#billy has other fucking family

[biillys]

a c in english and a c- in spanish. yeah. well, that's not normal for you. if you say so.

STRANGER THINGS — 4.01: the hellfire club

#m #gifs #long post #this post is literally too long but u know what. don't care. didn't ask. #anyway. in the hot version of st that lives in my mind where billy survives #we get like. a parallel type of cut scene here. with max in her school mandated counseling session #then billy in his hospital mandated therapy session #and it cuts between them both #max fidgeting with her headphones. billy tearing what's left of his nails apart. #both being unable to sit still. #them both being stubburn and holding every single fucking emotion so deep inside that they know it'll never see the light of day #both their answers mirroring each other even when they're like. fucking miles apart and have barely spoke since everything happened #like they've seen each other. max basically lives at the hospital. but billy's throats fucked. and max isn't really the chatty type #and they honestly don't even know what to say to each other #so max just sits. reads comics. listens to music. and billy just lies there. prays for death. prays to visit the fucking ocean again. #and they don't talk. but they're there for each other and they Get It in the only way they know how #OR. the au where neil was possessed and both him and susan die #billy and max having to go to see the councelor. fuckin family counseling sessions. or seperate i guess #is billy still in school? i dont actually understand american ages and schooling it has to be said #but like. councelor kelley just being like. wow. they sure are siblings. #okay but if he's not in school then like. court mandated therapy sessions for legal guadian custody of max idk #i just think i would like to see the parallels that couldve been. but like. #sadie sink i owe you my life for making season four have some good scenes and i would die for u #maxmayfieldedit #max mayfield #anyway again this is not the scene i set out to gif. just made like 30 gifs of a scene i didnt even intend on giffing. fuck me

[intergalacticaquarium]

Eddie as Max's friend instead of Dustin's au is driving me insane

#im gonna die w these two they are so so similar #and she needs a brother who actually cares about her #and i made him just say max is my sister. not like a sister. bc billy always said shes nkt really my sister wnd that. he was the only one #that would look out for each other bc they were family and she and eddie dont have a lot of family #and eddies like ok max we just gotta choose our family now and that can be unconditional if we want it ti be #im ur big brother now. cant get rid of me now sorry. and ur my sister #and there doesnt have to be anything metaphorical about it. we are a real brother and sister. #ans in their first scene hes like ok i gotta know what are u thinkin abt what did u hear and she said tha billy said some bad things #and shes like but his dad was really hard on him its not his fault and eddies like ok??? my dad was hard on me. billy was hard on u. #neither of us tried to do a hate crime tho so maybe its about how you react to things #anyway i love them im having emotions #and it actually so genuinely makes his arc make sense #and would save him and max in a really narraticely satisfying way #bc hea like. id die for u max if it comes down to it run #and shes like. are you. fucking. joking. #the absolute LAST thing i need rn is somebody else dying for me thats been my whole problem asshole and then he has to reevaluate #why he wants to sacrafice himself so bad and realizing that that was actually the most run away thing he could do #bc hes running away from his problems when thats the only thing hes actually run from in a bad way the whole time #god and when they find him at skull rock hes like i guess thats what i do now. i run. and max is like yeah dummy we're zoomers #max and eddie

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

Eddie is gushing about Steve to Robin and he mentions how it's so fucking metal the way he never shies away from danger. Like, quite the opposite, he literally jumps right into it without a second thought!

And suddenly Robin remembers how Steve wanted to be tortured by the actual real Russian secret service if it meant that his then friendly coworker who he never saw outside of Scoops would be at least a little bit safer. And she notices for the first time how Steve always makes sure that everyone is safe before he leaves a dangerous place - how he makes sure to always be the last one - and she thinks fuck.

(She feels so fucking bad. He is her best friend. Her soulmate. The person who knows her best and vice-versa. How has she never noticed this before?!)

They start paying closer attention to him, then. Neither like what they see. Steve's eyebags grow bigger with every day that passes. He doesn't eat a lot. He can never say no to others, no matter how much it inconveniences him. And when Robin and Eddie gush about what an awesome person he is, he gets an uncomfortable expression on his face and denies it. Robin had never noticed how most their interactions were self-deprecating jokes until now, either.

They need to stage an intervention.

The next time Steve walks through the doors of Family Video, Robin and Eddie are ready. They lay down all the facts and propose a simple deal: either go talk to a professional, or they will explain everything to the rest of the party and they will force him to talk to a professional. It will end the same way no matter what he chooses, might as well take the path with least resistance.

The only thing that sounds worse than paying a stranger to talk about his feelings is to be forced to talk about them to his friends, so he agrees.

He doesn't think it will make a difference, at first. It's not like he is allowed to talk about monsters and other dimensions.

The first session is awkward. But Robin and Eddie always look at him with such worried and expectant looks and he cannot bear to burden them in any way, so he starts opening up more. He can't talk about the time he almost got eaten by Demogorgons in a secret supernatural underground tunnelsystem, but he can talk about the time Billie almost beat him to death. He can't talk about the secret Russian operation beneath the mall, but he can talk about almost dying in the "mall fire". (His memories of his time there are all scrambled because of the drugs, anyway. It is more about the 'near-death' thing and never being able to feel safe, which he can talk about)

He doesn't mean to talk about his interpersonal relationships at first. But then his therapist cautiously asks him about his parents, and before he knows it he is spilling beans he didn't even know needed to be spilled. He talks about how he only seems to be friends with people who went through traumatic experiences with him, and what does that say about him? He talks about when he first realized that other kids are not left behind by their parents for months at a time. He finally starts unpacking the whole Nancy situation and realizes, wow, turns out he isn't nearly as over the whole thing as he'd hoped. (There are a lot of tears).

He seamlessly fills session after session, and at first he doesn't think that it makes much of a difference. Until the kids meet him after he is exhausted from a double shift at Family Video and beg him to drive them somewhere or other, and he can say no and not give in without fearing that they will cast him aside.

(Robin and Eddie are smug when they also notice the changes, but Steve supposes they have earned it this one time.)

#steve looking at an oceans worth of issues: #“oh man i sure hope i have enough problems to justify paying a professional” #and then has the audacity to act surprised when he doe #pen. #stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #stobin #steddie #stranger things drabble #steve harrington drabble #stobin drabble #steddie drabble

[lizthewriter]

i'm right here / billy loomis

PAIRING  fem!reader x billy loomis

SUMMARY  you and billy had been dating for quite a while now. you had always been so dependent on him, so clingy, so needy, and you were starting to realize that maybe he didn't like you nearly as much as you thought he did. when you stop calling him and ignore him completely, he's not just angry, but he comes to the realization that he doesn't know who he'd be without you. he's lonely and he needs you just as much, if not more, than you need him.

TAGS  fem!reader x billy loomis, angst, fluff, if you squint, sexual tension, smut, only on the clothes stuff, billy wouldn't dare break my underwear rule, teasing, making out,, desperate men >>>, deranged men >>>>>, billy is a lil' toxic, just a lil' bit, cursing, slight stalking (come on, we're talking about ghostface here, get with the program)

QUOTE  "i'm calling you, pick up your phone . . . well i don't give a fuck about your friends, / i'm right here, here / well baby talk a look around, / i'm the only one that hasn't walked out, / i'm right here," - right here by chase atlantic

WORD COUNT  2.1K

WRITTEN  10.25.2023

A/N this is my first smut 😭😭😭😭 also i watched scream for the first time and if billy and stu weren't murderers ... omg 😭😭😭 anyways, i will get up another fic on sunday and one next wednesday ... PLS SEND REQUESTS FOR BILLY AND STU 😭😭😭😭

You once again hung up the phone in a huff - Billy has tried calling you for the fourth time that evening. You would have let the phone ring if the sound of it didn't set you off.

You tossed the clunky phone back onto the other end of the couch and settled onto the cushions with a relieved sigh. Finally, some time for yourself - you had been swamped with so much work recently, it was nice to finally take a moment to relax. You flicked on the television, channel surfing before the phone went off again. You groaned and picked up the phone, pressing the decline button before setting it back down. You let out an incredulous laugh at the irony of the situation. You were ignoring Billy because he barely spent any of his time with you and didn't seem to be putting anywhere near as much effort into your relationship as you were. You were so tired of being taken advantage of and eventually being walked out on by friends and family that you finally, for once, walked out on someone else first. But now, now that you've broken things up with him, he seemed interested in you.

"Asshat," you mumbled under your breath, finally settling on a channel playing some mildly entertaining thriller that was gripping enough to keep you interested, but not so much so that you were discerning and questioning every detail. You laid back down on the couch, head lolling to the side as you space out and got lost in your own thoughts. The one thing that startled you from your own head was the sound of the phone ringing once again.

More than irritated, you grabbed the phone and finally answered, shoving the clunk of plastic next to your ear. "Listen here Billy, I told you once and I don't want to say it again, I'm. Done -"

The voice at the end of the line spoke only your name in greeting, but it soundly oddly gruff and robotic. Not Billy's voice, which made you pause in hesitation. "Yes, that's me . . . what do you want?"

"I always thought The Sixth Sense was a sort of underrated masterpiece."

You launched up from the couch, fear settling into your gut as you glanced out the back patio doors outside. "What kind of prank is this? Stu, are you fucking with me again? Because I swear -"

"It's not Stu, sweetheart. Guess again."

You paused. It was a long shot. But why would he change his voice? You decided to play a little game of your own. "You know what I'm watching, so you must be somewhere outside, in the backyard, right?" You got up from the couch and stared out at the backyard, but no one was there. "Who is this? Randy? Bobby? Which ass decided to piss me off today -"

"I did." The voice, unexpectedly, came from behind you. You jumped at the sound and turned around to face Billy, who was holding up a portable phone. He hung up, tucking away whatever kind of voice modulator he'd been using, and took a step towards you. In return, you took a step back, placing your house phone on a nearby surface.

"What are you doing in my house, Billy? I'm having friends over soon, you can't be here."

"I came over to apologize."

"You?" You asked him incredulously. "Apologize? That's rich. I didn't know the word 'apologize' was even in your vocabulary."

Billy offered you a grimaced smile and took another step forward. "I really mean it this time, all right?"

"Oh sure, yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," you retorted with a roll of your eyes. You glanced at the clock and decided it would be best to prepare snacks now, before your friends got here. You began to walk past him, in the direction of the kitchen. "Go home, Billy, I'm done with you and your indifference."

Before you even took another step away from him, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chest. He stared down at you, hunger, desperation, adoration in his eyes. You couldn't help but soften as you stared up at his face - even if you were doing this for yourself, you couldn't help but miss him. And fuck, was he the most beautiful bastard you've ever seen.

He ran his index finger along your cheek, his head bowed as his eyes trailed all across your face. "I didn't appreciate you like I should have . . . I realize that now. I guess it's true. You don't know how good something is until it leaves." He bowed his head closer and closer to you, and you couldn't help but feel yourself weaken. As though you hsd fallen prey to his seduction spell. You had to admit, it was easier to ignore his calls then to ignore his prescene, that sultry voice and those beckoning lips, the brown strands that you wanted to tug on oh so badly. "Give me one more chance. I'll prove it to you that I can be better . . . " And he said the one word you've never heard leave his mouth ever. His voice came out as soft as a whisper, as hot as the fiery gates of hell on your mouth. "Please. I need you."

Your breathes came out hot and heavy - you wanted him bad, so bad. But you knew you shouldn't. You always followed the same toxic, hurtful patterns. You needed to let go of the people that hurt you, but God you couldn't let him go. You tried to find an excuse.

"Billy, my friends are going to be here in ten minutes." Your voice came out much weaker, less assured then intended.

"I could give a flying fuck about your friends. They don't treat you right, no better than I did. Yet here you sit, cleaning the house, buying food and renting movies, all for people who could care less. If you're going to give someone a second chance, let it be me." He held up your hand, pressing gently kisses along the edge of it. His eyes met yours again, dark and lustful, filled with meaning. You just couldn't help yourself - you knew you'd regret this, but honestly . . . you didn't care anymore.

You finally grabbed the back of his head and pushed him down to meet your lips, hands tangling in those chocolate locks of his. His mouth tasted like pennies and cigarettes, apricot and clove. He was far from being shy, he equally reciprocated your actions if not overcompensated and pressed back into you hungrily. He was slightly rough with you, never enough to hurt you, only rile you up. He pushed you back towards the couch, your knees buckling as they met the cushions, forcing you to sit yourself down on the couch. His eyes roamed your body and he gestured towards your shirt.

You leaned up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to your level. "No. I'm tired of initiating. If you want me, come get me." You released his shirt, sitting back on the couch with crossed arms and watching his next movements.

His eyes widened in slight shock. You had never been one to take the lead and boss him around, but now that you had, he found it incredibly arousing. And he also felt he owed it to you to give you whatever you wanted. After all, he'd been a terrible boyfriend and if he was truly being honest, you deserved better. But that selfish, possessive side to him couldn't let you go, craved you like a starved man.

