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coff33andb00ks · 3 months

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Burning - LN

Hopeless, Part 4

{1 - Hopeless} {2 - Luxury} {3 - Poison} {4 - Burning} {Epilogue}

Lando Norris x fem!reader summary: my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder, all my riches for her smiles, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter songs: lover, you should have come over by jeff buckley word count: 5872 warnings: angst, smut <mdni> a.n.: the finale <3

The overlook is quite lovely. Prettier than the photos he'd seen. The sea air is crisp, filling his lungs as he stares at a young family strolling along the beach. Pushing his hands into his pockets he watches them, homesick for something he's never had as the toddler picks up something to show their parents. A wholesome, beautiful moment, unmarred, and he swallows the lump in his throat as it occurs to him that he'll never experience it himself.

Turning his back to the sea, he breathes deep, eyes slowly scanning the area. Trying to match it to the description he'd been given. Gaze landing on the weathered bench he finds he's already walking towards it, one hand slipping from his pocket and reaching to trail along the arm, feeling the wood that's been carved with words and initials. And there, just as he'd been told, the two letters he would know anywhere.

Yours.

He drops onto the bench, leaning forward and trying to keep his breathing normal. It's the closest he's been to you in about a year – one year, two months, one week, five days, thirteen hours.

No, there was that day over winter break. When, melancholy and yearning, he'd spent more than he should have to fly out the week before Christmas, ignoring Oscar's suggestions that he stay away. He'd rented a car, following the roads you'd told him about to the seaside town that you'd described in such detail he could have drawn a map before seeing it. He'd driven the streets, stopped a few houses down from your parents' home. Had sat, watching the house, then cursed himself a million times over for being a fool and driven off.

Oscar hadn't said told you so. He'd merely sighed and nodded, listened to his sad story again.

You'd be so happy that Oscar's become his best mate. He wants to tell you, because he knows that only you would understand why it was such a big deal.

"Mate?"

He looks up, sighing at the sight of Oscar. "Nice, yeah?"

Oscar sighs sadly, sitting next to him on the bench. "You're torturing yourself."

"You said I could have one day," Lando reminds him.

"She's not gonna show up here on a Thursday morning," Oscar says after a moment.

"I know." It would be too movielike if you did. And the only genre of movies that reflects his life is tragedy. Standing, he walks over to stare at the beach again. The family has gone, their footprints already erased by the waves. When he heads back, Oscar stands, and there's a long look before they walk together to the gravel lot where they parked.

"Just call her." It's probably the billionth time Oscar has said the words since Lando's trip to Melbourne over summer break last year.

He exhales, about to lie and say he's deleted your number. But Oscar doesn't deserve lies. "I've tried."

"Did she block you?"

"Dunno." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, stopped at the end of the lane coming down from the overlook. There's not much traffic, nowhere near enough to warrant him sitting idle for so long. He can't bring himself to hit the call button after punching in your number. Which he still knows by heart. The only number aside from his mum's that he has memorized.

"Lan?" Oscar ventures softly.

"Am I stupid?" he blurts.

Oscar sighs. "No."

"This—" He gestures angrily at their surroundings. "This isn't fucking stupid?"

"I wouldn't say stupid. Ill-advised, maybe?" Oscar follows a passing car with his eyes. "It's been a year."

He knows.

"I think if you were able to get over it, you wouldn't be here right now."

"I don't even know if she's here." His voice is wavering and he can feel the sadness and frustration and anger stinging, piercing what's left of his heart over and over, clawing up his throat and up into his brain, burning his eyes.

"You know her better than anyone." Oscar's voice is still gentle and soft. Careful, and Lando knows he's truly only there to support him. "Where else would she go?"

"Nowhere." This tiny corner of the world is your home.

"Call her."

Lando throws the car into park and bangs his forehead against the steering wheel. "This is stupid. It's been a year. A fucking year. I can't even bring myself to text her or call her, what the fuck do I think I'm gonna do if I bump into her on the fucking street?"

Oscar doesn't speak, merely waits.

"What would I say to her?" he whispers, scared to raise his voice because he knows he'll either scream or cry.

