#yellow shag carpet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loveshotzz · 9 months ago

Text

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve x fem!reader exes to lovers

Chapter Four -

Honey, on your knees when you look at me

The consequences of your actions hang heavy around you neck when you wake up, so you go to the shop to tell Steve this is definitely not what he thinks it is.

warnings: 18+ slight angst, confused feelings, semi public smut, fingering (fem!receiving), oral (fem receiving), body worship, praise kink, unprotected p in v smut, cream pie, fluff.

wc: 10k

authors note: This chapter has been almost two months in the making between life and writers block, I didn’t think I would be here. Thank you to everyone who sent me messages about this story and about him because of you, I never gave up writing this series I was so excited about. beta’d by: @superblysubpar

series masterlist | series playlist

songs from the playlist that inspired this chapter: Unravel Me, If You Think I’m Pretty, Please Don’t Fall In Love With Me, Make Up, Eastside, Holy.

Streams of shining golden yellow make your lids still heavy with sleep flutter, lashes tickling the tops of your puffy cheeks as you surrender to the sun’s wishes to wake you up. The orange shag carpet in Robin’s living room slowly comes into focus, along with the rest of your surroundings as the ends of your palms rub the rest of the night from your eyes. Stretching your legs, they’re met with warmth like the rays of sunshine peeking through the blinds still lingering on the cushions next to you.

¨Shit.¨

Your muscles freeze, threatening to cramp in your calf as the night floods back into your memories. How his plush pink lips slotted between yours like they should never be anywhere else, or how they made your back arch, kissing a messy path down your neck, perfect teeth nipping, threatening to bruise your delicate skin that lights up under his touch.

A shaky breath pushes out of your lungs as you shimmy your body deeper into the couch, fingers finding their way to your chest where you swear you can still feel his smile pressed into your skin, the tips of them hitting something smooth and warm.

A metal chain.

The weight of it around your neck finally registers through the sleepy fog that lifts from your brain. Looking down the slope of your nose, you nearly go cross-eyed when you’re met with the rich yellow gold that matches the sun, especially because It looks just like the one that belongs to Steve Harrington.

“No, no, no, no.”

The realization that it is in fact, Steve Harrington’s kicks in just like your feet in a silent fit, the thin throw he must’ve put on top of you before he left falling to the ground. You remember his plea for a date, and it has panic curling deep in your gut, the consequences of your actions arriving first thing in the morning before you’ve even had any coffee.

There’s a little bit of pride that hides in a small space in your chest that you didn’t just fold and say yes. Something you would have done in high school when he was giving you much less. Still, you didn’t say no. You were just prolonging the inevitable matter of letting him down right? It’s the self-respecting thing, it’s what you told yourself you’d always do.

Say no.

You twist the metal between your fingers, your eyes finding the dust particles that seem to float between the plastic of Robin’s blinds. There’s an ache in your heart at the fresh reminder of what it feels like to be held in his arms, something he rarely did when you were dating, at least not if it wasn’t the dead of night. The sleepovers at his big empty house were your favorite until you realized how sad it was. All his whispered secrets and deep confessions that he only shared when you were lit by the moonlight - the kind that hid all the stars in the sky and that boy he was trying to hide. The ones that kept you hanging onto hope until the last bit of rope tethering you to him, cut your skin. Those were the nights that really made you have to run.

You’re not sure if you could survive it again, and the end of August is only a distant friend. Pushing yourself off the couch, your eyes catch the bright bold numbers on the microwave that read 9:45 AM and you try to remember all the reasons you left in the first place. Not the way he looked at you last night in the kitchen making your best friend’s favorite snack.

Your flip-flops clack loudly against the hot pavement, the determination in your walk up to the shop threatening to set the street ablaze. The spaghetti strap sundress you threw on in a rush trying to be careful not to wake up Robin does very little to help cool you or your mood down when you’re met with the mugginess of the Midwest.

Steve’s chain bounces against your chest with each step, the gold shimmering against the sunlight in a pretty reminder that you still haven’t taken it off yet. One that you choose to ignore in your huff trying to think of all the mean things he's done and not the way he begged you to make it right.

Reaching the end of the block, you notice Eddie’s van is missing from the parking lot, leaving only Steve’s BMW against the side of the shop. It stops you dead in your tracks because the buffer that would stop you from making the same mistake isn’t there. Your proven lack of self-control only a few weeks into the summer has your confidence waver with nerves that try and get the best of you, but with a deep breath, you force your feet to keep moving.

Steve’s side of the garage is the only one open, the faded green metal door at half-mast to keep some of the sun away. Michael Jackson’s The Way You Make Me Feel bleeds out of the open space, bouncing and echoing off the cars inside, waking up the butterflies and sending them soaring. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you try not to imagine the way he’s probably singing along, or that curl that won’t stay in place, falling over his forehead as he bobs his head to the beat.

Why is Eddie not here?

You see his black work boots first, then the legs that were intertwined with yours just a few hours ago, now adorned by blue coveralls. Walking across the grease-stained cement, he comes to an abrupt stop, and for a second you think maybe he sees you, heart thumping wildly in your chest until he shuffles back a few steps before continuing forward.

He was dancing and you hate the way the corners of your mouth twitch because of it.

The smell of oil is bittersweet hitting your nose as you stop in front of the opening, silently working up the courage to duck under the door. Steve doesn’t notice your sneaky entrance from where he stands at his workbench with his back facing you, completely lost in whatever’s on the paper he’s holding in black-stained hands. It gives you the few minutes you need to get your thoughts together as he bops his head to the music that’s loud enough to hide you a little bit longer.

Your gaze lands on Eddie’s empty office, successfully diminishing the last bit of hope you clung onto that maybe he just didn’t drive today, before your eyes catch the burnt orange of your car tucked away in the corner. A cherry red Corvette sits parked in front of it, making your face sour at the instant comparison. It outshines the car you scraped up enough money to get after moving to the city, sparking the kind of anger you’d been scrambling to cling onto walking up here. Maybe if your car hadn’t broken down, you wouldn’t have kissed Steve Harrington, and then maybe you wouldn’t be standing here secretly wanting to do it again.

Clinging to that notion with everything you have, you take a deep breath, straightening your posture before clearing your throat, letting him know he wasn’t by himself anymore.

”The music’s a little loud don’t you think?”

The pleased grin that spreads wide across your face can’t be stopped when the sound of your voice makes him jump with a ‘Jesus Christ’ so loud you can hear it over the music, crumbling the paper in his hands.

Point one - you.

Your victory is short-lived the moment Steve turns around with his ever changing brown eyes that are somehow warmer in the daylight, reflecting the flecks of green that shine and light up even more at the realization that it’s you and not some random intruder. He runs those long fingers through his hair, trying to tame the mess on top of his head that you made, while his heavy stare fixates on the chain still hanging off your neck. Right where he left it.

Leaning over to turn the volume down on his boombox, he doesn’t break eye contact, giving you that crooked smile that makes your heart skip a beat pushing up the two moles on his cheek. Raising his hands in a silent apology, you try not to think about how big they look or the way they grabbed at your hips last night. It's a fruitless effort, so you try to make up for it with a sassy tongue.

”Wow, I could have easily stolen one of these cars if I had wanted to.”

Crossing your arms, you suck at your teeth, deciding that standing right where you are is the best move, especially when you see the sweat that glistens, beading off of his tan skin, curling the coarse hairs on his chest that’s hardly hidden by the sheer white of his tank top. At least his coveralls are fully on this time.

“Maybe I should report you to Eddie.”

“Most of the cars in here don’t run,” Steve tuts, dark eyes roaming over your curves hugged tight by the soft cotton of your dress unashamed before meeting your narrowed gaze, “You of all people should know that.”

“Sounds like maybe you’re just bad at your job.”

You ignore the uncontrollable press of your thighs that only gets worse the more his smile widens with your attitude, reading your body language like his favorite book.

“Did you come here just to pick a fight?” Steve sighs, carding another hand through his hair, threatening to punch the air out of your lungs when he looks up at you through his lashes “Or do you just want another kiss?”

It’s impossible to sound out the word ‘no’ even though it’s just two letters because watching him lick his full bottom lip before tugging it between his perfect teeth makes you wish it was yours instead.

“Is that it baby?” Steve taunts, pushing himself off the work bench and tossing the crumbled paper aside.

”No,” you finally manage to get out, but the venom you had less than twenty-four hours ago is gone, and it barely stings when you try to deny with a jut of your chin and a quieter than intended, “That’s not why I’m here.”

The little bit of self-control you’ve been hanging onto with an iron grip starts to slip from in between your fingers with each heavy thud of his boots that bring you closer to your demise as he closes the gap.

”Are you sure?” He asks with a glint in the darkening russet of his eyes that land on the gold wrapped around your neck again, close enough now to smell last night's leftover cologne.

“A-absolutely,” you stutter, taking a few steps back, the clack of your flip flops echoing, making you wince with embarrassment as you try to counteract his advances only for your back to hit the cool metal of a pickup truck.

”Hmmm, I know what it must be then,” he hums, a faint hint of smirk twisting the corners of his full lips, big boots stopping with a scuff on the cement floor right in front of your pink painted toes.

Reaching up, his bold fingertips trace the smooth edges of his chain, rough calluses tickling your collar bone daring to explore a little more. The quick rising of your chest spurs him on as he tries to hold his composure, teasing the dip of your breasts, he curls his finger around the metal, lifting the chain a little before letting it fall back into place. Mischief twinkles in his stare that matches the same color staining his hands.

“You must be here to tell me when you’ll be ready for our date later tonight, huh baby?”

It takes your brain a second to catch up, the freckles that spread across his cheeks like wildfire in the light distracting you from this close.

“The opposite actually,” clearing your throat, you try to hide the way your tongue dries when he looks at you like this, “I’m here to say that whatever happened last night doesn’t change anything.”

The corners of his lips twitch, his gaze getting lost in the details of your features like you weren’t denying him, finally giving you the fuel you needed to make your blood simmer, the anger you thought you’d lost forever buzzing under your heated skin.

“So!” You snap your fingers in his face, interrupting whatever daydream he was getting lost in, getting the glare you were searching for, “You better get that out of your head right now. We’re not going on a date.”

Your words finally bite with a tone that almost seems final and for a minute it starts to feel like you have a semblance of your self-control back. Holding your head up high, you try to really end whatever started on your best friend's couch last night.

“We can be friendly for Robin’s sake, but it’s never going to happen again. I’m not your girl, Harrington.”

Steve rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek, something you can’t quite put your finger on flashing behind the gold in his eyes. Leaning forward, his hand finds the chipped teal paint of the truck behind you. Caging you in, the spice of his cologne overwhelms you as it mixes with the heat in the garage, and the sweat glistening on his tan skin. The warmth of his breath fans across your cheeks that burn like they’re being licked by a flame, thighs pressing harshly under your dress as you try not to let his gaze swallow you whole.

“If that’s how you really feel, fine.” He says cooly, seemingly unphased and it makes your blood boil more. “I’ll take my chain back now then.”

“No.”

“No?” He snorts incredulously at your refusal, watching the way your fingers come up to play with it. Taunting him.

”I don’t even know why you put it on me in the first place,” you scoff with a roll of your eyes, channeling his nonchalance before ducking under his arm, your escape in sight.

You refuse to look back at him making a beeline to the open garage door, heart thumping wildly in your chest as you do your best not to give away the attachment you have to the weight of it around your neck that you really aren’t ready to unpack yet.

”I left it!” Steve yells hot on your heels, the cracks in his confident demeanor starting to show, “I left it so you didn’t think I just disappeared on you this morning because I personally have zero regrets about what happened last night.”

The sarcastic ‘HA!’ you let out is almost comical, picking up your pace with an extra sway to your hips because you know he’s staring.

”How about this, Steve?” You antagonize, turning around and walking backward with a smug grin that mirrors his from before, “I’ll think about it.”

Steve doesn’t take the bait, instead, he side-steps quickly to smash the round red button on the wall with a deadpan face. Letting the rumble of the garage door coming to life do all the talking for him.

”Are you serious?!“ You shriek, watching it close faster than your feet can carry you, even contemplating a tuck and roll when you see the sunlight and any chance you have at not going back on your promise start to disappear behind it.

“It’s simple honey,” he sighs with an irritated edge, “Give me my chain and I’ll open her back up so you can go run back to Robin’s and pretend like last night never happened. Just the way you want, right?”

”This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. Let me out asshole!”

A new level of stubbornness that you never thought you could reach locks you in place, facing him with arms crossed tight over your chest.

”I’m ridiculous?” Steve chuckles darkly, the steel toe of his boots echoing louder now that you’re sealed inside as he walks towards you, “Look at yourself.”

”What’s that supposed to mean?” You snap despite the way your teeth gnaw nervously on your bottom lip, greedy eyes roaming his tall frame as your body betrays you for what feels like the hundredth time today when he steps into your space again.

“I know you enjoyed drama club in high school, but you’ve always been a terrible actress.”

“And you’ve always had way more confidence than you should.”

Steve’s nostrils flare, his gaze threatening to set you on fire.

”I’m going to get back to work, you’re free to go whenever you give me my necklace back. I’m getting paid to be here all day baby, you aren’t, so just know that I’ve got time.” He holds your stare for a second longer, sucking at his teeth before turning around. Testing you.

“Come take it off me then, Harrington, if you want it so bad.”

Two can play that game.

He stops in his tracks, shoulders tensing at the implication of your words, turning his head to the side, he gives you a perfect view of his sharp jawline.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warns, with a tone sharp enough to make your stomach flip.

“I said,” your shoulders square with a defiance that matches your glare, acting as if you aren’t sealing your fate with the next four words, “Come and get it.”

Steve’s long strides close the distance faster than you can comprehend. A big hand grabs at your hip, grease-stained fingers digging into your curves, while the other cups the side of your face, surely leaving a mark. He's getting what he really wants.

Gasping into his mouth, the force of his kiss sends a shudder through the garage door when your back slams against it. Lost in the sensation of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, you barely notice. Your fingers weave through the thick locks of his hair at the nape of his neck as if they were always meant to be there. A harsh tug on the silky strands earns you a groan that's deeper than you remember, and you immediately want to hear it again.

The clash for dominance ignites as your tongues collide clumsily, teeth grazing and noses pressing into each other’s cheeks. His grip tightens on your hip in a warning before his hand trails down to where the bottom hem of your dress rests at the top of your thigh. Pushing up the thin fabric, the blunt tips of his nails skim across your soft skin, goosebumps pebbling despite the heat.

His fingers tease the edge of your panties, tracing the curve where they meet your ass, stealing your whine with a cocky grin that he kisses into your lips. He lingers just long enough to turn you needy before he hooks your knee around his waist, getting the instant roll of your hips and more of your little noises that will haunt his every waking thought after this.

“Steve,” you breathe, tugging your swollen bottom lip between your teeth while he starts kissing a slow, agonizing path down your jaw, tickling you with the stubble on his cheek.

He hums in between kisses, nipping at the sensitive spot behind your ear, he soothes it with a swipe of his tongue before he starts to suck–hard. Your moan bounces off the metal and concrete that surround you, echoing in your ears while your greedy fingers tug even harder at his roots. His grip on you tightens when you start to squirm as his efforts to mark what’s his intensify, leaving a bruise you’ll have to explain to Robin later.

”Yeah?” He mumbles against your heated skin, the tip of his nose running along your pulse point, a saccharine smile pressing into the curve of your neck where his chain still rests.

“Shut up,” you manage to get out, despite Steve leaving open-mouthed kisses on the swell of your breasts, palming roughly at the dough of your ass, encouraging another rock of your hips.

“You're always so mean to me, honey,” Steve sighs, nipping at the supple skin, before meeting your poor attempt at a glare from under the thick hood of his lashes.

”Yeah? And? What are you gonna do about it?” You bite, but it doesn’t sting the way you want it to, not with the way your chest heaves in anticipation of his next move.

Steve flips you around so quickly that the change in position has you gasping, your palms meeting the warm metal of the garage door that bakes in the sun outside. Heavy work boots push your legs apart, while hot breath that rivals the summer dances across the nape of your neck. He presses himself into you, letting you feel just how hard you really have him, the tip of his nose brushing along the shell of your ear. Butterflies multiply, tickling your rib cage just like your lashes that kiss the tops of your cheeks.

“I think it's pretty obvious what I want to do,” he whispers against your neck, lips ghosting across the freshly formed bruise, “The real question is…”

The backs of his fingers brush along the sides of your breasts, goosebumps pebbling across your skin. His big hands follow the curve of your waist, smoothing down to the tops of your thighs. Taking his time, he curls them under the hem of your dress, pulling it up to rest on top of your hips, still giving you the chance to stop him. One you don’t take.

“Are you gonna let me?” His words are gruff coming out next to your ear, your walls fluttering around nothing because of it.

The humid air doesn’t help your sticky thighs that only get worse as two of his calloused fingers trace agonizingly slow along the waistband of the only fabric separating you now. Peppering soft kisses to all the sensitive spots that make your skin come alive, his teeth nip playfully at your earlobe, fireworks lighting up in the sky behind your eyes when he takes it into the heat of his mouth. The sensation has you mewling, jaw going slack as your toes curl into the foam of your flip flops from a feeling only Steve Harrington can give.

”I could be so nice to you, baby,” he whispers, letting you go with a pop, his fingers daring to go lower than just teasing, smirking against your cheek at the gasp you give when he drags them through your slick folds, wrapping your hands around his wrist for support, your hips chase him for more. “Don’t you want that?”

Your pride has your teeth biting into your bottom lip. Refusing to answer his question loaded with too many double meanings for your head to wrap around right now, but you still spread yourself wider for him, because the last thing you want him to do is stop.

“Gonna make me earn it, huh?” He breathes, biting back his groan at how you start dripping down his hand, “That’s okay. I’ll show you I’m worthy.”

