shauna's anger cooled down, Natalie would clean her bruised knuckles and the dried blood under her claws to bandage her hands up, and then they drank until the memories and thoughts blurred.

Shauna, as usual, complied in silence, wincing slightly when Natalie ran a wet cloth over her raw, red knuckles.

“You said you'd stop doing that.” She muttered, cleaning the blood away. “We're not here by choice, Shauna. Remember that. What will you do if Mr. Mars decides to kick you out? What will we do?”

Shauna’s eyes sparked with indignation. “You still don’t get it. We don’t need this place. We don’t need them. We could easily live off the land. You’re always letting them humiliate you like some obedient pet!”

Natalie's jaw locked and she exhaled deeply. “And what would we do without a roof to live under? Who would take us in? You think anyone out there wants freaks like us—”

“We're not freaks.” Shauna snapped, cutting Natalie off with a small scoff. “You patch me up out of habit, but you and I both know my hands will heal on their own in a few hours. We're better than any of them.” She shook her head. “You ever heard of a god begging for scraps, Natalie? No. They take what they want.”

Shauna tore the bandages off and stood. “You would see it that way if you didn't give up so easily and resign to this shitty life we live.”

The words cut deep, sharp with the truth Natalie didn't want to face.

Her eyes followed Shauna as she grabbed a jacket. “Where are you going?” Natalie blinked in confusion.

“The bar in town.” Shauna shrugged, slipping the jacket on.

“At least wear gloves and a hat. They'll tell you to leave when they see what you are.”

Shauna paused at the door, glancing at Natalie over her shoulder. She scoffed in disbelief, and left without another word.

Natalie was left behind with all of her conflicting thoughts.

We're monsters. Sideshow attractions. Nothing more.

Her gaze lifted and she realized she was standing in front of Shauna's full body mirror. The mirror showed a girl that was half-beast, half-ghost. Not of the dead, but of a girl who should’ve had a future.

She turned away, claws digging into her palms painfully.

Sometimes, she wondered if fading away would be easier—to just let the dirt swallow her whole until she dissolves and let the carnival lights forget her name.

“Nat!” A voice called.

She looked up. One of the contortionists from the crew stood by the tent’s entrance.

���Yeah?” She cleared her throat and hoped her eyes weren't wet with tears.

“Someone left this for you earlier. I completely forgot to give it to you. Sorry!” He handed her a flower with vibrant pink petals and a white center, along with a piece of paper.

Natalie stared at the flower, confused. She'd never seen a flower like it before.

Protea, or Sugarbush. Unconventional beauty, often misunderstood, but still breathtaking. Named after the Greek god Proteus. Symbolizes courage and diversity.

I see your uniqueness. I admire your strength, Natalie.

She read the words once. Twice. Her fingers toyed with the stem of the flower, as if she was waiting for the joke to reveal itself.

It never did.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

A week had passed since then, and it was show night again.

The pink flower was slowly withering in the vase Natalie had bought just for it, perched delicately on the nightstand beside her bed.

“What’s that? It looks like a cactus.” Shauna said when she came back from the bar after midnight.

To Natalie, it had become one of her most prized possessions—fragile, fading, but still precious. The first gift she’d received since becoming a monster.

By sheer luck, neither she nor Shauna were scheduled to perform that Friday. A new act had joined the circus—some magician, probably a fraud—but his arrival meant they were free for the night.

Shauna had disappeared hours before the show began. She didn’t say much, never did, but Natalie had a feeling she was seeing someone. The thought made her both curious and a little envious. How did Shauna find the courage to be close to someone while being like this—half-beast, half-human?

But Natalie’s mind kept circling back to the flower and the letter.

Who could've left that behind?

She thought about it day and night. Not a single person came to mind—it couldn't be someone from her fellow performers. She knew them all too well. So it must've been someone from the crowd.

But who?

They always looked at her like she was the most disgusting and scariest creature in the entire universe.

Still, driven by curiosity, Natalie stayed behind that night instead of slipping out into the town like Shauna had.

From the sidelines, she watched as Mr. Mars introduced the magician with his usual carnival flair. Her golden eyes scanned the crowd—people laughing, murmuring, eating popcorn. Not one of them looked like the kind of person who would give a flower to a monster.

She spent the full two hours watching every single person in the crowd, hoping to catch something, anything that could give her a clue of who was behind the mysterious gift.

Eventually, the crowd began thinning out and the crew was already tearing down the decorations. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, frustrated that she'd have to wait for next week to try again.

She rubbed her face, claws grazing her skin that was still flushed with shame. Maybe it had been a fluke. Some cruel prank. Or worse—an accident that she’d mistaken for something meaningful.

But just as she turned to leave, her eyes caught a flicker of pink resting on a seat in the opposite row.

Another flower, resting on top of a letter.

Her heart sped up and she moved fast—a lot faster than she meant. It was the same type of flower as before, but this one had a pink center that bled beautifully into its petals.

Her shaky hands unfolded the paper, written in the same hand, cursive and elegant:

You don't need the spotlight to be seen.

Her fingers clutched the note like it would disappear if she so much as blinked. Who was this person? What was the intention behind it all—pity, fascination, something cruel disguised as kindness? Or was it possibly something real?

Her fingers curled tightly around the paper, holding it like it might vanish if she blinked. The words were simple, but they clung to her like perfume.

She turned swiftly, scanning every face moving around her, through the shadows and strings of bright carnival lights. None of them looked back with knowing eyes.