"Mate…"

"It's stupid. I'm stupid. I should never have—" He cuts off, swallowing hard, squeezing his eyes shut. It shouldn't still hurt this bad. "I shouldn't have come."

"But you did."

"Yeah," he gasps.

Oscar's silent for a long moment, looking out the window while Lando struggles to compose himself, knowing that if he reaches out to offer comfort it won't be appreciated. "It's a small town, yeah?"

"Yeah." He scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms, wishing his heartbreak had been the type that was easily numbed. He's tried everything. Alcohol, exercise, random women, even random men when he was drunk enough. Therapy, antidepressants, meditation. Nothing's worked. He can get so drunk he almost forgets, he almost loses himself, but just when he's thinking this is it, it all comes rushing back and he snatches his body away from whoever he's with. Never much further than getting his belt unbuckled before he's rushing away with a shit apology and an empty ache in his chest.

It's been over for a year and it's still fucking him up. He can't do what the therapist suggested – seek forgiveness for your part in a wrongdoing – because Charles laughed in his face.

"You? Slept with her? Impossible. She has standards."

Fucking bastard.

"Switch, I'll drive."

Lando doesn't argue even though Oscar hates driving in America. Nothing rattles his unbothered friend. But six lanes of Americans driving like – Oscar's words – fucking cunts? His friend is ready to commit crimes. Once in the passenger seat he sighs, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. It isn't long before he feels the car stop and he sits up, not looking to see where they are. "I'll call the charter for a flight out."

"Not yet," Oscar tells him. "Wait here a minute."

Confused, he rubs at his eyes, trying to keep more tears from forming. He just wants to go. Best to resign himself to being lonely. Alone. Maybe he'll be lucky and time will eventually heal the pain, even just a little, and he can— Grunting as he looks out the windshield, he watches Oscar walk into a small brick building.

"Really, Osco, not the time to be a fucking nerd," he sighs, leaning back and throwing an arm over his face. Why the fuck are they at a library?

It's not long before Oscar's back, getting behind the wheel and humming softly to himself. He doesn't speak, still humming while he buckles his seatbelt and drops a folded sheet of paper in Lando's lap.

"What?" Lando sighs, dropping his arm and looking at the paper. Even more confused, he picks it up. "What is it?"

"Mate."

Sniffling, he rubs at his nose then unfolds the paper. At first he's still confused, reading the address written in Oscar's handwriting. "Is… Is that hers?"

"Yeah."

"H…" He sucks in a breath. "How."

"She said she wanted to go back to school and work in a library, right? They've got a display board up of recent things that have happened, and there was a picture of her with a bunch of kids. A paragraph about how she's working here as a research assistant while pursuing her master's in library science."

Lando rubs at his temples, knowing his friend wants to tell the whole story but longing to tell him to get to the fucking point. And also a little touched that Oscar remembered the detail about you wanting to work with books.

"Asked the lady at the desk about her, said I was an old friend driving through. She's off today, won't be back until Monday. When she went to help someone I nicked the notebook by the computer and it has everyone's address." Oscar smiles, obviously proud of his ability to spy without being caught. "Nice lady. Said y/n's an asset."

Lando nods, typing the address into the search bar of the map on his phone. "It's…"

"Close." Oscar reaches for the in-dash screen, pausing just before his fingers touch it.

He could tell him not to. Could shake his head. And Oscar would nod, they would call the charter, and be on a flight back to Monaco by dinnertime.

And he would spend the rest of his life trying to forget.

He swallows, barely nodding his head.

"…we'll shift our focus to the surge of trade throughout the Mediterranean, but first—"

You look away from your laptop screen when there's a knock on the door. The professor drones on and you mute him, standing from the couch and setting the laptop aside to go see who it is. You're not expecting anyone, and the neighborhood isn't the type where neighbors drop in uninvited. Peeking through the window, you furrow your brow at the unfamiliar car parked on the street. Leaving the chain attached you open the front door just a bit.

And nearly hit your knees in shock.

He's looking down at the stoop, at his impossibly white sneakers, and his hood's pulled up over his head but you know it's him.

"Lando," you breathe.