He pulled off his shirt, revealing the chiseled chest beneath. He wasn't paticularly buff, but he was certainly well built and plenty aesthetically pleasing. He bent down, latching his lips back onto yours. He allowed your hands to roam over his bare torso, smirking slightly at the groan that left your lips. His hands gradually slipped under your shirt, pulling it overhead and revealing the lacy bra beneath. As strong as he was, he was easily able to shift your position so you were laying along the length of the couch. He crawled on top of you, one hand laying atop your breast, the other being used as a crutch to keep him balanced. His lips returned to yours, wet and burning with passion, running along yours smoothly. His other hand slipped down to your waist, tightening around it as his tounge poked through your lips and into your mouth. You couldn't help the soft moan that left your mouth, hips rolling up to meet his. You jolted as you were met with something hardened, a shiver running down your spine.

"Billy . . ." You whined, eyes pleading with him to stop being so painstakingly slow. You wanted him and you wanted him now. "Please. I missed you . . . need you."

"S'okay baby," he responded, lips now meeting the skin of your neck. You missed the feeling of his nose brushing against your skin with every kiss, his roaming hands exploring every inch of your body, those glances from.his darkened eyes that almost unsettled you. "I'll take care of it, I promise."

He rolled his hips up into yours, causing a moan to spill out of your mouth. You had wrapped your arms around his back, hands digging into his shoulder blades. "Missed your pretty little moans, baby." He lifted his head away from your neck, hand running through your hair as he looked down at you. "Promise I'll be better, hm? You'd like that?"

He rolled his hips up again with a smirk and you shut your eyes tight, only able to respond with a high-pitched "mhm!"

"You're - such a tease," you gasped, opening your eyes again, a faint blush spreading over your cheeks.

"I thought you liked when I teased you, pretty girl." You hated the smug smirk painted across his cheeks, but the thing you hated the most was that he was right. You loved the teasing, the degradation, the humiliation, the praise. He knew just how to get you hot and bothered, so much so that you couldn't help but snap at him. You know he did those kinds of things on purpose just you'd give him an attitude and he'd get to punish you. But if you were being honest . . . it turned you on.

"Just - please."

"Please what?" He asked with innocent eyes, rolling his hips up harder but keeping the bulge in his jeans pressed against you this time.

You groaned loudly, clawing at his back. "Not - not fair."

"What's not fair? This?" He rolled his hips upwards against, drawing another moan from your lips.

"N-no, stop -"

He let out a mock sigh of disappointment and began to draw away. "All right, I'll stop, if that's what you really want."

"No!" You exclaimed loudly, grabbing his hand and pulling him back towards you. "Don't leave . . . please."

You wanted to smack that stupid little grin off of his face, but then he dropped his knee between your thighs and the words you had wanted to speak suddenly left your lips. He glanced down at your pajama pants, toying with the waistband teasingly.

"Say the words then."

"What?" You responded with furrowed brows.

"Say, 'Billy, I want you to fuck me.'" His eyes bore into yours - the sweet chocolate now turned to charcoal black. He loved the effect he had on you, he loved messing around with you. Especially when you got all flustered and embaressed like this. "Come on, say it. I know you can, sweetheart."

You paused. "Billy, I -"

The doorbell rang, followed by the sounds of giggles. Your friends all shouted your name and dissolved into another bought of laughter. You glanced back towards Billy, torn about what to do.

He pulled away with a gentle sigh, planting a final kiss to your forehead. "We'll pick this up another time, yeah?" Desperate sex with Billy was always good, at least, you thought.

You held onto his hand for a few more seconss before it slipped away as he walked backwards towards the stairs. He must have crawled inside your bedroom window like he usually does. "Okay. I'll call you in the morning?"

He grinned. "Sounds good, sweetheart. I'll pick you up, too."

The doorbell rang thrice more, your friends yeling at you to come answer the door. Billy grinned and departed up the stairs, but not before grabbing his shirt on the way out. You picked up your own shirt from where it had been discarded on the floor and pulled it on as you approached the front door.

Your friends greeted you enthusiastically as they entered your house and while they were all excitedly chattering about the movies you selected, you could only think of Billy, stupid, seductive Billy.

#— [ glizzy posts ☆ ] #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis smut #scream #scream 1996 #billy loomis #my writing #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my fic #writing #fanfic #billy loomis x you #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #ghostface

[coryosbaby]

18+, MDNI !!

Family friend! Billy The Kid teaching you how to kiss and it leading to much more <3 pulling him into your pretty pink room, pushing him onto the frilly sheets in the dark hours of the night. It’s a sleepless one— you and Billy had been up all night and your parents are sleeping soundly in their beds, clueless to their daughter’s secret pact with their beloved acquaintance.

You make sure to lock your door just in case.

The cowboy in front of you sprawls out on your mattress, foot grazing your ankle as you tell him a story about your friend Camille’s adultery.

“And she… she slipped her tongue in his mouth!” You exclaim, wide eyed and innocent. Billy mouth quirks up into a smile, his eyes moving to your pretty, plump lips. “I don’t know if I’d like that, Billy, not one bit.”

“How’dya know if you haven’t tried it?”

“I…” you blanch for a moment. “I dunno. I guess I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t do that anyway. ‘S bad.”

He gives you an amused smile. Your parents, of course, have spewed this narrative to you since you were a child. “No sex before marriage, no datin’ or kissin’ or huggin’” — Billy’s always been on his own, making his own decisions, and he thinks you should be able to do that too. He can’t deny the way your innocence gets his cock hard and bulging through his pants, though, and how badly he wants to corrupt every single part of you. Parents be damned, you’re one of a kind. Sweet and gentle, soft in all the right places, homely. Billy loves that about you. He’d marry you if he could, but even so, your parents would never allow it. They’d know right from the start what he was up to if he asked for their blessing.

His hand makes its way to your knee. He rests it there and massages the soft skin that’s exposed due to your nightgown riding up. You can’t help the flush that makes its way up to your cheeks.

“We could try it,” he suggests gently. “If you want to, darlin’.”

Your eyes widen as you look at him, and your fingers move up to the ribbon in your hair and twirl it around.

“I dunno, Billy..”

“‘M not gonna force you,” he replies. “Just a suggestion, that’s all.”

It’s silent for a moment, Billy awkwardly looking away. What if he fucked up? What if you told your parents?

“Okay.”

It surprises him when you say it so timidly.

“Alright,” Billy replies, then clears his throat and pats his thigh. “C’mere, sweetheart. Get in my lap.”

A smile spreads across your face, and you shyly crawl over to him on all fours before you press yourself down into his lap. Your thighs move to either side of his hips.

“Like this?”

“Just like that.”

Billy has to restrain himself as he sees your light blue cotton underwear peek out from underneath your nightgown. His hand splays across your lower back, pulling you closer. His other hand moves to your cheek.

You close your eyes, waiting for the moment when Billy leans in. His lips hit yours in a small peck, thumb grazing your jaw. You reciprocate as best as you can, and your lashes flutter open when he pulls away, your brows furrowing.

“That’s it?”

Billy can’t help the laugh that spills out of his mouth, loud enough that your hand slaps over his mouth.

“It ain’t funny!” You whine. “Be quiet, you’re gonna get us in trouble!”

He pulls your hand off of his mouth, a grin splaying across his face.

“Sorry.”

When it quiets once again, you lean into him.

“Can we do it again?”

He nods. Both of his hands wrap around your waist this time, and he presses his now smiling lips to yours again. This time it’s more desperate— Billy got one taste and now he can’t bring himself to stop. You let out a tiny whine, pulling away when you feel his tongue press against your lower lip.

“Billy, we can’t do that.”

“Says who?” He leans up against your ear, hands travelling lower, lower. He’s hungry for you, practically starving. “I won’t tell.”

The way he says it, raspy and deep, sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t help the way your thighs clench together, a moan leaving you when the hem of your nightgown is flipped up and Billy grips your ass in his palms. His mouth slots against yours again, leaving your head spinning as you allow his tongue to slip into the warm canal of your mouth. Your own tongue slides against his, the strangely pleasant taste of his saliva making you dizzy. A throbbing overtakes that special spot between your legs, and you grind down against Billy’s fabric clad thigh. He groans, wrapping a hand around your hair so he can pull off of your lips and move to your neck instead.

“Billy,” you whimper out, when you feel his fingers graze the inside of your thigh. “Billy, I feel all tingly.”

“It’s because you need me,” his fingers reach the crotch of your underwear, and his thumb presses against your clit through the fabric. You gasp, mouth falling open as he rubs it in slow circles. “See, sweetheart? Right here.”

“I-It.. it feels…”

“Good?” Of course it does, you’re practically soaked through your panties. “I know. You can make me feel good, too.”

“I can?” Your eyes brighten, and he nods, removing his fingers so he can begin to unbutton his pants instead.

“Mhm. You got me all tingly here, too.”

You look down as he pulls out his hard cock, dripping with arousal and ready for you. A dark thatch of hair sits at the base of him, a vein running up the middle and leading to a pretty pink tip. He gives it a few harsh strokes, pumping it up and down in his fist.

“Lay on your back for me, honey.”

You obey instantly, excitement curling in your gut as your head hits your pillow. Billy hooks his fingers into your panties and drags them down your legs. You blush when he pushes your legs apart, and the boy in front of you curses under his breath when he catches sight of your cunt all swollen and needy.

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs. “Such a sweet little thing….”

He slides his cock between your folds, and you let out a tiny cry. It feels so different from before, so much better, if possible. You look down to see his cock’s aroused head moving in and out between your cunt lips, your thighs becoming slick with your arousal.

“That’s it..” Billy breathes, and he looks almost angry as he uses your slippery cunt. “Good girl, all wet ‘n warm for me.“

You moan at the sight of his muscled arms on either side of your hips as he touches you, your fingernails scraping against his shoulders. Billy leans down to give you another kiss. You return it, your teeth nipping his lower lip. It’s hard to think straight with the way he’s rubbing up against you so prettily.

He grinds against your cunny, using it like a soft pillow for his length, his breath heavy as he watches your little clit swell with arousal. He looks down at your hole, teeny tiny against his big, fat cock, and wants to stretch it so bad that it almost hurts.

But that’ll have to wait— right now, he needs to get you nice and ready, used to these new feelings and sensations. To help you become comfortable.

After a moment, sweat collecting on his brow, Billy pulls away from your lips and moves close to your ear.

“How’s it feel, darlin’?”

“I love it,” you reply to him, almost instantly. “You’re— you’re so handsome. You’re making me feel so..”

You trail off with a whine when his tip accidentally catches on your needy hole. He groans, letting out a string of swears. You clench around nothing, your instincts kicking in as your brain becoming fuzzy and empty.

“I need it— need it there, Billy. I want it inside.”

“Not there, baby. Not yet.”

You want to cry at his words, but not before an unknown feeling is building up in your core. The friction applied to your clit and the thought of Billy sinking into your gummy walls has you biting back a sob. He notices your changed expression, watches the way your legs suddenly tighten up and clamp down around his hips.

“Nghhh.. why does it feel like that?” Your eyes clench shut, confusion and desperation taking over you. “S-Somethin’s happenin’, Billy…”

He smiles, gripping his length in his hand so he can press it harder onto your clit, sliding against it and watching his cock become coated in your juices.

“Let it happen. It’s a good thing, baby— gonna feel so good.”

Your orgasm overtakes you faster than lightening. You arch your back as wave after wave of pleasure takes over you, colors flashing behind to eyelids. It’s the greatest you’ve ever felt, the greatest you ever thought you could feel, and Billy follows soon after with a moan against your neck. His warm cum squirts out onto your mound, glazing it in sticky white, and he desperately slides against your slit until you’ve milked him completely dry. You look down at the mess you’ve both made, his spend dripping onto the sheets. With his face against your breast, Billy chuckles.

“I bet Camilla’s gonna hear a hell of a story tomorrow, isn’t she?”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @wildgirllz

#Billy the kid #Tom Blyth #Billy the kid x reader #Billy the kid x fem! reader #Billy the kid smut #Billy the kid fanfic #Billy the kid Drabble #Billy the kid blurb #Billy the kid oneshot #Tom Blyth x reader #Tom Blyth fanfic #Coriolanus snow

[ditzybat]

nothing in my head except for thoughts of bruce and constantine co-parenting billy.

like it could very well be platonic co parents bruce and john, but i think it could be a very tense pining situation - but doesn’t matter, however you interpret it just imagine how funny the dynamics would be

john: well i saw him first

bruce drafting up adoption papers: too bad

—

john: and if you trace this rune here you can summon trigon, although raven will get her knickers in a twist over it

bruce: no summoning powerful demon lords in the manor

billy: but bruceeeeee

—

billy: dad

bruce and john: yes? [glaring at eachother appalled that the other thinks they have the right to think of themselves of billy’s father]

billy totally doing this on purpose with a shit eating grin: dad?