Still clutching the flower, Natalie wandered the grounds. Her mind raced as she hoped to find the stranger who haunted her thoughts from morning to night and quietly took up residence in her mind.

From the corner of her eye, she could see the worried gazes from the men she passed by, but she couldn't care any less about that.

“Did ya watch the last episode of The Burns and Allen Show? It was Gracie's last act before retiring.” A man in a suit spoke to a small group of similar looking men. Dull, empty conversation. No warmth behind the words. Not them.

Then her ears twitched—catching a different conversation. Laughter. Laced with something sharp. A group of women smoking right by the popcorn cart.

“…I told you, she’s been sneaking out again. You’d think the mayor would keep his daughter on a tighter leash.”

“Poor thing. She’s always been a bit.. rebellious, hasn’t she?”

Natalie barely heard the rest. She didn’t care about rich girls with too much time and not enough sense.

Her feet dragged her back to her tent, trying not to feel too disappointed—at least, now she was sure that it hadn't been a prank and someone left those gifts behind with a purpose that she wanted to understand.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Back in the tent, Natalie set the second protea beside the first. The old one had begun to wilt, its once-vibrant petals curling at the edges. She stared at them both, unsure which one looked more like her.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Natalie started talking to the flowers when no one else was around.

Not full-on conversations or something that would make people think she's gone mad. Just the occasional murmur, like: “I wonder who keeps leaving these behind.”

She also began writing back—letters she'd never send. Not just because she didn’t know who was leaving the gifts, but because the thought of letting someone inside of the walls she’d so carefully put up over the years terrified her. So she hid them all beneath her mattress, where no one would ever find them.

But doubts started creeping in, clawing at her resolve as she started imagining the worst.

What if it’s a joke? What if it's someone mocking me? What if it’s actually one of the performers and they're doing it for a quick laugh? What if none of it is real?

Natalie didn’t show the letters to Shauna. Partly out of fear, but also because the mystery had become something sacred. Something that was hers, and hers alone.

“She’d ruin it,” Natalie whispered to the flowers. The newest one stood tall and radiant, while the older one had wilted into a bunch of dry petals. “She ruins everything delicate. I can’t tell her. Not yet.”

Her chin rested in her palm as she stared at the vase, wondering how just a couple of flowers and some carefully chosen words had managed to change her life overnight.

Then, the flaps of the tent opened, and Shauna walked in with her hands stuffed into her pockets.

“Hey.” She mumbled, and one of her eyebrows arched when she noticed Natalie's distant stare. “…Okay?”

Natalie didn’t answer. She didn’t look away from the flowers.

With a small huff, Shauna walked over and tapped her shoulder. “Mr. Mars wants to see you.” Natalie finally turned to her, a frown creasing her brow. “Apparently, the mayor came to visit. Mr. Mars told me he requested to see you, so you probably shouldn't keep him waiting. They're in his tent.”

Natalie blinked, caught off guard. “Shit…”

She tried to remember anything that she might've done to upset the mayor in any way, but nothing came to mind. She’d barely even stepped off the carnival grounds. “Do you know what he wants?”

“Dunno.” Shauna shrugged before flopping down on the couch. “Have you been giving him trouble?” A teasing smirk grew on her lips, but Natalie only rolled her eyes.

Instead of answering, she sighed heavily and grabbed her beret and put it on to hide her ears, along with a pair of gloves for her claws.

She left their shared tent and tried to ignore how her hands were already becoming clammy.

Natalie stepped into Mr. Mars’ tent, and the air shifted immediately—thicker, quieter. The heavy canvas muffled the sounds of the carnival outside, turning laughter and music into distant murmurs, like memories underwater. The scent hit her first: cigar smoke, the rich smell of ripe plums, and the sickly-sweet perfume Mr. Mars favored, clinging to every piece of velvet in the room like a ghost that refused to leave.

“Shauna mentioned you wanted to see me, sir?”

The shadows inside moved like thick oil across the ground, cast by an elegant low hanging chandelier that swayed gently. The light caught on the golden buttons of Mr. Mars’ coat, his posture straighter than usual as he stood beside the mayor—smiling that stiff, polished grin he reserved for men with power.

“Natalie, there you are.” He said, gesturing her closer while his fingers fiddled mindlessly with his old carved pipe. “Our esteemed mayor and his daughter requested to meet one of our most unforgettable performers.”

Then she saw you.

You stood next to the mayor, hands clasped delicately in front of you. Your dress was a soft powder-blue with a lace collar and matching lace cuffs around your wrists. It looked like it came straight from one of those expensive department store mannequins in town.

You didn't belong there.

You looked like porcelain—pristine, untouchable. Something meant to be admired from a distance.

Your hair was pinned up, held by a silver clip shaped like a lotus, shimmering under the chandelier like it was moonlight trapped in metal. It looked like it was worth more money than Natalie had ever seen in her life.

But it was your eyes that caught Natalie off guard and made her pulse flutter—not because they were pretty, though they were—but because they weren't glancing around the tent with disinterest hidden behind a polite front like your father's. They were focused on Natalie from the very first moment she stepped inside the tent.

It was a bit unsettling. Natalie felt like she was being scrutinized under your stare. Or perhaps it was that you were really looking at her—like you were seeing beyond her physical appearance.

She dipped her head politely, even if she didn't really care much about his presence. “It's an honor, sir.”