His promise is enough to finally draw out the moan you’ve been fighting, the sound making him kick up in his coveralls, while the movements of his wrist become more pointed. Your head lulls back against his broad shoulder, and his cologne smells even better with the way sweat starts to drip from his pores. Your eyes are needy, meeting the black coffee of his and you know it, especially at the furrow of his brows when he looks at you completely transfixed.

“God, I almost forgot how soft you are. How fucking wet you get for me.” He whispers between gritted teeth, awestruck at the feeling of your silk walls begging him for more, daring him to explore, “Bet you taste even sweeter than I remember too.”

Leaning down, he runs the tip of his nose along the bridge of yours, the mint that still lingers on his breath tickling your lips. Your hips roll with the rhythm of his wrist, warmth spreading across your cheeks as the sounds of just how wet you are echo in the big space. Too close to falling apart all over his fingers to care, the blunt ends of your nails dig half-crescent moons into his wrist chasing it.

“Baby, are you gonna come already? I’ve barely touched you.”

His words mock you despite the sugary sweetness they drip with, every swipe against your bundle of nerves becoming unrelenting, determined even. But it’s still enough for you to take the bait and force your eyes open, meeting his hungry stare dead on and say:

”Y- you wish it was that easy.”

Amusement dances across the hard lines of his face, his dark gaze narrowing before something between a laugh and a growl rumbles deep from his chest. The motions of his wrist come to a halt, and it takes everything inside of you not to cry in protest. Pulling his hand from your soaked panties, his wet fingers dig into your hips spinning you around, quick strides pushing you to the corvette that started your spiral.

“What are you doing?!” You squeal, your butt hitting the cherry-red metal of the hood that sticks to your sweat-slicked skin.

He just grins, the pearly whites of his teeth showing as grease-stained hands spread your knees apart enough for him to step between, leaving raven fingerprints in their wake before grabbing at your chin, he forces you to look at him.

“Need you to keep your eyes on me, honey, and remember what you just said.” He pulls your bottom lip down with the pad of his thumb, watching it pop back into place.

Letting go of your chin, he holds your stare, fingers ghosting across the tops of your thighs as he drops to his knees like someone praying to a god. Hooking his arms under your bent legs, he tugs you to the end of the hood with a squeak. Spread wide for him to see, your calves rest on top of his shoulders that you hate to admit you wish you could see. Leaning forward, the tip of his nose traces the wet path of your covered folds, breathing you in like the sweetest summer breeze.

When his big eyes meet yours from between your thighs, just begging you to get lost in them like you used to, it’s almost enough for you to forget the game you’re both supposed to be playing. There’s a softness that lingers inside melting caramel that manages to shine through the black that overpowers it, and you wonder if he can hear the way your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

His touch is gentle now, long fingers curling around the waistband of your underwear, silently asking you for permission to cross the line that deep down you know there’s no going back from. Nodding your head with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you even help him, lifting your legs when he pulls them from around your ankles.

Steve stuffs the satin in his pocket ignoring the way you tell him that you want them back. His pink tongue that’s seconds away from being your undoing wets his lips, jaw going tight at the sight in front of him. Roses bloom on his tan cheeks, and he can’t help but run a hand through his hair, the reality setting in that he really has you like this. He looks completely wrecked. At least it isn’t just you.

“Fuck.” He breathes, the blunt ends of his nails digging into the dough of your thighs, shuffling himself even closer, his eyes glaze over.

Goosebumps pebble across your buzzing skin, your velvet walls fluttering around nothing as you lose the witty response you had saved on the tip of your tongue, managing just a quiet, “I thought you were supposed to show me somethin’?”

His lips twitch so close to where you need him most that you can almost feel the curve of them, your knees bending just a little more, urging him on by his shoulders.

“So impatient,” he tsks, the vibrations of his words only making it worse, “My girl needs me huh? She missed me as much as I missed her didn’t she?”

“Steve - shut uhhhhohmygod!”

His mouth latches onto your cunt like he’s thirsty for everything you’re offering him, collecting your dripping honey that’s sweet on his tongue. Running a broad stripe up your folds, his grip on your thighs tightens when you start to squirm, holding you in place, as he swirls messy circles on your bundle of nerves before sucking it hard enough for your head to fall back against the car. Your fingers bury themselves into the sweaty silk of his hair, pulling harshly at the roots, earning the kind of grunt that has you whimpering, dripping down the stubble on his chin as your hips buck up to meet him.

Letting you go with a loud pop, he huffs out a dark laugh at your whine, hardly giving you time to recover before pulling you even further down the hood of the car, till your ass hangs off the edge. The tip of his nose brushes against your sensitive clit while his tongue begins to tease your entrance that quivers just for him. The new angle has you practically sitting on his face, and before you have a chance to overthink it he slowly starts to work you open with his greedy mouth.

”Holy shit I -“ Your eyelids droop, jaw going slack as he starts to move side to side, licking into you like you’re the sweetest prize. His nose adds just the right amount of pressure while he eats you up like a man starved, “You’re gonna - fuck - Steve!”

His hands move from your thighs to the soft fat of your ass, encouraging your hips more, and if you weren’t so far gone, you’d be scared you’re suffocating him. You dare to look down at the scene between your legs, and it’s almost enough to have you cumming all over his face. His pitch-black eyes gaze up at you enamored, completely lost and still hungry because after all these years it’s still not enough. He moans into your folds when you meet his half-lidded stare, the sensation vibrating in all the right places, making your legs shake.

The feeling of your walls pulsing tight around his tongue, knowing how close you are already has him twitching painfully hard in his coveralls. It’s enough to ignore the discomfort of his knees, doubling down on the movements of his jaw. His name bounces off the metal and concrete, while the roll of your hips gets more and more aggressive because it feels like he’s eating you from the inside out, the tip of his tongue reaching the spot that makes you gasp.

“Right there, shit, right there, right there, I’m gonna, oh my god I’m gonna cum!”

Your scream is silent, body going rigid, giving into him already. The muscles in your legs tense, as your thighs squeeze tight around his head while your pussy tries to push him out but he only doubles down with a completely relentless tongue. He moans loud enough inside you to hear through the ringing in your ears, your fingers curling harshly in his thick locks, back hitting the metal of the hood again.

He ignores the first few pushes against his forehead when his kitten licks become too much before he finally listens. Sticky legs fall open releasing him from a trap he never asked to escape from, his shiny wet lips leaving kisses along your shaking thighs, tickling the supple skin with the stubble on his jaw. You feel his tongue dart out to collect everything he missed, earning the kind of sweet noises he can’t wait to hear all summer long.

Steve stands up wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and you try to be mad at his smug grin but your body can’t help its reaction to the way he struggles against his coveralls. The hard outline of dick reminds you of the stretch that you know will ruin you for anyone else, spent walls fluttering despite yourself.

”Now what was that you were saying a few minutes ago, pretty girl?” Leaning down, his palms find a new home on either side of your head.

The whites of his teeth shine at the eyeroll you find enough energy to give him, even with your legs wrapped around his waist. His nose nudges the tip of yours, the playful glint in his eyes changes into something lovesick and it brings the ache in your chest back because you know it’s going to hurt even worse walking away again.

“Hey, what’s going on up there?” He questions, placing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, eyebrows furrowing as he searches your face for answers.

You don’t give him one, pushing aside the worry for when you lay awake in the middle of the night. Instead, you let your fingers wrap themselves in the cotton of his tank top, pulling him to your lips that silently beg him to help you forget. He meets you with an eager mouth, and a big hand that comes up to rest on your flushed cheek. The pad of his thumb traces the high bone while his tongue asks you for permission for more.

Your thighs lock tighter around his waist, granting him the access he wants, tasting yourself all over him. Shaking fingers find the zipper of his jumper, tugging down the metal, he helps your shimmy off his sleeves. The freckles that dot his shoulders like the night sky beg you to open your eyes as the top of his coveralls fall to his sides, the rock of his hips making you say his name like it’s the sweetest thing.

“Want you,” you whisper with a nip at his bottom lip, ankles crossing at the two dips you know are on his lower back.

”Baby,” He groans, dropping his head down, burying it in the crook of your neck as you roll your pussy over the length of him that’s still covered by the navy blue material you can’t seem to get off fast enough.

He lets you do it a few more times before his hands find both your wrists, pinning them above your head, he peppers kisses along your jaw, letting his fingers glide down the length of your body, making sure to catch his chain still hanging off your neck as he stands back up. You finally get a good look at him, and the sight is enough to know the memory of today will be etched into the corners of your mind, just like the rest of them.

Pink cheeks still kissed by the sun, and dark chestnut hair that matches his eyes twist at its golden ends in an even bigger mess now on the top of his head. The thick thatch of it on his chest curling from the sweat that drips down his neck, leaving translucent patches along the white cotton of his tank top, teasing even more of him to your starving gaze. His uniform hangs low on his hips, giving you a glimpse of the waistband of his boxer briefs, making you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. He grabs at the sides of your thighs, his handsome face going kind.

“You came in here ready to tell me to fuck off,” he laughs softly, thumbs rubbing gentle circles, “I just need to know this is what you really want.”

His words tighten in your chest, forcing you to make a decision so that when you have no one else to blame but yourself when you lay awake in your apartment with a broken heart in the fall, you can’t hate him anymore.

“I really want it.”

The answer stumbles past your lips before you can think too hard about it, pulling the rest of your rucked up dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed for his heavy chocolate eyes to drink in. Despite the muggy heat of the garage, your nipples pebble under it, cheeks going hot because you always feel like the most beautiful girl in the world when Steve Harrington looks at you like this.

It’s all the encouragement he needs to let you go and do the same with his tank top, tossing it to the side before shoving the rest of his uniform down the tops of his thighs. Thick, long and heavy, your eyes widen as his hard length springs free, smacking against the happy trail at the bottom of his stomach. The pink tip leaks for you, shining with precum, while his big hand wraps around it, tugging a few times and making you drip more on the hood.

“I’ll go slow,” he coos, leaning down to capture your lips in something sweeter than the rest of them. “I know you can take it, honey.”

Nodding your head, you look up at him with glassy eyes, completely giving in, shutting off the part of your brain that’s telling you that you know better. Spreading your legs wider, his eyebrows marry in the middle of his forehead, cursing under his breath at the sight of you like this. He silently thanks whatever gods or girl that got Eddie sick, because this moment shatters any fantasies that have consumed his late nights.

He runs the length of his cock through your slick, spreading you apart around him, earning the kind of mewl that makes him twitch in his hand. Your back arches off the corvette when he does it again only this time with added pressure to your clit. Locking your legs around his waist, you make sure he doesn’t get away.

”So fuckin’ beautiful baby, Jesus Christ, look at you.” Steve grunts, lining himself up with your entrance, pushing just the tip into the tightening silk of your walls before both his hands find their way back to your hips, fingers digging into soft flesh. ”Wanna make you feel so good. You gonna let me?”

“Mmhmm,” you whimper a little high pitch and out of breath, letting go of all the control you’ve hung onto for the last five years with a dirty roll of your hips that begs to suck him in.

“Oh fuck, you’re still so - shit.” Steve practically whines, his jaw going hard with eyebrows that pinch together, trying to regain his composure from the way you pulse around him just nudging halfway in, the aftershocks of your first orgasm have you feeling every ridge of his cock, lighting your body up.

The stretch burns, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as flames lick deep in your gut from the feeling you’ll never get enough of. His calloused fingers grab at your chin, demanding your attention. Your lashes tickle the tops of your cheeks as you force them back open, only to find his face is closer now, both his palms landing on either side of your head, black iris’s threatening to drown you, holding your gaze with the kind of intensity that makes your heart palpitate.

”I want to look at you.” He breathes against your lips as one swift thrust has you completely filled up.

”Steve!”

Gasping into his mouth, it takes all of your strength to keep your eyes open, focusing on the imperfect circles of the chestnut freckles that explode across the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah?” He smirks, pressing his forehead against yours, the rough hair on his chest tickling the softness of your breasts, nipples pebbling as your arms wrap around his neck.

“It feels, you feel -“

A loud moan rumbles from the back of your throat when the tip of him hits the spot that makes your toes curl into the fat of his ass, pushing him even deeper, the ends of your nails dig pretty marks all over his shoulders.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me how good it feels.” He grunts, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth, the roll of his hips becoming a slow grind.

His pelvic bone hits your bundle of nerves just right while the tip of him bullies the spot that has your eyes threatening to close against his wishes, and it has you sounding like ‘Steve’ is the only word you’ve ever known. It’s a hazy mess inside your mind, especially when he looks at you like this. It’s worse than before, and you don’t know how you’re going to find your way back this time, something different inside of his gaze that you know is going to make it impossible.

”Missed you so much, so damn gorgeous angel, think about you all the time. All the fucking time.” Steve babbles, completely drunk off the way you flutter at his words, the angry facade you’ve been putting on crumbling around him as your body lets the truth come out.

The confession makes your chest tighten with all the unresolved feelings you’ve shoved down for so long, the ones you almost forgot were there until a few weeks ago. Fingers curling into the hair on the nape of his neck you lean up, capturing his lips to shut him up, rocking your hips to meet his thrust. He grunts into your mouth, cock twitching against your walls, eagerly licking into your mouth.

It’s easier to get lost in him without the reminder of what used to be, teeth scraping together as the kiss gets messier. The metal of the car crunches and bends under your movements, but neither one of you can find it in you to care with noses pressing into each other's cheeks, tongues fighting for the kind of dominance your hips are at war about.

Steve is the one that breaks first, coming up for air, with eyes that seem even darker than before as he pushes himself up to stand. Big hands grab at your hips as a loose strand of hair falls across his forehead. Pulling halfway out, he takes a moment to admire the sheen you coat him, pink tongue darting out to lick his swollen lips before shoving himself all the way back in.

”Oh my god!” You gasp, throwing your head back against the hood, your hands landing on top of his, fingernails digging into the tops of them.

“I wanna watch you cum again, can you do that for me, baby?” He tugs you closer, your body squeaking across the metal that tries to stick to your skin, the tip of him hitting that spot again.

Nodding your head, every hard thrust of his hips echoes through the garage, the car shaking underneath you as tires threaten to roll. He feels himself getting close, the pad of his thumb finding your clit to rub the kind of messy circles that have you saying his name just how he likes.

“Come on, let me see how pretty you can get, let me have it.” He coos, finding the perfect combination to make you come undone all over him.

Your walls clench hard enough to try and push him out but he just buries himself deeper, a loud groan rumbling from his chest watching the way your face contorts with pleasure. White dances behind your heavy lids that squeeze shut as your legs start to shake around his waist. You try to shove his hand away, but he refuses, remaining relentless, milking your second orgasm for everything it's worth, making you cum even harder.

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s iiiiit, so fuckin’ good for me.” He praises, completely lost in the way your body responds to him and it’s enough to send him flying over the edge he’d been teetering on since had you against the garage door.

A string of curse words falls pretty from his lips, twitching hard inside you and with the last bit of strength you have, you squeeze him even tighter, relishing in the way his jaw goes slack because of it. The movements of his thumb finally end its assault so he can grab onto your sides with both hands, fingers digging bruises as one last hard thrust has his warmth filling you up.

The feeling of being so full sends your body buzzing, watching him fall apart on top of you with sweat dripping off the ends of his hair. His head drops between his shoulders, body shaking as his orgasm rakes through him. Red cheeks and skin so warm it rivals the sun, he lets himself collapse on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck totally spent, still chasing his high with a slow circle of his hips.

Your nose finds its way into his damp hair, inhaling deeply because it somehow smells even better than before. You wrap your arms around his shoulders even though you know you should leave and forget this ever happened, but it feels too good to have hands sliding up your curves as he starts to drip out of you and onto the car.

“God, Eddie’s going to kill me.” He mumbles against your skin, making you squirm because it tickles, and you can feel him smile because of it.

“How’s he gonna find out?” You giggle, the metal of the Corvette popping under your shifting weight.

”Baby.” Steve snorts, leaving a kiss on the curve of your jaw before pushing himself up on his elbows, the endearment falling too easily off his tongue in a casual way, reminding you very quickly of your reality.

It’s harder to meet his eyes that search for yours, but you do anyway. They’re warm again, like a dark sand beach and it's hard not to want to lay out a towel and live inside them. Both of you wince as he pulls himself out, cursing under his breath at your walls staying greedy and trying to pull him back in.

He doesn’t notice the shift in your demeanor pulling up his coveralls and tying the sleeves around his waist, or if he does he chooses to ignore it, grabbing your dress off the floor before offering you his hand. There’s less grease staining them now and you know it's because it's all over you, completely marked by him nearly head to toe whether you like it or not.

Sliding your hand in his, you duck your head down as you take it, legs wobbling when your feet hit the ground, not missing the smug grin that pushes up his cheeks clocking it. You go for your dress but Steve just tuts at you pulling it out of reach, ignoring your scoff he shakes it out before lifting it above your head signaling for you to put your arms up. Rolling your eyes with a smile you can’t fight, you pretend not to feel the butterfly wings tickling your ribcage, turning around and doing as he asks, letting him drag the soft cotton down your body. Calloused fingertips tracing the goosebumps they create.

”Let’s go get cleaned up in the bathroom,” he hums softly, grabbing you by the hips, and pressing a kiss into the fresh bruise behind your ear.

You tell yourself you’ll leave after this letting him guide you by the waist and a chin on your shoulder. You think it again when the small space of the bathroom is filled with giggles and bashful smiles as he sits you on the closed toilet seat, wetting paper towels that turn into mache in his hands. You scream at yourself to do it watching him try and fix his hair in the mirror after wiping you down the best he can, pressing kisses on both your kneecaps.

“I’ve been using this new product, but nothing hits like Farrah. I can’t believe they discontinued it. Dustin swears he can find me some, but who knows if you can even trust it’s the real deal, you know?”