His head lifts and his eyes take your breath away. They're just as you remember them, the jade hue that could see straight through to your soul.

He looks sad. Worried.

Scared.

"H-hey," he says, his voice cracking slightly.

You can only stare at him, unable to really believe he's on your front stoop. The light breeze picks up and you're slammed by the aroma of his cologne. It's so faint you know you shouldn't be able to smell it but you do and a wave of memories rush through you with it.

"Hey, nice to meet you." He smiled, an easygoing aura radiating from him as he stepped over and held out his hand. "I'm Lando."

"Hi, I'm y/n."

You press your lips together and swallow hard. "Hey," you murmur.

You, walking along pit lane with Charles and on the phone with your best friend. "So I finally got the game installed. I need to upgrade, the lag is so bad I die before I can get a shot in."

"Really? What are the specs?" Lando asked suddenly, appearing at your side.

"Call you back," you laughed into the phone, putting it away and smiling at him. He was always popping up to talk to you, had quickly become one of your favorite people on the grid. He never seemed too busy to at least stop and speak to you, that easy smile putting you at ease.

Lando exhales, his shoulders rounding. His eyes are almost mournful, the light of memory flashing and you wonder if he's reminiscing, too.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he muttered, picking up a helmet and looking around, finally placing it two inches from where it had been.

"It's fine," you promised with a laugh. "You live here, it shouldn't look like a magazine spread."

"Yeah? I guess. Anyway, here you go, have a seat."

You swallow again, the sound of his hand slapping his computer chair echoing in your mind. Easing the door to a little, you reach up to unlatch the chain and take a step back as you pull the door open further. "What are… How did you know where to find me?"

"I love it here, really, but I miss the space. I miss having a little patch of grass where I can plant flowers and not have people squeezing in around me," you said, sliding the tarts from the baking sheet to the cooling rack.

"I get it. But I mean, you could talk to Charles, right? See about getting a place with a garden?" Lando looked at the tarts with a longing sigh.

"At least let it cool," you teased. Leaning against the counter, you shook your head. "No, this is his home. He'll never want to move out of Monaco."

"I like it here, but it's not home." He shrugged, pinching off a piece of the pastry shell for a taste, grinning when you slapped at his hand. "There's a villa up the coast a ways – it has space and nice gardens. I've thought about getting it, but seems a waste just for me."

"You could get a dog."

He's standing in your tiny living room. He looks so out of place and yet he fits and you think you're just in shock. Pushing back his hood, he fiddles with his hair, the nervous gesture you remember him doing. "Osco… He's with me – I mean, in the car," he says, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Man's a fucking spy I think."

"No, no, you put your hand here." His face is serious as he guides your hand to his shoulder. "Okay?"

You nodded, grateful he was willing to teach you. You knew Charles would happily pay for dancing lessons but it's embarrassing, not knowing how to waltz. And when you'd mentioned it to Lando he'd said to come by, he could show you the basics, and he'd practice with you so you wouldn't make a fool of yourself at the prince's gala. His hand moved to rest at your waist, warm and strong, and you felt a glimmer of heat as his other hand took yours, holding it up.

"We'll take it slow, yeah?" he asked softly.

He's still standing there, looking lost and scared, and all you can do is stare at him. You've seen him – on tv, online, on your phone because you hadn't been able to delete the pictures of him and every once in a while your phone likes to play a sick joke and throw you a memory that somehow always includes him. But you're struck by the slight differences since you've seen him in person. His hair is a little longer, that one curl he used to complain about dancing against his forehead. The scar from Amsterdam last year is faded, barely a line across the bridge of his nose.

He's still the most handsome man you'll ever see. He still takes your breath away. It's taking everything in you to not beg him to forgive you.

"Love it. This. Us."

You suck in a breath and hold it. "How are you?" you ask, because really what else can you say?

I'm so sorry I never should have let us end like we did, even if we were hopeless from the start. I still love you, I'll never stop loving you. I'll never stop needing you. I'm miserable.

"I'm fucking miserable, y/n." His voice is strained. "I-I came months ago. At Christmas."