The mayor turned to look at her. His lips pressed into a thin line—not a frown, but not entirely welcome, either. It was the same look she received from townspeople when they thought they were being polite, like they were forcing themselves not to stare. “No need for such formality, young lady. My daughter's been quite taken with your act. She's always had an eye for… rare things.”

His choice of words made Natalie's stomach tighten, but she refrained from saying anything.

You took a step forward. “You were in the final act two weeks ago, right? The one with the cages.” Your voice was light and soft, but the small smile on your lips looked like you were hiding some sort of secret.

Natalie’s lips parted, but her throat felt dry. “Yes.”

Your smile grew, already knowing the answer. Of course you did. You'd been sneaking out every Friday to watch her.

Natalie didn’t know what to say next. She wasn’t sure whether to run or do something else. The gloves on her hands felt more suffocating than ever.

“She says she's a fan of your stage presence.” Mr. Mars said, his tone seemingly friendly, though his eyes flitted too quickly between the mayor and Natalie.

“Maybe.” You replied, still watching Natalie, “I just admire uniqueness, and people who know how to stand in their own skin.”

That was when Natalie’s heart really stopped. The phrasing—it was too specific. Too familiar.

Was it a coincidence? It had to be. Unless…

She caught herself clutching her hands tightly behind her back, leather creaking under her grip.

The mayor gave a firm nod. “We won’t take more of your time, Mr. Mars. Just wanted to meet the talent. Sweetheart—let’s go.”

The words still rang like a bell inside Natalie’s skull.

“Actually,” You interrupted him. “I'd like a moment alone with her, if that's alright?”

He clenched his jaw—probably used to you always getting your way—and nodded with a heavy sigh. “You have two minutes. Don't wander.” His gaze flickered to Natalie, a warning look in his eyes which made a shiver travel down her spine.

You simply smiled again and walked out first, knowing Natalie would follow.

When you were outside of the tent, you glanced at Natalie curiously, observing and studying her.

“Why do you wear that?” Natalie turned to look at you, realizing your gaze was focused on the beret on her head.

“I do not mean to be disrespectful, but I think the reason is pretty obvious.” She answered, trying to keep herself composed and cool.

“I don't think you need to wear it.” You hummed and stopped walking to face her directly. Your hands reached up to take the hat off, revealing her ears, which instinctively flattened. “You don't have to hide who you are. You are beautiful, Natalie.”

Natalie didn't breathe for a second—she couldn't.

“Is this a joke?” She couldn't help but blurt out. “Are you… making fun of me?”

Your eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the question. “No.” You said, so softly that it barely sounded like a defense at all. Just honesty. “I would never do that.”

The tone of your voice, so calm, but not rehearsed. Genuine. And for some reason, that made it worse. Natalie had spent her whole life learning to identify lies, and now she wasn't sure if what she heard was the truth, or just the best trick she'd ever seen.

“Then what is this?” She asked, her voice cracking. “Why are you talking like you know me? Why—why did you leave those flowers? Those letters?”

Something passed across your expression for a second—guilt, perhaps. Or fear.

You glanced over your shoulder, back at the tent, and when you looked back at Natalie, you hesitated just for a second.

“Because I've seen you. Not just on stage. I've been coming back every week, and…” Your voice trailed off, like you weren't even sure yourself of the reason behind your visits.

Natalie swallowed hard. Her hands trembled under the gloves, and she tucked them behind her back again.

“I don’t want anything from you.” You added, as if reading her mind. “I just thought… you should know someone out there sees more than what they’re told to look at.”

Natalie stared at you. Her heart was pounding in her throat, and all she could think of were those letters, and the way her stomach dropped when she found the second flower. You don’t need the spotlight to be seen.

Her voice was tight when she finally spoke. “You could’ve just talked to me before or after the shows. Instead of—whatever this is.”

“I didn’t know how.” You stepped a little closer. Not too much, but just enough. Your perfume—something clean and floral, obviously expensive—caught Natalie's attention. “People don’t usually get close to me unless they want something. I guess I thought you might feel the same.”

The words hit her like a freight train. Natalie didn’t answer right away.

She was still trying to believe this was real.

After a moment, you looked down at the beret still in your hands.

“I didn't want you to think that I only wanted to meet you out of morbid fascination, like all the people who come to watch the show.” You handed her hat back, and shrugged. “I don't see you as any different. I just see you, and I wanted you to know that.”

You hesitated again, and mumbled gently, “Would it be alright if I came by again?”

Natalie’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She didn't know the answer herself. Instead, she looked down at the gloves on her hands. The heat of shame and hope burned her cheeks.

“You should go. Your dad’s probably waiting.”

It's not the answer Natalie wanted to give, but at least it was the safer option. The thought of letting herself be vulnerable in front of a stranger seemed scarier than anything else.

Your lips curled into a small, almost disappointed smile, and you nodded. “I do not blame you for not trusting me. But I meant everything I said. My intentions are not malicious at all.”

With another smile, filled with more warmth than the last one, you began walking back to the tent, where your father was. “Your ears look cute.”

The comment had Natalie feeling like she'd been punched in the gut. The urge to reach out and stop you from leaving was strong, but she didn't.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Natalie found another flower waiting in her tent. Beneath it was a folded slip of paper, delicate strokes of ink pressed deep into it:

If you are willing to come, I’ll be near the big oak by the edge of the field after dusk tomorrow.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Shauna was lounging on the couch, reading the comic strips in the newspaper, occasionally laughing. “Check this out. Snoopy looks adorable—” She glanced up, ready to show Natalie. However, she rolled her eyes when she realized Natalie was pacing in circles nervously, digging her claws into her sleeves while she muttered something under her breath.