—

teacher: so are you little billy’s father?

bruce and john simultaneously: yes

teacher: oh! just know we are a very accepting community and find your relationship heartwarming! now if you would head this way i believe billy drew a wonderful portrait of your massive families mr. wayne’s

bruce snaking a hand around john’s waist, grinding his teeth: of course, shall we dear?

john pinching bruce so hard he’s sure it draws blood: yes anything you say love

billy: aw man there goes my two christmases… :(

—

billy: this is why i like dad’s better, at least he lets me summon supernatural kings from other dimensions

bruce in tears: you don’t mean that

—

bruce: i’m not letting you keep a tiger at the manor

john: don’t be ass, let the boy have his talking tiger

bruce: oh well i don’t think you have a say in this mr. ‘soul tax evader’

john: oh fuck off you furry bat

billy: god, if you’re there, i really don’t wanna see them make out in front of me

—

damian and billy playing a board game while gossiping:

billy: my dad and your dad wanna smash, don’t they?

damian sighing: unfortunately constantine’s… rugged look has enamored my father

billy:…

damian: …

billy: ten bucks says they ‘consummate’ their marriage by the end of the month

damian: hm, twenty dollars that by the end of this week they’ve had preformed coitus

—

billy: i miss when you guys were at each others throats, no one wants to see you guys grope each other at breakfast

dick: i think it’s sweet

jason: they defiled the library, definitely not sweet dickhead, it’s practically child abuse to watch them basically on top of each other

—

idk i think it’s a neat au, even if there’s no canon whatsoever to make this even sort of plausible in the slightest.

#dc #bruce wayne #john constantine #batman #hellblazer #billy batson #jason todd #damian wayne #dick grayson #robin #red hood #shazam #captain marvel

[artiststarme]

A Grudge Be Held

Based on an enabling comment from @estrellami-1. Hope you guys like it and please leave me your opinions in the comments!

~*~*~*~

There are a few well known facts in the universe; the earth revolves around the sun, George Michael is gay, Tim Curry has sexy legs, and Eddie Munson holds grudges.

It wasn’t because he was a bad person or because he thought people were inherently bad, he’d just been through too much to waste his time on people that had already wronged him. He didn’t give more than one chance and if they fucked that up, well, they didn’t deserve another one.

He was usually lenient on what constituted a grudge to be held. Unless someone did something directly to him or someone he cared about, it didn’t really bother him and they certainly didn’t make his list. His parents were on there (because why wouldn’t they be?), Mrs. O’Donnell was on there because he was positive at least one of his failed senior years was due to her having a bone to pick with him, and Principal Higgins was on there too because fuck that guy.

Tommy Hagan was on the list because of a rumor started that made life hard for Eddie for awhile (it was true but needless to share), Jason Carver was on there now for starting a mob trying to kill him, and Billy Hargrove earned a spot for being an asshole to anything that moved.

A person that many people were surprised wasn’t on the list was Steve Harrington. The DnD party was shocked when they heard King Steve wasn’t an object of resentment in Eddie. But he’d never done anything out of malice to Eddie specifically. Where others saw confidence and pride, Eddie looked at a lonely and broken teen that was willing to do anything to fit in. He couldn’t hate him for that. And the time where Steve stood up for Eddie against Billy Hargrove at a drug deal gone wrong forever cemented him as a good guy in Eddie’s eyes.

After his experience with the Upside Down, psychic murders, and overall shitshow that was his Spring Break, Eddie and Steve got closer. Steve coerced everyone of authority to clear Eddie’s name with help from Robin, Nancy, and the passed Chief Hopper that apparently wasn’t actually dead. He housed Eddie and Wayne until they could find a new trailer that they could afford. Then he spent every waking moment making sure Eddie was alright and included as part of the group. In laymen’s terms, Steve saved his life.

So in true Eddie fashion, he made the internal dramatic decision that he would hold grudges on Steve’s behalf. He would be a guard dog of sorts, protecting and defending the love of his life his friend. What he didn’t consider was how difficult the task would be.

Through a new lens, Eddie saw that everyone walked all over Steve. The cashiers at the grocery store blatantly charged him extra, the customers at Family Video talked over him nearly every sentence in response to questions they asked, and teens on the street laughed at the scars in their view. Worse of all though, the Party didn’t respect him. Dustin and Mike told him several times a day how stupid he was, Nancy looked at him in pity and shut down all of his opinions, Lucas talked about not having sports in common with anyone right in front of him, and Robin kept blowing off their plans to hang with Vickie.

Through it all, Steve appeared fine. He smiled and nodded in all the right places but as soon as he thought the eyes moved on, his smile would slip to reveal something sadder. And so Eddie’s vengeance began.

He “accidentally” knocked over sales racks near the registers in the grocery store when they charged an extra $2 for milk. He keyed the cars of the teenagers that laughed at the evidence of Steve’s pain. When he saw Officer Callahan yacking at Steve for speeding, he picked up a dozen eggs and pelted the man’s house in revenge.

Dealing with the kids in the Party was trickier. His glares and barbed comebacks were clear enough for Nancy and Robin to change their ways. The kids though just weren’t observant enough to pick up on the clues Eddie tried to drop. One session of a campaign though, the perfect opportunity presented itself.

“I didn’t know there were dragons in the game. If you losers had told me there were dragons, I might’ve considered playing ages ago!” Steve exclaimed from his seat on the couch, intrigued eyes meeting Eddie’s.

Eddie smirked at him. “Oh yeah, Big Boy. You should know by now that I’m full of surprises.”

Steve blushed a little bit but as he went to respond, Mike interrupted. “Steve, you’re not even playing. You shouldn’t even be here much less interrupting the game!”

Steve’s flush turned pale and he shrunk into himself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can just uh, I can go. I’ll see you guys later.”

As he moved to get up though, Eddie stood and towered over the table.

“Wait Steve, you’re gonna want to see this part.” He glowered at Mike and rasped his voice to transition back to DM’ing. “A comet flies from the dragon’s cavern and lands on Sir Madeon. Roll for damage.”

“What the hell! No, you can’t do that!” Mike stammered with a dropped jaw.

“I just did, pipsqueak. Roll for damage or die trying.”

“14,” Mike muttered. He glared at Eddie then Steve before pouting in his seat.

“The comet is too large to escape from. Sir Madeon tries to run but he’s not fast enough to avoid the flying stone. It lands on his back in a fiery crumble. The intense heat eats through his flesh, bones, and organs at once leaving only his head and limbs intact, scattered amongst the rest of the Party. He dies a horrendous death and his friends are left alone with only the smell of charred remains to remember him by.” Eddie ends his tirade with a quirked eyebrow. That’ll show these little assholes what happens when they mess with him. A quick glance at Steve shows him excitement and surprise, he absolutely was not expecting that.

“What the fuck. This is supposed to be PG,” Dustin stares at Eddie in horror. “You really just killed a character in the middle of a campaign for Steve?”

“Roll stealth and damage.” Eddie tells him deadpan.

“God-fucking-dammit! Eddie, no, please…”

“Roll or face the consequences!”

“3 stealth, Nat-20 damage,” Dustin whispered with his face in his hands. The other kids watch Eddie in a mixture of confusion and aghastment. But Steve is beaming, teeth shining from ear to ear.

“The dragon hears your cries of grief and turns its burly head towards you. Its glimmering eyes reach the you and the rest of the Party and you see its scaled lips open in a human like smile. With a speed you could never have anticipated, it slithers toward you before standing on muscled hind legs and flapping its leathery wings. Its lips curl around a blue flame. The last thing you feel is a flash of ice before you see no more.

Your friends see you disappear into a pile of ash, the heat of the flame too powerful to escape. The dragon whips its tail towards the party while they stare at where you used to stand. Will the Wise can’t even list his magical staff before the weight of the tail crushes him to the ground in a pile of shattered bones and bloody sinnew.

Luther is impaled by one of the dragon’s back spikes and killed immediately. The light in his eyes fades and all he sees is a figure with a crown waving at him in the distance. Prince Stephen and his pet dragon prosper in the face of their trespassing adversaries once again but the only witnesses to the horror are erased from the Earth.”

The boys stare at him in shock while he arranges his papers and stands. “The end. Steve and I are going to the movies. You bitchasses aren’t invited and if you’re even a little bit nasty to Steve again, I’ll pulverize you in real life just like I killed you in the campaign. Think on that.”

With that, Eddie grabs the hand of a stunned Steve and drags him from the Wheeler’s basement. After that debacle, he’s sure that the kids have gotten their point. And now he’s got a movie to see with his main man.

(The kids absolutely get his point and moving forward are a lot nicer to Steve. And a little scared of how Eddie’s mind works.

Eddie holds a grudge against the kids for months and will still reference their comments when he sees fit for the rest of their lives or at least the rest of his.

And Steve? He starts dating his DM in shining armor a mere two hours later.)

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#I would like to mention that I’ve never played DnD lol #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfic #dungeons and dragons #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #robin buckley #nancy wheeler

[ihni]

Billy Hargrove has been dead for little over two months when Steve opens the door to find him on the doorstep, dirty and pale and shaking. He stares at Steve with wide eyes – bluer than Steve remembers – before he collapses into a heap of dirty limbs halfway across the threshold. Steve pulls him inside, disposes of him in the couch in the living room, and naturally proceeds to freak the fuck out.

After some processing, he decides that he must be experiencing a very vivid dream – and honestly, it’s a welcome change after the usual nightmares – and since it’s merely a dream, he opens a bottle of his dad’s best whiskey, because where’s the harm, right?

An hour later finds Steve sitting on the floor with his back to an armchair, predictably drunk and watching Billy sleep. Or possibly being unconscious. It doesn’t really matter which, since it’s only a dream.

Turns out, though, that it’s not a dream – or if it is, it’s a damn weird one. Because Billy wakes up, and when he looks around the room and spots Steve there, he starts to cry, which. Is not something that Steve’s brain could ever dream up, alcohol-soaked or not. And Billy feels solid enough under Steve’s hand, when he awkwardly pats the other boy’s shaking shoulders.

The events that have taken place are eventually revealed, but make no sense to either of them. Apparently Billy woke up somewhere dark and cramped (the coffin, he doesn’t say, but Steve hears it anyway), promptly panicked, and … broke out, somehow. Dug himself out from the rain-soaked earth, and stumbled along the roads until he saw a house he recognized. Which was Steve’s house.

It’s impossible, Steve knows. Billy has been dead for months. Steve saw him die – had first row seats to the sight of him getting impaled by a monster made out of meat and bones – and coming back from the dead after all that is simply not possible. Yet here Billy is, sitting on the floor of Steve’s living room, not a mark on him.

(Literally. There are no marks, no scars. Just smooth skin where they both know he was speared through.)

They spend the rest of the night slowly making their way through Steve’s dad’s expensive whiskey.

In the morning, Billy says, voice hoarse; “I need you to drive me to California.”

Steve thinks of asking why. Thinks of Max, thinks of Billy’s parents, thinks of telling the Party or the police or at least some adult who would possibly know what to do. What he says, though, is “Okay.” The world swims, and he adds, belatedly, “Tomorrow, though. I’m too drunk to drive now.”

A snort is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep where he’s sitting.

~~~

Half the next day is spent nursing hangovers and realizing that nope, last night wasn’t a dream or an alcohol-induced hallucination. The other half is spent making preparations for the trip.

Now when Steve is sober, he revisits the idea to simply tell someone. Billy being back is a miracle, and there are people mourning him, people who has missed him –

Billy shuts that down hard and fast. “No one is mourning me here,” he says, voice gravel-rough. “If they act like they do, it’s because they’re feeling guilty. There’s nothing left for me here.” He licks his lips, and his next words are a whisper. “I never wanted to come here in the first place.”

And, like. If he really thinks about it, Steve realizes that they wouldn’t be able to keep Billy being back a secret if he stayed in Hawkins. And if they tell Max, or Billy’s family, then word would spread. The government would no doubt hear of it. There would be a high probability of Billy being taken in for tests, experimentation, whatever else.

He doesn’t deserve that, Steve thinks as he watches Billy emerge from the shower wearing borrowed clothes. Because Billy died saving them. Sacrificed himself for them, even when they’d done so little to try to save him. This? Driving Billy to California? It’s the least Steve can do for him.

~~~

They get on the road the next day. Steve has taken time off work blaming the death of an elderly aunt and a rare family gathering, and been as vague as he can get away with concerning how long he’ll be away. Early in the morning, they put their bags – Billy’s is a borrowed one, containing only Steve’s things since he has nothing of his own and understandably didn’t want to keep the clothes he had on when he was buried – in the trunk of the car, and get in.

Steve is driving. When they pass the “Leaving Hawkins” sign, Billy lets out an audible sigh and slumps down in his seat. Steve glances over at him, and Billy explains without being prompted; “I always hated this town. I can’t believe they fucking buried me here.”