You feel your eyes widen at the same time you watch his do the same. Suddenly recalling a strange car parked just down the street from your parents' home that had sped off. At the time your first thought had been that it was someone up to no good. "You did?" you whisper.

"I remembered where your mum and dad live, and I… I hoped I'd see you."

He would have, if he'd waited five minutes. But you remember the texts you'd sent that had gone unanswered. The one phone call you'd attempted two months after moving away from Monaco, at four in the morning when your dreams had been him.

They still are.

Lando takes a step forward. "Y/n…"

"Why are you here?"

"I miss you," he says, his voice still strained. Like he's just finished crying. Or is about to. And you don't want to see him cry. It'll break your unhealed heart. "Are… Are you okay?"

You jump slightly when there's a soft tap at the front door. It's still hanging open – way to go, just invite burglars and murders in – and both you and Lando spin to look.

Oscar holds both hands up. "Sorry to interrupt. Um… Hi."

"Hey," you squeak. God, you can't do this. You can't have this awkward, painful conversation in front of Oscar. "C-come on in," you say, dragging a hand through your hair.

"I, um, just…" His cheeks darken as he closes the door and he clears his throat. "Could I use the restroom?"

Blinking at him, you feel Lando step closer to you. With a small nod you point in the direction of the bathroom, backing away from Lando as soon as Oscar's back is turned.

"Y/n… Please—"

"What?" you ask. It's as though seeing Oscar threw some common sense into you. "I'm in the middle of a class."

"For the library thing, yeah?" One corner of his mouth lifts.

"How did you—" You glance towards the bathroom. "Maybe he is a fucking spy."

"He was trying to help me."

"He always has," you whisper.

"He's kept me from going completely insane this past year. I… I owe him a lot," he murmurs, and he's picking at his own fingers.

You're reaching to stop him and jerk your hand back. He's not yours to comfort. He never was. "He flew all the way here with you when he could be home with his girlfriend. I think you owe him at least a new car."

"She's pregnant."

You gasp. "Really? I should—" But you can't. You haven't been able to call her, either. You text sometimes, but your friendship with the other girlfriends will never be the same. She hasn't mentioned being pregnant and you know it's because you're not in the 'club' anymore. It's a wildly different life you lead now. And you're happy. You're miserable and lonely but you fake the happiness for the sake of your family and coworkers. "I'm happy for them."

"God, I hate this," he whispers, and he rubs his hands over his face.

Then he's reaching for you. Almost catches you, but you jerk away.

"Y/n—"

"You have no right, Lando. What, did you think I'd just fall right back into your arms?" you ask, voice trembling because you want to. You want to be hugged as only Lando's ever been able to do. But you can't let yourself, remembering all too well how your life had been destroyed because you wanted a hug once.

"I didn't – I miss you," he whispers. "It's been a year and I still can't wash the coffee cup you left on the counter because it's… It's still got your lipstick."

Your heart twists, thinking of the hoodie tucked in the very back of your closet. The one you were going to throw out two weeks ago but couldn't after you opened the bag and could still smell him. Then you firm your resolve. You can't. "I'm not stupid. I've seen how not lonely you've been—"

"I was trying to forget you!"

"Then try harder. Doomed, remember?" You'll never forget him saying that, or how your heart had fractured.

"I couldn't even do it, because I felt like I was cheating on you!" The words ring out and he looks shocked, face twisting. "That's how fucked up you got me."

That rankles you, and you don't know if it's because he tried or because he's blaming the failure on you. "It's not my fault you can't get off," you snap.

"I can only get off if I'm thinking about you," he snaps back.

Your cheeks flame, your broken mind immediately conjuring up the image of him in the shower or on his bed. And you would swear you can hear his breathy moans. You bite your tongue hard to keep from confessing that when you try to make yourself cum you have to think about him, too. "Lando—"

"Tell me you're happy," he whispers. "Say it and I'll go."

"Happiness is subjective," you say, because despite everything you can't lie to him.

There's a creak or a sigh. Both your heads swivel and though you've only ever respected and admired Oscar, you aren't happy to see him. He doesn't speak, turning and studying the notes and photos on the refrigerator door.

Your heart lurches, knowing he'll see the snapshot of Lando.

