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stevie-petey · 2 years ago

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episode three: holly, jolly

Jonathan, your Jonathan, would never do this. He tries to approach you again but you find yourself stumbling back, knocking against Steve’s chest. Hurt flashes in his eyes, you’ve never flinched at Jonathan’s touch, but what he did has changed everything. Steve places a hand on your shoulder. “See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but that’s the thing about perverts. It’s hard-wired into them. They just can’t help themselves.” He begins tearing up the pictures, and you can’t believe Jonathan of all people is making you agree with Harrington, yet here you are.

Summary: you and jonathan talk it out and things are better (spoiler alert: they aren't), you somehow end up agreeing with steve harrington ?? then you have a minor breakdown in front of the kids and once again fail to prevent them from experiencing more trauma.

Rating: general, slight cursing.

Warnings: cursing, use of the word “slut”, fem!reader, use of y/n, and description of a dead body. this chapter is pure angst, steve is steve, jonathan is jonathan, and... well. we know how this episode ends.

Words: 6.2k

Before you swing in: hello ! i'm currently in the early stages of chapter 5, and it's a loooong chapter, so i figured i'd treat y'all to this one before taking my time with updating. this chapter was a bit difficult in terms of bug and jonathan, but i promise that they'll have more time later to really figure out why they keep clashing - for better or for worse lol. if their relationship feels stilted: that's why ! after all, season 1 is literally titled: we don't talk about it or have the time. the title has immense meaning for the overall tone of season 1 (and the song for the series shhh). anyways, enjoy <3

The next day you bike to school alone, not bothering to see if Jonathan’s car will pick you up as usual.

The two of you have never fought before, at least not like this. From the moment you met him when you were twelve, there has never been a time where the two of you haven’t been on the same page. You’ve been in sync from the moment you met.

Now it feels like everything is off between the two of you. It feels as if the tiny planet you live on is now off kilter, angled ever so slightly now, rotating out of sync. The change is almost imperceptible, but it’s there. You can feel it.

Last night just proved that there’s something wrong with your relationship with Jonathan, but you can’t figure out what.

Jonathan has never yelled at you before, and you’ve never turned your back on him; then again, he’s also never kept anything from you. While he didn’t admit it last night, you know him. He was hiding something from you last night and it frightens you that he seems too ashamed to tell you what it is.

You trust him, you do, but the guilt you saw in his eyes makes you uneasy.

As you walk the school hallway towards your locker, you overhear some girls from your English class talking about Steve and Nancy. You normally wouldn’t eavesdrop on such a conversation, but the girls were talking obnoxiously loud and by the tone of their voice, they weren’t being kind about what they were saying.

“I heard Harrington got little Miss Wheeler to sleep with him.” One of the girls giggles, looking around to make sure no one is listening.

“What a slut!” Her friend sneers.

You clear your throat loudly, making sure they hear it, and send a glare their way. “Well, aren’t you guys just peachy?”

The girls lower their eyes and shift uncomfortably, which pleases you. Good. They should feel bad. What does it matter if Nancy slept with Harrington? It’s always the girls who get labeled the slut, never the man who has slept with more girls than classes he’s passed.

Typical.

You roll your eyes at them and continue towards your locker, spotting the couple in question up ahead. Your locker is a few down from Nancy’s and usually you’ve been able to avoid their gross lovey-dovey sessions in the mornings since Jonathan is always running late, but since you didn’t ride with him, you’re forced to deal with two hormonal teens who you don’t necessarily like.

“Hey, Henderson!”

Steve stops you as you walk past, causing you to look up in confusion. “Yeah?”

“How’s Byers doing? Ya know, with everything going on?”

You stare at him, trying to figure out what the punchline is supposed to be. Steve may not be a massive dick, but he’s still a dick, and you can’t imagine he’d ever ask about Jonathan given the fact that he can’t even remember Will’s name.

“He’s… dealing.” You say, uncomfortable with the entire conversation.

Steve nods, letting out a slight hum. “Well, tell your guy that any friend of Henderson’s is a friend of mine.” He sends a wink Nancy’s way, and it’s then that you figure out what he’s doing. He’s playing the nice guy card, trying to impress her with his “generosity”, and you’ve had enough of idiotic and emotionally constipated men these last 24 hours.

“Funny, I don’t tell my friends to get fucked, yet here we are: get fucked, Harrington.” Steve’s eyes widen at your words, taken aback, and Nancy goes to say something but you cut her off. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Nancy. Why don’t you ask him why everyone’s staring at you? I’m sure it’ll be a thrilling conversation.”

You shove past the two of them and make your way to class.

–

You don’t see Jonathan for your next three classes, which only makes your shitty day worse. Not only have you guys never fought before, but you’ve never done the silent treatment either. As far as you can tell, there’s no reason for him not to be in class today besides your fight the night before.

When it’s your lunch hour you try to find him, because at this point you just want to put it all behind you and move on to focus on Will. You never got the chance to tell Jonathan about El last night, you hadn’t had the time to before things blew up.

You wait at your usual corner of the lunchroom for Jonathan, but he never appears. You sigh in defeat and pick at your meal, which honestly looks more like prison food than anything else, trying to figure out what you should do next.

While you’re thinking, Carol’s obnoxious moans carry through the lunchroom. “Oh, Steve! Steeeve!”

Tommy joins in now, banging the table to get a bigger reaction. You see Steve trying not to smile at their antics, but it’s obvious to everyone how uncomfortable Nancy is. You feel pity for her, she deserves better than Harrington and his immature friends. Then again, you suppose she chose this for herself the second she started dating him.

King Steve has never hidden who he is.

You watch as Steve says something to appease her, but something catches Nancy’s eye and she turns to face it. Curious, you turn as well and spot Jonathan staring right back at her. They share a look, one that you can’t decipher, and you feel something twist within your stomach.

It’s not jealousy, at least, not in that way. Jonathan is your only real friend in Hawkins (the kids don’t count, you recognize how embarrassing that is), and you’ve never had to share him before. Clearly Nancy has taken an interest in him of some sort and Jonathan, being ever the private person, has allowed her to, so you just have to swallow down your pride and accept it.

Besides, you did always tell Jonathan that the two of you needed more friends.

Taking a deep breath to will your nerves away, you ditch your lunch and follow after Jonathan. Screw whatever silent treatment is in place, he’s your best friend and you honestly don’t think it’s possible for you to ever be angry at him. It just isn’t in your nature.

For better or for worse, you could never hate Jonathan Byers.

You catch Jonathan as he’s leaving the photo developing room. He’s holding some pictures in his hands but quickly hides them away when he sees you.

“Y/N, hi.”

You ignore the voice in the back of your head telling you that something’s wrong, that he’s still acting weird with you, but you ignore it because you just want some normalcy in your life. You need your best friend. “Hey,”

“Look, I’m so sorry for what I said last night…”

You brush him off, “It’s okay, I promise.”

Jonathan huffs at you, exasperated as always whenever you let people get away with things that they shouldn’t. “No, it’s not okay. You’ve been nothing short of amazing and I was the dick who yelled at you for it.”

The two of you are walking out of the school as you talk, and you let out a weak laugh. “I guess you were pretty awful, huh?”

He doesn’t laugh along with you, instead shaking his head in shame. “You didn’t deserve that, not after all you’ve done for me and my mom. I was lying through my teeth last night, you are family, Y/N.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s genuinely okay-”

“Bug, I was a dick. End of discussion. I just… sometimes it feels like I don’t deserve your help, you do so much for us. I let it get to me last night, and I’ll never stop apologizing for it.”

You don’t know what to say, caught off guard by the vulnerability. “Just… don’t do that again, alright? If something is bothering you I’d rather you tell me about it than take your frustration out on me.”

“Deal.”

“Anything else on your mind?”

Jonathan thinks for a moment and you can tell he’s trying to word whatever is on his mind correctly. “While I know you’ve always loved to help, there’s some things that I have to do on my own, okay? Will, my mom… they’re my responsibility, not yours. I mean, not in a bad way-”

“Hey, I understand. I need to back off a bit, I recognize that now. I’m sorry, bee.” You kick at a rock in the parking lot, “so we’ve got ourselves a deal?”