His incredulousness over the fact draws a snort out of Steve.

~~~

It’s strange, how easy it is to get used to having Billy Hargrove next to him while in a confined space. Stranger yet, how well they get along considering their history. And even more strange, how different Billy seems now, when they’ve left Hawkins behind them.

Or perhaps it’s not strange at all – at least not in comparison to all the other weird stuff they’ve both seen and somehow lived through. In the great scheme of things, one young man coming back from the dead and wanting to go back home doesn’t even make the top ten list of weird shit.

Billy is surprisingly funny, and witty, and smart – and it is dazzling without the sharp edges. It takes Steve a while to recognize what is missing, and when he does, it makes him watch Billy with new eyes. Because Billy doesn’t seem to exist behind a layer of anger anymore. The tension is gone. The further they get from Hawkins, the easier Billy seems to breathe.

The change is remarkable. Makes Steve think that he probably never knew who Billy really was, before this.

He finds himself thinking that he is looking forward to getting to know the real Billy.

~~~

They take turns driving. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they sit in companionable silence, and sometimes whoever’s in the passenger seat naps while the other drives. They stop at gas stations to stock up on gas and snacks, and at diners for food. That first night, they drive straight through, but the next night they stop at a motel for some proper sleep in a bed.

They share a room, but lie in separate beds. They talk for hours in the dark before falling asleep.

“I never wanted to be buried underground,” Billy says, when they’re both on the edge of sleep. “They knew that.”

“What did you want, then?” Steve asks, never having considered an alternative.

“I wanted to get back to the ocean,” Billy says. “Have my ashes spread over the surface of the water and become one with the waves again.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. That he’s sorry that even Billy’s own family didn’t respect his final wishes? That it sucks that they buried his body in the dirt of a town he hated, leaving him to rot there forever when he never even wanted to come there in the first place?

“’One with the waves’ … That sounds beautiful,” he decides on. And then, as an aside, “I’ve never even seen the ocean.”

Steve can hear the smile in Billy’s voice when he speaks next. “You’re going to love it. It’s … everything.”

~~~

They get closer – to California, and to each other – and the closer they get, the less urgency Steve feels to get to their destination. Because what will happen when they get there? Steve can’t just leave Billy there without a means to support himself. Without a home, without a car, without money – without someone to take care of him. Steve can’t help it – he worries.

And then he looks at Billy’s smiling face next to him, and feels his worries being washed away.

He still finds himself taking the scenic route more often than not. Insisting on taking detours to see the sights. Claiming he’s too tired to drive unless he takes a break.

Billy smiles as if he knows what Steve is doing, but he doesn’t make a comment. Doesn’t complain. Seems to enjoy this little bubble they’re in together, in Steve’s car with the world passing them by outside.

It’s strange. But it’s nice, too. Steve kind of doesn’t want it to end.

~~~

The last night, they stop at a motel an hour or two from their destination. They could have kept on driving, but none of them seemed to want to. So they get a room, as usual. Steve pays, as usual. There are two beds, as usual.

Yet, when it’s time to sleep, Billy forgoes his own bed and goes to stand by Steve’s. There’s a question in the air between them, unasked.

Steve answers by peeling back the comforter in invitation. His mouth is dry and his heart is beating like a drum in his chest as Billy climbs in next to him.

They don’t speak much, that night. But they kiss. And they hold each other.

“I never wanted to come to Hawkins,” Billy whispers between kisses. “And I hated it there. But I met you, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”