"Y/n."

You snap your eyes back to him, forgetting all about his friend when you look into his eyes.

"Can we just… Talk. Please."

"I would have talked a year ago. When you left me on read. I would have talked a few months later, when I called you and you didn't answer." The worst part had been that his voicemail greeting was the automated voice.

"I was hurting! I was trying to get over you! I wanted to hurt you—"

You gasp, the admission a knife in your chest. You deserve it, you know that, and so much worse, but it stings.

"Like you hurt me."

"What was I supposed to do, Lando? We were doomed. You said so yourself."

"I'd rather be doomed with you than broken without you."

You must leave. Despite how long it's been you're not strong enough. You doubt you'll ever be strong enough to resist him. About to step away, you remember it's your house. Small and cramped and yeah the neighbors are too close for your liking. But it's yours. "Go, Lando. Live. Be happy without me."

"Like you're happy here?" he asks, throwing his hands out. "Rotting away in a fucking library?"

"I was happy until you decided to show up." Your voice cracks and you try to hold it back but a sob escapes as you back away, shoulder banging the doorway of your bedroom.

"Don't lie to me, y/n," he pleads, taking a step closer and reaching out.

"Don't touch me." You shrug his hand away, trying to get out of his reach, lift a hand to slap his arm. He catches your wrist before you can and your breath sticks in your throat when he moves forward. "Lando, please, let me go—"

His lips crash against yours and you whimper. It's harsh and demanding and you struggle weakly against him, spinning as soon as his hand grabs your waist. His near feral moan vibrates through your body and in a heartbeat you're clutching at his hoodie, whining as your back meets the closing door.

"Lan," you whimper, shaking your head as you break the kiss. "Please, we—"

"One more," he gasps. He lets go of your wrist, his hand trembling as it cups your cheek. "God, please… I just need you one more time. Everything's wrong without you." His lips brush over yours, and you feel your own inconsolable longing reflected back at you. "Y-you were everything, let me feel everything again."

His kiss tastes like tears and stifled rage. It grows harsher, his body crowding yours tighter against the door. It's everything you've wanted for over a year and yet not enough and you whisper his name into the breaths you share, knowing you'll feel the worst pain imaginable when it's over and you're alone all over again. The pull of him is too strong though and you want to feel everything again too, want just one morsel of what you once had.

"Wish I could hate you," he groans, voice as rough as his fingers in your hair, so tight your scalp stings. You whimper with both delight and pain and he answers with a moan, snatching back, breathing uneven as his hand slides from your hair and there's a frantic, familiar scrambling to remove his hoodie and your shirt. His moan as his fingers brush your bare skin ends in a whine, tracing patterns over your chest. "Wanted to hate you. Wanted to forget you but you—" His mouth is on yours again, his hands clutching at your breasts. Your nipples are stiff before his thumbs brush them and he groans deep in his chest, pressing his thigh between yours.

He pinches and squeezes, lips almost cruel on yours, and you can feel the rage he feels. Know you deserve every bit of it for everything you'd done, and more than he's capable of showing. Tears sting your eyes. It's beautiful, crushingly so, because you know this will be the last time. You want to rush ahead, to feel the incandescence only his lovemaking had created inside you and you also want to slow down, to memorize every breath, every touch, so you can cling to the memories for the rest of your lonely existence.

"Y/n…" It's a low, drawn-out moan, lips parted over yours.

"Please," you gasp. You're practically squirming with need, and the hate for you that he can't muster is there, coming from yourself. "Need it, Lan…"

You feel his pained grimace, taste the ache and the agony on his tongue. "Need you," he whimpers.

"Us," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut as your tears fall.

"Us," he barely sighs. One hand slips down, the rage still there as it pushes between your bodies and into your panties, cupping you and squeezing. His ragged groan echoes in your ears and it shreds the last sliver of your sanity.

You tip your head forward, initiating the next kiss, loosening your grip on his biceps and letting your hands smooth over his warm skin. Breathing in and holding it so you can taste and smell and feel him all at once. Your fingers trace the necklace at his neck and more tears fall – it's the one you gave him two years ago. Rough, his fingers rub along your slit, his other hand thudding against the door then cupping your throat. His lips still on yours, whining when you brush the tears from his cheeks.