The boy gives you a quizzical look and you laugh at him, extending your hand. When he grabs it, you turn the hold into a handshake. “I’ll calm down my fretting antics and you’ll come to me about whatever is on your mind, no matter what; we don’t hide anything from each other.”

The slight smile Jonathan briefly had on his face vanishes. He pales slightly and quickly releases your hand. “Right.”

You eye him. “Bee, what aren’t you telling me?”

Caught up in conversation, you and Jonathan don’t see Steve and his gang resting against his car until it’s too late.

“Hey, man.” Steve approaches, effectively ending your conversation with Jonathan. He glances at you. “Henderson, good to see you again.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“What’s going on?” Jonathan asks, putting himself between you and Steve.

“Nicole here was telling us about your work.”

Confused, you look at Jonathan. “What, did you start another photo series or something?”

Steve laughs coldly. “You could say that.”

Jonathan ignores him and pulls you close behind him, ducking his head down to whisper into your ear, “it’s not what it looks like, trust me.”

“Bee, what-”

“Henderson, want to take a look with us as, you know, connoisseurs of art?”

You look at Steve now, more confused than ever, but you feel a slight sense of dread. You know that whatever photo he’s about to pull out will be bad. You know it’ll be connected to Jonathan’s behavior last night, to the guilt he’s been carrying, to the way he hid the same pictures from you not even ten minutes ago.

You look back to Jonathan now, silently pleading with him for more of an explanation, but he averts his eyes. Exhaling deeply, you face Steve. “Show me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jonathan says, trying to walk away, but Tommy grabs at his backpack.

“Hey!” You run up to Tommy and start pulling at the bag, but the guy is twice your size and easily wins, accidentally flinging you to the ground.

Jonathan runs over to check on you. “Y/N!”

At the same time, Steve berates his friend. “Woah, Tommy, easy man! Henderson isn’t who we’re here for, leave her out of this.”

Both boys crouch next to you and offer you a hand, but you bat them away. You’re irritated and confused and pissed the fuck off at both of them right now for vastly different reasons. You pick yourself up and brush away some dirt that got on your jeans. “Show me the photos, Jonathan.”

He looks at you, hurt. “Do you not trust me?”

“Do you trust me?” Your words hang in the air.

Steve is now right behind you. “Oh man he’s like, totally trembling. He must really have something to hide.”

Jonathan tries to step closer to you, but Steve is now the one who blocks him. You watch silently as he unzips Jonathan’s bag and pulls out the photos, ignoring the pleading look that your friend sends your way. You trust Jonathan more than anyone else in this world, but something doesn’t feel right.

The photos are tame at first, though admittedly creepy. They’re all still shots of Steve and his friends from the night before, you recognize the famous pool that the whole school talks about when it comes to Harrington’s parties.

“Your boyfriend is a creep, Y/N.” Steve says, nudging you with his shoulder as he continues to flick through the pictures.

“He isn’t my-”

“I was looking for my brother.”

Jonathan’s words make you freeze. “You went looking for Will without me?”

Steve says something else, but you don’t catch it. You stare at Jonathan, hurt that he’d search for Will without even telling you first. He’s his brother, you understand that, but what would you do if Jonathan went missing too?

Nancy then appears, causing Jonathan to finally look up to catch your eye, but he quickly looks away. “Here’s the starring lady!”

She laughs nervously. “What?”

Carol explains what was going on, and you’re too upset to speak. There’s too many thoughts going through your mind, but when Carol flashes you a picture of Nancy, naked, it takes everything in you not to throw up.

Jonathan, your Jonathan, would never do this.

He tries to approach you again but you find yourself stumbling back, knocking against Steve’s chest. Hurt flashes in his eyes, you’ve never flinched at Jonathan’s touch, but what he did has changed everything.

Steve places a hand on your shoulder. “See, you can tell that he knows it was wrong, but that’s the thing about perverts. It’s hard-wired into them. They just can’t help themselves.”

He begins tearing up the pictures, and you can’t believe Jonathan of all people is making you agree with Harrington, yet here you are.

Nancy is his girlfriend, and even outside of that, Jonathan had no right taking pictures of her naked without her consent. You agree with Steve’s actions, but then the camera comes into play. He reaches for Jonathan’s camera, causing him to dive forward to stop anything from happening to it, and it’s finally what breaks you from your shock.

You react as well, shoving past Steve to try and get to the camera first, but it’s no use. He beats you to it, Carol now holding you back as she digs her claws into your skin. Jonathan is being held back by Tommy, and all the two of you can do is watch helplessly as Steve dangles the camera high in the air.

What Jonathan did was wrong, there’s no denying that, but you know how long it took him to save up for the thing. How many awful shifts he picked up at the theater to pay for it, adamantly refusing any money both you and Joyce offered him to help pay for it.

This camera was his and his alone. Paid for with his own money, bought for his own enjoyment, his pride and joy.

“Here you go, man.” Without even hesitating, Steve lets the camera fall to the ground.

You gasp, watching as the lens shatters and you crouch down to try and piece it back together. Your hands are shaking, you don’t know what to feel right now, but with how badly your hands shake, it’s no use trying to fix the camera; you need something to distract yourself with.

Jonathan and Nancy join you on the ground, but you’re too overwhelmed to really notice them. The combination of emotions leaves you wondering if you’re about to cry, throw up, or both. It’s only when Nancy begins snatching up the torn pictures that you acknowledge her presence.

You grab her hand and catch her eye, “I’m so, so sorry.”

She doesn’t respond, only giving you a slightly confused look, and you recognize how stupid it is that you feel the need to apologize for Jonathan’s actions. You aren’t his keeper, and until now you never even considered he’d do something like this, and yet the guilt creeps in. You open your mouth to say something else, but Steve calls her over to join them and she leaves.

Jonathan is still next to you, remaining silent even after Nancy’s departure. You can feel his eyes on you as you continue to fumble with the broken camera pieces as a gust of wind blows away the remaining photo shreds.

“Shit!” A shard of glass from the lens cuts your finger, drawing blood.

“Bug, let me-” Jonathan grabs at your hand to inspect the cut, but you pull away harshly.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Y/N…” The hurt look on his face is almost enough to make you crack, but the blood drips from your finger and falls onto a picture that somehow didn’t blow away. You look at it, seeing the outline of Nancy’s back in the photo, her beautiful side profile perfectly captured.

The urge to throw up returns.

“You’re hurt, let me look at it.” Jonathan pleads, his voice soft, with more empathy than he’s ever shown you these last few days. It’s as if last night never happened. As if you’re some idiot who is always ready and willing to come crawling back to those who discard you whenever they please.

In a way, you suppose that you are.

You hate it.

Jonathan tries to grab your hand again but you stand up before he can. “I said don’t touch me.”

He tries to grab you once more but again you pull away. Your brain is a mess right now trying to comprehend everything that happened within the last fifteen minutes. You look down at the broken camera pieces still laying on the ground, its glass reflecting in the late afternoon light.

Those photos of Nancy…

God, you’re an idiot.

“Nancy is the reason you were such an asshole to me last night, isn’t she?”

“Y/N, those photos-”

“You knew that the second I looked at you I’d know you’d done something terrible.”

Jonathan is silent beside you, but you don’t need to hear whatever excuse he’ll give you to know that you’re right. Instead of telling you what he did last night, he kicked you out of his home in a guilt-crazed daze, saying horrible things to you that he can never take back.

Instead of being honest with you, he had been a goddamn coward who hurt you in the cruelest way possible.

Jonathan runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, you know I’ve never been able to lie to you-”

“So naturally you resorted to screaming at me and saying we aren’t family-”

“I regret what I said, but how was I supposed to tell you about the photos if I don’t even know why I took them in the first place?”

You start pacing around the parking lot, too overwhelmed to stay put. Jonathan’s words only confuse and upset you more. In the midst of your frantic pacing the cut on your finger begins to bleed more, which causes you to wince and catch Jonathan’s attention.

“Bug, you’re in pain,” his voice is gentle now, the worried crease between his brows now prominent in a way that you’ve always found cute. “I’m not just going to stand around while you’re hurt. Let me help.”