“For the love of God.” She groaned and set the newspaper down, finally pushing to her feet to grab Natalie's arm. “You’re going to end up in China if you keep that up. What’s got you so twitchy this time? You haven’t been this anxious since our first day here.”

“Sorry, I just….” Her voice came out sharper than she meant, and she immediately looked away, jaw clenched. “It’s nothing. Just something on my mind.”

Shauna raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. “What? Someone say something to you?”

Natalie didn’t answer right away, and Shauna groaned again. “Are we going to play twenty questions, or are you actually going to tell me?”

Finally, she stopped pacing. Her fingers twitched, claws tapping against her sleeves. For a second, Natalie looked like was seconds away from passing out or throwing up.

“I've been receiving letters. And flowers. For a while now.” Natalie admitted. “The ones you said looked like cactuses.”

Shauna blinked slowly. “From who?”

“At first, I didn’t know.” Natalie said quickly. “They were just left behind. No name, nothing. I thought it was all a prank, or some sick joke. But it doesn't feel like that anymore.”

“Oh, really?” Shauna sank down into the couch again and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Then who’s the secret admirer? One of the bearded twins? Joe from the snack stand?”

Natalie’s voice dropped to a whisper—just in case anyone was listening. “It’s the mayor’s daughter.”

Silence.

Shauna stared at her. Blinked again. Then, she let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Shauna's head tilted slightly, thinking she'd misheard. Then she laughed once more—a short, humorless sound. “Wait. Seriously? That tight-laced porcelain doll who came by yesterday?” Her eyebrows lifted. “The one who looks like she came straight out of one of those Weldon's Dressmaking magazines?”

Natalie frowned at Shauna's description of you, but nodded, anyway.

Shauna leaned back slowly, like trying to make sense of a puzzle with half the pieces missing. “And you believe her?”

“I don’t know.” She muttered, her voice cracking around the edges. “But when she looked at me, it was different from the way people usually do. It wasn't fear or pity. It was like she saw something that’s not—”

She broke off, unable to finish.

Shauna was quiet again, studying her. “You think she sees you.”

Natalie nodded once more, but didn’t reply. She just sat down beside Shauna, silently wrapping her arms around herself. “She wants to meet later, after dusk.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, until Shauna added, her voice rough, but sincere: “If she hurts you, I’ll gut her with my bare hands—or claws. Fancy dress and all.”

Natalie let out a breath she didn't know she’d been holding. A small, crooked smile tugged at her mouth. “Thanks.”

Shauna rolled her eyes again, but the edge had softened. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get sappy on me.” She nudged Natalie’s shoulder, not quite gentle, not quite rough. “Come on. We have to practice for later.”

Natalie stood, but paused. “Wait. Can we go to the farmers market in town first? I want to buy something.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Later that day, the sun looked like it was on the verge of its death, bleeding shades of pink and gold as it surrendered to the moon slowly.

The crowd was thinner than usual, the summer heat driving most people indoors. The scent of popcorn, roasted peanuts, and sawdust hung thick in the air. Natalie had just finished her act, and her muscles were still trembling slightly from the adrenaline.

She moved through the maze of tents and stalls, counting each colorful light bulb she passed to steady her breath and calm her raging heart.

Natalie wasn't sure what to expect. She didn't even know what she was hoping for. All she knew was that her chest felt like it was bracing for impact, even as she told herself not to get her hopes up too much.

She reached for her beret out of habit, but then remembered she'd chosen not to wear it, for once. Her other hand gripped the stem of a single sunflower between her fingers, trying not to crush it by accident.

And from afar, she saw you.

You stood by the oak tree, near the edge of the clearing where a small creek began, and the trees began to swallow the dirt. Your dress was simpler this time—soft pink cotton, with small embroidered forget-me-nots on the hem—and your hair was flowing gently in the wind.

You looked like you’d stepped out of a storybook.

Natalie nearly turned around and ran, anxiety spiking up and betraying her.

But then you looked up and your eyes found hers—immediately, without searching. Like you knew she would come.

And she did.

Natalie walked slowly, her gloves shoved into her pocket, in case you felt uncomfortable with her claws. She stopped a few feet away. That same floral perfume—soft and sweet—drifted between you, anchoring her to the moment.

“You came.” You smiled, and there was relief in your voice.

“I’m here.” Natalie answered, still unsure about it all. “I got this for you.” She licked her lips nervously and glanced down shyly, offering you the sunflower. “I know it's already starting to wilt, but it was the only one the florist would sell me, and…”

You accepted the sunflower, a wide grin on your lips. Hell, she could've handed you a bunch of dead petals and stems, and you would've looked at them the same way.

“It's perfect. Don't worry.” Natalie looked up at you, eyes wide with shock. Her throat tightened, and she nodded.

A moment of silence passed, until she spoke.

“I don't know what it is that you want from me.”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the sunflower in your hands. “I don’t want anything.” You said. “Not really. I just… I keep thinking about the way you looked the first time I saw you. Not during your act. Before it. When you were just… existing. Like you were trying so hard to take up as little space as possible.”

Natalie just blinked at your words.

“I won't lie and say I know what that feels like.” You admitted with a small shrug. “But, my entire life, I've been surrounded by people who only care how things look, about appearances. And then, there was you—raw and real, and not trying to be anything for anyone. Just… you.”