He leans into you, fingers rubbing steadily, teeth catching your bottom lip as they grow slick. "Did you…" He moans when one finger dips, your hips tilt forward, pushing yourself against his hand. "You miss me, baby?"

"Yes." You're gripping his wrist, clutching his hair.

"This?" His fingers move in slow circles over your clit. "…Or me?"

"You, Lando, you," you whimper, head falling back, the curling heat so sudden you fear you'll cum already.

"Have you let anyone fuck you?" he asks, still rubbing your clit agonizingly slowly.

"N-no." Your cheeks burn, hating yourself for feeling a spike of desire at his crude question. Pulse racing, you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, and his low hum as he leans closer, lips at your ear now. Your pussy clenches, gushing and you let out a shaky moan, able to hear the slick sounds of his fingers working your clit. Your hand wraps around his wrist and he chuckles.

"You need to cum? Hm?" He moans right in your ear and your pulse thunders beneath his fingertips at your throat. "You're gonna cum that quick?"

"I—" You whine, clutching tighter at his wrist. "It feels good, Lando, I can't…"

"It's gonna feel better when I'm fucking you," he whispers.

"Yes," you hiss, head falling back with a thump. "Please!"

"You want it, baby?" There's a slant to his cooed words and you wonder if he does hate you after all. "Want me to fuck you?" His lips tug at your earlobe, smirking while you whine. Slipping his fingers down, he dips them inside you, echoing your moan as you immediately squeeze around them. "Oh I missed your pussy so much… That's why I couldn't fuck 'em, you know?"

"Lando, please." God, you're gonna cum. It's sick and it's twisted now, but he knows exactly how to play your body.

"Cuz I know how good this feels…" He sucks on your earlobe, fingers curling tightly, exhaling harshly as they brush your spot and your hips jerk. "Gonna feel so good when you cum on my dick."

"Yes, baby, I need that," you whimper, digging your nails into his wrist. You need it more now than you did a year ago, your body buzzing. "God, please… Let me cum for you, Lan – Fuck!"

"Cum on my fingers, baby," he hisses, stroking your spot so hard it hurt. But his words and the reminder that he knew exactly what to say and do to you send you spiraling, pussy squeezing tightly around his fingers as a ragged cry ripped from your chest. "That's my girl, fuckin' cum…"

His fingers slip out and you gasp at the gush, tugging at his hair while he rubs your slit rapidly as your body tenses and trembles, panting harsh in your ear when you squirt over his fingers. When you slump back he coos, fingers strumming your clit and causing your back to arch.

He snatches his fingers from your clit with a low growl, and your lips meet in a fierce kiss, hands meeting at his belt. You wriggle between him and the door, frantic and scrambling to remove your panties, gasping against his tongue as he kicks his jeans away and then he's jerking your hips towards him, pressing his face to the side of your neck and your breath catches in the back of your throat, hooking your legs over his hips. His cock, hard and straining, glides along your slit and his teeth sink into your skin as his hips surge forward.

"Lando," you cry out, eyes rolling back.

"Make me hate you. Please, fuck, I need to hate you."

"How?" It's a broken sob.

"You can't." He presses his forehead to yours, hands so tight on your hips you know you'll feel the bruises forever. "You can't, y/n…"

"I'm sorry," you whisper, lifting trembling hands to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, Lando."

He exhales slow, releasing your hips and sliding his hands up, keeping the rest of his body still. It feels as though he's re-memorizing your body, closing his eyes while his palms sweep over your shoulders and up to your wrists. There's a prolonged moment as his shaky breaths fan over your lips, then his eyes open.

They're luminous. Shining with emotion. You can't breathe, can't even blink, can only just barely feel him shift, reminding you he's buried deep.

"I miss you so much." His hands are gentle, smoothing your hair back and cradling your cheeks. There's the reverence you remember.

"I'm right here." Your vision blurs and his lips are on yours, tender where they'd been rough before. "I'm right here, baby."