Unfortunately for Jonathan, his words only piss you off more.

“You’re not just going to stand around while I’m hurt? That’s fucking rich coming from you, Jonathan.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This entire week I’ve been hurting! I mean,” you let out a laugh laced with tears threatening to spill out. “I lost Will too, did you ever consider that? And I understand he’s your brother and I would lose my mind if anything ever happened to Dustin, but I’ve done nothing but love and support you through this shit show and you haven’t even asked how I’m holding up. I mean, what kind of best friend does that?”

Shame washes over Jonathan. “I didn’t think-”

“I’ve been exhausting myself trying to help and not once have I considered it a burden because I’m doing this for Will, for you. I’m doing what any decent person is supposed to do, and I’m not asking for praise or-or for a reward but holy fuck, Jonathan! I mean, I understand now that maybe I was bit too much but,”

You’re yelling at him now, all the frustration you’ve been swallowing down these last few days now spills out. “At least treat me like a human being! I mean, the stunt you pulled last night was such bullshit and I was ready to excuse your actions because you’re my best friend and you’re hurting, but then you hide those damn photos from me? Scream at me like I’m some pathetic fucking child because you’re too ashamed of your own actions? We don’t lie to each other.”

Jonathan steps towards you and it isn’t until he’s cradling your head in his hands to wipe away your tears do you realize you’re crying. He’s so tender, gently wiping the tears as they fall, and you feel weak against him, closing your eyes as you soak up the affection.

“Bug…” His voice cracks, not knowing what else to say.

You open your eyes now. “You went looking for Will without me… did you even think about what your mom would do if you disappeared too? What I would do if you disappeared?”

“I…”

“And Nancy…” you pull away so that he’s no longer touching you. “That was a line I never thought you would cross. And to lie to me about it, I just… why?”

Jonathan shakes his head, a few tears of his own now beginning to fall. “I don’t know.”

There’s nothing else you can say; you’ve drained all your energy. A headache is beginning to form and with the parking lot clearing out, indicating the end of the school day, you know you need to leave for work soon.

Normally when you look at Jonathan, you feel a sense of security, but now all you feel is dread. His shoulders are hunched, the bags under his eyes darker than ever, and at this moment you’re not sure you know who he is anymore. It terrifies the shit out of you.

“I should go,” you wipe your nose with your sleeve, side stepping Jonathan as you start walking towards the bike stand.

“You’re leaving?” There’s fear in his voice, and you can hear the undertones of are you leaving me, too?

“I have to work tonight, so I need to-”

“Let me drive you then, it’s cold and-and we can talk more about this-”

He follows you to your bike and you feel such pity for him. You know he’s right about needing to talk more, but all you want right now is to crawl into bed and pretend that this whole week has been a dream. A horrible, awful dream.

You offer Jonathan your hand, the cut on your finger no longer bleeding, and intertwine your fingers with his. “I want to be alone right now, okay? Please, just give me some time.”

He wants to argue with you, you can see it in his eyes, but just like you know him better than anyone else, he knows you just as well. He knows there’s no use trying to change your mind when you get like this; when the feelings become too much and solitude is your only solution. It's happened before in the past, but never with him.

All he can do is wait for you to come back when you're ready.

“Okay, I can do that.”

You squeeze his hand, like you always do, before you let go and bike away.

He watches as you leave.

–

Tonight’s shift is another slow one, which you’re grateful for.

It was just last week that Jonathan had been driving you, Will, and Dustin to school. You’d been singing some song on the radio and the November air had a slight nostalgia of August warmth. Will and Dustin complained about your singing as you wailed on, Jonathan eventually joining in so that the two younger boys could only cover their ears with their hands and groan in annoyance.

Now Will is gone, taking the August warmth with him and leaving behind only November cold that leaves your bones feeling raw.

The laughter is gone, and now you’re afraid that your best friend is gone as well.

You come home to an empty house, a note on the kitchen counter informing you that your mother is at her knitting club and that Dustin is off with his friends.

Wonderful. Your brother has once again gone off on some adventure without informing you first. What a lovely addition to your already horrible day.

You call the Wheeler’s first, hoping that maybe you don’t have to bike around the entire town to find the little shit, but like always: you’re mistaken.

“I’m sorry, but the boys went out biking right after school.”

“Oh, lovely then. Thanks, Mrs. Wheeler, have a good night.”

“You too, dear!”

As soon as you hang up, you allow yourself a moment to just scream. The headache that formed during your fight with Jonathan hasn’t left, you’re tired, you have so much homework that you’re too afraid to even look at, and you still have no idea who El is or what she really knows about Will.

And now you have to bike all around Hawkins to find said girl, because there’s no way the morons have listened to your orders to stay put with her.

You check Lucas’ house first, but Erica tells you that they aren’t there and requests that you inform Lucas that her lying fee has been raised to $5.

“That’s a bit steep, don’t you think?”

“Do you wanna pay?”

“Good point, have a good night then Erica.”

You then search around the middle school, but there’s no sign of them anywhere. After another thirty minutes of nothing, you finally give in to your hunch and bike to the Byers. You’re not sure if Jonathan will be home, but your idiot brother may need you, so you just have to suck it up and check.

Ultimately you’re glad you do, because as you ride up the driveway you see the boys circling around El.

“Why did you bring us here?”

“I have a better question Mike, why did you bring us here?” None of the kids had noticed your arrival, so they all jump at your voice.

Dustin’s face goes pale. “Y/N! What-what are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you little assholes for an hour now,” you park your bike and step closer to the kids. “Why do you never listen to me when I tell you guys to keep me updated, huh? Do I have a giant sign on my head that says ‘hey, ignore me and treat me like utter shit!’, is that it?”

No one responds, too stunned by your words. You never cuss at them, and apart from last night, they don’t think they’ve ever seen you so angry before.

“I’m just so sick and tired of people treating me like I’m some throwaway toy, just casting me aside and forgetting about me until it’s convenient. I have feelings too, isn’t that a wild concept? I mean, who knew Y/N Henderson had any real emotions behind her pathetic need to help everyone around her!”

Dustin can hear the hurt in your voice and knows that this isn’t just about them sneaking off. You’re upset about something else, someone hurt you and he needs to know who, so he softly asks, “Y/N, what happened?”

You spin around to face him. “Nothing! That’s what happened! None of you told me anything, everyone has just decided to keep me out of the loop because god forbid I deserve any honesty after years of being there for you guys-”

“Okay, this is definitely about Jonathan then.” Lucas mumbles, which Mike nods in agreement to.

“This is not about Jonathan-” The sound of sirens cuts you off.

Everyone freezes, and your heart stops. This is Hawkins, where nothing ever happens; cops don’t just go flying down the street late at night.

You know, even before you can fully comprehend how, that it’s Will. You can feel it; the sirens are for him, the precious boy you’ve come to love like your own brother.

Then, to confirm your fears, an ambulance follows behind the line of cop cars, and you feel your entire world shatter.

“Will…” Mike exhales, and the second the name leaves his lips everyone scrambles for their bikes to follow the cars.

You know you shouldn’t, you know this won’t end well, but it’s Will. Maybe he’s alive, maybe he simply got lost in the woods and has been wandering around the last three days or so. There’s so many other possibilities, an endless array of explanations, and yet…

Your legs feel heavy as you pedal after the kids. You know that, no matter what you guys end up finding, that nothing will ever be the same again. As you follow, the route you take begins to look familiar, back when you and Jonathan would spend your summers exploring the forest and its surroundings.

The quarry.

Suddenly you can’t breathe. “I… I can’t-”

“Y/N, we have to see if it’s Will!” Dustin calls behind him, too eager to realize exactly where you guys are going.

If you could just warn them, maybe speed up to block their paths, you could convince them to turn around, but it’s too late. The five of you arrive at the quarry’s edge and toss your bikes behind the fire truck. You see the firemen in the water, sloshing around for something, and you realize what they’re doing a second too late.

Immediately you begin to pull the kids away, not wanting them to see what you desperately hope you’re wrong about, but you’re too late. “Guys, get away from the truck, we shouldn’t be here-”

You’re always too fucking late.