The next morning, they wake up in each other’s arms.

~~~

“I’ll show you my home,” Billy says when they get back in the car after breakfast. Steve is back behind the wheel, because he wants a reason to keep his eyes on the road. If he watches Billy too much, he’ll do something stupid – like turn the car around and go back to Hawkins with Billy still in it, or perhaps decide not to go back to Hawkins at all, himself. Just, stay here with Billy, for a while longer.

It’s a fantasy that hurts, so he pushes it down. Concentrates on following Billy’s directions, and drive through a city bigger than one he’s ever been in.

(When he first spots the glittering blue between buildings, he gasps. So does Billy.)

They drive through the city, then out of it. Along a winding road with fewer and fewer buildings around, the ocean vast and terrifyingly endless to their right. Eventually Billy directs them down a gravel road that doesn’t have a sign and looks like it might lead onto private property. Steve would worry, would perhaps protest, if it wasn’t for the longing on Billy’s face.

They have to walk the last bit, Billy says. They get out of the car. It’s hours before noon, but it’s already warm. Steve’s in just a T-shirt, and for a second he his face to the sun to feel the warmth of it on his skin – before turning to Billy only to see him turned to the sun, too. Like a flower in bloom.

He looks golden, in this light.

After a short walk down a steep incline, they end up on a little beach. A tiny one, empty, with rocky outcrops on either side which makes it seem like they’re the only people on earth. The sand is fine and pale under their feet, the water lapping at the edges of it and then stretching out in front of them until it meets the horizon, far far away.

It’s beautiful. But it’s not exactly a house. And didn’t Billy say he’d show Steve his home?

“Mom used to take me here when I was a kid,” Billy says, kicking off his shoes. Steve does the same, and pulls off his socks as well. “We used to come here all the time.” Billy holds out his hand with a smile, and Steve takes it. They make their way to the water. “She’d watch me play in the water for hours, sitting on a towel, just listening to the waves and the seagulls.” The first step into the water is a shock – it’s cold, but not freezing. It almost feels alive. Steve takes a tentative step after Billy, bolstered by Billy’s widening smile. “I think taking me here was the most peaceful she ever got to be. It was for me, at least. The best times of my childhood.”

They stand there in the surf, feet in the water and holding hands, when Billy turns to Steve. His eyes are shining with unshed tears and his smile is wobbly as he places his hands on either sides of Steve’s face and leans in for the softest of kisses; their lips just barely brushing against each other.

“Thank you,” he says, and Steve’s heart skips a beat because it sounds like goodbye, “for not letting me stay buried in Indiana.”

He backs up a step. Brushes a tear from Steve’s cheek – that he hadn’t realized had fallen – and turns towards the endless sea. Takes a deep breath and starts walking.

Steve wants to reach out to stop him, wills himself to to say something, but he can’t. Somehow, he knows that this is where they were heading from the start. This is why they had to go here.

As Steve watches, Billy … dissolves. Like in a movie. One moment he is solid, and the next he’s … not. He turns to dust in front of Steve’s eyes, fine dust that glitters like gold in a sudden ray of sunlight. It – he – is spread out over the water, is carried over the clear surface by the gentle breeze.

Instead of being trapped in the ground inland, he becomes one with the waves again.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #sorry guys #canonical character death #got a scene stuck in my head and had to get it out #look at me keeping around the 2K mark!

[heavqn]

Coriolanus as the peacekeeper, being completely mentally unbalanced, possessive and controlling, while he fucks the reader who is totally naive and can't refuse since Coriolanus is basically keeping her alive and feeding her, it all happens in the cabin. and they are almost discovered by her friend Lucy Gray.

It can include size difference perversion, Coriolanus has a hyper fixation with how shy and naive the reader can be, manipulation, doubtful consent.

Can you add any plot? I'm not a fan of angst though. If you take it, I THANK YOU.

i loved this request!! i kind of went totally overboard and i don't think i stuck to your request quite well but i hope you still enjoy it 😭

cw; fingering, sort of controling? coriolanus, allusion to piv but there isn't any. usage of yn like three times. i think that's all. not my finest writing, apologies </33

Being in District 12 was no party. It was as miserable as life got, until she met Lucy Gray of course. Lucy Gray had taken her under her wing, no doubt becoming like a sister to her. She taught [ y/n ] her favorite songs, her favorite stories and even let her have some of her pretty dresses.

She was basically part of the covey though she had known her for such a short amount of time. When Lucy Gray was reaped, she felt like she was too. A part of her went into that arena with Lucy Gray and she was frightened everyday until she came back unscathed. 

With Lucy Gray’s infamous return to the District came plenty of singing and dancing back in the Hob. It wasn’t until Lucy Gray was a bit way into her song when she noticed a familiar pale, blonde-haired boy watching her. Though the realization of who he was had been cut short by Billy Taupe and his drunken-state, she was both shocked and excited to know he was there.

The next day, she saw him yet again. Maude Ivory had made way to them though and she had to leave. But it didn’t stop her from inviting him to the lake, promising him only the covey knew of its existence.

On the way to the lake, Coriolanus had made his acquaintance with a few others from the covey. One in particular stuck in his mind though; [ y/n ]. She had a quiet tone and was a bit clueless to jokes that others made. He noticed how she stayed close to Lucy Gray, whispering to her and then looking at him.

And if the shyness and naivety hadn’t got him, seeing her come up from under the water definitely did. Her hair clung to her back and the make-shift bikini she wore did little to cover her boobs as he saw her nipples poking from under the fabric. 

He was fascinated by her. She was dumb, to say the least. Usually such things would turn him off and make him go the other way, but he reveled in the way she clung to his every word once the two had become close. 

They often spent time together at the lake; his idea. This particular day, he had convinced her to go skinny-dipping. “What if someone sees us?” She had questioned, voice quiet as if anybody was around to hear her. Only the covey and him knew about the lake; she knew this, he knew this. The possibility of anyone coming out this late wasn’t likely.

Though he had to admit that the thought did cross his mind as well. So he prompted her with another idea, “We could go to the cabin instead.” His intentions would’ve been clear as day to anybody else, but she was entirely lost. “What are we gonna do in there? It’s boring.” She pouted. 

Most nights at the lake were spent listening to him talking as you nodded along, pretending to understand what he spoke of. So when you made your way inside the cabin and got comfortable on the rickety bed, Coriolanus started to speak about his home. 

“I can’t even imagine what the Capitol is like.” She told him in response to his question of if she’d come home with him. “It’s amazing. Organized, powerful. Nothing like the districts. I think you’d fit right in.” His words had her shaking her head.

“I couldn’t leave twelve. My family is here; Lucy Gray is here.” He rolled his eyes. “You’d be with me. I’d buy you the finest things the Capitol has to offer.” The thought of leaving the covey left a bad taste in her mouth, but the promise of pretty things had her looking up at him with curiosity.

“What kind of things?” She questioned. He smiled, knowing he had piqued her interest. It was too easy sometimes. “Clothes, jewelry, makeup. Anything you can dream of.” His hand had made its way to her arm, caressing it as he watched the way her eyes lit up from his words. “Even flowers?” He let out a soft laugh, “Even flowers.” 

She fell into him, back meeting his chest as his arms wrapped around her waist. “You know what else the Capitol has?” His fingers went under your shirt, dragging across the skin of her abdomen. She felt that tingling sensation she often got when she was with him. 

While they talked a lot when together, she’d also had sex with Coriolanus a lot. It wasn’t a hard thing to convince her into. Her first time was in the lake; it wasn’t comfortable or convenient, but he was a desperate man. She had just talked about how she was a virgin and he was immediately interested in taking that title away from her. So it was no surprise when the next time they met up, he had her under him once again and every time after that.

He told her that she owed it to him. He was protecting her; would she rather it be him or some pervert from the district? He knew what he was doing and he gave it how she liked it. He guaranteed that none of these boys could even dream of doing it like him and she agreed. He was unfairly good at it and knew what had her cumming in no time so who was she to deny it?

She was dragged out of her thoughts as his hand went further under her top, moving to grasp her boobs. She let out a shaky sigh at the feeling, listening to him speak. “I asked you a question.” He reminded her; his voice deep and firm in her ear as he his hands continued venturing her body.

“What else?” She responded, not necessarily caring for anything else at this moment besides being held close to him. “Lingerie. You know what that is?” He questioned her, and the way her face screwed up let on that she didn’t have a clue as to what he had said. “I don’t know what that is.” She admitted softly, feeling embarrassed he had once again caught her in a stump.

“It’s a type of clothing women wear. Nice and lacey; Bet you’d look real good in it.” He spoke to her in that same deep voice he always did, but it felt heavier this time. He was building her up just so he could break her. “What do you think?” He shifted the conversation back to her, knowing she’d get riled up.

“I think–I think it’d be nice to try it on. Is it like a dress?” She asked curiously, not quite envisioning what this lingerie was that he spoke of. He laughed at her question, taking his time to trail his hands down the length of her skirt. “No, no. It’s like an undergarment; Ladies wear it for men.” He tried to explain, feeling her body melt into him as his fingers went to push her skirt up, giving him access to the place he wanted.

Her eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, again. “So it’s like fancy underwear?” Hearing the word underwear only brought more of her innocence to his attention. “Exactly. Now you’re getting it.” He praised, fingers trailing on the inside of her thighs, inching closer and closer to where she needed him.

“What makes it different from regular underwear?” She was curious now. Ladies wear it for men? Ladies always wear underwear, she thought. He smiled at how interested she was in this topic, but it was clear she was struggling with her words in the way her breath hitched and how she melted impossibly closer to him, when he finally got to the cotton of her panties.

“Well, you don’t wear it everyday. It’s for special occasions; For times between a man and his woman.” He told her, finger playing with the hem of her panties, teasingly snapping it back and into her skin. “Like–Like us, Coryo?” Her voice was but a whisper when she shyly asked the question.

He reveled in the way his pants tightened at how innocent and naive she was. It made it impossible to hold back the way he smiled into her neck, placing open mouthed kisses over her skin. “Just like us, bunny.” He whispered in her ear, finger finally slipping under her panties and going to feel how wet she was.

“Got you all hot and bothered just from a simple conversation. We haven’t even kissed and you’re already soaked.” He teased her, fingers coming out from her panties to show her just how wet she was. “‘m sorry.” She squeaked out, feeling embarrassed at his words and seeing his fingers covered in her juices did nothing to help that feeling.

He swore he could’ve cum right then and there. The way her body tensed up at his words, and the way she became beat red when she saw his fingers; he was ruined. He wanted nothing more than to be inside her, watching as she squirmed to take him; she would be so thankful for it, a mix of “please” and “thank you” ‘s no doubt on her lips with every thrust.

She was obedient; sometimes too obedient. He just craved one time when she would slip up, so he could punish her. But he knew she never would. She listened to his every word, and she’d be damned if she upset her Coryo.

He squeezed her hips, telling her she had nothing to apologize for. “It’s a natural thing. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He told her, the words like honey as they slipped out of his mouth. “Just don’t be getting this way for anyone else. Promise?” He all but commanded her, quickly discarding her panties before placing her right back in front of him; back to chest. “I promise, Coryo. Only you.” She was quick to agree with him; it’s all she’s good for. Simply a parrot of his words, aiming only to agree and copy everything he said. 

He didn’t give her anything else but the feeling of his fingers rubbing her clit as a response. The lack of warning had her surprised at the touch, shocked for a second. But he used his other hand to hold her back against him, keeping her still and pliant. “Don’t move, bunny.” He scolded her, continuing his assault on her delicate bud. 

It was hard to not move, but she persevered. Keeping her composure against him as she let moans and whimpers slip through her lips. “Coryo,” She called out his name, looking up at him with her soft eyes, silently begging him for more. 

“Need something?” He questioned, a smirk evident on his lips from how still so she was yet her mouth moved so much. He knew what she wanted, he just wanted to hear it from her. She spoke softly, the words not quite hitting his ears, but he heard her. Though he chose to tease her once again. “What was that, bunny? Gonna have to speak up.” His fingers ghosted over her entrance, feeling the way her legs so easily fell wider, giving him more room. 

“Need your fingers. Inside me, please.” She pleaded again, a little bit louder than before but no doubt quiet compared to the sound of her heavy breathing. “Why didn’t you just ask?” He smiled sickly at her, leaning down to kiss her as one of his fingers slipped inside her.

The moan she let out had his tongue easily slipping into her mouth, mixing their saliva together as their tongues glided over one another. He made quick work of putting another finger in her, curling them as they went in and out of her. The squelching sound of it all made her cringe on the inside, but the pleasure he was giving her was more interesting to act on. It was all too much; she broke away from the kiss, forehead still against his.

“Thank you, thank you.” She fed him her appreciation, knowing it was exactly what he wanted. She didn’t mind giving it to him either. She was thankful he chose her, thankful she was the one who had his fingers inside her. “Such good manners, bunny.” He responded, feeling her hand trail onto his head, grasping at practically nothing as his buzzcut allowed him little hair. 

He put yet another finger in, picking up his pace altogether whilst his other hand moved to rub her clit. The feeling of him on her skin, everywhere, had her on fire. She was going to burst into flames. She almost did–Until a sudden rapping was heard at the door.

“[ y/n ]? Are you in there?” The voice called for her, now recognizable as Lucy Gray’s. She stayed silent, not wanting to rat herself out, but when Coriolanus whispered into her ear, telling her to respond, she had no choice but to.

His fingers didn’t let up, and now he was kissing at her neck, interested in what she was going to do. He didn’t quite care about being caught; she was the one naked with his fingers deep inside her. “Yes, I’m–I’m in here!” She called back, unsure of what else to say?

“You okay honey? You sound awfully out of breath.” Lucy Gray voiced her concern, worry laced in her words as she moved to turn the door knob. “Yes! Yes, I’m okay. Please don’t come in.” She yelled back shakily; she was getting closer to the edge and if Lucy Gray came in, then it would all go away.

“Are you sure?” She questioned, wanting a final answer before she left the girl alone. “I’m s-sure, Lucy Gray. Nothing to worry ab-about.” She tried to assure her, hoping her words did what she wanted. It was getting hard to breathe with how quick and tentative Corriolanus’ touches were, nonetheless talk.

“Okay. I’ll leave you alone now.” Lucy Gray spoke to her. Whether Lucy Gray was still standing at that door or not, she couldn’t keep quiet now. His fingers curled right where she wanted, and his other hand was not letting up its assault on her clit.

“Coryo, Coryo.” His name fell out of her lips easily, arching into him, legs growing shaky at the feeling she was having. “Talking to your friend like that as if my fingers aren’t inside you right now. Such a dirty little girl.” He chastised her, but his words held no real malice.

It wasn’t long before she met her release, cumming on his fingers. Even then he didn’t stop, continuing to drag out her high. “‘nough. Can’t take more, Coryo.” She told him, shakily pushing his hands away from her. He all but laughed, doing as she asked.

“Can’t even take me inside you, bunny?” His voice was teasing. But the second she heard those words, she was up at his disposal. Ready for anything he gave her.

#i am NOT proofreading this #sorry #coriolanus snow #tbosas #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow smut #coryo<3

[puppetwoman17]

Okay so I love all of the cap identity reveal stories. Obviously. The anticipation of the reactions, the fact that someone they’ve known for so long, someone they’ve fought with and laughed with and cried with, is not even half their age…

But what if they NEVER found out? Cap’s identity, I mean.

I don’t mean life just continues on with Billy leading his separate lives. It’s more like(this next part is so fucking drastic lol) the league thinks cap is dead and suffer with the hole he left behind, only to somehow find out he’s alive, and to add fuel to the fire, he’s a young radio host in Fawcett.