"Can't lose you," he mumbles, shifting again, his arm winding around your waist and holding you close. "Can't lose you again, baby, okay?"

You whisper his name, unsure of what to say. You're not sure you understand. "Lan?"

He kisses you again, turning and you're floating even after he lays you down on the bed. Each touch is gentle, like he's afraid of hurting you.

As though you're a dream he doesn't want to wake up from.

"I love you," he says. And for the first time since he stepped into the house it's the voice you remember. Clear and bright, warm and your favorite sound. It's him, the real Lando that you know and love.

Your lips part to say the words back – of course you love him, you've loved him since the beginning, before he was yours to really love. Before he was your forbidden secret.

"I bought the villa." Even he looks surprise as the words pass his lips and there's a small smile on his face and you want to laugh at the absurdity of the moment. He's talking as though he isn't inside you, as though he didn't just make you cum against your bedroom door.

"You did?" you ask softly, fingers following the freckles splattered over his cheek and neck. "When?"

Lando shifts, gently guiding your legs around his waist. The friction causes your toes to curl and he pauses, stuttering out a whimper. "F-first of the – god – year."

"Do you like it?" You're asking about the villa, remembering the photos he'd showed you on the realty website.

"Fuck I love it so much," he moans. His hands squeeze your thighs and he lifts himself up slightly, licking his lips slow. Eyes still luminous, he looks down at you and you can feel he's holding his breath.

"I love you," you whisper. "I love you so much."

And it's like that's all he needed. He leans down, kissing you deeply, his hands finding yours and holding on, fingers tangled as he rolls his hips slow. His thrusts are slow and deep, echoing moans and gasps the soundtrack to the passion. There's no subdued rage or cruelty anymore, and you whisper apologies between kisses, needing him to know how sorry you are for hurting him.

"I'm so sorry… I love you… Love us." You whisper the words over and over, tasting the salt of his fresh tears and yours.

Clasped hands tighten, knuckles turning white. "Be mine," he murmurs, his tremble rippling through you. When you arch, crying out yes, he dips his head, pressing sweet kisses over your heart.

"I always was," you promise, eyes locked with his as the passion crests and you cum with a scream of his name. It's blinding, deafening, and all you know that is real is the tight grip of his hands.

"Get your degree," he murmurs an eternity later. You nod, heart racing, the ache that has been in your chest for so long begins to fade. "Move in the villa with me."

"What if it's doomed?" you whisper, fear slicing through the elation. "What if we fail?"

"W-what if we win?" His breath stutters harshly, hands squeezing yours even tighter. "What if it's sacred?"

He kisses you, both of you trembling as his thrusts quicken and you feel his muscles grow tight. Your name is a soft, pleading cry and you feel the heat of him filling you, hips straining and pushing you deeper into the mattress.

Another lifetime passes with delicate kisses. Tender whispers. Praise and love are murmured between you, and you feel the eternal hope springing back when he offers forgiveness.

If it's all a dream you never want to wake. You'll gladly sleep until your final breath or even hasten your end so you never have to know cold reality again. But it's not a dream when you wake up, it's real and he's real, and the love in his eyes is still there.

The peace, the dreamy bubble formed around you, is burst by a gentle tapping at the bedroom door.

"Um… You good, mate?" Oscar calls out, his voice amused and embarrassed.

Lando giggles against your shoulder, kissing your skin before lifting his head. "Are we good, love?"

"Can we get a dog?" you ask suddenly.

"Just one?"

You nod. "To keep me company while I'm studying."

Lando grins, dipping to kiss you quickly. "All good, Osco!"

"Thank fucking christ," Oscar groans..

a.n.: originally this was close to 9k, but I cut a full scene from the end, because these two idiots deserve a happy, hopeful ending. I hope you enjoyed. housekeeping: if you'd like to be added to my taglist(s), please fill out this form.

#f1 #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #my writings > ln #my writings > ln > hopeless

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thisapplepielife · 9 days

Text

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember and @steddiesongfics.