“Please, we need to leave,” your voice shakes as you try to shield the kids from the sight of Will’s body being pulled from the water.

Mike pulls away from you. “No, it’s not Will. It can’t be.”

“Mike…”

The firemen lift the raft up higher and the light lands on Will’s lifeless body, and you feel a piece of you die. He’s always been the smallest of the boys, but as the men lift his dead body out of the water, he’s never looked so small. Will is gone; he’s taken all the light with him.

Dustin reaches for your hand and is the first to start crying. You pull him into your chest as he sobs. Lucas looks over at you, a silent acceptance in his eyes. “It’s Will. It’s really Will.”

You grab the boy and pull him into you as well, the two of them now crying as you hold them. All you can do right is hold your boys, staring off into space as you feel them shake with grief against you. This isn’t real.

From the corner of your eye you see El approaching Mike, and you’re too numb to warn her against it. “Mike…”

“‘Mike’? ‘Mike,’ what?” He slaps her hand away, which causes you to become alert. He’s hurting, you know Mike loved Will more than anyone else, but he’ll only hurt himself more if he pushes everyone away.

“Mike, I know you’re upset-”

He faces you, a betrayed look in his eyes. “Upset? She was supposed to help us find him alive. She said he was alive!” he turns to El now, “why did you lie to us? What’s wrong with you?”

As he yells at the girl you hear his own tears beginning to form, and as you hold his friends, you lean closer to Mike and use your other hand to console him, but he begins to run away.

Dustin and Lucas watch helplessly as their friend leaves, you all call after him but are ignored. They beg him to stay, too scared to be separated once more now that Will is gone, but Mike doesn’t listen. He grabs his bike, leaving you and the boys alone with El.

She looks at you, tears in her eyes and a pleading look on her face. She’s looking to you for reassurance, to console her and tell her that everything will be okay with Mike, that he’ll forgive her, but you can’t.

You also feel betrayed by the girl. You don’t think she was lying, in a sense, but then how can she explain Will’s dead body 50 feet away? El promised you and the boys that Will was alive, but he’s not.

Tears start to fall down her face. “Y/N?”

You’re sure that when you look back on this moment later, you will have wished that you had done something braver, something more kind to the terrified girl, but you don’t. Instead of wrapping her into your arms alongside Lucas and Dustin, you give El a curt shake of your head, dismissing her.

It hurts to watch her leave, and you’re ashamed of yourself, but then Dustin lets out another sob while Lucas tightens his hold around you, and you know that you’ve made the right choice for now. You don’t know El or her intentions, but her actions have hurt the people you love the most, and right now you have to put them first.

You let the boys cry, barely registering anything else.

–

Later, much later, after getting Lucas home and tucking Dustin into bed, you finally allow yourself to grieve. You lay in your bed, staring at the framed drawing on your desk that Will had made you for your birthday this year. It was a sweet gift, having drawn you as a princess in one of their DnD campaigns with your sword and shield. Jonathan stands next to you in the picture, holding his own sword and wearing a crown, while Will and the boys are next to him, dressed in their own armor.

In the picture the six of you are facing a dragon, but there’s a smile on all of your faces as you fight the creature together. You, Jonathan, and your boys; together, there’s nothing that you guys cannot defeat.

It’s your favorite drawing of Will’s.

And now it’s your last drawing from him.

The tears come slowly at first, then all at once. You find yourself hunched over, letting out anguished sobs as you mourn for the boy, for Jonathan and Joyce, for your brother and his friends. You mourn for the Byers losing a child, a brother. You mourn for your brother’s now tainted childhood. He’s too young, they all are too young to be experiencing such a loss.

Will was too young.

You cry until there’s nothing left within you, and yet the sobs still wrack against your body long after the tears have dried up. It’s a pain like no else.

Then, as you’re finally beginning to calm down, you hear a knock at your window.

You get up and fling your curtain open to find Jonathan on the other side.

Neither of you say anything as you open the window and let him in. Once he’s inside the two of you face each other, unmoving and silent for what feels like years. There’s still a tension there from earlier, though this afternoon feels like decades ago. Jonathan stares at you, a guarded and unsure look on his face, as though he’s afraid that if he breaks in front of you that you’ll push him away.

Instead, you surprise him by throwing yourself against his chest and into his arms.

You’re not sure who begins to cry first, but it doesn’t matter. His cries only make you cry harder, having never seen your best friend this heartbroken before, and it’s all so fucking unfair. He doesn’t deserve this, no one does, but especially not Jonathan. He loved his brother so much, with such an intensity that rivaled your own love for Dustin.

Jonathan pulls away a bit so that he can look at you; tears stream down his face. “He’s gone, bug.”

“Bee,” you don’t know what more to say. What can you even say? While it feels like your heart has been ripped from your chest along with your bones, you know it only feels worse for Jonathan. No words could ever soothe that ache.

“He’s gone,”

You grab at his jacket and gently guide him so that you sit on your bed. “Jonathan, look at me.” It takes some coaxing, but eventually he listens. “I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

Your voice cracks at the end, your own grief getting in the way, but it’s all you can say right now. You’re not sure how else to phrase it, how else to tell him that even if everything and everyone else is gone, you’re still here. You’ll never, ever leave him, especially not when he needs you the most now.

Despite the vague words, Jonathan nods, always able to understand you, and he rests his head against your shoulder as the two of you cry. Faintly you can hear Dustin’s cries through the wall, but you leave him alone. You know he needs to process this alone, just like you needed to, just like Jonathan had before coming here.

Tomorrow you’ll comfort your brother, you’ll bake the cookies that Joyce loves, and tonight will pass. A day must always end. This day will end, and tomorrow will come. Then, you’ll face this together with everyone you love.

For now, your best friend needs you, so you let him cry into your shoulder and you run your nails against his scalp and whisper soothing words. Fuck whatever is going on between the two of you.

Will is dead. The best of you, the purest of you, is dead.

⌑ series masterlist

⌑ if youd like to buy me a coffee ☕︎

⌑ thank you for reading ! feel free to like, comment, reblog, or send in an ask so we can chat <3

#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wdtai #m's writing #jonathan my beloved...#i promise he gets better guys #and steve was valid for his reaction to jonathans pics of nancy yall can argue with a wall #and the ending :(#the trauma these kids go through so young is insane

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lambilegs · 8 months ago

Text

strawberry lip gloss

where you and lee, one of your close friends, decide to have a totally platonic and super friendly sleepover (wink wink).

contains: bestie!lee, reader who owns makeup, brief discussions on the expectations of makeup in the workplace (set in the nineties, so going off those expectations), contemplations on femininity, slight nsfw content towards the end (so minors dni!!)

“you know, your house would make for a perfect serial killer movie,” is the first thing you say upon lee opening the door to you.

“well, even if I managed to forget it, I’d be reminded by you saying it… every time you come over,” she dryly replies, opening the door wider to let you in.

you nearly skip inside. sure, you had been at lee’s place tons of times during the months you two have been friends, but today is different. today, you’re sleeping over. god, you’re still not completely sure how you had managed to bring such a daydream to life. it had all started two weeks ago, when you had stayed over particularly late, watching movies with her and arguing with her as to why her theories on the killer in the show you’re watching made no sense, with her not missing an opportunity to rebut and drag in all of her extensive fbi knowledge.

when it was time to leave, she insisted on driving you back home, seeing as it was midnight and she thought it too late for you to take the bus back on your own. despite the half hour drive it would take, she, as always, fulfilled her promise, the two of you listening to the radio as the windows were rolled down, the chilled autumn breeze refreshing and invigorating.

your mind had been pinpointed on one thing, one question, the entire drive, but your stomach was a mess of webs at the idea of asking her it. but, right as you had placed one foot out of her car, ready to leave, you turned back. “lee?”

she quietly turned to you, eyes curious.