Steve interrupts your inner turmoil with a face that’s far too serious for the words that just left his mouth and the thoughts running through your head. Your mood shifts almost instantly with a laugh loud enough to turn his cheeks the color of your toes, giving you an exaggerated eye roll despite the twitch of his lips.

“I can’t believe you still hang out with a middle schooler.” You tease, getting up on your feet, legs feeling a little less like jello but the reminder between your thighs only seems to intensify.

”I told you he’s like 19 - “

”Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Steve,” you grin, taking the break in the intensity of everything to try and work up the self-control to leave, wincing at the echoing clack of your flip flops that give you away instantly.

”Wait, where are you going?” Steve’s brows furrow in confusion, turning around to face you, he tightens the sleeves wrapped around his waist, biceps flexing while all the playfulness drains from his eyes.

”I should go before Robin -“

”What? No, she’ll be fine, it’s like noon. I’m sure she’s not even awake yet.”

“Steve.”

”Honey.”

The two of you face off in a silent challenge, stares unwavering, mimicking each other with arms crossover over your chests.

“Don’t run again.” He pleads with a whisper that’s barely audible against the beating of your heart in your ears, the room feeling smaller.

“I’m not running, I’m walking.” You try to lighten the mood with a joke, the corners of your eyes stinging but you refuse to acknowledge why.

”I’m not letting you walk home.”

“It’s down the road-“

“I don’t care! You’re not walking. Let me close up and then I’ll at least drive you.”

You don’t argue with the hurt expression on his face, you can’t.

It’s somehow even hotter outside when the two of you sneak out the side door of the garage. A different kind of tension hangs thick in the air putting the humidity to shame, even with the sun shimmering from the highest point in the sky. His skin glows like liquid gold in its rays as he walks in front of you, your eyes following the movements of his freckled shoulders that flex with every swing on his arms. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you hate the pit that settles deep in your gut because you don’t want to say goodbye just yet. Another consequence of a choice you made rearing its ugly head.

You aren’t expecting him to open the passenger door for you, the metal creaking loudly breaking a silence that’s filled with a thousand unspoken words just hanging on the tip of both of your tongues waiting to fill up the space. His gaze meets yours from under the thick length of his lashes, the corners of his lips twisting at the way you get bashful from the gesture.

”Thanks,” you whisper, catching a whiff of his cologne as you duck into the passenger seat that’s starting to feel like yours again.

He just hums in response, shutting it quickly and trapping you inside a metal box filled with every smell that reminds you of him. It pulls at your heart, and intensifies the burn between your thighs. Your fingers come up to twist the metal that still dangles from your neck, and you’re not sure you can bring yourself to give it back after this. The already small space of the car shrinks even more when the driver side door opens and he slides in next to you with a huff, keys jingling loudly in his hand closing the door behind him.

His shoulders brush with yours shoving the keys in the ignition, the seat vibrating underneath you as the beemer quietly roars to life. He keeps his hand on the stick shift, sweat slick skin pressing into yours shifting the car into drive. The radio isn’t as loud as you thought it’d be considering the way he was blasting it in the shop. Meatloaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love spills out of the speakers and you try not to laugh at the irony, scrambling to think of what to say to him as Robin’s apartment complex quickly comes into view.

But he never stops.

“Steve, what are you doing?” You sigh, crossing your arms across your chest watching the baby blue paneling of her apartments whiz past.

“This is technically my lunch break, and I’m hungry.” He shrugs, glancing at you with something mischievous in his eyes that you want to smack away because it makes your heart skip a beat, “You’re telling me you’re not starving after that honey?”

Smacking your lips together, you roll your eyes as hard as you can, trying to hide the smile that pushes up your cheeks.

“Wow, your confidence always just astounds me.” Shaking your head, your sarcastic laugh only makes him grin.

”I think you like it.”

You can’t bring yourself to deny it, fluttering your lashes at him with an attitude instead.

”But if you really can’t stand the thought of spending like another hour with me, I’ll turn around right now, honey.” You know he means it, feeling his foot slowly press on the brake in anticipation for your answer, “Just say the words.”

‘Say it, say turn around Steve.’

“Take me somewhere with fries.”

When you left Robin’s house this morning, you didn’t think watching Steve juggle two shakes and a large order of fries to the booth you’re sitting at with a heart so full it threatens to crack your chest, was where you’d end up at. His cheeks flush a deep shade red almost losing his footing, lovesick eyes too busy staring at you to watch where his boots land.

God, this was not a part of the plan.

“I got you strawberry,” his grin is proud, remembering your favorite from high school when he drops your cool treat in front of you, and instead of sliding into the seats across the table, he plops down into the spot right next to you, knees bumping underneath the wood.

“What if I wanted chocolate?” You tease, body turning into a lit match pressing into his side.

“That’s what I got, and maybe, if you ask nicely,” he breathes, leaning in close enough for the tips of your noses to brush, “I’ll share.”

You wonder if he can hear the way you swallow at his tone over that oldies station that plays in the Hawkins Diner.

“No thanks, you can keep your cooties.” Sighing, you have to fight the twitch of your lips tearing your eyes away from him to focus on the fried potatoes in front of you.

”I think it’s a little late for that baby, I’m afraid you’re completely covered in them.” He doesn’t hesitate to press a sloppy kiss on your cheek that's loud enough to catch the attention of the girls that’d been staring at him since the two of you walked in.

”Steve!” You try to scold, but the smile that spreads across your face gives you up, even if you wipe the kiss away with the back of your hand.

”What?” He smirks, grabbing a few fries and plopping them in his mouth and you try not to focus on the way his tongue darks out to collect the salt left over on his lips.

“I can’t stand you.”

It’s impossible to keep a straight face around him, even avoiding the playful gold that swirls in his gaze that hasn’t stopped showering you with adoration.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep better at night.” He shrugs, taking a big swig of his shake, subtly scooting closer so your thighs touch.

The two of you eat in a peaceful silence for a few minutes, your head swimming with questions as your morning starts to really sink in. But your nerves make it impossible to focus on just one, especially every time you fingers brush, catching his small smirk from the corner of your eyes.

”So tell me something,” you try, ignoring the slight shake in your voice, “How did Steve Harrington, ‘king of Hawkins’, become a mechanic? I always thought you’d be in some big office with a suit working for your dad.”

You notice the sour look that contorts the handsome features on his face at the former nickname again and you immediately feel bad for saying it. His thick eyebrows furrow, marrying in the middle as he tries to shake it off with a few harsh blinks grabbing another handful of fries.

”Umm, I did work for my dad’s firm for like six months actually.” He confesses, clearing his throat before tossing them into his mouth. “I think we hate each other even more now.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude that's not why I asked -“

”Honey, you’re fine.” He smiles warmly, a big palm finding the top of our thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it occupy the space permanently.

”Turns out I’m a terrible office manager. I’d get super overwhelmed, which made me disorganized and we’d lose clients making my dad pissed, then one day I just kinda snapped after he laid into me in his office. Had a panic attack and then never showed my face there again.”

”Steve-“

“I knew he was going to fire me anyway, it’s fine” he laughs, running his free hand through his hair, the other sliding down your thigh so his thumb can rub circles into the soft skin next to your knee cap.

“So I wallowed in self pity for a month before Eddie started needing help at the shop. At first it just gave me something to do, he’d teach me a few things and turns out, I’m actually pretty good at it. It honestly feels really fucking freeing to stop being the person everyone expected me to be.”

He smiles with all his teeth, the kind of pride radiating off of him that makes the hard brick wall you’ve built around yourself start to soften, cracks forming in its foundation.

”Well, it looks good on you Harrington.” You have to look away when you say it, the butterflies becoming unbearable, because you weren’t supposed to feel like this. “I guess.”

He snorts at your stubbornness, bumping shoulders with you before snatching your strawberry shake earning the kind of glare that makes him realize he’s never going to get over you.

Steve’s one hour lunch turns into two, almost becoming three getting lost in the kind of conversation that barely scratches the surface of everything you’ve missed. It’s all hushed tones, sweet eyes, and linked fingers that threaten to make you fold again, with the only thing saving you is the reminder of the mess you made on top of his client's Corvette, and Steve reluctantly admitting he needed to leave so he didn’t actually lose his job in the morning.

It didn’t matter though, he got his date.

And when he pulls up to Robin’s he doesn’t hesitate to steal your breath away, grabbing you by the chin, giving you the kind of kiss over the center console that leaves you dizzy, just like in high school. He doesn’t ask for his chain back, and you don’t offer it, bounding up the stairs to the apartment with it shimmering against your chest.

🌻chapter five

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #mechanic!steve #mechanic!eddie

726 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 2 months ago

Text

250 Years of Longing

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x Fem! Vampire! Reader

Word count: 5.8k

Synopsis: A brief misunderstanding leads to years of heartache. You mourn 250 years of love while his heart remains to you and only you.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, vampire AU, divorced! Vampire! AU, established relationship, CW blood, talks of marriage, hurt/comfort, some fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @pleaktale !!! This au was born in our dms lol

Navigation

Vampire Hobie Masterlist

Hobie's words are muffled in your ears as you try to hide your trembling, lovelorn body. Your head is in your hands, wide eyes downturned towards the same scruffed floors you've lived in for thirty years with him. You still remember the day you moved in, the walls were in bright yellow back then, wooden floors hidden by some gaudy shag carpet from the 70s. You still remember that decade like it was yesterday, maybe it was just yesterday, being a vampire means that time has moved differently for you. Time is merely something you gloss over, years flying by in a wink. Barely a flutter in your immortal eyes.

Even technology is moving faster and innovating quicker than you could manage to keep up. The next thing you know, you've been alive for more than 250 years.

250 years of being with him, 250 years of wearing the same identical ring, 250 years of loving him. All those 250 years are going through your mind a thousand miles per hour, your first kiss with him, your confession. Or was it him who confessed to you? Were you the one who got sick and he had to find a vampire to turn you and in turn to change him? Or was it the other way around? Memory is a fickle thing when you're older than any living human on earth. You've forgotten a lot of things, memory hazy and foggy like a dream you don't quite remember the second you wake. You wish this was just a dream, a nightmare that you'll wake up from.

“I need to try— I need to go, love.” His words wake you up from the lucid nightmare. He stands in the middle of your shared room, eyes forlorn, brows pinched together like he's in agony. “I can't stay ‘ere like this.”

If his words could kill, you'd be staked through the heart by now. 250 years of being together, practically joined at the hip. A love beyond a simple marriage on paper. And he's just standing there, breaking your long dead heart.

You look up at him through bloody tears, nails digging into your scalp as you try to hide your wails. An impossible feat. “Was it me? Did I do something?” You've faced vampire hunters together, faced horrors beyond belief to survive and continue to live with him. But you were never terrified, until now.

He immediately shakes his head, moving closer to you to take your trembling hands. The identical rings on his and your finger clinks together as he clasps your hand. “No, it's not you, love.” Kneeling down, he gazes at you through wine red eyes, bloody tears threatening to spill over his cheeks that you would always caress in your shared coffin that's hidden beneath the canopy bed you're currently languishing in.

“That's what they all say.” You utter in a small voice that he hasn't heard in decades.

Grasping your hands, he rubs his thumbs over your pulse where your heart would beat. Something he still does even though your hearts haven't beat together in sync ever since that fateful day.

“You didn't do anythin' wrong. I jus’ need to find myself, go out and see the world in my own eyes.”

You nod bitterly. “Without the burden of me.”

“That's not true, you're not a burden.” His hands reach towards your cheeks, wiping the bloody tears cascading down them like rain drops on a cold autumn day. “There are people I could help out there—”

“And I can't? Why can't you just bring me with you?” You wrench yourself away from him, walking away from the bed to give him space lest you let him see you like this. “Just say you're tired of me.” Hugging yourself, you feel his arms wrap around your middle, face tucked in the crook of your neck right where your scar sits.

“‘m not tired of you.” He says against your skin.

Your twist in his arms to face him fully, palms resting on his chest, eyes dim and scared. “Then why leave? Why do you want to leave me?” His shirt is bunched around your fists, desperate to cling to him despite his wishes. “250 years, Hobie. I've known you for more than that, been with you through all of it. I deserve to know why.” You try to reign in your anger and frustration but your fangs suddenly appearing betrays you.

“I don't want to leave you— Time, love. I jus’ need time. That's all we've got.”

You're tired, tired of asking why, tired of clinging to him like a life raft. Tired of your chest aching and feeling heavy as he looks at you with pity— was it pity? Or something else? So you let him go. Fists unfurling, palms leaving his chest as you step away from him.

“Alright.” You sniff, expression falling stiff as you straighten up. “I won't stop you.” If your love for him keeps him from doing what he loves, then you'll let him go. You can still love him from afar, even if he doesn't want you anymore.

“Love.” Hobie reaches your hand, palm sliding up to your elbows as he pulls you closer to embrace you fully. “250 years, not once did I feel I didn't love you.”

You close your eyes as you find yourself hidden atop his throat, memorizing his scent and how he holds you. Feeling how his own tears drip down on you, how his skin feels against your own. Memory is a fickle thing, you'll soon forget, but you don't want to. So you'll cling to him, even if it's just a memory of him.

“I love you, y’know that right?” He whispers to you, and only to you.

“I—” you falter. If you say it back, it feels like goodbye. And you don't want to say goodbye to the one person you have loved for centuries. “—I know, Hobie.” You could only say, saying it back means that you're never going to see him again. Saying it back means it's the end.

He could only hold onto you tighter, lips pecking the crown of your head so gently that you barely felt it in your lovelorn state.

You've got time, but it won't be spent with him. Eternity would feel empty for you now.

—

It's been six months of being alone, six months since he moved out to find his purpose. He wanted to leave partly so you could also find yourself and be yourself without his presence. 250 years of being together would do that. He doesn't know where he ends and begins when your soul and his own are tangled together for eternity. And he wants that for you too— to be your own self and not just another vampire in the cursed flock.

To be a better eternal partner for you is one of his goals, he needed to leave so he could be better, so he could be good to you for another 250 years more.

And he's willing— wishing that he gets to spend eternity with you after he's satisfied with what he has done to help people. He just hopes that you'd be home to welcome him back once he does. He's sure that you're already making good progress in finding yourself. He already misses you. A lot.

He's already aching for home and your embrace.

So much has happened in those six months, he's excited to tell you everything he has encountered. And even more excited to hear your voice again, to hold you again and sleep in the same coffin with you again and not the shoddy temporary coffin he made out of planks to rest in. He can already see your ecstatic face when he enters the abode again.

Ned has told him that he won't last a year without you. He'd know, Hobie has been friends with him for almost a hundred years now. But he refuses to let him win, even though he really wants to see you right now, or even call you on one of those phones that people seem to be addicted to. But you haven't picked up his calls, or even answered his letters. He has sent one everyday since he left, he's starting to worry now. Even the crew who urged him to go on a worldwide mission with him has placed bets on when he'll run back to you. With the earliest being tomorrow, and the longest being a year. He intends to make them lose, but by god, he misses you so damn much that he's starting to see you in his dreams. And see glimpses of you in the corner of his eyes.

He doesn't regret his decision, but a part of him thinks that you were right— that he should've brought you with him on his journey. Without you his frozen heart feels like it's out of his own body. Walking around without him, living without him. But he knows that it's for the best. It's only temporary, he keeps repeating to himself every night. He'll be with you soon.

As he writes today's letter, he smiles, hands scribbling his day away on the fragrant paper that he knows you'd love especially when it's sprayed with his own perfume.

He can't wait to see you back home.

—

You were absolutely losing it in that house. You keep seeing him everywhere. With every clatter in the halls, you run towards it in hopes that it's him making a ruckus in the kitchen. With every shadow cast on the walls, you see him walking towards you, arms outstretched to hold you. And then for a moment, he's gone, like a whiff of smoke billowing from a lit cigar.

The house that has love built within its walls seems to tilt in your vision. Weighed down by your grief. You don't know where to place your feeling of abandonment, do you place it in the kitchen where you two used to feed together? Or do you put it right next to your withdrawal, your need to be with him once again?

You choke on your own need.

So you take a page from Hobie's book and left. After just two days of him being gone, you packed your bags and headed out to nowhere. You can't stay anywhere that you have stayed with him before, you're afraid that you'll burst into bloodied tears if you even get a whiff of the same place where you two met all those centuries ago.

You haven't felt this alone since you were nineteen, well, you haven't been nineteen in a long time. You could barely remember your days before you were turned— died. It's like looking into a window of a well lit house whose occupants you once knew well but couldn't talk to anymore. In that well lit house is you and him. Just you and him, him and you.

The lamp posts are hazy in your eyes, buildings whizzing by in a blur of crimson tears. You took the midnight bus, hand never leaving the ring on your finger, and just sat there until the route ended. Then you rode a train, then a boat. And again and again until you reached a little coastal town with a name you could barely remember on good days. And with bad days, the crying comes and goes. Chest still aching, claw marks left all over the tiny cottage you brought.

A dark cloud has settled on you, but with each day passes, with each interaction from the town’s people with their good nature and good intentions, the dark cloud slowly ebbs away. The sun shines on you once again after a year and a half without him, it doesn't burn you nor scorch your skin anymore, it lights your way. The people and the soft sea breeze helped you cope through the uncertainty of being alone.

250 years of togetherness, and not one day you've felt alone, or felt like you've wasted your time with him. 250 years of memories, not one you felt like it went all down the drain. It was worth it, all the calm days to the rough one, it was all worth it.

You still wish to see him, to talk to him, to taste his saccharin ichor on your tongue; to kiss him until you're both laughing against each other's kiss bitten lips. It's a normal feeling, a neighbour once told you after you told her your story (excluding the vampirism). It's alright to miss someone who might not miss you back.

There's a hole that he left in your chest, and you find that you can't fill it in no matter how much you try to fill it with friends and good moments. But it shrinks, it gets smaller with time. It gets better with each day that passes. It has gotten better.