She didn’t speak when you stepped forward, careful not to make her uncomfortable.

“And I thought that if I wrote something for you, maybe you’d see that I was serious. That I wasn't just another pair of eyes in the crowd, staring and judging.”

Natalie swallowed. “It didn’t feel real. I thought someone was playing a joke.”

“I figured you might.” You gave a faint, sad smile. “But every single word came from my very heart.”

She finally looked at you, uncertain—but wanting to believe.

The silence stretched, and then she asked—quietly, but without accusation. “Why me?”

You looked at her like that was the easiest question in the world.

"Because you’re beautiful.” You hesitated for a second, and then clarified. “Not just physically. It's the way you carry all that pain and still get up there and perform. Like the world has tried to break you several times, but you keep getting up.”

Natalie looked away, blinking fast. Her voice was tight, like she was holding back tears. “You make it sound poetic. It’s not. It’s survival.”

“I know.” You nodded. “That’s what makes it beautiful.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward. Just full. Like something important had been handed over, delicate and intimate. Sweet, pure feelings of longing.

Natalie finally took a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can give you anything back.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.” You replied softly.

A gentle breeze stirred the trees, lifting the hem of your dress slightly. You stepped back, just enough to give her space.

“It makes me happy that you are here tonight.” You said. “I don't want you to think that I'm only being nice because I expect something back from you.”

You held out your hand.

Natalie hesitated. She stared at it, and then down at her own hand—claws instead of nails. How could you even want to touch something like that? That was just unimaginable. Someone like you, wanting to—

She began to spiral, so you didn't wait any longer and grabbed her hand, fingers slipping through hers with ease, with warmth.

Her heart stuttered. A strange warmth began blooming in her chest that she didn’t dare name yet, but knew exactly what it was.

She let you guide her further into the trees, her body tense at first—until she saw the blanket on the ground, a basket and flickering candles on top of it. Slowly, the knot in her chest loosened.

“Sit.” You smiled, easing down yourself. “I didn't know what you like, so I brought some cookies. I made them.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Natalie felt normal. No harsh stares, no backhanded compliments. No need to explain her own existence.

“If I'm honest, I didn't think my father would actually bring me yesterday.” You confessed, hugging your knees to your chest as you leaned against a tree. “He doesn't… really get it. He thinks it's stupid, that I was interested in meeting someone from the carnival.”

Natalie didn’t flinch. It wasn’t anything new to her.

“But I insisted.” A small smile tugged on your lips. “After pestering him for hours, he finally accepted. Complained the whole way, but it doesn't really matter. I got to meet you.”

Your hand rested on the blanket, fingers barely brushing hers.

Natalie stiffened instantly, and felt the need to pull her hand away and put on her gloves to cover up her claws.

But she didn't.

Not anymore, she told herself. This is my chance to be liked, to be seen.

To be loved?

It was very soon to tell. But Natalie knew that, now that she'd finally met you, it would be incredibly hard to imagine a world without you.

You turned toward her, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”

The words hung between you, heavier than anything Natalie had ever heard. There was no demand in your voice—only a quiet and delicate honesty that made her breath catch in her throat.

Natalie didn't respond right away. Her gaze drifted to the space between you, where your hand rested on the blanket, fingers still grazing hers.

I can still pull away. There's still time to run and hide.

She didn’t.

Instead, Natalie slowly uncurled her fingers and—tentatively, as if any sudden moves might shatter the moment—she linked her pinky with yours.

It wasn't a big gesture. It wasn't a kiss, or a confession. Just a part of her reaching out to allow herself a moment of closeness. Like two wires making the slightest contact, but still creating a spark.

Natalie kept her eyes down, unable to look at you yet.

“It’s not easy for me.” She muttered, voice rough with effort. “Letting someone see me like this.”

“I know.” You said, and squeezed her pinky, just once, so gently she almost didn’t feel it. “I don’t want to rush you into anything. I just… want to be here.”

And she believed you.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, someone didn’t flinch at what she was. You just saw her. Wanted her—here and now.

The sun was long gone, and the trees around you whispered with the wind and the buzzing of cicadas. Somewhere in the distance, the faint music from the carousel still played—slow and dreamy.

Natalie closed her eyes and allowed the moment to wrap around her like a warm blanket in the middle of winter.

She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.

Her hand stayed in yours.

And that was enough.

[svmbers]

is it really a bad thing to disobey god?

summary. natalie, the stranger who works for your father, makes you question everything you've ever known.

pairing. natalie scatorccio x fem!reader

word count. 3.3k

warnings. smut, smoking, drinking, brief mentions of violence, religious themes, loss of virginity

fic note. i'm honestly not sure if this is even good since it's my first time writing a full fic lol. also my first time writing smut so yeaaa expect some mistakes maybe. and i’m also terrible at writing summaries and the amount of time skips might be a warning as well. anyway please enjoy ^v^

+18. minors do not interact

Longhorn Ranch, located in a forgotten town in the middle of nowhere. Just a name barely hanging onto a rusted highway sign, swallowed by weeds and time. The type of place that feels abandoned, where technology seems like only a rumor, and the sky always looks a sickly shade of blue. The kind of place that truckers speed past without a second glance.

The town had once had promises—a gorgeous train station; wide, thriving and golden wheat fields. Now, the station was long forgotten, only inhabited by rats and insects. The fields were all scorched, victims of too many merciless summers.