“would you be comfortable if I slept over sometime?” at her slow blink, you rushed to erase any possible connotations to your question. “I-I mean, just because, you know, I stay back late sometimes, and this would be easier on you. but, yeah, only if you want.”

she glanced away, staring past the window for a few seconds, before turning back to you. “sure.”

jesus, it unnerved you when she did that. sometimes, the most contemplative look would settle on her features, as though she’s searching her mind for some explanation of where atlantis is. then, she’d turn back, and reply as coolly as ever.

you knew she wasn’t one for jumping up in her seat and letting her voice reach several notches higher when in agreement of something. but, still, the casual way in which she replied made you worry she had perhaps just taken pity on you, or felt pressured. you knew she was a wholly honest person most of the time, and couldn’t lie for shit, but still. maybe she felt bad for you since you’re a friend, or just felt less enthusiastic about the whole thing in general.

a week later, she had called you to talk over an article she had read in the newspaper that she thought you’d be interested in. a month ago, she had started doing that, after once giving you a newspaper clipping she had cut out, to which you insisted she could just call you. in all honesty, your insistence was really just an excuse to call her and hear her voice. not that the gesture went unnoticed. when she had first handed you the thin flap of paper, awkwardly explaining that she thought you’d like it, you nearly melted into a puddle on the spot from her kindness. when you thanked her profusely, she just nodded quietly, avoiding your gaze, clearly uncomfortable with the bouts of verbal affection.

during this phone call, you had asked her when she was free next, and when she admitted to friday evening being her only time available for a longer hangout since she got off at 7:00PM, you whined on the phone, complaining that’d only give you two so much time, since she wouldn’t reach home until 7:45PM.

on the other line, lee’s lips had curled up at your petulant tone, and her stomach flipped at your honest, exposed want to see her. she couldn’t help but like it — how you didn’t try to diminish your desires or mince them up into digestible slices for anyone. how she could have confidence in your friendship.

mind reeling back to your words, she had hesitated, before saying, “you could sleep over?”

and, duh, you said yes. which led to your exact position now, with you kicking off your shoes at her front door, a backpack pinching at your shoulders, duffel bag gripped tightly in your palm. lee immediately stretches her arm out, fingers brushing yours as she takes the duffel from you, hoisting it onto her shoulder and silently padding through her wooden home to the living room, setting it down. she’s out of her shoes, in a dark pair of socks, remnants of her work clothes still wrapped around her body. her fbi badge is rolled up and lying on her desk, belt hanging on the chair, leaving her in her dark slacks, a deep maroon shirt and mused ponytail. your fingers twitch, itching to comb down her brown hair, which is practically a glowing halo on her head from the golden light filtering through her windows.

you set your backpack down near the couch, which you flop down on. “how was work?”

“good.” she slowly approaches you, gingerly seating herself upon the arm of her couch. when you give her a pointed look, she looks away. “tiring. everything in this case is dependent on the minute details.” she hesitates, sucking in an exhausted breath. “I feel like I’m racking my brain every moment of the day to figure it out.”

you nod, shifting your body so you’re turned to her, the side of your torso pressed into her cream couch. “that’s understandable. it’s like a puzzle.”

her lips press together. “it is. but, one that feels like I can never put together perfectly. there’s always one piece misshapen.”

you frown. “that sounds really fucking frustrating.” she nods, eyes downcast. the bags under them are darker than usual, and something in your stomach squeezes softly at the sight. “it’s really admirable, though, how hard you’re working to fit and find all the pieces.”

she blinks at you. “it’s my job.”

"and? that doesn't mean everyone in your position would have your goodness and integrity. they should, of course they should, but still, give yourself some credit for being so invested and determined, lee."

her lips part, words catching in her throat, before closing them again. she doesn’t know what to say. it isn’t the first time you’ve praised her so earnestly, but she still doesn’t know how to handle it. she isn’t used to it. most of her coworkers see her as a mixture of passive and emotionless, while simultaneously being someone who cares too much. there had been all too many times where a partner of hers just wanted a quick arrest, but she insisted on more, pushing for all the details to be flushed out and explained, no matter the toll it'd take on her. she knew it wasn't ideal for them, but she didn't care about what was ideal and easy to wrap up. she cares about what’s right.

she knows this, but to be complimented for it unnerves her. she doesn’t think of herself as some sort of extraordinary, let alone admirable, person, and she doesn’t expect compliments to come her way because of her work. so, to receive them, and be face to face with how someone else sees her actions, gives her a rush of surprise and embarrassment.

she shrugs. "still, it's just the right thing to do. that's all."

you smile fondly at her. her downplay of her actions makes them all the more admirable to you. she's humble to a fault – sometimes, you think it endearing, and other times, you want to shake her and scream at her about how good she is. she doesn't seem to realize it enough.

after silence hangs between you two for a few minutes, she clears her throat. "so, how do we do this?"

"do what?"

she stares at you, perplexed. "the sleepover."

laughter immediately bursts from you, arms crossing over your stomach. "do you want a rulebook or something?"

she rolls her eyes. "I mean, what do you want to do right now?"

you flutter your eyes at her mockingly. "oh, I don't know. let's play truth or dare and talk about boys."

she scoffs. "sounds fruitful."

seeing her reaction only heightens the urge to annoy her more. "truth or dare, harker?"

she glances at you, lips pursed in unamusement. when you continue grinning, goofy and wide, she sighs, eyes sliding away. "dare."

you whistle. "oh, wow, I'm impressed. someone has guts."

"you do remember my line of work, right?"

you ignore her. "hmm... what's a good dare?"

even though she knows you're just playing around, she can't help but hold her breath in anticipation. she can tell that you love pushing at her buttons, almost as though you want to test how much she’ll deal with if it’s you in question.

"I dare you to drive me to the grocery stores, so we can get snacks." you throw your legs off her couch, grabbing her keys and tossing them her way.

she catches them with ease, not even flinching. the sight has you gulping – god, that was damn attractive.

as she bends to retrieve her shoes, she looks up at you. "you know, I do have some snacks here."

you raise a doubtful eyebrow at her. "cereal is not a snack."

"yes, it is. you can eat it with your hands, and it comes in small proportions.”

"same with peas," you swiftly remark, pulling a face with her. "do you consider peas a snack?"

she nods, her face the epitome of seriousness. "yes."

you giggle, opening the door to the cool evening, sun dipping into the horizon. the sky is painted with streaks of blush and peach, kissing the trees surrounding lee's home with warmth, the yellowing leaves glowing.

she walks ahead of you, tugging the passenger door open for you. you feel butterflies swarm into your stomach at the gesture, quietly thanking her and sitting comfortably.

at the grocery store, you two languidly roam around, drifting in and out of conversation as you fill your shared grocery cart to the brink. lee picks up a pack of spicy instant noodles, and despite your wince, she smiles and tosses them into the cart. you grab two bags of chips and some sodas. when you guys enter the sweets' section, your mouth nearly juts into an enamoured pout at the sight of her eyes lighting up.

she picks up a box of brownies, showing them to you, hesitation slowing her moves as though she's a child at show-and-tell. "my mom used to get me these."

gratitude swims in your chest at the piece of information she shares. it took months of knowing her before she started offering tidbits of information regarding herself, especially those having to do with her mother.

you snatch the box of brownies, plopping it into your cart. "get them."

"are you sure?"

you guffaw. "lee, I'm not going to withhold you from a pack of brownies."

her lip quirks up. "how would I know? you might have very specific regulations for your sleepovers."

you roll the cart away, relishing in how she immediately falls into step with you, her shoulder brushing against yours. "that sounds more like you, lee."

she snots. "I don't think I've attended enough to qualify as a connoisseur."

you groan. "god, 'connoisseur'? you really are a dork."

her eyes crinkle at your words, almost as though she enjoys your playful insult. "still sure about coming over?"

you bump her shoulder. "yeah, don't worry, you being a dork doesn't make me wanna hold back on a sleepover."

"well, actually, I was asking it more for my own sake."