No longer do you feel that time has passed in a blur of colours. It has slowed for you, time. You go outdoors and breathe in the salty air, you talk to people, people you would've ignored back then. You do things you haven't done in decades. And you find that time has barely passed. You live each day, savour it, conquer it with warmth akin to his palm atop your own.

You wish him nothing but the best, and as you promised yourself on that day, you'll continue to love him from afar. The moon gazing down on you reminds you of him, everything reminds you of him. And that's alright, love does that. And it will continue to do so for the rest of eternity.

You've got nothing but time to heal and fill the void with as much light as you can.

—

Hobie's gnawed with exhaustion, but happy, incredibly happy. After two years of being away, he has helped so many lives with his ‘abilities’. He has plucked away corrupt officials with his own clawed hands, fangs coated in a sheen of rubies, eyes bright and almost glowing in its pools of crimson. He's proud of what he has accomplished, he hopes that you would be too.

Two years went by without you, he may have won the bet by a long shot but he can't stay for another day more. He needs to go home to you or he feels like he'll combust into searing flames if he doesn't get to see you and hold you within the day. He longs for your warm ichor on his tongue, and how you always laugh at his antics after all these years. He smiles at his ring, excited to see its partner in your finger once again.

So he forgoes to write you a letter in an attempt to surprise you with his return. He packs his bags, waves goodbye to his old and new found friends, going home without wasting another second. You're his bright spot amidst the dark eternity, his sun that lights the way, and he finally feels that he's worthy of you. Worthy of your time.

He knows himself better than he did when he was just nineteen and lost in the threads of life. He feels as if he traveled back in time, back when he was a human who craved to leave his mark in the world. Only this time, he accomplished the latter. Now, as he promised himself that day, he's coming back home.

He's going back home to you.

—

A letter mysteriously arrives at your doorstep. Its pitch black envelope and red wax seal with the unmistakable seal of the vampiric council sends anxiety coursing through your frozen veins.

Is it Hobie? Has something happened to him? Did he fight a council member again? Did you unintentionally and unknowingly break a rule? Or perhaps it's just a newsletter? You could only hope that it's a newsletter.

You open it immediately to calm yourself. Sharp nails ripping the black envelope open. Reading the contents, you sigh in relief at the invitation. An invitation to a soiree, the kind you and Hobie were never invited to because it's well known that you two have been together for centuries. Hell, it's in their records to begin with.

Tamping down your yearning thoughts, you skim the invitation some more. You find that it's a masquerade, ‘to make it interesting in finding your eternal partner,’ it read in its fancy gold lettering. They need to find a better writer to write their invitations, you thought.

You feel like scoffing at the idea of you dressing up and looking pretty just to find a person who may or may not leave you after they feel the urge to change. As you flip the matte paper around, your mind changes with the words ‘goody bags will be given to those who don't find a partner by the end of the day.’ You can't resist a good party favour, especially when it's from the rich vampire council who once gave away mustangs and harleys to the vampires who made it to a hundred. You might hate their guts, but you can't deny how well they can plan a good soiree.

Leaving your cottage, you don your thick coat and take out your trustee umbrella to wade through the sun illuminated town in hopes of buying a somewhat presentable gown to wear. You might've skipped the part in the invitation that says, ‘satisfaction guaranteed!’

—

Hobie stands on the porch of your shared home with a big giddy smile on his face. He notices all the plants you loved so much have wilted, grass turned into a shade of murky brown, and the porch is littered with dust and grime. He ignores the state of his home in favour of the thought of you being too busy traveling and meeting friends or trying out different hobbies. He could only hope that you're well. That you feed whenever you're hungry, he knows how much you hate hunting, especially without him. He remembers that you always make it a night, basically a date night with him that ends with a dead asshole in an alleyway with four unmistakable pin pricks on the side of their neck.

He should've planned more before he left, made sure that you'd be prepared for anything while he's gone. He'd hate to be gone when a would be vampire hunter attacks your home. His fists clenches around his suitcase, now his fear of you being staked through the heart in his own house takes hold of his entire body. You can handle yourself in a fight, but he's afraid of losing you in such a violent way when he could've been there to save you.

With fear clawing at his chest up to his throat, he unlocks the front door with a creak. Then the door stops, as if something is blocking the way.

“Love?” He calls for you in the dark foyer. The vase you always kept filled with flowers that sits on a desk near the door has completely covered in dust, roses wilted. Flowers no longer blooming in its porcelain form. His iced heart shudders in his chest. “Love, it's me, don't attack, yeah?” Chuckling nervously, he pushes the door fully despite the resistance.

The sound of papers crinkling under the pressure of the door sends him into a tizzy. His eyes narrow downwards at the piles upon piles of envelopes next to his feet. Squeezing inside, he tosses his suitcase haphazardly further into the foyer. It thumps loudly on the wooden floorboards, contents tumbling out and spilling over the floors.

His frantic eyes scan the letters, kneeling down, he finds that the letterbox flaps on the door is practically bursting with the amount of envelopes that were shoved in.

Frowning, he takes one in his trembling fingers, thumbs running along your name that he wrote himself.

“What the fuck?” He asks breathlessly into the void. He finds that every single one of them remains unopened.

Standing upright as quick as lightning, he runs around the house like a headless chicken looking for its head. He checks the living room, none, except for spiderwebs clinging on his guitar perched on the wall. His anxiety eats him from the inside out with every door he flings open. The sounds of his thundering footsteps echo inside the shared home, oil paintings of you and him are threatening to fall from its fixtures as he sprints through every door, looks through every crevice for you. And opens every cabinet and even climbs up to the attic to no avail.

There's no blood nor sign of a fight or forced entry. At least he knows that you haven't been attacked. But his mind lingers on one question, ‘where are you?’

He heaves in the middle of the bedroom where he saw you last. The shared coffin was left revealed and out in the open, he can still smell your perfume lingering in the velvet walls of the coffin, fingers running along the sides as he desperately tries to feel you through the fabric.

You're not here. You haven't been here for a long time.

“Fuck,” he balls up the fabric in his fist. There's no sign of you anywhere, not even a letter for him to read. It's unlike you to not leave a note. You always leave one, even if you're just going to the garden. “Where the fuck are you, love?”

The sound of the deep sounding doorbell startles him in place. With his quick movements, he makes it to the door within a half second. That could be you outside.

Hobie practically rips the door open with both hands as he wretches it away in hopes that it could be you. With a grin, he only sees a bat flapping away, and a dark envelope left at his doorstep.

“Fuckin' council.” Quickly grabbing the letter, he closes the door behind him. He could only hope that the letter is for him, that they're chastising him for what he has done. It can't be a letter of condolence pertaining to you, it can't be.

—

Your champagne flute filled with blood is starting to coagulate. Crimson staining the sides of the fancy glass as you slosh it absentmindedly. You stand in the corner right next to the fountain of warm blood gushing out of a mermaid's vase. At least you get to drink your fill.

The party is in full swing, the grand hall is filled with single vampires mingling with each other. Their mindless chatter falls on deaf ears as you look up at the crystal chandeliers illuminating the event. Cigar smoke rises up from the bloodied lips of vampires, turning the air more acrid than the scent of sweat and drying blood from the feeding area just below the event hall.

You're starting to think that the goody bag isn't worth it anymore, even if it has the meaning of life tucked inside it.

The sound of tinkling glass and footsteps takes your attention from the foggy ceiling. The stranger smiles at you through his domino mask. Lips smirking as he makes his way towards you with two bloody cups.

“May I join you?” He asks in a low soothing voice. His suit is in velvet blue, golden charms hanging off him like fine gold threads weaved over him. You raise a brow at him, hopefully he can see it rise above your flowery mask. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn't be spending the night alone like this.”

You scoff quietly, refraining from rolling your eyes. “How would you know that I'm pretty under this mask?” He grins wider at your comment. “For all you know, I'm hideous under this.”

Chuckling, the platinum haired man shrugs. “I just know. You give off the aura of someone gorgeous.”

You scoff light-heartedly against the rim of your glass. “I bet you've said those exact words a dozen times tonight.”

He smirks, fang poking out from his lips. “No, just this once.” Plucking your coagulated drink from your hand, he swiftly and gracefully replaces it with a new one. The drink is still warm, fresh from the veins. “I only use my skills wisely lest it be wasted.”

You stare at him with a raised brow, the corner of your lips curl into an unsure smile. “Wasted on who?” Taking a step away from the man who clearly wants his fangs in your neck, you dawdle on drinking from the glass he gave you.

Chuckling, he glances at the vampires milling about the ballroom, their fancy clothes swishing from side to side as they try their best in recreating a moment in the past.

“The…unremarkable vampires.”

“And you think I'm remarkable enough for you…?”

The stranger takes your hand without another word, leaning down to press a cold kiss against your skin. “Just call me Count Tepes.”

You blink at his name, then you feel it, a recognizable warmth flooding your frozen veins akin to a gentle summer's breeze upon your cheek. A comfortable heat pressing against your throat, a familiar presence making its way towards you in haste.

“Who's this, love? You chattin’ up my wife?” Hobie's arm is suddenly around your waist, calloused hand pressing gently atop your bodice, fingers slithering under the ribbons on your hips in a comfortable and welcomed possessive nature. “Didn't know we were lookin' for a third. If we were, I wouldn't choose this bloke.”

As you crane your neck to stare at him, your expression morphs into a combination of pain and relief. “Hobie?”

“Yeah, lovie?” He pulls you closer against him, a pearlescent mask hiding half of his face but you could recognize him by mere touch alone, by his tone, by his warmth. You could lose him in the crowd and you'd know him from the sound of his footsteps. His smirk turns into a frown at your expression, hand squeezing your side once for comfort. “You alright?”

“Is he bothering you?” The count asks with an annoyed tone. Golden eyes narrowed to slits at the punk holding you close.

“I think you're the one bein' a bother ‘ere, mate.” Hobie sneers, tugging away at your glass to chug it in one gulp without leaving his glare at the fellow vampire. He licks at his bloodied lips, fangs bared, blood dripping down from the corner of his smirk.

Tepes raises a sharp brow at you, you, whose mind is running a thousand miles per hour. With a heavy inhale, you give him your best smile. “No need to worry, I'm with him.” Hobie puffs out his chest smugly.

The Count chuckles with a shake of his head in reply. “Not again, just my luck, hm?” Taking a swig, he swallows down the thick blood. “It's either couples looking for a third, a fourth, or even a fifth. Or someone who just went to the party to inspire jealousy in their husband.” Glancing at you, he sighs and nods curtly at you before leaving without another word.

“Really, love, him?” Hobie scoffs with a grin, ringed finger tapping on his— your glass. “You could do better—”

You whirl away from him, not having the heart to fully push him away. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doin' ‘ere?” Hobie furrows his pierced brows, his identical ring still on his ring finger. The ruby glows under the chandeliers, the same shade as his immortal eyes.

You stare at him with bemused shock, “you left!”

“On a bloody soul searchin’ not leavin' you!”

“What?” You blink rapidly at his words. “You said you couldn't stay anymore—” a cough stops you in your tracks. An older vampire with the biggest beard you've ever seen taps his foot impatiently, thick brow raised in annoyance. “Sorry.” You murmur before leaving towards the closed balcony doors.

“Sorry, Santa.” Hobie waves him away, following right behind you as you struggle to open the double doors. “You have to—” he places the glass down to help you by putting his hands above your own. “— love, you have to push the bloody knob.”

His hands felt like how they used to, as if two years hadn't passed. With a click, the doors swing open. “Damnit, I had it.” You step into the cold air, trembling hands resting on the cool marble balcony.

The doors shut close as Hobie tentatively steps closer to you. “You look fit.” You scoff at him as his shoulders heave in an inhale. “I wouldn't leave you.”

“But you did.” You utter under your breath, you know he heard it above the breeze.

“Can I explain myself? I don't want to fight, love.” 250 years together and you've only fought a handful of times, and the serious ones are lesser than the nonsensical ones. With your apprehensive nod, he crosses the small distance, settling himself right next to you and at the same time giving you enough space. “I didn't break it off.” He takes off his mask, sighing heavily as he twirls his ring around his finger. “I should've explained it better.”

You finally meet with his eyes. The ring in your pocket seems to grow heavier. “You were gone for two years, Hobie.”

“For a good cause, I didn't feel like myself and I wanted to be better, not just for you but for myself.” He leans closer to you, the full moon bathing him in silver, the light caught by his piercings. “250 years together, do you think I'd leave you just like that?”

“You didn't have to be better for me. You're already great to me.” Your affectionate words echo in the breeze as his chest clenches, guilt stomping down on him. “I thought you didn't find me fascinating anymore. That you didn't need or want me anymore.” Your voice is small, almost broken. “250 years together could do that, Hobie.”

“I could never not find you fascinatin’, and I get to wake up next to everythin' I could ever need or want. You're anythin’ but.” With a brave hand, he reaches for your cheek, wiping a bloodied tear you didn't notice you've let out. “I thought you got hurt, or worse.”

He feels a tear run down his cheek. Gently taking your mask off of your face, he could finally see you in all your glory. He gazes into your shining eyes— he may not be able to see himself in the mirror, but he doesn't need to when your eyes are enough to reflect his own blissful face.

You lean further into his hold, palms reaching towards his chest like you used to. “D–did you do it? Did you get to do what you wanted to? Are you happy?”

Hobie nods before placing his forehead against yours to savour your close presence. “I did, all that and more. And I've always been happy with you.”

Smiling, you pat his cheek affectionatly. “Then I'm proud of you.” Leaning away, you wipe away a stray tear from his chiseled cheek. “So it was a misunderstanding? You didn't actually break off our…marriage?”

He smiles softly, knuckles gently running along your jaw. “Why’d you hesitate, hm? And yeah, I should've explained myself better. ‘m sorry.”

You thump your fists on his leather clad chest as he chuckles. “You could've saved me from a lot of fucking tears, Hobie.” You can now admire him fully, his outfit is a contrast to the other party goers with their silks and chiffon, but he makes it look good— he always looks this good.

Taking your wrists, placing it atop his still heart, he tilts his head with an affectionate smile. “You didn't answer my question. And you took off your ring.” He raises a questioning brow, fingers bracelets around your wrist as he moves your empty ring finger around. “Were you honestly tryin' to get with that wanker?”

“No,” you say immediately, “And if I remember correctly, we never technically married. I'm only here because they had nice things in the party favors. And I thought, ‘why not? The worst that could happen is that I get a bloody ipad instead of a mustang like I hoped.’” Your lips wobble as you tamp down a sob, eyes getting blurry. “I couldn't replace you just like that. It would take me a thousand years to get over you, you idiot.”

Hobie laughs wholeheartedly, a sound you dearly missed. He pauses then inhales, eyes warmly staring at you through the haze of affection. “Fuck, I missed you so goddamn much.” With a quick pull, he embraces you firmly with his face hidden on the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your throat. “You're right, ‘m an idiot for not explainin’ better, and for not takin’ you with me. ‘m sorry.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter, nose nuzzling his temple. “Could've just told me you were having a mid-life crisis.”

He laughs against your skin. “I sent you letters everyday, you didn't reply.” Subtly, he dances with you from side to side under the moonlight and the music of crickets chirping. “I went home and you weren't there. If I wasn't already dead, you would've given me a heart attack.”

“I couldn't stay there alone.” You hold him impossibly closer. “You weren't there.”

Hobie imagines you in that big house all alone waiting for him. “Fuck, ‘m sorry.”

“I know, I forgive you. Just bring me next time, okay?” He nods with a grin. You lean away, cradling his face in your careful hold, thumbs rubbing along his cheeks. “I'll read your letters, all of them once we get back home.”

“Why read ‘em when I can tell you?” He grins, temptation pushing him to meet with your waiting lips. “‘sides, ‘m a better storyteller than a writer.”

You chuckle softly as he pecks you once, twice then leaning away only to move back with another gentle kiss. “I've got stories to tell too.” You utter against his soft lips.

“Yeah?” He smiles proudly at you. “Can you tell me all about them while your lips are on mine?”

You beam at him. “I can, I have telepathy for a reason, Hobs.”

“Thank fuck for telepathy.” He says as he kisses you fervently just like he always had in 250 years of being together. “I should've married you, lovie.” His words are uttered in between kisses.

“We have time.” You whisper against his smiling lips whilst he picks your pockets and slips your ring in your finger once again.

As you kiss him, you can see that he's already planning the event in his giddy mind. You tell him the three words you've been aching to say back in his head. And in turn, he takes you further into his arms as dark wispy smoke envelopes you both in an embrace. In a blink, you're back home with him. The house feels warm again.

244 notes · View notes

planariaareneat · 5 months ago

Text

Dogs are Weird

It’s safe to say humans will likely be a ubiquity through the galactic community, for the most part. Many of us have a tendency to go beyond, to see new things and forge frontiers. Undoubtedly it must be true of many other species, especially those that make it to space all by themselves, but it’d be wrong to discount it simply because we’d be one of many.

Of course, on the odd ship that permits sufficiently domesticated and socialized fauna (‘pets’, if one wants to be informal) alongside sophonts, we’d be accompanied by a wide variety of fellow mammals. Small, fluffy creatures that yip; elongated and sinuous animals, borne on stout legs and bearing long snouts; friendly yellow beasts with lips pulled into a smile and fur like a shag carpet; maybe even muscular guardians, originally bred to fight or to protect - though hopefully more well-tempered by now. Maybe even variations of them we can’t yet envision will accompany us by the time we can bring them to the stars.

Aliens might be deeply confused when they ask about what any one of these are, just to get the same answer: a dog.

Domestication and selective breeding won’t be unfamiliar to most aliens. Even being in the company of (ancestrally) efficient social predators that can enmesh well into the hierarchy is likely not to be as odd as one might think. But even among our own throng of domestic mammals, canines outshine them all in one way: variation.