The JL( and other heroes if you want) are fighting a being with incredibly powerful magic. I’m not good with the specifics, but it lines up with someone like Lady Blaze. The YJ team are acting as reconnaissance and backup. Everyone’s doing their part, including Cap.

But then something goes wrong. A miscalculation is all it takes for the fight to spin in the villain’s favor. Magic is a fickle thing. One wrong move, and sparks will fly with reckless abandon.

The fight is nearing an end, and it’s clear that almost all the heroes have been rendered useless. They’re either limping up to go again, or unconscious from the strain.

Everyone but Captain Marvel, that is.

To bring an end to the fight, Cap unleashes a powerful stream of magic, something no one has ever seen him pull off. It seems to zap everything out of him. The next thing you know he’s falling, his body slowly disintegrating. He makes it to the floor and smiles at the other heroes, all of whom are crying their hearts out as gold dust replaces him, for divine beings have no blood.

Billy, on the other hand, is fucking pissed. Apparently, Shazam created a failsafe in case something like this happens. He wakes up in the rock, unable to transform. His magic is still there, and with Solomon’s help he learns that his champion form will return after a couple years. For now, he needs to rest his reservoir.

Now, you’d think he would go tell the league, right?

But he’s not so little anymore, and he now knows that him being younger won’t be the only issue. Younger him was only worried about that little tidbit, but in truth, there was no guarantee they would let him stay if they knew he’d been lying so much. If he’d been able to keep his age a secret for so long, what else could he be hiding?

It’s not something he wants to do. The League, the YJ team, the Titans, they’ve all become like a family to him, despite almost all of them(barring the magic heroes) not knowing who he is. But he can’t risk being watched by parental hawks whenever he’s doing his champion work as Billy. He can’t risk them learning about his… circumstances. His crappy uncle, his annoying cousin, his(an oc I created for this post specifically but dw he’s not that important) crooked cop of a younger-older cousin. His living situation, his previous state of malnutrition, and all of his responsibilities. What a nightmare that would be, explaining all of that.

Also, he tries not to sound too cocky in his head, but he’s fairly sure at least a little less than half of the JL would kill for him. Or at least they’d beat someone to a pulp, which is still a pretty big deal.

So, he washes his hands of the JL and the sub teams and handles his champion work(bar fighting now cause his other body needs to regenerate) in his civilian form. It helps that the magic community, all sides of the spectrum, collectively decide not to tell the other heroes that their Champion is alive. They can get really annoying when it comes to their Boy Scout 🙄.

Plot, plot, plot happens. I’m thinking maybe Whiz gets an opportunity to interview JL members and they send their best reporter for the job. Or maybe something happens on the magic spectrum that brings them closer to Billy. Either way, the JL finds out Cap’s identity without Billy knowing and they are PISSED.

Billy has to deal with countless vigilantes, heroes, and teams lounging on his couch trying to goad him into revealing who he is. Either that r they follow him throughout Fawcett. Some people are angry with him, like Conner or either of the Roys. They try to make him angry. They want to see the real Cap, the real Billy(which is stupid cause of course cap isnt a fake persona but they’re too mad to realize).

Others feel betrayed, like Artemis and Wally(I refuse to acknowledge his death). Cap was a best man at the wedding and they really started to look to him as a sort of father figure. In fact, all the younger heroes love how he stood up for them and validated their feelings. To know that so much of their worries were being shouldered by someone who was years younger than them…

And the JL is worse off too. Their coworker, who they trusted and cared for, had been living alone since he was a child. Having to save for scraps until he finally got a home of his own.

The magic users are practically waiting for Billy to blow a fuse at everyone either fussing over him, attempting to make him mad, or following him whenever they felt the need. Mary’s laughing her ass off and Freddy’s smirking because now he can say “I told you so”. Shazam’s shaking his head because he told his damn protege that the champion doesn’t DO teams, but look where they are now.

Teth is honestly ecstatic. Comes to the next higher ups meeting and laughs in Billy’s face.

And Billy? Billy at least hopes he can make some money off of this: Okay but if I let you stay on my couch for the next three hours, that’s gonna cost you.

No no, I’ll let you follow me, but only if you do this one interview.

Maybe just stop trying to make me mad and just talk to me? Like I get you have issues but I already have a shit load of that so…

#billy batson #captain marvel #justice league #dc universe #shazam #identity reveal #temporary character death #magic community

[ickypuppi3]

billy meets andy in fourth grade.

andy’s a year older than the rest of the class and doesn’t ever talk.

billy gets paired with him for a project and andy doesn’t move. billy stands up and calls his name but he still doesn’t turn around.

“andy’s deaf, billy.” ms. mackenzie tells him.

“oh.” billy’s eyes widen. he’s stumped, for a moment. “um. how do i…”

billy trails off. not sure what he wants to ask, exactly.

“just make sure he can read your lips.”

billy nods. he walks over to stand in front of andy and holds out a hand. like he sees adults do. andy raises his eyebrows but takes billy’s hand. shakes it. billy tells him his name and andy smiles.

andy’s taller than billy. most people are but billy still whales on anyone who makes fun of andy. billy’s small, sure. but he’s scrappy.

he’s sitting outside the principals office with mark p’s blood on his knuckles when andy walks past. billy pulls a face and andy laughs.

billy likes it when andy laughs.

andy uses sign language to talk to his sister and his aunt.

teaches billy, when he asks.

billy shows some of it to his mom. teaches her how to tuck her two middle fingers down, index and little finger pointed skyward and thumb sticking out.

“like this?” she asks, forehead creased in concentration.

“uh-huh.” billy smiles. puffs out his chest. proud. “it means ‘i love you.’”

billy’s walking andy home when andy points up at the stars dotting a purple sky. signs pretty. billy walks right into him when he suddenly stops walking.

andy catches billy when he stumbles.

sand shifts beneath billy’s feet as he leans up on his toes to kiss andy. it’s childish. a quick peck, awkward and clumsy. billy doesn’t really know why he did it but andy doesn’t frown or push billy away.

he smiles, instead.

signs pretty again and hugs billy tight.

billy’s mom leaves and neil loses his job. they move away and billy doesn’t see andy again. neil calls him words that didn’t exist in andy’s world.

when billy’s seventeen, neil packs up again. takes him, max and susan to hawkins. neil’s family. and billy.

billy locks eyes with steve harrington across the parking lot in september. gets on his knees and blows him in tina’s parents guest bathroom in october.

steve corners him in the showers after practice the next day. reopens the split on billy’s lip and gets blood all over his own.

they communicate with hands, mostly. grabbing, pushing, pulling. jerking each other off in the backseat of steve’s car. fists come in to play when billy finds steve in a house alone with a bunch of kids, max included.

billy’s bruises are somehow worse a week later and steve tells him to come over that evening. doesn’t ask. just tells.

billy sneers. spits and swears at steve.

rocks on his heels as he waits on the harrington’s doorstep at 9:15.

“you’re late.” steve says.

billy doesn’t say anything. doesn’t need to.

something changes after that. steve fucks billy in his plaid nightmare of a room and drags him to the bathroom to dab at his cuts and scrapes right after.

brushes the backs of his knuckles across bruised ribs and frowns.

billy tugs at his hair and brings their lips together. almost gentle.

it’s too fragile for a name, whatever they have.

it’s summer when billy first mentions andy. billy’s sitting on steve’s bed and steve’s looking at him in the way that he does whenever billy reveals a part of himself. eager to soak it up and bask in it.

billy shows steve how to sign his name. how to say please and thank you, bitch and motherfucker.

“what’s-” steve’s hair has fallen over his forehead and billy reaches out to brush it back. unthinking. “what’s ‘i love you’?”

billy freezes.

his heart pounds. they haven’t- they don’t-

“you sweet on someone, harrington?” teasing is easy and billy’s a coward.

“oh, you know.” steve shrugs and it would be casual if he wasn’t looking at billy like that. “kinda.”

“yeah?” billy looks away. focuses on steve’s boxers which billy knows have been in that exact spot on the floor for the last three days. “anyone i know?”

“you might.”

billy shakes his head, grins. “hot?” he asks.

steve just nods, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he edges his fingers towards billy’s on the comforter until they’re intertwined.

billy opens his mouth but steve leans forward and kisses the next smart ass response right off of his lips. winds long fingers into his hair and steals billy’s breath away.

makes his stomach do flips in that way that only steve can.

billy leaves with a smile on his face.

something crashes into his car on the drive back and everything goes dark.

five months, a ‘mall fire’, a shadow monster and seemingly endless hours stuck in a hospital bed later, billy finds himself in a house straight out of texas chainsaw, standing next to max as everyone debates on what to do next.

billy keeps quiet. doesn’t have much to say these days. he bites at his lower lip before looking across the room at steve.

steve smiles at him. something small and private.

everyone’s talking, no one’s paying attention to them.

steve raises his right hand. tucks his two middle fingers down and points the other two toward the ceiling, thumb sticking out.

billy’s cheeks flush and his heart pounds.

thinks it might jump right out of his chest if he isn’t careful.

his stomach does somersaults and he vows that if they get out of this, he’ll tell steve.

he’ll tell him.

for now he raises his left hand. two fingers down, two up, thumb out.

#thought about them doing the sign and look what happened #harringrove #billy hargrove #my words

[brummiereader]

PREVIOUS PART

Hopelessly Devoted (PART THREE)

Summary: After the previous day's events relentlessly play out in your head you come to the realisation it's time to move on from any hopes you had of rekindling your relationship with Tommy. But just as you decided to turn the page, Tommy's thoughts begin to be plagued by the past. His attempts at confessing how he really feels short lived when he discovers he has been betrayed on the day his plan to take out Billy Kimber falls apart.

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining

Authors note: The song Y/N sings is "Where have all the flowers gone" covered by Olivia Newton-John.

" Shit..." you said as you looked in your bathroom mirror dabbing the cut on your throat with a cotton ball doused in alcohol as you glanced down at your trembling hand, quickly grabbing it with the other to stop the shaking as your frustration with the constant nerves engulfing your every waking breath refused to relent. Walking over to your bed you sat down as tears began to form in the corner of your eyes. How was there even any left? You thought to yourself as you rested your head in your hand, exhausted from another night of almost no sleep. Biting the corner of your mouth you gave up letting the tears fall down your arm as the previous day's events played out in your head, tormenting you over and over again at the bitter pill you had finally forced yourself to swallow. This was it. I'ts over, there was no point in trying to kid yourself into thinking otherwise. Tommy may not have said the words to you himself but Kimber's men had made it clear to you of his feelings when they had a knife pushed up against your neck threatening your life. He was protecting the new barmaid he had known for five minutes by giving your name so freely, putting you in harm's way, the woman he had known his whole life the same woman he once wanted to marry at all cost. You thought to yourself as you glanced at his pocket watch sitting on your bedside table, glaring at it as if he had returned his love back to you, discarding anything he once felt for you like he had with your own feelings for him. Standing up you wiped your tears away as you straightened your body out trying to regain some sort of control over your emotions. Would he even care if you told him what happened when you left the Garrison? What did it even matter, you quickly determined. You had no intentions of telling him, you would not let him think you needed his protection, have him pity you, have him believe you couldn't fend for yourself. You was on your own now that much was clear, his feelings towards you finally understood when he replaced the one thing you never thought he would with such disregard and heartlessness. If Tommy was moving on it was time you did the same. No more tears no more day dreaming of what could have been. From this day forward you promised yourself not to let the heartbreak he had caused you drag you down any further. New me, new start. You mentally hummed to yourself like a mantra as you looked in the mirror hanging on the wall, holding up the burgundy dress you had picked out against your body. "Fuck him" you said as you nodded at your reflection, reassuring yourself on the hardest decision you had ever made. Grace can have him, good luck to her.

" Where is she?" Tommy huffed as he loomed over the large table in the room adjacent to the betting shop as his family looked on shrugging their shoulders. " I dont have fucking time to wait around for her shit" Tommy said as he pulled out his new pocket watch, the weight of it not feeling the same, the shape of it not sitting in his hand how he liked how he had become accustomed to.

" Yes your relentless brooding over her is not obvious at all" Polly uttered quietly under her breath as she licked her finger, turning the page of the newspaper in front of her as Arthur and John sniggered at eachother.

" What's that, hm?" Tommy said as he leaned forward his eyes darting between the three of them as Arthur put his hands up in defence unable to hold back the laugh he had been trying to keep in. You were getting under his skin, and Arthur found it the most comical thing he witnessed all week.

" Sorry brother" Arthur said as he sniffed back his laughs clearing his throat. "But she always has had you by your balls. Not that you'll ever admit it" Arthur snickered as the whole room let out a burst of small laughs whilst Tommy's face twisted in anger. There was nothing more loving than teasing a family member in the Shelby house.

" Right you all done? " he said pointing at everyone as he pulled his pocket watch out to check the time again " Five minutes" he mumbled as he clenched his jaw. " I'll fire every single one of you" Tommy muttered as he sat down in his chair with a huff.

" Alright now that you've had your little temper tantrum can we get to business. And she's ten minutes late not five" Polly said taking a sip of tea, a smile on her lips as she watched the realisation on Tommy's face. His watch for the first time in ten years was on time. Fuck. He had become so used to it being five minutes late he would plan all his meetings around the little habit you had started ten years ago, never bothering to or wanting to turn it to the right time. Except this time you was ten minutes late. Just as Tommy was about to get into another rant about your tardiness the sound of your heels echoing loudly though the betting shop had everyone but Tommy turn their head.

"Fabulous" Polly mouthed to you when you walked into the room, motioning up and down with her hand at your outfit as Tommy's head nearly flew of his neck when he turned to face John and the wolf whistle he had just sent your way.

"There she is" Arthur said, sending you a wink of approval as you strutted through the room with a new air of confidence passing by Tommy as he finally turned his head to you. Looking you up and down Tommy cleared his throat as he shifted in his seat hitching his trousers further up, his eyes widening as he looked you over. Was this for his benefit or everyone else's he wondered as he looked at the way your dress hugged every curve of your body, every curve he could never keep his hands off.

" You're late" he said as his eyes pierced into you, piercing through that fucking dress you had decided to wear to make him jealous, to torment him. He thought to himself as he tried to stay composed, tried to stop himself from saying something he would regret.

" Oh am I?" you replied nonchalantly as you pulled a chair out from the side, scrapping it along the floor to the opposite end of the end of table. " Only five minutes though" you said sitting down, having not once looked at him since you entered the room.

" Ten" Tommy replied as he leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair, his fingers resting in front of his lips as he watched you brush your hair behind your shoulder. Something was different. And since when did you start wearing dresses like that? Tommy thought to himself when he suddenly determined you had a new man. His only evidence being that dress he couldn't keep his eyes off and the small remark you made the other day about your relationship being over, a remark that had been playing on his mind ever since. His eyes still boring into you, Tommy quickly decided he'd find the bastard you was dating and rip his throat out for daring to go near you. Had everyone forgotten the warning he had given?

" Replaced that too I see" you said finally looking up as your eyes locked onto each others, a smirk on you lips as you enjoyed your new founded confidence. Last night's events had finally given you the push you needed, the wake up call you had been longing for.