"oh, fuck off, lee."

when you both return home, you immediately set to taking out your skincare from your duffel bag, heading into her bathroom to wash your face before you get too tired. when you place all your products next to hers, you pause, a part of you feeling nearly giddy with delusions at the sight of your guys' bathroom products next to each other. there’s something so domestic about it.

when you come out in your PJs, lee clears her throat at the onslaught of shyness beginning to worm its way through her. she's already nervous for the sleepover as is, but seeing you in this state, in the clothes you sleep in, feels all too intimate for her to handle. she rubs her hands together from where she's seated on her couch, trying hard to think of the right way to proceed.

after her eyes dart between your finger and the coffee table in front of her a few times, she stands. "I'll go shower and change. you can, um, order the pizza."

when she re-enters the room a half hour later, it's your turn to feel your face heat up, forcing your eyes to remain locked onto her television. god, how the fuck does she make wet hair look good? it isn't your first time seeing her in such a casual state, but it still gets you flustered nonetheless to see the ever-so professional agent in such a cozy change of clothes.

"let's watch Scream," you say, trying to maintain some normalcy amidst your thumping heart.

from where she pats her hair down with a towel, she warily watches you walk to her television and set up the movie. "okay, but I'm not driving you back home at 4:00AM if you get scared from all my windows after."

you pout at her, walking back to the couch and grabbing the remote. "you're so mean. you wouldn't do that for me if I was really scared?"

she gulps, feeling something in her knees buckle at the sight of your lips softening into a frown. she hates to admit it, but she'd probably go so far as to give you a piggyback ride back home if you truly needed it. "well," she mumbles, trying not to give too much of her feelings away, "you wouldn't have to be scared. I'm here."

the proclamation makes you swoon internally. "oh, yeah? you'd protect me?"

"well, I'm not in the habit of letting friends get stalked and harmed in my presence, so, yeah."

you nearly glare at her as she continues wringing her hair out in the towel, bare feet softly thumping against the floorboards as she approaches the couch. she isn’t wrong – of course she wouldn't let any of her friends get harmed. she wouldn't let anyone at all get harmed in her sight, period. but, her admission only means that your attempt to flirt has crumbled into the wind, and she totally missed it.

you try again. "yeah, but, you know, are you that protective over all your friends?”

she seats herself down on the couch, crossing her legs at the ankle. “I guess so.”

you nearly roll your eyes. “all?”

“yes?” she glances at you with knitted brows. she doesn’t understand why you’re pressing when it comes to such an insignificant question. her answer is true – she would protect anyone she could, and that includes friends. “why?”

“no, no, just asking.” you try to avoid her gaze by switching on the television. it’s so unfair – how the moments when lee does make eye contact, it’s the sharpest, most intense act in the world. maybe it’s just her fbi skills or her natural tendency to observe coming into play, but when she looks at you, you feel like she can crack open your mind and read every thought.

“why did you ask more than once?”

“well, I,” you splutter, “I was just curious if it was a me thing or an all-your-friends thing.” the words feel so weak to your ears, and you wince. it’s true, but you’re definitely trying to play up the nonchalance as opposed to what you really feel inside.

“it’s for all my friends.”

internally, you deflate. you give her a small smile, feeling immensely pathetic. “ah, okay.”

lee’s eyes rove over the side of your face. your lips are pinched down, and you blinked faster at her words when she spoke them. she wonders if what she said hurt you. she doesn’t understand why – she cares for more than one person, and caring comes with wanting to protect them. it wouldn’t be reserved for any singular person, it’s an automatic for her as soon as she cares for anyone. so, then, why does she feel guilty? she sighs. she supposes what she feels for you is strong enough to have her feeling bad even when it makes no sense.

lee glances at you again. you’re quiet, and staring blankly at the television. okay, so it seems like you might indeed be upset. tentatively, she says, “but, that doesn’t mean you’re not, um, important.” after a pause hangs, she adds, “to me, I mean.” the confession is one that has an uncomfortable heat reaching her ears. it’s not often that she says something so honest and open, and well, affectionate to you. the words taste foreign on her tongue.

but, it’s worth it when you give her a wide grin. “yeah?”

she nods quietly, hoping you’ll drop it and not tease her.

apparently, she’s an idealist, for you shift closer, cooing at her, “awe, so you care about me?”

she sighs. “please turn on the movie.”

with a chortle, you obey her request, switching on the film. inside, you’re still overwhelmed by what she just said. lee wasn’t one to mince words, so if she said you’re important to her, she must mean it. and that does something to you – it makes you warm and flushed inside out with delight.

as you watch, you find your gaze drifting to lee, who watches the film with intent focus, eyes honed in on the screen. she’s not the hugest fan of horror films, you know that, but still, it’s her innate instinct to observe and, if applicable, solve any film you have to show her. and you have shown her many. she’ll sometimes complain and grimace if you propose to her one she doesn’t find appealing, but she always gives in. you smile at the thought. you don’t know if she returns your romantic feelings, but even if she doesn’t, her natural care is enough to give you some fulfillment. at least right now.

you continue to stare. her lashes are so long and pretty. even without the mascara she usually puts on for work or going out. her brows are dark and bold, just like her sharp eyes, and her nose is long and pointed. her lips, thin and pink, look so soft. she’s beautiful.

lee can feel you watching her. there’s a heavy weight bearing on her from your gaze, and she tenses up, fiddling with the loose threads of her sweater. she wonders if you’re judging how she looks or simply observing her. after a moment, she can’t take it anymore. her head tilts towards you. “what is it?”

you internally curse. god, why did all your sense of subtlety completely vanish when you have a crush? you cross your arms over yourself, trying to shrug off the question. “nothing.” you know you can so use this opportunity to your advantage, as a way to flirt with her, compliment her, but you hesitate. you already got caught staring at her, so complimenting in addition to that might be too much. but, still, you can’t resist. you want her to know how pretty she is. “you just… you look really nice right now.”

the corner of her lips flinch and she blinks harder at the television. no smile, no laugh – you know she must feel awkward or embarrassed with the attention. with a tight nod, she mutters, “thanks.”

“you know, you don’t even need the mascara, your lashes are already so long.”

the lashes in question flutter as her eyes flicker about. “I just wear it for formality’s sake.”

you nod slowly. you had assumed as much. and with that thought, comes a new idea. one that has your lips curling up in mischief. “would you ever let me do yours?”

“do my what?”

“makeup.”

she seems deeply confused. “why, what’s the point?”

“for fun.” your lips quirk up, turning fully to her. “besides, haven’t you heard? this is a quintessential part of sleepovers.”

“hm, is it?” a slight smile rises to her lips, the laugh lines at the corner creasing beautifully. like gift wrapping paper. folding and pressing to hold something tender within. “I guess you won’t take no for an answer, then, right?”

“nope.”

she snickers quietly, shaking her head. “fine. just this once.”

with an eager squeal, you hop off the couch, racing to where your backpack lays in her bedroom. you rummage through for your makeup bag before dashing back to the living room, where she’s carefully twining her hands together in her lap, watching them.

“I’m guessing we won’t watch the movie.”

you still at her voice. despite having chosen the movie yourself, and her not enjoying horror, it sounds like she’s actually disappointed at the idea of ending it early. the thought makes you both touched and momentarily saddened. “no, no, we’ll keep it on. you can watch, and I’ll listen.”

as you seat yourself cross-legged on the couch, facing her with your right side to the television, she glances at you wryly. “except this is a film, not radio.”

you snort, unzipping the bag. “I’ve seen this film before, I won’t miss anything.”

lee’s eyes peak at all the products, widening a bit. she was never one for makeup herself. she just never had an interest in wearing it, and a lot of it usually made her feel uncomfortable due to the stimulus of it. the only reason she dabs some on for work is merely because it’s protocol, the way her badge and uniform is. she knows it’s expected of her, and she’s fine to apply just a faint amount of it if it means she can head to work and start on her assignments without complaint.

“not a lot, though,” she says, feeling a tad intimidated by all you have. all she owns is one tube of mascara, one lipstick that nearly matches her exact natural colour, and foundation that she rarely uses. “it doesn’t feel comfortable on my face.”

“okay, okay, I’ll just do eyes and lips, then.” you couldn’t really care less, in all honesty. you’re just happy to have free reign on her face in any capacity. for at least now, you have an excuse to ogle her. “okay, turn to me.”

she frowns. “you said I could watch.”