Only 7 sets of genes (containing ~25 genes total) control the size of dogs, and just a couple need to be mutated to drastically change dog size. The difference between a chihuahua and a mastiff lies on these genes. Compare this to cats, who tend not to have much size variation in spite of a history of focused selective breeding spanning around the same amount of time as dogs. It’s argued - and not questioned - that dogs may have the most phenotypical variation of any land mammal, extant or extinct, within a single species.

It’s entirely possible that many aliens may never have domesticated a species with such a simple control for massive changes. They’ll see us come to the stars with an endless menagerie of creatures under a single name.

On one last note…we often sing our praises of our capacity to pack-bond with just about anything; but dogs also chose to pack-bond with us those 30,000 years ago, and they chose to do it again and again and again…

Just as we pack-bond with our new allies among the stars, dogs will likely trot and frolic with all manner of aliens as well. They’ll tussle and fight over toys just as excitedly with insectoid hounds and scale-clad schnauzers as they do already with us and each other, while we sit on the side with our extraterrestrial friends and watch them, just as we always have.

#Humans are space orcs #Humans are space fae #Humans are weird #Humans are strange #If humans are space orcs then does that mean that…#Dogs are space wargs #?#Humans in space #hfy

389 notes · View notes

luismbarbosa · 4 months ago

Photo

BEDROOM OF VIRGINIA COWLES IN NEW YORK BY HORST P. HORST FOR VOGUE, 1971.

“The bedroom of publisher Gardner Cowles and Philanthropist Jan Cowles' daughter Virginia, in their New York apartment. On a floor entirely covered in gold shag carpeting sits several pieces of modern white sculptural chairs, including a ball chair upholstered in white. The low platform bed is covered in yellow bedding and several patterned pillows and cushions. Roy Lichtenstein's print "Brushstroke" is the sole wall decoration.”

#horst p. horst #roy lichtenstein #vogue magazine #1970s

212 notes · View notes

rustedhearts · 1 year ago

Text

blue christmas (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: it's christmas time, and your boyfriend's traveling the country kicking ass. will he make it home in time—or will you be spending christmas alone?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1989) ✶ christmas carols ✶ main masterlist

tags: christmas!; descriptors for libby's friends but of course, not libby; kinda hurt/comfort (she's just a sad girl!); fluff; alcohol consumption; nothing major.

"i'll have a blue christmas without you. i'll be so blue just thinking about you. decorations of red on a green christmas tree, won't be the same dear, if you're not here with me."

— blue christmas, elvis presley

hawkins, indiana. december 1989.

“I can’t believe you won’t be here.”

The ribboned rubber of the telephone cord curled around your finger. You pouted at the flowered fabric of your bedspread, imagining Steve in a little Christmas sweater he’d never wear—but he’d be here. Cozy, warm, big and bulky under layers of cable-knit.

Christmas was in three days, and your boyfriend wouldn’t even be here.

“I know, angel,” Steve sighed through the phone. “‘m sorry. I wish I could."

And he does. It's your first holiday season together—your first winter full of fluffy white snow, and cold afternoons that make you want to curl up and sleep the days away. It was the season of love and affection; the time of the year meant for nuzzling noses and burying in coats for warmth.

You imagined so many times what the holiday season would look like if Steve were here to stroll through the town square holding your mittened hand. He'd come up for weekends—twice since the beginning of November—but it was never long enough. He'd get in Friday night, and have to leave Sunday morning. You never got to sleep in and feign domestic bliss, tangled in his sheets in the white, early light.

Too many times, Steve kissed your head in a half sleep and whispered his goodbye; a note on his pillow where his head was supposed to be.

Angel,

I'll miss you more than ever.

—Steve

"Me too," you mumbled, pout evident in the huff and puff of your quiet words. You let your chin fall to your arm propped on the edge of your bed, glaring ahead at your wallpaper.

The house fogged with warmth from a home-cooked meal roasting in the oven downstairs. Your mother had a jazzy Christmas tune pipping from the stereo on the counter. Your father—last you checked forty minutes ago—was reading the paper in his armchair beneath the yellow lamplight of the living room. Your brother was somewhere up the street getting into trouble with his friends, driven to boredom without school to keep them busy. You had a Christmas party to attend tomorrow night, and you still hadn't picked an outfit, or wrapped your Secret Santa gift.

"Baby," Steve sighed. "C'mon, don't...don't make me feel bad."

You rolled onto your back. "I'm not, I'm not...I'm sorry."

Commotion clattered behind Steve—hotel doors opening and closing, voices muttering. The bed springs squeaked with his shifting. Your chest ached and squeezed with what you already knew was coming.

"I gotta go, angel...I'll call you later, alright? Be good f' me?"

You pinched your eyes shut, willing the stinging to stop. You nodded without words a moment, and then heard the buzz of his waiting. "Okay...love you."

"Love you too, baby. Bye."

"Blue Christmas" spun on Lisa's turn table in the sunken den of her parent's basement living room. Still stuck in 1975 and decorated by her mother for the sole purpose of hosting cocktail parties, it was the perfect place for Lisa to hold her first "adult" holiday party: pink shag carpet, silver-tinseled Christmas tree, pastel wrapping and perfect bows, and geometric decor of diamonds and stars on the wood-paneled wall.

Lisa, Holly, Tammy (and even yourself) dressed in their best getups, hair and makeup perfected for Polaroids. They already snapped enough to cover the end table, and in every single one, your smile never met your eyes. You were too concerned with ruining Lisa's highly-anticipated party to be a drag, but the lack of Steve really weighed on you.

"Oh, honey," Holly sighed, padding her way over to you. She flopped onto the sofa beside you, arm wrapped around your shoulders. "You miss him real bad, huh?"

You sighed, head falling onto her arm. "That obvious?"

She sipped her (fourth) cocktail—something red and fruity and rimmed with crushed candy cane. "You haven't spoken a word in thirty minutes. It was just a hunch."

"I thought he'd at least...try to be here. I mean, he doesn't have a fight until next week. He could fly back and forth—but maybe that's...not right of me to ask that."

Holly hummed, setting her coupe glass on the Polaroid table. She turned to you, blonde hair neatly curled and pinned on either side, and pursed her glossy mouth.

"It's not too much to ask, hun. If he wanted to be here, he'd be here. He said he loves you, then he wouldn't miss your first Christmas together."

You peered at her, wondering if this were true. From their place near the tree, arranging gifts and flicking through Elvis albums, Lisa and Tammy looked up.

"Oh, that's not true!" Tammy squawked. "He's just busy. They're talkin' about him all the way in New York now."

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, stomach twisting. "They are?"

If Steve were truly gaining popularity across the east coast, you had more than just a missed Christmas to worry about. You sensed its arrival—his fame and popularity. Steve was up and coming, and he had an aggression not many fighters had these days. He had the drive, the passion, the determination. You saw it all in his eyes. You knew he wouldn't stop until he was the best, and he wasn't afraid to make the sacrifices necessary to be just that.

And maybe it was selfish of you to want him all to yourself—but you've never felt this way about anyone before. Steve was everything.

"Oh, Libby," Lisa cooed, hurriedly rushing your way. Tammy followed, and soon they were all surrounding you, perched on the sofa and the coffee table.

"It'll be okay! He loves you, it's so obvious. You just have to realize...maybe his career will always come first. You just have to find a way to be okay with that," Lisa offered meekly.

You nodded, but only because your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. The girls glanced at each other momentarily, and then Holly stood in a flash of sparkly, bubblegum pink and glitter.

"Well, to hell with Steve! Let's get drunk and open presents."

The glasses drained themselves, really. The records spun and scratched, the pretty, gilded wrapping paper shred to pieces, and the girls in the den soon became nothing but giggling messes. When you got bored of the music, you turned to the television, turning the knob until you reached a fuzzy, pixelated picture of It's A Wonderful Life, though the static-y voices fell on deaf ears.

"Oh, it's darling, Libby, really," Holly gushed, holding up the pink satin slip you gifted her for Christmas.

Holly was easiest to shop for—she'd be pleased with anything pink, soft, and fancy.

"I'm glad you—hic!—like it. And I love my book, Tammy. It's so beautiful."

The book, a cloth-bound classic, was wine-colored and gorgeous. It was so pretty you didn't even want to put it on the shelf. It would sit on your dresser for a little while to look at.

Lisa gave Tammy a pair of red Mary Janes, and Holly gave Lisa a new set of hot rollers. The remains of the wrapping paper sat in bits and pieces around you on the carpet, and you had to shoo away Lisa's cocker spaniel, Lady, before she ate it all. She trudged into your lap, shedding soft hair over your dress as you stroked her long, floppy ears, watching the pink-flushed faces of your friends through the glowing white light of the Christmas tree.

Despite Steve's absence, you were happy. You had your friends.

The giggles faded when the doorbell rang through the house. Lisa waved it off, peering up the steps of the den toward the first floor. "Probably just a caroler. Ignore it."

But the doorbell rang again. Lisa huffed, and Tammy and Holly giggled as she fumbled up the steps. In her absence, they turned to you, all gushing over each other's presents and asking after more cocktails. They kissed at Lady in your lap and tossed popcorn at her waiting mouth, and you fell in line with the amusement until Lisa's socked feet came flapping into the room.

"Libby, Steve's here."

You weren't sure you heard her right. The giggles dwindled again, and your hand stilled over Lady's head in a half-stroke. Your heart was in your mouth, pulsing dumbly.

"W-what?"

Lisa, out of breath and wide-eyed, had her hands on her hips with an ecstatic smile. "He's here. Steve, he's here—he's waiting outside."

"Well, for God's sake, Lisa, why didn't you invite him in?" Tammy chimed in.

Lisa shot her a glare. "He said he'd wait outside for her! Probably heard your cackling and got too scared to come in."

Holly soothed your friend's sting with a half-hug around Tammy's shoulders, but you were still numb. You carefully scooped Lady up and placed her on the floor, away from the wrapping paper. You pushed to your feet, smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You put your book on the sofa, and turned to your friends still on the floor.

"Do I...do I look alright?"

"Gorgeous, babe," Holly beamed. "Let me just..."

She stood, reaching up to fix your hair. She fluffed it, poofed it, found your purse on a hook near the door and spritzed your perfume at the crown of your head, and under your ears. She handed you your lipgloss and a mirror, and when you were content with the pink-eyed doeness of your appearance, you stepped toward the stairs.

"Go, go!" Lisa ushered you, giving you a nudge.

You steadied yourself on the wall, steps careful and cautious. Those drinks made you a little woozy, but nothing felt as fuzzy as the thought of Steve waiting for you in the snow. He came all the way here, for you. Your cheeks warmed at the very thought. Your stomach crawled its way up to your throat.

You made your way through the house, taking one last glance in the nearest mirror, before pulling open the door.

A cold rush immediately burst into the house, but any thought of shivering fled your mind at the sight of Steve looming before your eyes. Brown leather coat, black sweater, Levi jeans tight at the hips and loose at the calves. He had his hands cupped around his mouth, blowing hot, white air into his palms—but at the sound of your steps, at the scent of you, he stopped.

All you could do, for just a moment, was stare. Three long weeks since you last saw him—those perfect, round hazel eyes, those high, rosy cheeks. The tip of his nose was wind-nipped pink, the tops of his ears blown red. He smelled like vetiver and leather cologne, and he looked beautiful.

"Oh, Steve."

You crashed into his chest, arms wound tight around his stomach. He enveloped you in his own, holding you as close as he could; and the warmth of him immediately melded with yours. You buried your nose into his chest and hummed, eyes pinched shut just to hold onto this. This moment, this scene, this feeling of him so close after so long apart. You didn't want to let go.

"Merry Christmas, angel," he whispered, and then his mouth sat atop your head, pressing it into a kiss.

When the cold got unbearable, you pulled Steve inside. Fingers intertwined and cheeks sore with grinning, you skipped your way back down to the den where your friends feigned innocence despite their heaving breaths.

"Well look who's here," Holly cooed, watching you tug Steve down the steps.

You giggled, tipping into his side, one foot coming to kick up giddily. You felt like a schoolgirl with her very first crush. That's how love should always be, right?

"Steve, you know everyone. This is Lisa, Holly, and Tammy. Girls, this is Steve."

Your friends waggled their fingers in bashful little waves, and Steve lifted a wide palm in hello. You could smell the Marlboros on his coat, see the outline of a new pack in the front of his pocket. His hands were starting to warm up against your own.

"And this is Lady," you cooed, watching the cocker spaniel sniff at Steve's boots.

You dipped down and scooped her up, bringing her up against your chest to wave a tiny paw at Steve. He cracked a sideways smile, reaching out to scratch at her chin. You let her scamper back over toward the girls by the tree, and turned to Steve with your fingers looped together behind your back.

You could barely contain the giddy glee flooding through your body. Steve noticed. He nicked you under the chin with a gentle knuckle, and another small kiss placed on your sticky mouth.

"You girls been drinkin'?" he gruffed, thumb pressing on your bottom lip.

You shrugged. "A little. It's Christmas, Steve."

He hummed, eyeing the dazzled, feminine setup of the room. A mess of pretty paper, tinsel knocked astray, empty coupe glasses and picked-at pigs-in-a-blanket and bowls of snacks, a dog sniffing around for scraps and attention—harmless, he decided. Maybe even sweet.

As if waiting for his approval, and recognizing the submission, Steve turned back to you with a small smile. "Okay."

You took him by the hand again, tugging him toward the tree. "Come on."

But Steve paused, tugging you with just the resistance of his solid stance, snapping back like a rubber-band.

"Wait, honey..." You turned to him, and he reached into the lining of his coat. "Got somethin' for you."

He pulled out a slim, black velvet box. You pressed your lips into a smile and huddled close.

"But, Steve...yours is at home—"

"—shh. Just open it."

You were acutely aware of your friends craning to see over your shoulder from their place on the floor, petting mindlessly at Lady and munching at shortbread. But in this moment, it was just you and Steve. And he watched you intently once he handed over the box, gnawing at his own lip. God, he wanted a smoke. He just wanted you to love it.

You pushed the box open, hinges snapping back to reveal a navy blue satin lining, and a gorgeous golden locket strung inside. An "S" sat etched on the center of an intricately engraved heart, adorned with swirling roses on a delicate chain.

"Oh, Steve." It was all you seemed to be able to say today.

"D' you like it?" he asked, voice edged with worry.

You fingered at the locket, feeling the cool metal. "I love it, Steve. It's gorgeous."

He exhaled. "Good. Lemme put it on."

With fingers too big for such delicate things, he plucked the necklace from its box and pulled the clasp open. You spun around, moving your hair out of the way for his hands. With your back to him, you could properly convey your excitement to your friends, who mirrored your beaming grin with equal delight.

The locket rested perfectly in the center of your chest, and once clasped, you felt it against your skin with your palm.

"Thank you, Steve. I love it so much."

Steve, hands braced on your shoulders, tipped his head and kissed your cheek. "Anything, angel. It's all yours."

Lisa snapped the head of a gingerbread-man cookie off with her teeth, and Holly cooed. Tammy busied herself with the dog.

But you had a band of butterflies in your stomach and a drum line in your chest, and you turned to look up at Steve with nothing but adoration.

"Look inside." He nudged his nose toward the locket again.

Wedging a nail between the hinges, you popped the heart open. A crudely-cut picture of yourself and Steve—so minuscule it would be difficult to discern from a blob if you hadn't recognized the very moment captured in time—sat in a black and white fashion in the heart.

Another smile at Steve, loving and sweet. "Who knew you were so romantic, Steve Harrington?"

He tucked his bruised fists into his coat pockets and shrugged. "I try."

Steve had hours before he had to leave and a plane ticket burning a hole in his back pocket—but it was Christmas, and he'd do anything, even blow off his coach and a team full of people, if it meant seeing your pretty face.

"Merry Christmas, angel."

The softest of kisses shared between warm mouths. Strawberry-cigarette smooches were what life was all about.

"Merry Christmas, Steve."

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington au #steve the hair harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things au #steve stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #boxer!steve

439 notes · View notes

darkgodcomplex · 9 months ago

Text

Home Sweet Home

Wally Darling X Reader

CW: Manipulation, Obsession, Horror, Psychological Horror, Violence

Word Count: 11,754

AO3 Link

Wattpad Link

Here's the story:

You stand with hands on your hips, the sleeves of your baggy old college sweatshirt rolled up as you admire your new house. This is it... a new start.

Tying your hair back into a ponytail, you get to work. This might be your dream, but it doesn't come easy. The house you've chosen was cheap and definitely a fixer-upper. You leave the U-Haul with all your boxes parked in the driveway while you head up to the door.

You step inside, which immediately brings you to a dimly lit mudroom. The wood paneling is rotting. It's going to have to be replaced. You kick off your shoes onto the dirt-encrusted floor, leaning your hand on the doorframe. When you peel it away, it comes back filthy.

Ugh. You need a sink.

Going further into the house, you head into the kitchen. The outdated orange shag carpet alone makes you groan. Plus, who puts carpet in the kitchen?

You head over to the large metal sink set up on the bright yellow countertops to wash your hand of the dirt. You turn the handle of the faucet.

Nothing.

You turn it more. Then off again and then on again. Still, no water comes out. You sigh, wondering if the water was shut off or if the sink is just another of the busted household items this house will provide.

The living room offshoots the kitchen. What was once probably beautiful white and flowered wallpaper has now yellowed and peels off the walls in large stripes. Several windows are cracked, but it doesn't look like it's from force. You guess it's probably from improper care in the cold.

There's a bathroom. As you creak open the door, you see something dash out. You shriek, scrambling back wildly as you watch the mouse slip away into a crack in the wall. You breathe heavy. You're definitely going to have to go buy some mouse traps tonight. Still, you cautiously enter the bathroom. When you turn on the sink, you're relieved to find that it runs.