It was late June. The sun was high and mean, making the air feel suffocating. Dust from the road clung to the air like a dense fog, crawling down Natalie’s throat with every breath, mingling with the bitter smoke of her cigarette and the old, musty breath of her beat-up truck.

After her latest “incident”, her father pulled the old favor card on her and forced her to offer a helping hand at his friend's ranch for the rest of the summer. It was either that, or spend a few months behind bars for beating up a guy who insulted her friends, Tai and Van, at a bar.

The ranch looked like it had seen better days and only its bones remained. The two-story house, its wood weathered to a dull gray. Wind chimes hung from every corner of it, their eerie jingles the only sound above the distant bleats and calls of livestock.

A sun-bleached and stiff scarecrow standing in front of the house almost seemed to be telling Natalie to abandon all hope out here.

The man met her outside, a rifle slung over his shoulder, his boots dirty with mud and something darker that could've been dried blood. Natalie hopped off her truck, and he greeted her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“Your father says you're good with cattle.” He rasped, voice like sandpaper, as he shook her hand.

“I know how not to get kicked by one.” Natalie nodded, shielding her eyes from the sun with the back of her hand.

“That’ll do. You’ll learn.” He nodded. “Hop back in. I’ll give you the tour.”

Natalie nodded again and went back into her truck. He climbed in beside her with a grunt, laying the rifle across his lap.

She caught a glimpse of a person observing her from a window on the second floor of the house, but glanced away without thinking too much about it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

From your window, you saw her arrive. A brunette stranger. Everything about her screamed sin and regret—from the dark makeup around her eyes, to the sleeveless black shirt and ripped jeans she was wearing.

Your father had mentioned someone would be spending the summer at the ranch to lend him a hand, but you never expected it would be someone like her.

Her sharp gaze met yours, and suddenly your thighs tensed, your hands white-knuckling the windowsill. As much as you tried to ignore it all, thousands of images ran through your head, that you definitely shouldn't be thinking about.

She was everything you were always told to avoid—the big, bad wolf to watch out for, who always lurks in the shadows, waiting to pounce. Ready to devour, to take you away from God's side.

It's what your mother always told you, to never talk to the other men from your small town. But then again, this stranger wasn't exactly a man, so did that mean she wasn't a threat? She sure felt like one, but not the kind you feared.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

A couple days later, Natalie was laying on a thin mattress in the barn loft, staring at slivers of moonlight leaking through the roof. She had discarded her work clothes long ago. Sweat clung to her like an extra layer of skin. It was too damn hot to sleep.

Below her, the cows stirred. One of them let out a quiet huff. She tried not to think about the rifle the man had leaned against the barn door before locking her in for the night.

“Just in case of coyotes.” He said. Natalie didn't think coyotes came that close to the house, but she decided not to question him

She lit another cigarette and took a swig of her now-warm beer.

And then she heard it—the sound of footsteps trying to be quiet but failing miserably.

The door creaked open, just a little. Not enough to let in moonlight, but enough to see a silhouette framed in the crack.

You.

Natalie sat up, and she could feel her heart speeding up in her chest—mostly because she wasn't really looking forward to finding out how your father would react if he saw you with her.

“You got chores, and you got rules. Stay outta the house unless I call you.” He told Natalie while cleaning his rifle. “Don't bring mud inside, my wife hates it.” His gaze lifted from the gun and stared at Natalie pointedly. “And keep your eyes off my daughter. That clear?”

“You lost?” Natalie asked, and stubbed out her cigarette.

You didn’t answer and stepped in, and closed the door behind you.

“I heard noises.” You whispered. “And I couldn’t sleep.”

Her head tilted slightly to the side in curiosity, and the corner of her lips twitched. “And your first idea was to come out of your house and all the way here?"

You blinked, as if you were just now realizing the weight of your actions. It was almost adorable to Natalie, watching the way your innocent, wide eyes filled with nervousness for a second.

“You smell like smoke and beer.” A small mumble left your lips as Natalie took a step closer.

She hummed, and shrugged. “Better than smelling like the shit I have to clean every day.”

You flinched at her words, just a little. But even then, you didn't leave. No, you stayed and observed her like she was the most interesting thing you'd ever seen in your life.

Natalie should’ve told you to go back inside. Your father's rules were clear. That nothing good ever came out of moonlit visits and soft voices, and most definitely out of disobeying a man as scary as him.

But she didn’t. Instead, she watched you like someone watches a flame dancing too close to gasoline.

“My mama says people like you are to be avoided if I do not want to stray from God's path.” Your fingers played with the small, golden cross hanging around your neck.

Natalie stared at you, as if studying you. “What do you say?

Your gaze flickered down to the ground for a moment, but then lifted to look at her again. Even behind that undeniable hint of fear in your eyes, Natalie could notice something raw and hungry, eager to go against everything you've ever known until now.

“I don't know.” You whispered. “I think God is mad at me for thinking stuff I should not be thinking about.”

Her gaze dropped down to your lips, and you seemed to notice. Your shoulders stiffened.

Before Natalie could even think of moving any closer, you took a step backwards immediately, your cross still clutched between your fingers.

“Please don't tell my father I was out of the house.” Was all you said before you hurriedly ran out of the hayloft, leaving a confused Natalie behind.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next few days passed in silence.

Natalie kept her head down—cleaning stables, feeding animals, brushing horses. You avoided her like the plague, as you were supposed to.

Although the discreet, curious glances over meals and the quick nervous smiles were gone, too.