“ugh.” you roll your eyes, lips pinched as you try to think of a solution. one starts blinking in your head, but it’s going to require a lot of proximity. your mouth twists in both amusement and shyness. it’ll be closer than you’ve ever been to her, but again, the makeup is working miracles with how perfect of an excuse it is. you might as well utilize it. “okay, then, can I just…” you stretch one leg over her lap, foot resting against the arm rest. it gives you the chance to be close enough to her that you can keep your back facing the television, while she can continue watching.

lee’s breath hitches at the casual display of intimacy. she knows friends do this kind of stuff – even her own friends do it. but, with you, it’s different. because not only does this physical link create the same awkward tension it does with most people who she’s unaccustomed to sharing such intimacy with, but mixed in is a pit of desire, craving for you to get even closer. maybe press your chest to hers, sit fully on her lap, tuck your head under her chin. these longings – she’s been having more of them lately, and they grip her so fervently she’s not always sure what to do with them.

“is this okay?” you ask, your eyes imploring.

she nods, not trusting her voice.

you pull out a brush with a small bunch of bristles at the top. “you’d look good with these tones.” you point your brush at the brown shades, looking at her expectantly.

except lee doesn’t know anything about makeup, so she’s unsure as to what kind of input she could provide. “I wouldn’t know any different.”

“which makes you the perfect victim for this.”

she raises an eyebrow. “victim? should I be concerned?”

“maybe just a bit.” with a smirk, you lift the brush up, feeling tingles in your hand when you press the side of it to her cheek, lifting the brush. “close your eyes.”

she delivers you a pointed look before shutting her eyes. “I don’t know how I feel about being at your mercy like this.” her voice is hushed in a light, teasing tone.

“don’t worry, the brushes aren’t the most efficient weapon,” you giggle, swiping the light, cream coloured base along her eyelid. even this part of her is so pretty, glowing under the orange light of her cottage.

she mutters, “it’s not very reassuring that the reason I should feel safe is because your brushes aren’t a weapon rather than due to your decision-making skills.”

you burst into a loud bout of laughter, stilling the brush for a second. “hey, listen, they always say living with a friend can make or break with what you guys have, so I don’t know, maybe you’ll piss me off tonight and I’ll get some wandering thoughts.” you continue dabbing the power on her other eye, brush stroking in smooth, gentle sweeps.

“might I remind you whose house this is? and who’s the fbi agent here?”

“no, you may not.”

a small huff of laughter puffs from lee’s lips. she doesn’t think she’s ever told you this, but it’s easy to have this back-and-forth with you. it’s not often that that happens – not that she has many long term bonds to use as reference points. but, she usually struggles, even with coworkers she’s known for years, to lose herself to an easy, effortless conversation. it took time, yes, but with you, it feels as instinctual as brushing her teeth in the morning. lest for the few tense moments that arise from her attraction to you. she usually tries to ignore those.

you swap brushes, patting the new one gently into a darker shade of brown. you hesitate before gently grabbing her chin, keeping her steady. you can see the way her throat bobs at the touch and it sends a surge of pleasure and itching curiosity within you. does your touch ignite something in her that hers always does for you?

you start dipping the brush into the crease of her eyelids, and you stifle a laugh when she hums quietly. “enjoying it?”

“it feels okay.”

“just ‘okay’?” you press with a coy smile.

“mhm. you’re too unsteady for it to feel truly good.”

your eye twitches, refusing to give into the amusement bubbling in you. “oh, fuck off.”

a few minutes later, you pull back, admiring your handiwork. “open your eyes.”

she does, and her eyes pop out a bit more than usual with the shadows surrounding them. she blinks tentatively, looking a bit like a startled deer caught in the middle of the road.

“very pretty,” you laugh, patting down her warm cheek affectionately. and it’s true. it’s different from her usual look, that’s more than evident, but she still looks beautiful.

lee hums thoughtfully, shifting her gaze back to the television. this is an embarrassing position for her, to say the least. and she’s acutely aware of the anxiety beginning to rise within her stomach, giving it a dull sort of ache. she’s not necessarily insecure about how she looks, but there’s something deeply exposing about having your face so close to hers, and having every minute detail of hers fully revealed. the touches you’re giving don’t help either. the brushes of your fingertips against her skin, the warmth of your breath on her chin, the lingering of your gaze. each miniscule movement you make on her face has her shoulders unintentionally tensing.

when you start drawing a faint, brown line along her lash line, her closed eyes immediately squeeze.

“lee!” you whine loudly. “stop moving.”

“I’m not.”

“yes, you are! your eyes keep flinching.”

her eyes open and flick towards your eyeliner. “you’re poking me.”

“I’m not!” you laugh, leaning in close again, the thigh of your extended leg pressing against her stomach. feeling the soft firmness of it makes your gut turn, and you try to ignore the contact, praying the effects of it don’t show on your face. “just try to relax your eyes.”

you start pressing the point of the pencil in, drawing the eyeliner carefully. you bite your lip in concentration, moving carefully.

her eyes pinch together again.

“lee!” you scoff in exasperation. “I am begging you, please stop your damn eyes from moving.”

she cocks her head at you. “it’s out of my control. besides, it’s uncomfortable when you draw it.”

you snicker, muttering, “oh, strong fbi agent, my ass.”

“what was that?”

you flash her a sticky sweet smile. “oh, nothing.”

“mm.” as her eyes shut, and you continue your ministrations, trying to lighten the pressure of the pencil for her sake, she mumbles. “I am stronger than you.”

“oh, yeah?” you know it’s true. the girl across from you has been through years of training in police work, the academy, and a work out routine she’s stuck to since she was twenty and decided to go into law enforcement. but, you can’t help it, you just love challenging her. “prove it.”

without a moment’s notice, her hand darts up, latching onto your wrist and keeping your hand hovering above her face. you grunt softly, trying to shake your hand out of her grip, but her fingers clutch onto you with an unwavering strength, keeping the limb locked in place. her eyes are still closed, but a faint smile plays on her lips.

after a few more seconds of struggling, you sigh, voice slightly petulant as you say, “okay, okay, I get it, let me go!”

“do you get it?” lee taunts back quietly, grin widening. it’s satisfying, in a way. you’re always all talk with her, teasing her mercilessly, trying to get a rise out of her, annoying her. having moments like this where she gets the upper hand are amusing, to say the least, and she takes a secret pleasure in them.

and you? well, thank god her eyes are shut, because that little comment, and the tone she says it with, have you shifting in your place, trying not to draw attention to the movement by stiffening your leg on her lap. there’s something so attractive about it. lee has her insecurities, yes – as her friend, she’s revealed some of them to you during late nights spent at cafes and aimless drives. but, she also carries herself with a quiet, subtle sort of assertiveness that is wholly enticing. nothing too showy or obnoxious, but something. something that makes her just look so cool, even when she’s not trying. and now is one of those moments. with the way she doesn’t even struggle with holding you in place, how she’s nothing but silently humoured. the sight has a flood of lewd thoughts worming its way into your mind and you try to shake them from your head.

“yes, yes, I do,” you groan, wrist tugging from her hand when she finally releases. you twist it tenderly, pouting at her. “you’re such a dick.”

she cracks one eye open. “for taking on a challenge you initiated?”

your eye nearly twitches. “yes, exactly. now close your eyes.”

her smile remains. “mm, okay.”

after finishing the eyeliner, your watchful gaze roves over her open eyes. her eyes are already so breathtaking as is, but the eyeliner makes them pop out even more. “good.”

the mascara is the easiest. at least, you think it should be for her, since she applies it everyday already. but, you? you have to lean your hand along her face in order to stop it from shaking. those dark irises are zeroed in on you, latching onto your face as she keeps her gaze steady to make your task easier. the silent gesture is kind enough that you internally melt, just a bit, while the focus she’s staring at you with makes you feel like all your nerves are prickling.