You wash the dirt away, then flick your wet hands at the sink. Even if there were towels in the bathroom, you wouldn't trust them to dry your hands.

There's an upstairs, which you expect that you'll set up your bedroom up there. The stairs themselves though are awfully steep and seem to be littered with staples that stick out from the floorboards. You opt to avoid that for now and continue to explore the ground floor. There's a small closet filled with spiderwebs and a door that leads to the basement, though when you flick the lightswitch no light turns on down there.

You sigh, leaning your head against the door to the basement. Can you really do this? This is going to be so much hard work. You've scraped together all of your savings for this?

There's one more door at the end of the hall. You discover it's an office. It's still rough around the edges like the rest of the house, but it has a large window that takes up almost the whole wall. It looks out into the neighborhood.

You stand in front of it, admiring the view. You can see many houses, each one brightly painted with jolly colors, their lawns perfect. Butterflies and hummingbirds float near the bushes of flowers that are planted under the window. The sky is a brilliant blue, clearer than you've ever seen it before. This place truly is paradise.

One thing the realtor really sold you on was the neighborhood. She said that the community bands together in a way that she's never seen before. Seeing it now, you can already tell that these people are special. How can they not be when they create such a beautiful environment?

Yes, this will be your painting room. Just standing here now you feel a rush of inspiration. You want to paint this moment. You rush to the front door, eager to grab your painting supplies before the mood runs out.

As you open the door, you jolt back, you had not been expecting any visitors. You have an entire welcome crew at your front door.

"Hello neighbor!" A man with a stunning blue pompadour steps forward, extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Wally Darling."

You gingerly take his hand, face flushing. He's clearly a charmer. His grip is firm but delicate.

"It's nice to meet you too."

"These are our other neighbors here, we have Julie, Eddie, Frank, Barnaby, Poppy, Howdy, and Sally!" Each one waves as he says their name.

"We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!" Poppy raises up a cake she's been holding. In fancy cursive font, it reads:

Welcome Home.

"Poppy is our resident baker." Wally grins. "She's who you want to cater all your events!"

"Oh, Poppy, will you do my birthday!" Julie chimes in.

"Of course." Poppy laughs at Julie, then turns back to you. "Here you are, dear." She hands you the cake.

You smile, this is so sweet of them! It truly makes this miserable house better. "Thank you! Um, my place is a wreck right now, but please, come in."

They all shuffle into your kitchen. Luckily the previous owners left you a kitchen table and some chairs so that your guests can sit. You set the cake on the table.

"So where are you from?" Frank asks, taking a seat.

"I actually came a long way." You give a nervous chuckle. "Wanted to start fresh... I'm from a little town in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh that's where I'm from too!" Eddie bursts out excitedly, then hesitates. "Wait, no." Frank pats Eddie on the back.

"This place seems like it needs a bit of work." Wally notices, hands in pockets as he leans on the counter.

Howdy nods along with him. "I have a bunch of supplies in my shop if you ever need anything." He says. "On the house for a new neighbor."

"Oh, I can help too!" Sally says. "I work on my sets all the time!"

"That would be awesome!" You suddenly have a bit more hope for this place. "Only if it's not an inconvenience for you guys of course."

"It's no issue." Wally promises, looking down at you with his half lidded eyes. "It's all a part of being in the neighborhood."

"When are we having cake?" Barnaby suddenly asks, eyeing it.

"Oh, um-" You glance around the kitchen. "All my kitchen utensils are still packed in the car..."

Everyone puzzles over this for a minute. Then, Barnaby reaches out and takes a handful of cake. His paws smear with frosting and he brings it up to his mouth to take a bite.

"What are you doing!" Frank demands.

"No plates and no utensils." Barnaby shrugs.

There's another pause. Then, you reach out and grab a handful too. The cake is squishy and messy between your fingers, but when you bring it to your mouth, it's delicious. Slowly, everyone is scooping up the cake, laughing as they play with it in their palms.

"This is ridiculous." Frank says, crossing his arms. "I refuse to act so childish!"

"Aw, come on, Frank." Barnaby says, leaning over. "Oh, you got something on your face."

"What? Where-"

"Right... there." Barnaby smushes some cake onto Franks face, smearing it down. Frank sits in shock for a second, then reaches a finger up to wipe the frosting at his cheek. He sticks the finger in his mouth, sucking at the frosting.

"Well... at least the cake is delicious." He admits. Everyone laughs, but soon it devolves into everyone tossing the cake. Julie and Frank team up to get Barnaby, Sally tosses the cake in the air while Eddie tries to catch it in his mouth, and Howdy and Poppy try to down as much cake as they can. Wally still leans on the counter, watching the chaos with a small smirk.

You slide next to him, cake still in hand.

"Sure you don't want a bite?" You grin, intending to smash it on his face. Before you can though, he takes his index finger and swipes it through the frosting, bringing it to your face and gently smearing the frosting onto the tip of your nose. He brings his finger back to suck on the small bit of leftovers.

"You can have it all, my dear." He says, returning to his casual, laidback position.

Eventually, all the cake the gone. Whether more is in your bellies or streaked along your floor, table, and walls, you're unsure. It's a mess, but somehow it makes the old house feel less dreary than before. Your guests head home, promising to come help with the house.

"Oh!" Julie turns back as she leaves, grasping at your hands. "We're having a barbeque tomorrow. You simply have to come!"

"I don't know." You chuckle. "I still have to unpack."

"Well, please keep us in mind." She lets go, giving a warm smile. "I had a lot of fun today." With that, she turns and scurries down the steps.

It's Wally's turn next. He gives you another one of his signature warm smiles. It makes your stomach flutter.

"I'm just in the Home over there." He says, pointing towards a peppy little red house down the street. "Come down whenever you need me."

"Thank you again." You say. He gives a polite nod before stepping away.

When everyone is out of sight, you sigh. It's already sunset and you haven't done any unpacking. One by one you bring the boxes in. Then, you puzzle over how you're going to get your larger furniture inside. In the end, you decide you don't need to bring in the couch, the desk, or the TV in tonight and that you can ask for help tomorrow, but you have to bring the mattress in now. It's a struggle, but eventually you manage.

That's it. That's all the work you're doing today. You can take all your stuff out of the boxes tomorrow.

However, there is one box that you unpack, labeled painting supplies. You set up in your new office, putting the easel in front of the window. It's pitch black out now, so you decide to paint the quiet calmness of the neighborhood at night. It seems as if everyone is already asleep, there's not a single window light on down the street. You throw a canvas on the easel, digging through your oil paints to find the right ones.

You notice Wally's house is right near your window, you have a perfect view of it. It only adds to your inspiration, using the darkness as a metaphor in your painting. It's the mystery... the curiosity... the intimacy. Despite being in two separate homes, you can't help but feel like you're glimpsing into his soul by painting his house.

It's nearly three in the morning when you finally finish your painting. It's crude and hastily done, but you enjoy it's charm. As you lay it on the floor to dry, you notice an odd detail that you don't remember adding.

There's a single light on in Wally's attic.

_____

Despite promising yourself that you'll get completely unpacked today, by midmorning you're already exhausted. You take a break, steaming yourself a cup of tea. So far in your packing, you've only uncovered one of your coffee mugs, so you're left sipping out of a chipped mug that reads: I DESTROYED THE UNIVERSE AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID MUG.

In the very least, a couple of things are coming along nicely. You hesitate to unpack everything right away, since you'll surely soon be tearing up carpet and painting over walls, but the essentials are out. Still, there is work to do.

Although...

You glance at the time. The barbeque is going to be soon... should you go? While they were all very king to you yesterday, you really don't know any of them.

Maybe this is your chance though. You'd particularly like to know that Wally fellow a little more.

You've decided it. You're going.

You glance down at your work clothes, a ragged old sweatshirt and worn out jeans with paint splattered all over. You're going to need to dress better than this.

Which box are your clothes in?

You spend another while digging through boxes. While you don't find dress clothes, you do find your stash of mugs. You set them in the kitchen. Eventually, you opt to just wear your paint splattered jeans but with a hole-free tee shirt.

You make your way outside. As you exit the house, the warm summer air hits you and you take a deep breath in, enjoying the season. It's absolutely beautiful in this town. You're surprised no one outbid on the house in a place like this.

Walking along the street, you spot a picnic spot set up in Wally's backyard. It seems you're the last one to arrive. The delectable smell of fresh meat cooking on the grill catches your nose.

"Yay, you came!" Julie practically jumps into your arms.

You laugh, "I figured I could take a lunch break."

Two picnic tables are set up next to the large grill where Poppy and Barnaby flip meat patties and turn hot dogs. At one table is Sally, Howdy, and Wally while the other is Frank and Eddie. Julie leads you over, taking a seat next to Frank.

"Hello neighbor!" Wally pats the seat next to him. "Come sit with us."

You take your seat, giving a polite smile.

"How was your first night at your new home?" Sally squeals excitedly, leaning over the table.

"It was fine." You shrug. "A little uncomfortable since my mattress was on the floor because I haven't set up my bedframe yet."

"Oh dear!" Howdy exclaims.

"What?" Eddie asks from the other table.

"It's nothing, Eddie." Sally rolls her eyes at him. "So when do we get to come help! Oh! What colors do you want to paint your walls? I was thinking bright! We can magenta or chartreuse or turquoise or-"

"Easy there." Howdy laughs, patting Sally on the shoulder. "I think we'll need to do some repairs before we can get into the decor aspect."

"What needs to be fixed?" Wally asks you in his usual chill manner. "So that we can help."

You raise your eyebrows, mind scanning through the plethora of problems in that house. "The sink doesn't run, there are staples in the stairs, the basement light doesn't work, there are mice and god knows what else, and some of my windows are broken."

Those are just the ones you've discovered so far.

Howdy runs his hand along his chin, "Some of those don't sound too bad. We can take some pliers to the stairs, then hopefully the light just needs replacing and isn't an electrical issue..." He trails off in thought.

"Food is ready!" Barnaby announces. Poppy sets down plates while Barnaby hands out the food.

"Hotdog or hamburger?" Barnaby asks when he gets to you.

"Hotdog please."

Barnaby loads up your plate, "Say, how does the enthusiastic man eat his hotdog?"

"Huh?" You ask, staring up at him.

With a large grin, Barnaby leans in and whispers, "With relish."

You blink, taking a minute to process the joke. Then, you laugh.

"Thank you, I'll be here all week." Barnaby prides himself while sliding Wally a burger.

"When can I get you on stage with me, Barnaby?" Sally bites into her hotdog.

Barnaby shrugs, "Alas, my stardom is meant for small crowds."

Sally shakes her head, "One day I'll convince you."

"I'd love to see it."

You bite down on your hotdog. It's probably the most delicious you've ever had. Does everything in this town taste amazing or are it's residents just master chefs?

"We have to go play lawn games!" Sally yells as she finishes her food. "Wally, you're on my team!"

"What are we playing-"

Sally grabs Wally by the arm, dragging him out to the field before he can protest.

"Want to team up?" Howdy wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"I think I need to digest my food first." You tell him, patting your belly. "Sorry."

"All good." Howdy leans over to the other table. "Hey Edds, you and me?"

"You know it!" Eddie says through a mouthful of burger. He shoves the rest in his mouth, hurrying to stand up. Barnaby and Poppy team up as well, heading over to the group.

That leaves Julie and Frank. Neither seem interested in joining the games. You move over to their table.

"Why don't you just ask him, Frank!" Julie whispers as you sit down.

Frank looks at you nervously, "Julie! There's someone else here!"

Julie sighs, looking over at you. "You can keep a secret, right?"

You nod.

Julie looks at Frank expectedly. He sighs, hands fiddling with a book he keeps in his lap. "Fine."

"Frank likes Eddie!" Julie giggles excitedly. "And Eddie SO likes him back!"

"You can't say that for sure." Frank fidgets. "I was reading a study where they found that people are very unreliable in determining if they are being flirted with or not!"

"But it's so obvious!" Julie groans.

You glance over at the game being played. It seems to be some weird hybrid of croquet and tennis. Your eyes can't help but wander over to Wally, who is holding his mallet like he's never played a sport before. His hooded eyes meet yours, giving you a dazed smile. You quickly look away.

"I just want to wait." Frank shifts uncomfortably. "Just to make sure that he likes me."

"How many signs do you need?" Julie shakes her head.

Frank doesn't answer, he's too busy staring. You look over at where his gaze lands. It seems as if Howdy and Eddie won, as Eddie is jumping up and down in excitement and Howdy is doing an awkward victory dance. They lock arms, swinging around happily.

Eddie trots over to the picnic table, breath heavy from all the jumping. "Did you see that winning shot?" He taps his foot happily, eyes glancing around the table.

"Oh, I missed it!" Julie complains.

"It was a good shot." Frank looks up at Eddie. "Are you good at geometry? The angle on that shot was quite amazing to see."

Eddie gives him a goofy grin. "Angels? No, I'm not really religious." He pauses. "But if you want to talk about it more I'd listen."

Frank perks up, then starts on a long winded explanation about math. You take the opportunity to slip away.

Wally waves you over, making your stomach do a somersault. It seems Frank isn't the only one with a stupid little crush. The way you're practically drooling over him has you embarrassed, it's like you're a middle schooler again. You jog over.

"Want to play?" He asks, holding up a mallet.

"I thought you were in a team with Sally?" You glance over to see Sally standing with Howdy.

"She didn't want to be on my team anymore." He says casually, looking up at the sky. "Apparently I couldn't hit a brick wall even if I ran into it."

You can't help but laugh. Upon seeing you laugh, he laughs along too.

"Well I don't know how to play either, so we'll be quite the team."

"You two ready?" Sally swings her mallet over her shoulder. Howdy has his baseball cap on backwards.

You and Wally line up. What ensues is the most pathetic beatdown you've ever seen. Not only are Sally and Howdy more acquainted with the game, they're also just quicker and more agile than you and Wally. The two of you also have absolutely no coordination skills, constantly bumping into each other and dropping the ball. Wally just plainly face plants several times. Somehow, he always manages to laugh it off though.

When Sally scores the winning point, she leaps into the air, grabbing Howdy by the arms.

"Yay!" She squeals.

"Two victories!" Howdy grins.

Wally dusts the dirt off his clothes. He had tripped again. "I'm afraid I dragged us down." He says, tilting his head as he looks down at you.

You shake your head, "Did you see me out there? I think we're a perfect match." You blush, realizing what you've said. "I mean... perfect match as a team, of course."

"Yes." He echoes. "Perfect match." There's a hidden smile in his words.

You glance over to see Howdy and Sally still celebrating.

"I want to show you something." Wally diverts your attention back to him.

"Oh, should I get the others?" You turn, but Wally grabs your wrist.

"No, I want it to be the two of us."

You and Wally slip away. You feel slightly bad that you're abandoning everyone, but Wally assures you that it won't be for long.

"Right through here." Wally ducks through a small passage in the bushes. The greenery is absolutely stunning here. Are plants usually this green?

As you step from the shrubs, you're greeted with more stunning scenery. Before you are acres and acres of beautiful apple trees. The bright red apples dangle from each tree while fallen ones scatter the ground. It feels like something out of a storybook.

"I like to come here." Wally reaches up, picking you a nice plump apple and gingerly setting it in his hands. "I thought you'd like it too."

"This is so pretty." You stroll through the trees, fingers rubbing over the apple in your palm. This is something you'd like to paint.

"So you're a painter too?"

You pause for a second, wondering if Wally can read your mind. "Huh?"

"Your pants." He points and you follow his gaze. Ah, that's right, you're wearing your shitty painting jeans.

"Yes, I paint." You tell him, turning. He follows behind you as you walk, hands tucked respectfully behind his back. You feel like a fancy Victorian woman and he your eager suitor. "You do too?"

"I do."

"What do you paint?"

He ponders on this. "Still life, mostly." He shrugs. "Apples." He picks one up from the ground, then tosses it. "They're my muse, one could say."

"Oh I see, a muse." You tease him. "Most artists' muses are pretty women or handsome men, you know."

"Does a handsome apple count?"

You laugh, "No."

"Since you clearly have a strict idea of what a muse should be," He trots to catch up so that he walks by your side. "Who is the lucky fellow that is occupying your thoughts and paintings?"

"I don't have one." You tell him very matter-of-factly.

He shakes his head, smiling. "Perhaps you just haven't met someone handsome enough to be your muse."

"Perhaps." You smile back and finally take a bite of the apple. It's ripe and juicy.

"We should paint together." Wally shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Apples?" You ask, raising a brow.

He laughs, "No, not apples... well, unless you want to."

You hold your half eaten apple in front of you, pretending to study it like it's a piece of modern art. "I don't know... maybe I'm starting to see the complexity of it."

"Look a little harder." Wally nudges you playfully. "Maybe you'll finally find your muse."

"This apple is starting to look a little handsome."

"I knew you would eventually see my side of things." He watches as you take another bite.

"Tomorrow for painting then?" You ask. "Apples as our muse?"

"Sounds like a plan."

_____

Beautiful emerald green paint rolls onto the wall as you work. Somehow, it's even more stunning than the sample paint swatch. Your living room is going to look positively royal.

Beside you, Sally leans up, jabbering away, "-And then Julie had to come rescue me from out of the dumpster! Not only that, but the lawnmower was nowhere to be found!" She finishes her story, shaking her head as she applies more paint. "I still wonder what happened to it."

Howdy is on the floor, removing staples from where the ugly shag carpet once was. When he peeled it up, you were thrilled to find out that there were beautiful hardwood floors underneath.

"Do these crazy things happen to everyone in Home, or just you?" You ask with a smile. It's still funny to you how the town is named Home, just another example of how perfect the place is.

"Oh you should see all the trouble some of them get into." Howdy rolls his eyes. "It's only if you're looking for it."

"Have a little adventure, Howdy!" Sally teases.