Perhaps it was for the best, Natalie thought while she watched the angry rain falling from the cloudy sky.

Getting involved in any way with the daughter of an eerie religious couple didn't seem like the smartest idea.

She worked until the sun hid itself behind the horizon. The rain hadn’t stopped. Not even after she showered and shared a quiet dinner with your family.

That night, thunder cracked like a whip, and rain sneaked through the cracks on the roof. Natalie lay on her mattress, a cigarette burning between her lips.

Her thoughts unraveled—until they were interrupted by the sound of the hayloft door, accompanied by the electric snap of a thunderbolt.

Natalie turned.

There you were—standing in the doorway, soaked, shoulders trembling. You looked frightened, caught between a nightmare and waking.

“I'm scared.” You whispered, staring at Natalie with an almost begging look in your eyes. “Can I please stay here with you?”

It was a dangerous request. Many, many things could go wrong—from your father finding out you sneaked out to be with her, to the temptation of repeating the mistake she’d almost made nights ago.

But she nodded. “Of course. You can come sit, if you want.”

The ghost of a smile passed over your lips for a brief second, before another thunderclap made you flinch, and you crossed the room to sit beside her.

“Thank you.” The words left your lips with a shaky breath. “I’ve always been afraid of thunder.”

“No problem. I get it,” Natalie said, though her hands sat uncharacteristically stiff in her lap. “I used to be afraid, too.”

“That… seems unlikely.” You let out a quiet laugh that lit your face for a short moment. “You look like you’re not afraid of anything.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I may not look like it, but have a heart, too, you know.”

You giggled again, softer this time. Then silence. It fell between you like a curtain—gentle, yet charged. The kind of silence that trembles with things unspoken, resembling a rubber band wanting to snap with all the tension.

Natalie caught the way you looked at her. The way you swallowed nervously.

“You don't have to be afraid of me. I can tell you are.” She wanted to tell you. But the look in your eyes wasn't fear, unlike she'd first assumed. Not anymore. It was something else—something repressed and caged, practically begging to be set free.

The thought had Natalie's head spinning a little.

Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, and Natalie’s eyes followed, heat rising in her skin. It felt like you were doing it on purpose to tempt her, but she knew better. You couldn’t possibly be that calculated in that matter.

“Please.”

It was an invitation. A spark. A permission.

It was almost ironic. How your parents had raised you to be their perfect devout daughter, clean of all sin. Only for a stranger to come along and ruin it all by staining your very existence forever.

“You sure?” Natalie asked, voice barely a breath, as she leaned closer—giving you a chance to pull away, to back out and run back into the house like last time.

But you never did.

All you did was nod, and Natalie didn't dare to question you again, selfishly afraid that you would vanish into the night.

Natalie closed the distance between you, her lips brushing yours in a slow, reverent kiss. You were hesitant, unpracticed—but it didn’t matter. She led you gently, her movements careful, tender.

Her hand slid to squeeze your thigh, and you pulled back with a sharp inhale.

“Sorry,” she murmured, eyes searching yours. “Too much?”

“No.” You shook your head, cheeks flushed. “Just… surprised. But I like it.”

Natalie’s fingers danced over the soft fabric of your nightgown, and she kissed you again. This time, there was a hunger behind it. As if she was desperate and ready to consume you whole.

She guided you down onto the mattress gently, her hands coaxing, and her mouth never leaving yours. Only when your lungs screamed for air did she finally pull back.

Small pants and gasps escaped your lips as soon as Natalie moved down to trail her own lips down the column of your neck.

“Let me make you feel good.” She breathed against your ear, taking your earlobe between her teeth.

“I don't know how.” You whispered back while your hands gripped her shoulders. The amount of new sensations and emotions were making you dizzy, heat burning in your stomach and between your legs.

“You don't have to do anything. I'll do it all.” Natalie shook her head and pulled back to look at you. “Only if you want it, too.”

You thought about it for a moment. The cross sitting around your neck was a reminder of how bad all this was. God was probably observing you from Heaven, disappointed that you were so weak for someone you barely knew at all.

“Okay.” You nodded slightly, already out of breath and Natalie hadn't even begun yet.

Perhaps with enough prayers, you could repent for your sins someday.

At some point, her kisses began to turn sloppy and uncoordinated. The desire and passion increased, like a fire engulfing the two of you until all that was left was pure and raw longing for more.

Your forehead rested against Natalie's as her hand gently squeezed one of your breasts. Your fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“I'm ready.” The hushed words slipping from your lips almost made Natalie moan out loud. Instead, she nodded and let her hand move down your torso slowly, wanting to engrave the feeling of every curve of your body in her mind.

Her fingers lifted your nightgown slightly, and she caressed your leg tenderly.

“Are you really sure about this?” She asked once more. “We can stop right now, if you want. It'll be okay.”

But the thought of stopping almost felt like a crime to you.

“I want it.” You reassured her, and cupped her cheek with your hand. “Please, Natalie.”

The sweetest lamb she'd met in her entire life, so innocent and pure, begging to be taken like this.

Natalie wondered how many good deeds she'd done in her past lives to earn this.

Her fingers caressed your panties, slowly moving to the apex of your thighs. You had absolutely soaked through the undergarment, and Natalie's eyes almost rolled to the back of her head at the feeling.

She let out a shallow breath, and began dragging the piece of cloth down your legs slowly while she stared into your eyes the entire time.

Your legs instinctively clamped together after your panties were gone, and Natalie's free hand came up to caress your cheek gently.