"Shall we start" Polly said as everyone else who had been watching your interactions finally shifted their eyes away from the palpable tension between you. Nodding his head Tommy lit a cigarette shaking the flame from the match as he continued to watch you in the corner of his eye.

All throughout the meeting you could feel the heat of his glare burning into your cheeks with every minute that passed whilst you constantly fidgeted in your chair, desperately wanting to free yourself from his incessant stare. Your confidence was back but not enough to face his piercing blue eyes that he enjoyed watching you squirm under and the foul mood he had forced you and everyone else to endure. As for Tommy he had no interest in what his family had to stay. Instead he was more concerned as to what had you looking so pleased with yourself so poised, a far cry from how you had been in recent years. His concerns only heightened when John went over dates for an event Tommy had planned for everyone in celebration. A celebration for what, nobody new yet.

"Talked with Aunt Pol, only date free is February the fifteenth, in a month's time for your...whatever it is" John said chewing on the end of his pencil as he squinted at his handwriting on the piece of paper in front of him. " No the sixteenth" he said looking up as Polly rolled her eyes.

" The nineteenth" she said as she shook her head at her nephew whilst John shrugged his shoulders replacing the pencil in his mouth with a toothpick.

" Right yeh, fine" Tommy said as he mentally went through the dates in his head, hoping his plans in a week's time would go the way he wanted to actually have something to celebrate about. "Y/N you gonna write that down?" he said looking to you as he tapped his fingers on the table trying to gain your attention.

" I can't come" you said as you finished writing in your notebook finally looking up to see the irritation growing in Tommy's face.

" It's a company gathering. You don't have a choice. Moving on..." Tommy said as he flicked his ash into the glass dish beside him as he lent back into his chair.

" I'm not obligated. It wasn't in my contract" you said as you crossed your arms.

" You don't have a contract" Tommy scoffed as he rubbed his brow in frustration.

" Well I want one, that way I know exactly where I stand"

"Think you're making it pretty clear were you stand sweetheart" Tommy said as you glared at him. " So what is it that has you so busy you can't come, care to share it with us?"

" I have plans with someone" you lied. In truth, you didn't have any reason to not got to Tommy's event. You just didn't want to, knowing you wouldn't be able to endure another evening watching him with her again.

"You have plans with someone in a month's time? Who?" Tommy asked stubbing out his cigarette getting annoyed with your short response" With who Y/N?"

" What's it got to do with you?"

" Another man, is that it hm? You fuckin..."

" Right think we're done ay" Arthur said standing up as he clapped his hands together cutting Tommy off in attempt to break the tension before a slagging match ensued between you both. Staring eachother down you was the first to get up, briskly walking away with a scowl on your face as Tommy brushed his hand down his face.

" See that fucking attitude I have to deal with?" Tommy said as he stood up turning to Arthur. It wasn't the first spat you had ever had in front of everyone but it had been the first time in a long time that you finally bit back at his words, catching him of guard.

" Wonder where she learnt that?" Arthur said as he placed his hand on Tommy's shoulder before walking off with a smirk on his face.

" I won't stand for this kind of attitude in a work place! Hey, you all listening to me?" Tommy shouted as he turned to everyone in the betting office and their weak attempts to hide the amusement on their faces.

" We hear you baby brother!" Arthur called out as he grabbed his hat walking out the door. Clearly everyone was mad at him, mad at the way he had treated you the previous evening in the Garrison . But Tommy was just as mad at himself for letting the events play out. He felt blindsided by Grace's gift. He needed you to know that, he needed you to know the last thing he wanted was to be parted from it.

It had been a few hours since the meeting when the tension between you and Tommy had almost turned into a full blown argument one that potentially had the chance of you launching anything you could find at him. Thankfully Arthur had intervened, stopping you from embarrassing yourselves in front of the whole betting shop. For the remainder of the day you had stayed out of each others way letting your anger towards one another simmer down. But an hour before closing time Tommy had called you into his office. His plan was to apologise for the previous evening, albeit in a cold uniquely Tommy way. But nonetheless he felt guilty for what had happened last night. Little did he know, he was only going to make things worse. As you entered his office Tommy looked up from the various papers on his desk to the scowl still spread across your face. You was clearly still mad at him, did he really think he could just apologise and his cruel actions would be forgotten?

" Hand me my diary" he asked as he rubbed his forefinger above his top lip watching you as you crossed your arms in frustration. Did he seriously ask you in here to fetch his diary for him ? You thought to yourself as you stormed over to the shelves behind him as he cleared his throat reaching for the pack of cigarettes on his desk. Slamming it on the table in front of him you started to walk off when he grabbed your arm stopping you.

" I need you to write down the dates John gave at the meeting" he said as he looked up at you and the storm of anger building in your face.

" You couldn't have done that yourself?"

" Forgot them" he said as he picked up a pencil handing it to you.

" You never forget anything Thomas Shelby" you snapped back grabbing the pencil from his hand as you started turning the pages, a little huff leaving your throat that Tommy couldn't help but smile at. " What's this?" you asked pointing at a black star one week from today.

" The day I finish my dealings with Kimber. The dates" he said nodding at the book, lighting a cigarette as your hand wavered over the paper at the confirmation from Tommy himself that what Kimber's men had said yesterday when they had you pushed up against the brick wall behind your home was Indeed true. Turning the page a sudden surge of discomfort started to build within you, a discomfort you hadn't felt since he left for France. He was putting his life at risk once again, and the only reaction you had was worry, worry that he wouldn't come back from it. " There" you said quietly, pushing the book towards him as you turned to leave.

" Y/N' wait" Tommy said as he stood up walking over to you." The other day at the Garrison...the pocket watch i didn't want to.."

" Just stop Tommy" you said as put your hand up cutting him off " We've both moved on, why hold onto the past right? " you added as Tommy let out a deep sigh whilst you turned your head away from him avoiding as much eye contact as you possibly could.

" That's the thing, I never mov... What's that?" He said as he moved your hair away from your neck, you body flinching as his thumb rubbed along the small knife mark on your skin. " Y/N who did that to you?" Tommy said, his voice getting lower as a surge of anger started to course through him.

" It's nothing Tommy"

" Nothing? You're lying" he replied with a scoff as he moved your hair away again, ducking his head down to to get a better look when you swatted his hand away. " Looks like someone had a knife to your throat" he said as he let his hand drop to his side, fury rising within him at the mere thought of someone hurting you.

" Don't be ridiculous. I was cutting my hair and nipped my skin. Why do you care anyway?"

"You never was very good at lying Y/N" Tommy said huffing as he watched you bite the corner of you bottom lip whilst you fidgeted in place. " And you really think I stopped caring about you?"

" Yes" you said as the words caught in your throat, tears welling in your eyes as you spun around to the door not wanting him to see you like this. His pity was the last thing you needed to add to you ever growing list of reasons to feel insecure.

" Y/N wait, I need to know what happened " he said as he tried to turn you around but stopped as you shrugged him off you, opening the door then slamming it shut behind you.

" Fuck sake" Tommy muttered under his breath as he watched you return to your desk through the window of his office. There was no way he would let this slide. You was clearly lying to him and he was determined to find out why.

As closing time approached you picked up your belongings when your movements had Tommy who was deep in thought abruptly stand up grabbing his coat and hat. If he was coming out here to bombard you with questions as to what happened he could forget it. You thought to yourself as you hurried to the door hearing him call your name. "Fucking door" you mumbled, pulling at the handle trying to open it as you looked over your shoulder to see Tommy heading your way, luck finally falling upon you when John stopped him putting the book of takings in front of him. Open, open, open! You thought as you rattled the handle pulling it back and forth when the door suddenly opened with ease and Grace walked in.

" Y/N" she said as she looked you over, taking in your reddened face from your efforts, a small chuckle leaving her lips. " Came to surprise Tommy after work" she said as she continued to stand in your way.

" How lovely" you said sarcastically as you tried to push past her when she put her hand on your arm.

" I know about that old pocket watch you gave Tommy all those years ago" she said looking at you. " Best you let go off the past, after all Tommy said it was only a silly little teen fling" she said with a small smile.

" Fling?" You repeated taken aback by what she had just said, what Tommy had said to her.

" Childhood sweethearts never last Y/N, don't be naive" She said in a mocking tone, belittling you without an ounce of shame at her hurtful choice of words. What were you saying, what had she said? Tommy panicked as John continued to bother him with the takings of the day. As your head turned to face him, Tommy swallowed harshly at the sight of a tear falling down your cheek.

" Let her go Tommy" Grace said placing both her hands on his chest as he walked over to where you had been standing, watching you storm out onto the streets of Watery Lane as the door closed behind you.

A fling, a fucking fling. He once asked you to marry him, promised to spend the rest of his life with you, her words couldn't have cut deeper if they tried. Let them have eachother. You thought to yourself as you clutched your coat around you heading for home, back to the four walls where you knew you would ultimately fall apart once again, your new founded confidence short-lived your own promises discarded, dwindling down into a pile of self-doubt and surrender after Graces cruel remarks. Could things get any worse?

One week later..

Today was black star day, the day Tommy planned to take out Billy Kimber and all of his dealings. Sitting in the corner of the Garrison nursing the drink you had ordered over an hour ago you glanced over to see Tommy and Grace standing behind the bar pouring drinks for his men, undoubtedly to numb any nerves that threatened to appear risking the plan Tommy had been preparing meticulously for weeks. Lifting his head from the glass of stout he was pouring Tommy caught your eye. It was the first time in almost a week you had looked each others way, anything you had to say to one another was passed on to anyone in the betting shop that was willing and had the patience to deal with both of your stubbornness. But today was different and Tommy couldn't help but notice the way you was looking at him, the same way you looked at him as you both waited on the platform for the train to arrive and take him and all of the other men saying goodbye to their loved ones off to war. The only difference between them and you was you had barely uttered a word to eachother, his final goodbye before he boarded a quick peck to your cheek.

And as if you had been transported back five years, tears started to form in your eyes as you abruptly stood up leaving the Garrison like you did when Tommy stepped on the train not once looking back, leaving you alone and heartbroken. What you didn't know was, Tommy did look back. He pushed his way past all the other men in the carriage in search of a free window shouting your name as he desperately tried to get a glimpse of you one last time before he left for war.

"Y/N!" Tommy shouted as he grabbed his coat and hat racing out of the Garrison. He wouldn't let what happened on that platform five years ago play out again.

" Tommy wait! What are you doing?" Grace called out after him as she watched the Garrison doors close behind him. " Why does he always go after her? He doesn't even love her anymore" she seethed as she looked to Arthur who raised his brow downing the rest of his drink.

" Doesn't love her? He's a stubborn bastard but he never stopped Grace" Arthur said as he walked away leaving her fuming at Tommy's unrelenting devotion to you.

"Where have all the young men gone,

long time ago?

Where have all the young men gone?

Gone to soldiers, every one..."

You sang, tears streaming your cheeks as you sat by your little brother Georgie's gravestone, his life taken like so many others during an air raid. Wiping your tears you continued to sing as if time had stood still and you was back in 1916 sitting on the grass in the only place you felt peace and calm, waiting for the men you loved so much to return from war.

" Do you still sing that song for me?" Tommy said as he slowly approached you, afraid you'd stop.

" Leave me alone Tommy" you sniffed as you stood up brushing the remaining tears away from your cheeks, looking out at Small Heath in the distance.

" We live in the same town, work in the same place. I can't...I don't want to" He said as he stepped closer wanting to reach out to you, wanting to hold you in his arms like he should have done all those years ago.

" Yes, Tommy Shelby doesn't care what anybody else wants, what anybody else asks does he? you replied misunderstanding the meaning behind his words. " Why did you follow me?" you sighed picking up the dead flowers by Georgie's grave as you turned around making you way down the hill not wanting to even wait for his response when Tommy put his arm out, stopping you from walking any further.

" You were crying" he replied feeling like a teen boy again stuck on what he really wanted to say. " Y/N I.." Tommy sighed as he brought his thumb up, brushing it down your cheek. " I knew you would come up here" he said, his hand dropping from your face as he abandoned the small speech he had prepared as he made his way to the cemetery to find you.

" Crying, I've been crying for five years, only now you notice?!" you scoffed pushing past him.

" Oh I noticed, its not like you try and hide it, do you? " Always pushing it in my face, have you forgotten who's fault this all is, eh?" Tommy said as his stance stiffened, his coldness towards you making a swift return when you didn't respond to his veiled attempts to be tender with you.

" Here I almost forgot. Throw it in the cut like you did everything else when you came back from France, like you did my heart. After all it was just a fling " you said storming back to him as you pulled his pocket watch out of your coat, shoving it into his hands.

" A fling? Y/N!" Tommy called out furrowing his brow as he watched you run down the hill. "You broke my heart first, you fucking broke mine first!" Tommy shouted back taking his cap off as he brushed his hands through his hair. " Fuck!" He yelled throwing his hat onto the grass as Jeremiah and Arthur came running up the hill.

" Tommy!" Arthur shouted as his brother turned around to face them, brushing his eyes with the back of his hand.

" What? What is it?" Tommy sniffed as his eyes darted between them both. "Well?"

"Tell him what you just told me" Arthur said breathlessly as he turned to Jeremiah stood beside him.

" Just heard there's to van's driving up the Stratford Road. An old Corporal of mine said he recognised some of the men..he said it's the Kimber boys"

"Ada wake up! You and the baby get into the ball ring where there's lots of people" Tommy said as he stormed through their house on Watery Lane as Arthur, Jeremiah and his son Isaiah followed behind him.

" What's going on?" Polly said as she took in Tommy's panicked state.

"We've been fucking betrayed" he replied rubbing his forehead. " Someone let slip. Kimber's men are on their way here" Tommy said as he paced the room back and forth.

" Yeh but you can handle them Tommy" Polly said having confidence that her nephew had another plan if something like this was to to happen.

"It's just us. All the Lee's are on their way to Worcester, we're outnumbered" Tommy said as the realisation his plan had fallen apart started to sink in. "Fuck!" he shouted as he slammed his hands down onto the top of a cabinet, the pictures and ornaments rattling from the force of his outburst.

"Who else knew today was the day you was moving on Kimber? You said you kept it a secret who else did you tell? " Polly questioned as Tommy leaned his weight on the mahogany wood, clenching his jaw at what Isaiah had told him before they had all entered the house.

" Isaiah" Tommy said as he turned his head to the young Blinder. " Tell them what you just told me"

" Tom, I don't think she was..." he said as he stepped forward when his boss cut him off.

" Tell them!" Tommy shouted turning around, his patience wearing so thin he was close to loosing any self-control he had left.

" The other day I saw Y/N with Kimber's men in the alley way behind her place. I thought she'd come to you and tell you herself. Tom they look like they roughed her up " he said as Tommy scoffed at his remark.

" Nah I don't believe it. Y/N would never..." Arthur said when Tommy interrupted.

" Betray me? She fucking hates me, you've all seen it " he replied raising his brow as he stepped closer to his older brother. " You've always stuck up for her, but she did this, she threw us under the bus. All of us, even you Arthur" he said pointing his finger in his older brothers face.

" I'd back away if I was you Tommy, because this time I won't let you win baby brother" Arthur said pushing him in the chest away from him. " We've known her since we were bloody kids. Y/N would never betray this family, she's one of us" Arthur concluded as he walked away grabbing the bottle of whisky on the table, pouring himself a full glass before he too lost control of his temper.