Howdy pulls out a particularly difficult staple with a grunt, "I've had enough adventure, particularly from that Wally fellow."

You perk up.

Sally laughs, "Do you remember that time he tried to sew his own clothes and got caught in the sewing machine?"

"How did he do that?" You laugh along with her.

"The idiot thought that he had to sew them right onto his body." The corners of Howdy's mouth twitch up.

Sally continues chatting, "There's also this weird thing about Wally, be warned he-"

Howdy cuts her off with a cough, communicating something with his eyes that you don't quite understand.

"Err, I mean, he's just so naïve sometimes." Sally says.

"That's true." Howdy adds.

A silence falls over the room, the only sound being the occasional splash as you and Sally dip your rollers into the paint. It gives you time to wonder what Sally was going to say. Wally just gets so... what?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud thud, making you jump. Then comes more thudding. You blink, processing the noise for a second before realizing that it's knocking.

"Oh!" You set down your paint roller. "I'll go get it!"

You rush over to the door, slipping through the kitchen. You fling open the door, out of breath from your jog over.

It's Wally, dressed just as dapper as usual. No, he seems more dapper today. His necktie a little straighter and his hair more precisely groomed. The minute his eyes lock on yours he smiles, glancing down at your clothes.

"Painting without me?"

"Well, only my living room." You say, slightly flustered to find yourself in indecent clothes around him once more. You wish you would've been able to change into something nicer. "I wasn't expecting you so soon-" You glance at the clock you had hastily hung in the mudroom. "Oh wait, it's already noon? I'm so sorry, I meant to be ready-"

"It's no worry." Wally assures you, as casual as ever.

"Are you coming back?" Sally yells from the other room.

Wally tilts his head, eyes casting towards the noise. "Oh? There's someone else here?"

"Yeah." You feel bad about losing track of time. You sincerely were looking forward to painting with Wally! "Sally and Howdy are just helping me paint."

"Let me just step in and say hi."

You invite Wally in, leading him to the living room. It's nearly finished.

"Oh, hi Wally." Howdy plucks out another staple.

"You should've invited me, I would've done quite a nice job with the paint." Wally says casually. "It looks nice though, you all did a good job."

"It was kind of a last minute thing." You explain.

Sally sets down her roller, "We had fun doing it! You would've been more help by assisting Howdy with the staples."

"Hey! I can do it by myself-"

You laugh, "I really appreciate the help, guys."

"That being said, I think I have her claimed for the afternoon." Wally slides in. "We're going painting."

Howdy and Sally both take the hint.

"Oh! We can come back later and help." Howdy stands, stretching out his back.

"Bye!" Sally gives a cheerful wave as they exit. "We gotta hang out again!"

You wave back eagerly and they leave through the front door. You turn back to see Wally leaning on the doorframe to the living room, watching you with his relaxed eyes.

"You really did you a nice job on this living room." His voice is ever so soft.

You sigh, placing your hands on your hips. "This place still needs a lot more work."

"I know you can breathe some life into this place." Wally's eyes seem to sparkle. "Homes are very special, you know."

You shake your head, "Are we painting at the orchard?"

"Best place to find apples."

It's not long after that you and Wally have your easels set up in the orchard, plenty of fresh apples on display for references. Wally stands across from you, paint at the ready.

"I'm still not so sure that I understand apples as a muse." You tease, reaching up to tree to grasp an apple. It's just out of your reach. "I bet you think they're complex or something." You mock like you're some kind philosopher, " Apples... the thing that made Newton discover gravity, the so called forbidden fruit."

"Or maybe they're not." Wally reaches up and grabs the apple for you, placing it in your palm. "Maybe they're just apples. Simple."

You take a bite of it.

"I guess I'm getting too deep about apples." You say in between bites, smiling.

He smiles along with you, "Perhaps we should just paint."

"Let's."

You pour over your canvas, examining the half eaten apple with rigor. They are surprisingly difficult to get right. The small spots and stripes make the work tedious.

"How are you doing the shading?" You ask, trying to peek at Wally's work. He shies away, turning his canvas so that you can't see.

"You'll see." Wally smiles. "I want to see your own interpretation, no outside influences."

"Is my work going to professionally assessed?" You tease, still struggling over the shading. "Should I be nervous?"

"Oh, very nervous." Wally replies. After a brief pause, he speaks up again. "What do you think of Home so far?"

"I really like it." You tell him enthusiastically. "I love the views, I love the weather, I love the people."

"I'm glad you like it." He says.

"It's quite lucky I got that house too." You say. "It's insane that there were no other bidders when it's such a lovely place. I'm sure that someone with more money than me could've easily fixed it up and loved it here."

Wally merely smiles and the two of you fall into concentrated silence once again.

You fall into the trance of painting. It's not a feeling you're unused to. There's something about concentrating on the details that just makes you lose track of time. Eventually, you tune back in, taking a step back as you finish your painting.

You're proud of it, you think. You've painted a small, half eaten apple resting in the grass, the field of orchards sprawled out behind it. It's a simple but elegant painting.

"I'm done." You say with a breath, looking up to see Wally watching you carefully. "How much do you have left?"

"Oh, I've been done for a while." Wally beams at you. "I'm very curious to see what you've produced."

Wally saunters over to look at your canvas. His eyes scan the painting, noticing the small efforts you put in. There is truly something amazing about another artist studying your work.

"It feels... happy." He says. "A simple kind of happy."

You pause, then slowly nod. "That's how I feel here in Home, I think." You chew at your lip. "I like it."

Wally takes your arm, leading you over to his painting.

It's... you. You're leaning over a canvas, paintbrush in one hand and apple in the other. Your hair spills in your face and paint covers your clothes. It's clear where he put the most effort in though, in your face. Your expression is one of focus and concentration as you're hunched over, eyebrows scrunched and mouth slightly agape.

It feels happy.

_____

Wally walks you home after you finish painting. He gifted you his painting and you gifted yours to him. He seems quite proud to own your artwork, even if it inferior to his. You're in awe at his skill honestly.

"I had fun today, Wally." You tell him as you reach your house.

Wally lights up, "I had fun too." He lingers at the door for a second, hands shoved into his pockets and painting tucked neatly under his arm. "I'll see you again tomorrow?" He asks. "I'll even help with house, if you want."

You laugh, "That sounds great."

He flashes you a charming smile, "Goodnight, then." He does a half bow, turning and trotting away. You watch him go, heart pumping in your chest.

As you close the door behind you, you can't help but jump and squeal excitedly. This neighborhood is truly everything you dreamed it would be. Your house is coming together nicely, you've got wonderful new friends, and now you've got the attention of a handsome guy!

Nothing could ruin this.

You walk further into your house, stepping into the living room. It's a perfect start, you feel a sense of pride.

Picking up a hammer, you head to a free space on the wall, pounding in a nail. You hang your new painting up, stepping back to admire it.

You turn around, patting the doorframe of the living room before heading upstairs to bed. You've had a long day today and you're sure that tomorrow is going to be just as busy. Your bedroom is less put together than the living room, but the fact that you've made progress prevents you from feeling bad.

As you slip into bed, you hear an odd noise.

You perk up, pausing and listening for the noise again.

It almost sounds like footsteps.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you peek out from your room. The sound echoes up the stairs. It sounds like it's coming from either the kitchen or the living room. You grab the nearest heavy object, which just so happens to be a leg of an easel that you had taken apart for the move. It's a strong wooden beam. You hold it up high on your shoulder.

"Hello?" You call.

The only answer you get is more footsteps.

Your hands tremble as you make your way down, placing your steps carefully. Your mind races through a million scenarios of robbery, kidnapping, and murder.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you decide to make sure you surprise this intruder. You come into the living room swinging.

There's nothing.

You stop and listen for a minute.

The noises are gone. No more footsteps.

You breathe a sigh of relief, running your hand through your hair. It wasn't even footsteps at all, must just be the old house settling. You laugh at yourself, shaking your head as you prepare yourself to go back to bed. Before you do though, you notice something amiss.

Wally's painting had fallen off the wall.

The next morning you're awoken by the sound of loud, unrelenting knocking. You groan, startled and tired. After the incident last night you hadn't gotten much quality of sleep. You know you're just being paranoid, but for some reason it really stuck with you.

You roll out of bed, quickly throwing on clothes and heading downstairs. You wonder if Wally has come to help you fix the house up more.

"Oh my god, hey!" Julie throws her arms around you, giving you a big hug. "I was worried you might not be home!"

"Well, here I am."

"It's break time!" Julie tells you. "No more working on the house, you and I are going out."

You laugh, "Well, I would have to start working for it to be considered a break-"

Julie tugs on your arm, "Pleaseee go out with me?" She blinks up at you with wide eyes. "We'll have so much fun!"

You glance back at your unfinished house, still reluctant to leave. Yet, you grab your coat anyways, stepping out into the sunshine. "Where are we going?"

Julie lights up, "You'll see."

You're lead through the neighborhood. As you walk, you're given the full tour by Julie.

"There's the supermarket." She points. "Oh and that there is Barnaby's house. He's still sleeping at this time of day."

You check your watch. It's nearly noon already.

"That's my house!" She points at a lovely flowered red house. "You're invited anytime, just so you know."

"How long did it take you to fix that up?" You ask, marveling at how elegant yet simple it is.

Julie thinks on it for a second, "Fix it up?" She asks. "It's just... always been that way."

You scrunch your face up, "You bought it like that?"

"Bought it...?" Julie looks up, considering this. "I think... I've always lived here."

She seems confused, so you decide not to press it any further. Has Julie lived here her whole life? Where is her family?

That's when another odd thing strikes you. The entire town consists of single individuals that live alone in homes. You've never heard of such a thing. Sure, a few individuals here and there in homes is normal, but an entire town?

You notice Julie has gone quiet. It's an unusual change from her normally peppy self. You fear that maybe you pressed into something personal.

"This is the post office." Julie gestures, suddenly speaking up again. Her previous demeanor is forgotten now and her lively energy is returned. "That's where Eddie works."

You notice another familiar face poking about.

"Frank!" Julie bounces up and down excitedly, waving her hand.

Frank jumps from the sudden noise, head swiveling to find the source. He relaxes slightly when he sees it's only Julie.

You and Julie trot over to him.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, chin raised pompously.

"What are you doing here is the real question." Julie teases. "Have you come to see Eddie?"

"No!" Frank tenses, eyes looking around nervously. "I just have a letter to send and wanted to make sure that it got here. Mailboxes and so unreliable-"

"Uh huh." Julie can't control her grin. "Sure, Frank."

Frank opens his mouth to say something else, but Eddie comes around the corner just as he does. You thought that Frank already looked nervous, but that is nothing compared to how he looks as he and Eddie make eye contact.

"Oh hey Frank!" Eddie gives a toothy grin, cheeks scrunched up and head tilting to the side.

"Eddie!" Frank holds his envelope to his chest. "I-I've been looking for you!"

Eddie seems to perk up, "You have?"

"Yes!" Frank shoves out the letter. "I just needed to mail this."

"Oh." Eddie takes the letter. "Frank, you know I could've picked it up at your house, right?"

"Well, he wanted to hand deliver it." Julie nudges Frank playfully and receives a glare in return.

"I'll take good care it, Frank, I promise." Eddie tucks the letter into his pouch.

Julie coughs, "Well, we better get going, right?" She looks at you.

"Uh, right." You echo.

"You know, Eddie, I think Frank was talking about lunch?" Julie says. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he was hungry! You two should go eat somewhere!"

"Julie!" Frank hisses.

"That sounds fun!" Eddie inputs.

"Perfect!" Julie grabs your arm. "Have fun guys! Bye-"

The two of you quickly stumble away. You can't help but laugh at Julie's blatant matchmaking attempt, Eddie's innocent obliviousness, and Frank's adorable embarrassment. Julie giggles along with you, leaning on you for support.

When you're both far enough away, Julie speaks up, "Do you think Eddie will ever take the hint?"

You shrug, "Only if Frank tells him directly."

"Like that'll ever happen." She lets go of your arm, standing up straighter. "Oh! We're almost there?"

"There?"

"The reason I brought you out!"

"Oh." You reply, following behind her as she picks up speed. "I thought the tour was why you brought me out here."

"Don't be silly!" Julie suddenly stops. "I brought you out here for this!"

You're not quite sure what you're looking at. The bright summer colors of Home are here. They are present in the brilliant green trees with fresh fruit and in the yellow dandelions and white daises and baby blue forget me nots. You've always adored the vividness of the neighborhood, but here...

It just stops.

It's like there's a line drawn in the forest. The fresh flora wilts and dies along it, the line marking there on out as dead.

"Was there... a fire?" You ask.

"No fire."

Even the sky looks bleaker on the other side.

You step back, "Some sort of parasite?"

"No parasites. No fires. No droughts, floods, locusts, or diseases."

You step forward again, gaining a bit of courage. Slowly, you reach out, sticking it beyond the line.

Nothing happens. You feel normal.

"Why?" You finally ask. "Why is this here?"

"I can't say."

When you finally return to your house, it's later than you would've liked. It's past dinnertime and you haven't even eaten yet. As you approach, you notice a familiar face sitting on your porch.

"Hey!" Wally stands quickly, brushing off his pants. "I've been waiting for you!" He adds with a playful tease.

"I like to play hard to get." You prod him back, unlocking the door and welcoming him in.

His large eyes flick over you. You feel like you're being examined. "Where have you been?"

"I'm sorry, Julie took me out on a tour of the town." You tell him. "I saw the market, the post office, Barnaby's house-"

"And you stayed in town the whole time?" He presses. "I looked for you, I didn't see you."

You chuckle, "You didn't have to come searching for me, I'm sure you have more important things to do." You avoid the original question. You're not sure why, but you feel like the forest is a secret between you and Julie.

"You are the important thing." Wally follows behind you as you clean up the kitchen.

You pause, then quickly resume your work. "Am I?"

As you reach up to tuck a mug into the cupboard, Wally takes the mug from you, reaching up with ease to place it for you, "I would've imagined that you would've taken the hint by now, but it seems that I must take the liberties myself."

Wally leans on the counter and faces you, "Do you find me attractive?"

You're not sure what to say to that, you sputter out nonsense, "Well, err-"

"I find you attractive. Every part. I find your quips and teasing attractive, your laugh and the way your cheeks scrunch up when you smile, the curve of your lips and the paint droplets on your pants." He takes a second to breathe. "And honestly, there's nothing more in the world that I would like to do right now than to help you paint your house or whatever else you would ask of me."

You wait a moment, processing his words.

"Whatever I ask of you?"

He looks earnest, "Whatever."

You tug him into a kiss, closing your eyes. He seems surprised at first and the kiss is slow and hesitant, each of you too afraid to do much. You're slightly surprised, for such a smooth talker, Wally doesn't really seem to know what to do. Has he kissed someone before?

You decide to take the lead. His lips are soft and gentle as you mouth over his bottom lip, tongue sticking out to play around.

Wally's hands find their way to your waist, gripping you tight as if he's checking that you're real. His thumb rubs small circles at the small of your back.

He seems to mimic you, tongue poking out to prod at yours, eventually making it's way into your mouth to feel around. He's gentle, but he is slowly growing more confident by the second. Wally tugs your waist in tighter and tongue going deeper into your mouth almost possessively.

The intensity of the kiss escalates quickly and you find yourself having to pull away to catch a breath. You open your eyes to find him staring down at you, his normally half lidded eyes wide open and exhilarated, a faint blush scattering his cheeks.

"I liked that." Wally says quietly. "We should do that more often."

_____

Life is great.

You've gotten quite a bit done on the house, mostly with the help of all the neighbors. The living room, kitchen, and bedroom are all finished and you've honestly never felt more at home. When you go to the supermarket, Howdy always greets you with a warm hello and a free sample of whatever the special of the day is. In the mornings, Eddie stops by for idle chat as he brings the mail. Whenever Poppy makes a new treat she comes over to give you some. Even with just a stroll through the neighborhood you're always greeted and smiled at by the other neighbors.

You sit in your backyard, cross-legged in the grass with your canvas propped up awkwardly on your legs. Your brush glides along the canvas, curving around to get the details just right. You bring the brush up to your face for a moment, biting on the wooden end as you think.

"You look cute when you're concentrating."

You blink up in surprise to see Wally leaning on the side of your house, arms crossed.

"How long have you been there?" You smile at him, setting down your canvas and standing up.

Wally merely shrugs with a grin. You run over to him, throwing your arms around his neck. He grips onto your waist, lifting you up and spinning around once before setting you back down and planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. You hug him, taking a moment to enjoy his masculine cologne scent before pulling away.

Yes, life is great. Wally Darling is yours.

“I was thinking you and I could spent the day together.” He hums.

You nod, “Let me just clean up my painting supplies-“

“Let me help.” Wally follows, carefully taking your paintbrushes as you grab your wet canvas. He trails behind you as you go inside, setting up your canvas to dry in your art room as Wally washes the brushes in the kitchen sink.

When you return, you find Wally with his head tilted and eyes cast towards the ceiling, frozen at the kitchen sink. He doesn’t seem to notice your presence.

“Is… something wrong?”

Wally blinks, snapping out of it and turning his head to smile at you warmly. “No, of course not.” He replies. “I was just thinking.”

“Oh?” You ask, walking up beside him as he finishes washing the last brush.

“You haven’t been to my Home yet.” His half lidded eyes cast towards you.

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” You say. “Odd, considering you’re over here all the time.

Wally chuckles, “Well, would you like to go?”

Before you know it, you’re inside Wally Darling’s house. It’s somehow exactly how you expected it to be. Everything is neat and tidy, carefully placed and well maintained. There’s an old charm to the house, as if it stepped out of the 60’s.

“It’s weird being in here.” You say, wandering through his living room. There’s framed photos on the walls of Wally and his friends. You take the time to examine them.