“You don't have to feel shy.” She mumbled softly. “I think I'm just as nervous as you are, honestly.” A small smile grew on her lips as she showed you how her hand was trembling slightly. “See?”

It was the first time Natalie felt nervous like that. Not even during the night she lost her own virginity.

The action seemed to help you calm down a little and you let your legs spread open again slowly.

Natalie kissed you. Not like earlier, desperate and hungry—no, it was gentle and sweet, guiding you through the moment.

Her knuckles brushed against your wet folds, making you breathe sharply and pull back from the kiss. She was afraid she'd hurt you somehow, but the quiet mewl that escaped your lips said otherwise.

She repeated the action, and her fingers moved against your clit in slow circles. Your eyes immediately shut and your head dropped down on the mattress with a small thud.

Natalie glanced down and let out a shaky moan when she saw the way you were completely drenched and your hips were moving slightly to meet her touches.

“Fuck…” She whispered, increasing the speed of her movements just a little and it immediately earned a whimper from you. “You're doing so great. Do you like that?”

You nodded at the question, unable to form any words at all.

The sound of your wetness reached your ears and it should've been embarrassing, but you couldn't bring yourself to care about anything at all.

If it's a sin, why does it feel so good? You asked yourself for a moment, but the thought disappeared from your mind when you felt Natalie's finger poking your entrance gently.

Carefully, she slipped it inside of you. She gave you a moment to adjust to the new feeling and kissed your cheek several times to distract you from the dull sensation of pain.

Her thumb found your clit again and pressed against it while she slid her finger in and out of you slowly, earning moans and quiet whines from your throat.

Your arms wrapped around her neck and you pulled her closer for a kiss that she returned eagerly. Ragged breaths and pants left both of your lips as she sped up her movements, to the point where you couldn't kiss her back anymore.

“I think…” Your voice trailed off quietly as your nails dug into her shoulders. It almost made Natalie hiss out of pain.

“Let it happen.” She whispered, kissing your lips one last time. “It'll feel so good, I promise, baby.”

Her voice drowned out, replaced by the loud sound of your heartbeat in your ears as you neared your climax, until you couldn't hold it back anymore.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip to avoid moaning out loud and your back arched against Natalie. Your legs shut around her hand and she watched you crumbling down under her.

It was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

Natalie helped you come down from your high, whispering sweet words into your ear while her free hand wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek.

She removed her hand from between your legs and wiped your juices on her shirt with a shaky sigh.

“How are you feeling?”

The question drew a breathless chuckle from you as you opened your eyes.

“Great,” You answered, curling into her side as she lay beside you. “It was good.”

She nodded and kissed the crown of your head, wrapping her arm around your shoulders to hold you close.

The rain still fell, but the thunder had moved on.

“You’ll have to go back to the house soon, huh?” Natalie mumbled, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I… kinda wish you could stay.”

“Yeah.” Your voice was quiet now. “I wish I could, too. But you know how he is.” The thought of your father finding you like this with Natalie made your blood run cold. “Thank you for tonight. Really.”

Natalie turned her gaze to you and offered a soft smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

You began sitting up, reaching for your ruined underwear with a sheepish grin.

“Hopefully there’ll be another thunderstorm tomorrow.” She joked, and you turned to her with wide, scandalized eyes.

“Hey!” You laughed, blushing furiously. “That’s not funny at all.”

She chuckled, biting her lip. “I know. I’m sorry.” She brushed your wrist with her fingers, and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Go. Before he shoots both of us.”

You sighed and nodded, heading to the door. Just before stepping out, you glanced back with a small smile and a wave.

Natalie watched you disappear behind the door. She lay back, the mattress still warm, the memory of you already carved into her mind like a secret prayer.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Days pass again.

You didn't speak. It wasn't exactly a problem—you weren't even supposed to talk to each other, anyway.

But Natalie still longed to hear your voice, to see you smile at her again with that sweetness of yours, like you were handing her a sacred secret.

One night, weeks later—after a long day spent beneath the scorching sun—Natalie returned to the hayloft and found something tucked into the hem of her pillowcase.

A torn page, folded neatly. Your handwriting—neat and elegant.

“Even the stars envy us. Even the saints must have sinned once.”

A slow smile spread across Natalie’s lips, soft and involuntary.

And in her chest, something stirred. Sincere hope, soft and fragile. Blooming like wildflowers after a storm.

[svmbers]

alex she/her 25 libra infp unlabeled/sapphic

hi, i'm alex (fake name for privacy reasons, but close enough to my real name lol). i'm not new to tumblr, but i've never had a fan blog where i can write fics before.

i'm 25, so while what i write may not be nsfw, please read warnings and proceed with caution. i will indicate when mdni. thank you for understanding <3

what i <3: jennifer's body, it’s always sunny in philadelphia, parks and rec, bob’s burgers (i am louise fyi), abbott elementary, community, gen v, stranger things, supernatural, yellowjackets, anything horror, jordan li, natalie scatorccio, dean winchester, jennifer check, nancy wheeler, steve harrington, robin buckley, anakin skywalker, selena gomez, ariana grande, natalia dyer, jenna ortega, sophie thatcher, and more

i take requests through the ask button, so please feel free to send them my way! <3

please note, i only write fics for characters. writing about real people makes me uncomfortable, and i want to respect them.

my fics are under the hashtag #svmbers writes

fic recs are under the hashtag #fic recs!! <3