" Tommy that girls been devoted to you the moment she met you, you're blinded by your bitterness towards her. Did you not tell anyone else? Polly asked as Tommy shook his head forgetting or ignoring the fact he had, the very same person who had written it in his diary. No, Tommy's sights were set on you, only you could have done this only you could have betrayed him.

NEXT PART

Tag list: @cosniffee @jonsncws @powellssaturn @jessimay89 @bruher @riseandreigns4u @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @chimchimjiminie16 @gaslysainz @calicoootalks (unable to tag) @weaponizedvirtue @vlryexsworld (unable to tag) @shittyprofilebutfuckit @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @peakyswritings @kammsinn @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @cherryslyce @esquivelbianca @taliawz (unable to tag) @answer-the-sirens @dielgonacoffee @cicilysgrace @nadloves @fanatics30 @httyd-marauders @beeposstuff @yeppaweshallsee (unable to tag) @ja-4-leyvam (unable to tag) @xmariakx @slighltyaboveaverageiq (unable to tag) @fairypitou @youngbananamilkshake

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for resplendeo; Billy and Damian and the whole soulmate thing.

Batman pulls his cowl back up, because he’s Bruce Wayne and people would recognize him if he didn’t, and Billy flees as adult-ly as possible back to the meeting room. Everyone else is still there, including a very clearly tense Robin, and Billy has absolutely no idea what to say. 

“Um, so–” he tries to start, and Robin immediately bristles and draws himself up to his full height. 

“Silence!” he snaps, baring his teeth at him. “I want nothing to do with you. I have nothing to do with you.” 

“I mean, that’s not actually true?” Billy says, trying not to wince. “Like the soulmate thing is definitely a thing. If you don’t want me around, I understand, just first can I try to–” 

“I do not want you! You are superfluous!” Robin snarls, and, well, at least Billy knows why he’s picking the specific insults he’s picking this time. Though he doesn’t really know why Robin is so convinced of that even thinking that they’re familial soulmates. What’s wrong with having more family members? 

Like, ones who aren’t asshole uncles who’ll steal your inheritance and leave you homeless and destitute on the street just for kicks, he means. Obviously. 

Maybe Robin’s had an asshole uncle or two in his family. Billy can understand that. But also, like . . . that’s really not what’s happening here, so . . . he really needs to figure out how to, like, spin this or something. Or . . . something. 

“I would really like to talk to you first,” Billy says. “Like–just if you let me–” 

“No!” Robin snaps, clenching his fists as his shoulders stiffen. “You are unnecessary and I want nothing to do with you! I have a father, and he is neither dead nor derelict in his duties and I have no desire for–Father, I want nothing to do with him, don’t give me to some other–I am your son and I don’t want a different father!” 

“Oh,” Batman says quietly, and Billy cringes in guilt. Oh. Okay. 

He really, really didn’t mean to make Robin feel like his dad wouldn’t want him just because he had a soulmate. 

Shit. 

Batman opens his mouth and starts to say something, but the speed of Mercury and also guilt gets there first. 

“Please don’t freak out, I promise I’m not your dad,” Billy says with another cringe, half-covering his face with a hand, and Robin–pauses, and frowns.

“Wait, what?” Green Lantern says with a frown of his own. “You said you were the kid’s soulmate.” 

“I mean . . .” Billy winces, then drags his hand down his face. “I am? Just, uh–right, okay, so I maybe kind of joined the Justice League under pretenses that in a certain light might appear to be false and I am so sorry for how weird I have made . . . literally all of this, pretty much, pretty much everything ever? Also, um. Shazam.” 

The lightning hits in a blinding flash. Captain Marvel disappears. 

Everyone says absolutely nothing. A whole lot of nothing. 

Then Green Arrow falls out of his seat. 

“Marvel,” Flash says, just staring at Billy. “What the actual, literal, entire fuck.” 

“What the hell, Cap?!” Green Lantern yells. Billy, since he’s now not incapable of acting like a sassy little bastard with a heart of brass at best, just shrugs and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. 

“Should you guys be swearing in front of the children like that?” he asks skeptically. Green Lantern makes a strangled noise. Green Arrow manages to fall out of his seat again without actually having successfully gotten back into it. 

“Is this your true form?” Wonder Woman asks, looking perplexed. Billy shrugs. Black Canary puts her face in her hands. 

“You–you are grounded, Mister,” she says. 

“No I’m not,” Billy says, making a face at her. “You can’t ground me, my parents are too dead for you to tell on me, and I’ll just Captain Marvel myself away if you try and stick me back in foster care. So there.”

Black Canary keeps her face in her hands and makes a very pained sound, for some reason. Superman looks very, very stressed out. 

Robin just tilts his head, looking much less upset than before. So that’s something, Billy figures. Like, that was what he was going for here, with ‘fessing up to this and all. He really was not intending to confess to this before Robin happened. 

“I see,” Robin says after a moment, narrowing his eyes assessingly as he looks Billy over. Billy resists the stupid urge to straighten his hoodie. “So you are a romantic soulmate to me, not a familial one. And you are also a nigh-unstoppable force of magic in possession of incredible godly powers.” 

“I . . . technically, I guess?” Billy says, not sure how to take that. 

“But you are also a literal twelve year-old,” Robin says, his eyes narrowing a little more. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Billy says with a grimace. Robin frowns. 

“I really don’t know how I feel about this,” he says.

#resplendeo #wip: billy and damian and the whole soulmate thing #long post

[vivwritesfics]

If Your Daddy Knew

The youngest member of the Tillerson family was so sweet, Rhett couldn't help but be enamoured with her. There weren't many other people he would risk climbing through the window of the Tillerson house for. If her daddy knew, there was no way he'd make it out alive (worth it)

Set outside of the canon events of the show

This man has my entire heart lol

Sneaking onto the Tillerson's ranch was stupid. That was why he didn't tell anybody what he was doing. It was a death wish, but she was worth it.

Rhett went around the back of the house. It was far too big, he had always thought, especially compared to his own house. The Tillerson family had just as many members as the Abbott family, yet their house was nearly double the size.

Fuck, there were so many windows. Rhett tried to keep himself hidden as he decided on a window. But it was all guess work. With no way to tell which one led to her bedroom, Rhett approached the window to his right.

He moved slowly, trying to peer into the dark room. But he could see nothing. Cupping his hands around his eyes he desperately tried to search for a sign that the room belonged to her. Pictures of her friends on the walls, the desk he knew she'd keep so tidy, sheets that were no doubt the comfiest thing skin had ever touched and a stuffed animal he was sure she'd have on her bed.

Suddenly, the door opened and light flooded into the room. Shit. Rhett ducked down beneath the window as Luke Tillerson walked into the room, the room that certainly belonged to man.

With baited breath, Rhett waited, unable to move. He kept his body pressed against the wall as the light switched on, light that shone outside of the window, and the shadow of Luke Tillerson's body approached. Rhett's eyes followed the movement of the shadow as Luke reached up and pulled the curtains shut.

It was only then that Rhett allowed himself to release a breath. All that time he'd been holding it, waiting for one of the Tillerson family, probably Trevor, to chase him away.

He moved to the next window and tried to peer in. But his view was blocked by closed curtains.

Instead of risking it and knocking his bruised knuckles against the glass, Rhett moved onto the next window.

This had to be hers. He could see the colour of her curtains, the bottom of them cream. But Rhett still waited, waited for any sign of her brothers.

But there was none. Nothing Rhett had to wait for. His knuckles tapped against the window and, seconds later, the curtains opened.

In nothing but her pyjama shorts and a tank top, she looked at Rhett. A smile split across her face and she rushed to open the window and pull him into the bedroom with her.

She pressed her finger to her lips the minute he fell into the room with a thud. They were still, waiting for some reaction to the noise they had made. But nobody knocked on the door or walked past it. Rhett supposed the rooms were so large nobody was bound to hear them.

He sat on the end of her bed and began unlacing his boots. "I missed you," she said as she shut the window.

As soon as his boots were on the floor she climbed into his lap. "I missed you too, darlin'," he said as his hands settled on her hips, his deep voice sending a shiver through her.

Her hands were on the back of his neck, playing with his hair as it curled around his ears.

It had been three days since Rhett had last pressed his lips against her own. Three long, miserable days. The groan he let out the moment she leaned in and kissed him.

But immediately she pulled away, so quick it had his hat falling from his head and onto the bed behind him. Her hand quickly covered his mouth as a series of quiet giggles left her lips. "You gotta be quiet, Rhett," she whispered and leaned in to kiss his neck.

She was teasing, not making it easy for him. His hands squeezed at her hips as she moved against him. But Rhett knew he'd never have her in this bed. Not with Trevor, Luke and Billy down the hall.

He slightly pushed her away from him. "This isn't fair," he said, a slight pout on his lips.

But then she climbed off of his lap and Rhett regretted saying anything at all. "C'mon," she said and grabbed his hat. She placed it on her head and sat against her pillows.

Rhett sucked in a breath. "Don't do that to me, baby," he muttered and laid beside her. He pulled his hat from her head, placed it by his boots and pulled her against him.

They laid together for a matter of hours. Or, it could have been minutes. Time seemed to stop and pass too quickly when he was with her. His calloused fingers brushed against the skin over her stomach, dipped beneath her shorts, but he didnt touch her, not in that way. His thumb rubbed over her hip.

"If your daddy knew, he'd kill me," Rhett mumbled and kissed the back of her neck.

She let out a content sigh and rested her hand over his. "I know," she whispered and shuffled back, pressing her body closer to his own. "Trust me, Rhett, I know."

"We have to tell him one day, darlin'," he replied and changed her grip to lace his fingers through her own.

She let out a scoff. "It's not just my dad." She rolled her, her hand against his chest, fingers feeling the beat of his heart. "It's my brothers, too."

"I can take them."

"I don't want you to." She pressed her lips to his neck as Rhett pulled her in closer, his chin resting on her head.

He could have fallen asleep there, holding her body against his own. She was close to it, eyes closed and breathing even.

But, when the hallway light switched on and the shadow of somebody's shoes appeared under the door. "Shit," Rhett muttered.

Within seconds the window was open and his boots were in his hands and he was leaping out of the window. "Wait!" She hissed, rushing after him.

Her hands were on the window, ready to close it. But she couldn't, not without grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss.

***

"Mornin'," she mumbled as she walked into the kitchen. But she could barely be heard over Billy's singing. She stole something from Billy's plate and grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

Suddenly, Billy stopped singing. He didn't trail off, just stopped all together. "What is that?" He asked as he stared at her.

"What?" She pulled open the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice.

But Billy didn't respond.

"I recognise that hat," said Trevor as he walked over and plucked it off her head. "But, it's not yours. You got a boyfriend you haven't told us about?"

Fuck, she hadn't even realised she'd put it on. But wearing it, wearing something that belonged to Rhett filled her with so much joy. Her way of showing him off without showing him off.

"Jesus, fuck," came Lukes voice. "That's Rhett Abbotts hat!"

"Give it back, Trev," she said as she reached for it. But he held it high, too high for her to reach.

Trevor turned around, completely ignoring his sisters attempts. "Well boys, how about we go and pay Rhett Abbott a visit?"

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbot x reader #rhett abbott fluff #rhett abbott oneshot #rhett abbott x you #outer range #outer range imagine #outer range x reader #lewis pullman

[mothellie]

I think the Duffer Brothers' history with racism in their show goes a lot deeper than a lot of people realize.

Lucas as a character has three distinct B plot stories that get assigned to him: being a minor antagonist to Eleven in season one, being a good friend to the rest of the Party, and being in love with his girlfriend. While Mike's plot is directly centered around two of the most pivotal characters of the show, Dustin is given two different role model characters that shape his arc and is overall the genius that helps the rest of the cast get out of several difficult situations, Will still being connected to the Upside Down after his disappearance in 1983 and that playing into several major plots, Max having a multitude of centric storylines especially in season four and Eleven literally being THE main character- Lucas is only ever given plots that help serve and uplift the other (white) characters. Unless you count him... playing basketball and being friends with Jason. I guess?

Erica is similar to Lucas, but to a much larger degree. I'd like you reading this to think of any single Erica standalone plot in the show that has nothing to do with/does not predominantly or solely benefit the white characters around her. I'll wait.

The Sinclair parents are only touched on in brief sections for the sake of filling the episodes, only ever playing a more major role in Season Four. If you could call it that. I'm sure most of you couldn't even tell me their names off of the top of your heads. (It's Charles and Sue, by the way.)

Argyle was the first somewhat major character of color to be introduced to the show after Erica played her part in season three. I could say similar things about his role in the season overall that I can about Lucas and Erica. Except they set him up to play a bigger role in the next season at the end of season four, going as far as to show him in Hawkins and have Jancy verbally allude to him sticking around, only for the show heads to ghost Eduardo Franco and let him find out he wasn't being brought back through an official social media cast photo.

Kali was a former subject from the same lab El came from, having escaped and subsequently began to lead a vigilante life of enacting revenge on those who played a hand in her suffering. She was the first subject El ever met after leaving the lab, shown to be incredibly powerful and strong-willed. Her and El had an immediate connection, calling themselves sisters right after meeting. But after El was finished with her self-discovery period on the S.S. Kali Gang for one (1) often-forgotten and poorly-written episode, Kali was quite literally abandoned both in spirit and on screen, never to be seen or even mentioned again.

All other characters of color are either killed violently (Patrick), have like ten minutes of screentime total (Jeff and Calvin Powell), or are just straight up background only and may not even have names.

They can dedicate an entire section of season four's plot to Suzie's family, but not to genuine character development for Erica or for Kali to return. They can make room for a whole pointless predatory plot between Billy and Karen, but not to give a more important role to the Sinclair parents. They have room to include a whole plot about El getting bullied in school, but not for Lucas to have a more meaningful story outside of his white friends and girlfriend. They can platform three known white zionists while Palestine currently undergoes a gruesome genocide even as I type this, but they don't have room for Argyle in season five (or even the decency to give Eduardo a fucking phone call).

Not only do the Duffers constantly write themselves into holes because they keep adding unnecessary fodder to the plot, and refuse to kill ANY of their main characters in favor of just creating new characters for the sake of killing them off in mediocre ways despite the fact that they're trying to fit 20+ B plots into 8-9 40-50 minute episodes per season and wondering why half their show doesn't make sense- The time they DO dedicate to character-specific B plots and character arc progression visibly favor the white characters.

If I watch S5, and that's a huge if, I will be sailing the high seas. Between all of this, the fact that they filmed part of season four in an old Nazi prison and tried to turn it into a fucking AirBNB, and the fact that at least four people who play major roles in the show actively support the current genocide of Palestine- I won't be giving them (or Netflix for that matter) another cent of my money.

While you're here, please do your completely free daily click to send aid to Palestine, and here's a list of other resources for how to help more directly.

#♡ · 𝘀𝗵𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗽 𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿 #stranger things #free palestine #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #charles sinclair #sue sinclair #argyle stranger things #kali prasad #patrick mckinney #jeff stranger things #calvin powell #anyway excuse me im gonna go put these characters in an ungodly amount of fics #it's what they deserve

[lovebugism]

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick &lt;3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you���re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

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