“Why so?” Wally watches you with warm amusement.

“It just feels so…” You stare at a picture of Barnaby holding Wally in a tight hug. Wally looks like he’s being squished. “Personal.”

Wally laughs, “Well, it is personal.” He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder as you continue to stare at his pictures.

“No, it’s different.” You tell him. “Somehow it feels like I’m getting a glimpse into your soul.”

There’s a pause.

“Well maybe you are.”

Wally lets go, turning and heading up a set of stairs. “Let me show you my painting room.” You follow after him.

He leads you to a large, beautiful room. With the high ceiling and long window sill big enough to lounge on, the room looks elegant. Coupled with the mass amount of paintings lining the walls and easels of the room, it looks like a modern art gallery.

“Wow, Wally.” You stare at his work, secretly jealous of his technique.

He seems proud of himself. “I think-“

There’s a sudden loud crash from downstairs. You jump.

Whipping your head around, you turn back towards the door. “Did something fall?”

Wally merely frowns. “Yeah. Something fell.” He says, turning his eyes up.

“Oh.” You say. Clearly Wally seems to not be concerned with it, so you won’t be either.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs.” Wally suggests, taking your hand.

The two of you settle down on the couch. You giggle and tease Wally for his old school television. You swear that thing probably is still in black and white.

As you chat, you both slowly inch closer together. It starts with a simple finger brushing at your thigh, then an arm is popped around your neck, and then finally Wally is leaning in and kissing you.

You let yourself be taken by the kiss, planting your hand at the back of his neck and brushing your finger along the base of his soft hair. Wally places his hand on your cheek and you press into it, tilting your head more into the kiss.

Your chest flutters, eyes blinking open for half a second so that you can stare at him. To your surprise, his eyes are already open and watching you. He squints happily at you, smiling into the kiss as he deepens it, tongue pressing further into your mouth.

Wally’s other hand trails down your arm, causing goosebumps all the way. He flicks his tongue against the sensitive roof of your mouth before retreating back.

You feel words pressed against your lips but you can’t hear them. They’re hardly even a whisper, more like he is just mouthing words.

No, he’s repeating something. You try to understand him.

“I love you.”

You blink, pulling away from him.

“I love you too.” You whisper.

Yes, life is great.

Until it isn’t.

_____

Lightning cracks, illuminating the room as you finish up moving some furniture around. You stand with your hands on your hips, staring out at the freshly decorated art room. Finally, the work on your house is all done.

You could hear the wind beat about outside and the hard rain hit your windows. There was something odd about it all, though you couldn't quite put your finger on it. Storms are natural, after all.

Though, there hadn't been a single storm since you moved in.

Walking through the finished halls of your house gives you a sense of accomplishment. Patting the wall, you glance at the clock.

It's nearing time for you to meet up with Wally. The two of you had planned a date out to the pond to feed ducks, though you suppose that the rain ruined those plans.

You near the window, watching the dreary sky. It's midafternoon, but it looks like it's the middle of the night. Your eyes sweep over the neighborhood, making eye contact with Wally's house.

Wait, no, not eye contact. It's a house, it doesn't have eyes.

Still, the lights are on and now you have this odd feeling in your stomach.

As you look back up at the sky, you think the clouds don't look like regular rainclouds. They seem a sickly black color and you remember the forest that Julie had showed you. The dark clouds remind you of the baren land.

Is this a sign it's spreading? The lump in your stomach grows heavier. You feel dumb for forgetting about it.

You glance at the clock again. Perhaps there's enough time to check before Wally arrives. You rush to your mudroom, tugging on your rain coat and rubber boots.

As you trek through the rain, you wonder if you should've just stayed in your house. The wind moves you about, making you stumble over your heavy boots. The rain blows sideways, rendering your raincoat nearly useless as you're soaked anyways.

It's never rained this bad in the neighborhood. Actually, now that you think about it, it's never rained at all in the neighborhood.

Soon enough you reach the edge of the neighborhood, where the rot stretches as far as you can see. You were right, it seems to be spreading. The rot has crept forward, consuming what was once a small woodsy park path.

You stare down at where the sidewalk ends and the forest starts. Why does the sidewalk stop?

Where is the road to lea-

"What are you doing out here?"

You startle, flipping around quickly. Wally stands in his usual attire, his navy hair and knitted overcoat soaked from the rain.

"I just wanted to explore in the rain." You lie. You don't even know why you lie. You trust Wally.

Right?

Wally glances towards the forest, scrunching his brows, "Did somebody tell you something?"

You quickly shake your head, "No, I was just walking around and... I found this." You gesture toward the forest. "What is this, Wally?"

Wally frowns, looking at you, not the forest. "It's been so warm lately, there was a small fire that lit up the grass around here." He looks up. "We really needed this rain."

It's a lie. Your stomach turns in knots. Wally is lying to you. This rot has been here a while. If it had been a fire, new green growth would've sprang up ages ago.

"We should get out of this rain." Wally says, water dripping down his face and arms. "So much for feeding ducks, huh?" He extends his hand.

You take it, though hesitantly. Before, you hadn't suspected that he would be a part of this, but now nothing makes sense.

"Wally, how did you find me out here?" You ask as you walk with him. "We were supposed to meet up at my house."

"Hm?" His eyes cast upwards as he thinks for a moment. "I suppose I just... had a feeling."

This makes you even more wary and you feel bad for it. You love Wally, and yet you're now doubting his motivations. You don't even know how he would have anything to do with the forest's color.

You and Wally arrive back at your house. You grab a towel for him to dry off with and he rubs it over his plush skin.

Plush skin?

You hadn't thought about it before, but isn't that weird? You look at your own hands. You are definitely not plush.

Wally throws the towel over his head, wringing out his hair. You stare at him and the more you look, the more unsettled you get. He has no nose, is that normal? Something in the back of your mind is telling you it isn't.

Wally's intense eyes peek from behind the towel. "Everything okay?"

"Yes." You shake your head, turning away. "I was just watching you."

He gives a lazy smile, eyes relaxing. "Well, I like watching you too."

You give a laugh, "Thanks, Wally."

He stands, walking over and hugging you from behind. Before, it used to feel gentle and safe, but now it feels like entrapment. He nuzzles into your neck, pressing soft kisses.

"What shall we do now that our plans have been ruined?" He smiles, hot breath on your neck.

You pull away from him, "Actually, I'm feeling a little tired. Maybe rain check?"

Wally's face falls, then suddenly lights back up again, "We could nap together-"

"No, no, I mean, I just want to be alone right now." You tell him. "I just... had a rough night's sleep."

Wally stares at you for a long moment, wide eyes peering into your conscience. Finally, he smiles, "Oh, no worries, neighbor." He hands you back your towel. "We'll do something tomorrow when it's less rainy, right?"

"Right." You nod, watching him head to the door.

Wally grasps the doorknob, turning to you at the last second, "Oh, one more thing." He leans towards where you stand in the kitchen doorway. "I wouldn't go exploring in the forest anymore, too many nasty things out there, if you ask me. Wouldn't want anyone getting hurt." He gives a light smile, opening the door and heading out.

You watch him go, hurrying to the window. You keep your eye on him until he is home.

Something is not right in the neighborhood.

You throw your rain attire back on, determined to get to the bottom of this. You take a deep breath, patting the side of your house.

"We got this." You whisper.

As you step outside, you notice that the rain seems to have worsened. You hold onto the hood of your raincoat, pushing past the wind. When you reach the edge of the forest, you don't stop. Instead, you trudge forward into the rot.

It's squishy against your feet, with the occasional odd lump of hardness. Everything is wilted and scorched. You wonder what could possibly be the cause.

As you wonder, you start to really think about the circumstances in the neighborhood. You lift your hand again, staring at it.

Flesh. You have flesh. Not felt or feathers or fur.

How did you move into a neighborhood with such creatures?

No, wait, how did you move into the neighborhood at all?

You bought the house... but you don't remember any real estate agents or documents.

You... you haven't even been working. What have you been doing? You've just been playing around the neighborhood. In fact, nobody in the neighborhood seemed to have jobs.

Your brain feels fuzzy. None of this makes sense.

You're still hiking through the decay, finding nothing of note. That is, until you see green in the distance. You perk up, sprinting forward.

Yes, there is green grass ahead. Whatever the decay is, it isn't very big luckily.

As you get closer, you furrow your brow.

Somehow, you've ended up on the other side of the neighborhood.

How?

You step onto the grass, realizing you've ended up by the post office.

That doesn't make sense. You walked away from the neighborhood, there's no possible way you ended up on the other side of it.

Perhaps you got mixed up. You turn around, jogging through the diseased wood.

This time, you end up near Julie's.

How do you walk away from something and end up back at it?

Walk around the world.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Wally wanted you away from the forest for a reason. This is his world, and you're in it.

You sprint up to Julie's house, pounding on the door. "Julie!" You yell. "Julie!"

You get no answer, so you move over to the window, shielding your eyes against the glass to see inside.

There's no one there.

You tug your raincoat closer to your body, looking up at the ever blackening clouds.

You have to confront Wally.

Back at your house, you prepare to face him. You're not sure what to expect, but you want to be ready for anything. You dig through your belongings, procuring a baseball bat and a box cutter.

Your house whines against the wind, creaking and settling in the powerful storm. You sit for a minute, putting your head in your hands. All this work on your house, all this friendship, and is any of it real? Nothing seems to make sense. Why? Why is any of this happening?

As you leave, you sigh.

"I'll be back."

The wind catches on your house and it whines louder.

When you arrive at Wally's house, you go to knock on the door only to find it already open. You press it open, keeping your guard up as you grip the baseball bat.

"Wally?" Your voice echoes off the walls as you step inside. It seems awfully dark in Wally's house.

Lightning cracks, illuminating the front windows of Wally's house. For a moment, they are eyes, observing you. The lightning then leaves darkness and you hear the front door slam shut. You turn back towards the door, tugging on the doorknob only to find it locked.

"Caught the snitch."

You turn to see Wally illuminated in the darkness, a figure hanging over his head.

It's Julie. She hangs from strings, her limbs twisted and broken. Her jaw hangs unnaturally slack, face bloodied.

"In fact, I caught everybody." More lights irradiate from the darkness, casting large shadows on the wall as they illuminate the bodies of the other neighbors, all in similar states.

Wally walks towards Howdy, "Too much talking lately, really a shame. I wanted to have you willingly."

You stand frozen, hands still on your baseball bat.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He laughs. "Plus, they're fine." He gestures towards the bodies on strings above him. "I just took away their will. Clearly they couldn't be trusted with it on their own." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head disapprovingly.

The edges of your eyes crease up. You still don't understand.

"Come, let me explain." He gestures to the couch. You don't move. "Please, sit."

You don't.

Wally looks up. "Home?"

To your amazement, a chair glides over, moving behind you and slamming into your legs, making you tumble down onto it. It slides over to where Wally now sits.

You clutch the edges of the chair in fright.

"That's Home." Wally explains. "Home is... the source of it all. A manifestation of desire, if you will."

You swallow, "It's alive?"

Wally grins. It's wider and realer than any grin you've seen before. "Of course." He crosses one leg over the other. "It's alive just like you and me are alive."

"But you're plush." You tell him.

"I'm built on the desires of thousands of young children across the nation that watched my show." Wally looks nostalgic. "Oh, you were such a dedicated little viewer, you know that?"

"Huh?" Show? What is he talking about.

"You used to sit every night in front of the TV, you know that?" Wally continues. "And you would say, 'Okay, Mr. Wally, show me how to draw!' I taught you everything you know about painting."

... Yes, the show. How could you forget? The theme song starts to play in your head. You loved that show as a kid.

"You loved me so much." Wally sighs. "And I loved you, and then you went away."

"I was an adult." Of course you went away, you couldn't sit around watching TV all day. You had a job, you had a family... your family! How long have you been gone? "I had responsibilities."

"I desired you." Wally looks at you desperately. "You desired a place you belonged! I watched you, how you struggled to fit in, the long hours at work, the family arguments. I made it all go away! You've been so happy-"

"They were struggles, but they were my struggles!" You shout, standing up. "You don't get to decide for me!"

Wally sighs, head falling to the side. "See, this is why I wanted you willingly." He casts his hand up. "Oh well."

You feel tightness tug at your arms. No, it's tugging at your bones. You look, thin wire strings protrude from your arms and spring from your legs, pulling you up towards the ceiling.

"I'll just take away your free will for a while." Wally runs a hand through his dark hair. "Then you'll want to play along."

You can feel the strings scraping against your bones under your skin. You struggle against them, getting yourself tangled in the process.

"What shall we act out first?" Wally stands, pacing around the room. "We did have that pond date-"

You twist, reaching your hand towards your back pocket, where the box cutter is stashed. It's an awkward reach, but you manage to grasp it, pushing it open with your thumb and slashing at your strings. You fall to the floor, grabbing the bat and taking off running for the door.

Wally clicks his tongue, "You were so docile before you knew the truth. I'll have to stamp this disobedience out of you now."

You ram the baseball bat into the door, denting the doorknob until the lock falls apart and you can run out the door.

There's no exit. The forest loops. Surely there must be a way out, right? Where, where...

Wally laughs, "Where are you running to? There's no where to go!"

You don't know, but away from here. You sprint, running towards the only place where you feel safe, your house.

"My little viewer." Wally sounds agitated now. "Enough games. If you come back now, I'll go easy on you."

Over your dead body. You're out of breath by the time you reach your house, slamming the door shut and locking it, back pressed against the door as you pant and Wally begins to bang on the door.

Surely there must be something of use to you. Think, think... where is the exit out of this place?

You hear Wally start to kick down the door. It cracks and starts to splinter with each kick.

One of the neighbors' houses? No, they might've said something.

Wally is stronger than you thought. With a final kick, your door crumbles, swinging open. Wally looks even more deranged now, eyes large and locked on you.

"My dear," he breathes. "Let's be reasonable, come back with me."

He extends his hand. When you don't take it, he frowns, moving forward. He grasps you by your face, fingertips digging bruises into your cheeks as he pulls you closer.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

You press your hands against his chest, trying to push him away. This only angers him more. Wally lifts his hand, readying it to fall down on your face. You close your eyes, preparing yourself for the eventual hit.

It doesn't come.

You open your eyes to see Wally's hand still in the air. Except... there's a string attached to it. Wally's expression has changed from anger to fear, he stares at his arm as another string appears on his opposite arm. You back away from him.

Wally looks at you, "Please, don't-" He reaches for you, only to have his hand yanked away before he can.

It's... your house. It dawns upon you quickly and more strings appear from Wally's skin. He struggles, the strings dragging him.

"Please, please, I can't-"

You look up at your house, reaching and patting the wall. "Take him away."

"Please-"

Wally screams as the strings scratch against his bones, dragging him kicking and screaming towards your basement.

_____

"Oh, I have some drinks in the fridge, let me grab you one!"

You weave your way through the bustling party, dodging Barnaby as he throws grapes in the air and catches them in his mouth and sliding past the way-too-handsy Frank and Eddie.

You're celebrating your finished house, and the party is going spectacularly. Two guests still haven't arrived, but you're not too worried.

You snatch up glass bottles of soda that you bought at Howdy's shop earlier that day and toss one to Sally, who gracefully catches it.

"You've put a lot of work into this place." Howdy says with a smile, leaning on the counter.

You glance over, "Yeah, I couldn't have done it without you guys though, thank you all for your help."

"Oh, you did most of it!" Sally waves her hand.

"It's just what neighbors do." Howdy shrugs.

The doorbell rings and you rush to the door, throwing it open to reveal Julie, holding a small present in her hands.

"Sorry I'm so late, I had to wrap your gift!"

"You didn't have to get me a gift!" You laugh, throwing your arms around her for a big hug. She squeezes you tight before you both pull away from each other.

"No, I really had to." She holds out the gift. "After everything you've done for all of us."

You gently take the wrapped gift as she steps into your house, waving at everybody.

"Hello everybody!" Julie squeals, making her way over to nudge Frank playfully. "And hello, Frank and Eddie!"

Frank turns a deep red, shying away. "It's really nothing-"

Eddie gives a wide smile, gripping Franks hand tighter, "Almost losing all your control makes you confess things."

Julie gives a light smile, "Well, we never have to worry about that again."

You politely set the gift on the counter for later, turning back towards everybody. "Then I propose a toast!"

"We'll need bread for that." Barnaby grins, nudging you playfully. You shake your head with a laugh, gently shoving him away.

Everyone raises their sodas, letting you speak.

"To freedom, to free will, to all of us. It's what lets us choose our paths, chase our dreams, and live life to our own terms. To making our choices, learning from our own mistakes, and creating our victories."

Everyone cheers.

"Most importantly, to you." Julie adds in, pointing her raised glass to you. "You've made this neighborhood a wonderful place."

This makes everyone cheer louder. You bump glasses with everyone, letting Barnaby rub your head affectionately and Sally rope you into a side hug.

"Now open the gift!" Julie claps.

You laugh, grabbing the gift and tearing it open. Sitting inside in a beautiful framed picture of everyone in the neighborhood.

Well, everyone except-

The doorbell rings again, and you politely excuse yourself to answer it.

It's Wally. He looks rough. Dark bags underline his eyes and his usually tidy hair is in disarray. He looks up at your house nervously.

"Oh, hello Wally." You watch him carefully. If you look close enough, you can see the strings buried in his arms and neck.

He holds out flowers, which is nice, you guess. You take them, opening the door for him to come inside. He hesitates, then steps in.

You linger, your eyes following him as he greets everyone else. He got what he wanted, you're stuck here. There's no way out.

You can see his stiff movements, the fish line strings tugging at his skin and bones, uncomfortably present at all times.

"Are you coming?" Julie yells. "Poppy's going to bring out the cake!"

"I'm coming!" You shut the door, rushing over.

It's all okay, because he's trapped too.

86 notes · View notes