“do you like the mascara?” you ask, trying to break the awkwardness.

lee pauses before answering. “no. it took a while before I got used to the feeling of it.” she’s not fond of it, just accustomed to it. frankly, the first few times she put it on were unbearable. she kept accidentally blinking and getting it smeared, and would struggle to strain her eyes in order to keep them wide open for its application. she sometimes poked herself in the eye, too. it made her feel a bit embarrassed back then, to struggle like that. most women had learned this kind of stuff at an earlier age, but here she was, barely able to keep her hand from trembling at twenty-two. she’s just never felt drawn to it.

she sometimes wonders where this lack of desire comes from. for so many other women her age, it’s so easy, so natural, to engage in these rituals of femininity. but, for her, it just feels foreign and uncomfortable. even now, she’s only at ease with the situation because it’ll only be you who sees her. if it was any other circumstance, she’d be unravelling at the seams.

she supposes it’s just a matter of preference, for the older she’s gotten, the more people she’s encountered like herself. it’s a comfort of sorts. but, it wasn’t always this way. as a preteen, it made her feel lonely and even more estranged from her peers, to be a girl who didn’t like what they liked. to be a girl who felt shrunk into her body when she tried on her mother’s makeup as a desperate attempt to see if she could adjust to it.

“why do you wear it, then?”

she starts in surprise, the trail of her reminiscing breaking. “it’s what’s expected at work.”

“why?” you chuckle. “you’re an fbi agent whose job it is to get her hands dirty.”

the irony isn’t lost on lee. “I know. but, that’s just how it is. it’s, um… a small price to pay if it means I get to do my job without any comments. and I don’t mind it so much now.”

“still, it’s not fair. you should be able to wear none at work without dealing with comments or judgement.”

part of her softens at your fervent defense of her. “I know. I thought it was really unfair at first, too. but, older women in the field told me to just do it to avoid comments. so, I did.”

“how obedient of you,” you drawl out in a low, teasing voice, giggling when she flashes you an exasperated look.

lee hates how the words make something stir between her legs. sometimes, your teasing takes on a sexual note, and she’s well-aware that you’re just trying to annoy her. but, still, she can’t help but sometimes wonder how it’d feel like to make good on what you say. maybe do something to get you quiet after making one too many innuendos.

the laughter ceases, and you continue in an earnest voice. “but, yeah, I get it. you just want to be able to do your job without hearing shit.”

she nods, grateful you understand. as you continue, her fingers flex, for she feels like she’s under a microscope under your flickering eyes, which run along her eyeline and leave her feeling painfully aware of that part of her body. she tries not to move too much, but nervousness swells within her, so she focuses on rasping her fingers along the couch.

a few minutes later, when you get to her lips, you smile in pure mirth as you retrieve a tube of pink, glittery lipgloss.

she glances down at it warily. when you give her a questioning state, she sighs and mutters, “you’ve already gone this far.”

you nearly squeal in glee. but, the intense joy morphs into a slow burn of tension when you cradle her chin and start applying the product. her lips are so fucking pretty, and it is so unfair. they’re already pink and naturally shining, and your mind is whirling with thoughts of how they’d feel under yours. the sound of the film becomes white noise in your mind, fading into the background as you become consumed with thoughts of nothing but her stomach against your leg, her hand so close to your knee, and the little breaths parting from those lips.

when you’re done, you shakily pull back, feeling hot to the touch.

lee eyes you carefully. you look a bit nervous, eyes darting between her eyes and lips, and exhales coming out a bit heavier. the spot your gaze seems to keep shifting to has lee’s breath stilling, fingers digging deeper into the fabric of the couch. her stomach flips the more she thinks about it. you’re so close, your leg warm on top of hers. and your hands were so gentle in handling the lip gloss over her mouth. she can’t help but wonder if you’d be that gentle in other ways, too.

you swallow hard. perhaps this wasn’t a great idea. maybe it’s good that she’s always been someone who you were never too touchy with due to her aversion to it. because being this close to her now, her breaths close enough to tickle your skin, her lips impossibly shiny and tempting, is absolutely fucking torture. it has you wanting to throw caution to the wind, and close the gap, and potentially ruin one of the best friendships in your life.

you can’t. you shouldn’t. you just can’t.

but, then, her eyes linger on your mouth, and, probably without even realizing it, her tongue snakes out to lick at the gloss.

fuck. maybe you can.

you raise a trembling palm to her face, cupping it and letting your thumb linger at the corner of her mouth. “you–you look good.” if she rejects you, you can at least say you’re just inspecting her face.

she hums. after a beat, she murmurs, “so do you.”

you throb at the words, biting your lip. she looks down again.

your thumb swipes the corner of her mouth, and lee freezes at the brief touch. her eyes seek out some answer in yours, anxiety whirring in her stomach of what could happen if she’s reading this wrong. and even if she isn’t, what will happen to you guys, your friendship, if something happens?

“listen, promise me you’ll forget about this if the answer is no.”

she gulps. “okay.”

“but, can I, um, kiss you?”

her reservations crack. even if you guys talk about this later, even if it turns out you want different things, she’ll still have had the chance to kiss you. she’s wanted it for so long, and if she gets it, she’ll at least be able to have the satisfaction of knowing what it’s like. even if it turns out you don’t want her in the same way, the uncertainty will be quelled, the fantasy eased. she knows it’s the unwise choice, the impulsive one, but to say no feels impossible.

“yeah.”

your stomach lurches at the answer. you had hoped for it, ached for it, slightly suspected it, but to hear her, your friend, actually confirm it feels surreal. it feels like you’re half stuck in a daydream you had left at her door when you walked into her home this evening. the world around you seems hazy, just a bit softer at the edges.

when lee feels your leg tensing against her, she draws in a long breath, then inches in closer. “come here.”

the soft-spoken words, a gentle command, finally shake you out of your thoughts and you find yourself powerless to her, winding your arms around her neck and pushing your lips to hers. the first thing that hits you is the sweet, strawberry taste of the gloss, the sugary flavour wrapping around the tip of your tongue as it sweeps along her bottom lip. she opens wider, and you move deeper, your tongues moulding against one another. the wet, squelching noises of the kiss have your hips flinching against her, and you can only pray she doesn’t notice.

but, it’s lee – of course she does. she tries not to smile as she feels your body shifting against hers, using the opportunity to pull you forward and onto her lap. when she feels the solid weight of you there, an instant sense of comfort wraps around her body. it’s you, her friend. even if this is new and carries its risks, it’s still you. she trusts your guys’ ability to handle this, whether it be shifting your friendship into something different, or choosing to let this go, even if the latter would tear at her more than she’d like to admit. she tries not to think of it and focus on the present moment. as difficult of a task that is for her.

because, no matter what, god, do you feel good. lee’s breath hitches in her throat when you start grinding down on her lap. she lifts her thigh up, pressing it against your crotch, satisfaction running through her when you whimper against her. she does it again, rubbing the hard muscle of it against that spot you’re clearly trying to sate some feeling in. you practically hump against her thigh, lips moving faster, and lee’s mind becomes overrun with the soft, wet noises of your mouth, and the way such an intimate spot of yours is bouncing against her thigh in such a lewd manner.

and you’re so eager, too – something that gets her mind spinning. your tongue keeps lapping at hers, and your mouth moves with a fervent pressure, as though you can’t get enough. not that she can, either. her hands are splayed along your back, gently encouraging you to continue riding her thigh, and she feels like she can do this for hours.

pleasure courses through you at the touch, and you can’t hold in the moan that flies out. you immediately press your lips back to hers, quietly moving them together, your tongues meeting to roll within the sweet opening of her mouth. you lick deeper – you’ve worn this gloss countless times, but on lee’s lips, it’s addictive.

after a few more minutes, you pull away, immediately giggling upon the sight of her pink lip gloss smeared. you rub the pad of your thumb on it. “you know, it’s kind of strange to kiss you while you’re wearing a look you usually wouldn’t be caught dead in.”

she laughs lightly, and you want to drown in the noise of it. “you got your way in putting it on me, and still, somehow find something to complain about.”

“well, you know, there’s an easy solution for that.”

she snorts gently, pulling you in closer. “yeah, I know.”

and with that, you both lose yourself to the taste of strawberries.

{header by: @anitalenia}

#something to tide you gays over for now hehe 😌#promise I'm still working on the wolf!au and summer chapter but yesterday I just felt like writing smth a bit different #also pls give me validation... I worked so hard on this formatting LMFAOOOO #lee harker #lee harker x reader #lee harker fanfiction #longlegs fanfiction #longlegs 2024 #maika monroe #s.writing

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