No Loose Ends

Week #3 Prompt: Sneaking Around | Word Count: 6500 | Rating: E | POV: Steve | CW: Post S4, Sexual Content, Underage Recreational Alcohol and Weed Use | Tags: Eddie Munson Lives, Florida!!!, Hiding Out, Healing, Steve & The Boys of Corroded Coffin Taking Care of Eddie, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson

Song inspiration to fill the @steddiesongfics prompt is FLORIDA!!! by Taylor Swift feat. Florence & The Machine:

Little did you know, Your home's really only the town you'll get arrested, So you pack your life away, Just to wait out the shitstorm back in Texas Indiana

Steve's almost eight hours into the twelve hour drive, when he starts looking for another gas station. The smaller the better. One with a cashier who would rather be anywhere else other than at work behind the counter, and who in turn, won't be paying any attention to anything going on around them.

Not that he's wanted, or being looked for, because he's not. He's just being extra careful. Trying to garner no additional eyes on his car, or himself, if possible. No speeding, no rolling through stop signs. He's never driven this carefully in his entire life, and he feels tense from it.

It gives him a glimpse of what it might be like, sometime in the future, if he's in charge of hauling around six of his own little nuggets.

But that's not today. Today he's just in charge of one, well two, other people.

And himself. But he's used to being in charge of himself, since he has been, since basically forever.

If everything goes smoothly tonight, nobody's even gonna realize he's been out of town. Only Robin knows, and she's running interference with everybody else. Giving excuses for why they haven't seen him all day. Just buying him the time to get down, and back, without being missed.

The next filling station is a little raggedy, but exactly what he wants. Probably no cameras. Perfect.

He parks alongside the pump, and pulls up on the handle, starting to fill his tank. He looks in the backseat, and the bundled up figure moves under the blanket, shifting. It's dark under the poorly-lit canopy, three of the six fluorescent bulbs are out, and it makes it look just a little bit spooky. But even better, unless you were looking for him, you'd never see the slightly moving lump in the backseat.

And nobody's looking for him. Not anymore.

Thank fucking god.

Steve pays for the gas, and grabs drinks. Back in the car, he puts his own Coke in the cup holder, then lays the Mountain Dew in the backseat floorboard for when Eddie wakes up, and finally slides the Dr. Pepper into the passenger side cup holder.

He doesn't know Gareth Jones, not really, and it has taken everything he has to trust him. But Eddie couldn't be left alone, not yet, and Steve had asked who could they trust, and Gareth had been Eddie's answer.

Now he's asleep, head against the window, and Steve pulls back out onto the two-lane road, and keeps heading south.

They pull up in the driveway of the dark house, and Steve kills the engine.

"We're here," he says, and Eddie stirs in the backseat.

Eddie can barely walk. Once they've gotten him out of the car, he can only shuffle along, blanket over his shoulders. Together, they hold him up on both sides. The sand surrounding the beach house is not making it easier for him to move, Steve can tell. Steve has to try three keys before the door swings open, but they get him inside. Steve's not satisfied until Eddie's on the couch of his grandparent's vacation home in Destin, the city they swear is gonna become a tourist hot spot in the coming years.

So, the elder Harringtons scooped up a waterfront home that they only use once or twice a year, swearing it's an investment they'll be able to turn a profit on in the future. Steve doesn't care about that, but he is glad they have it right now, so they have a place Eddie can lay low.

It's a little musty from being shut-up, but it'll do.

Especially since there's no chance anybody in his family will turn up, since they're all in Europe right now without him. That left it just sitting empty, the perfect place to stash Eddie long enough to wait out the shitstorm back in Indiana.

Nobody knows he survived. Not the public, and barely any of their friends. Not even Wayne. Not yet. It's easier to keep a secret when you don't know the truth, as guilty as that makes Steve feel.

But right now, he can't dwell on that. Today, Steve's gonna try to get him holed up in here, and then figure out a more permanent solution once Eddie's back on his feet.

He can't dwell on the rest of them, or his guilt will eat him alive. Knowing Wayne's mourning his nephew. Knowing that Dustin is going through hell. Steve hopes they'll both forgive him, when the truth comes out. Eddie swears Wayne will. Says he'll understand. Says he'll only be relieved that Eddie's safe, and well.

Steve hopes that's true.

He knows he'll be in for an ass-chewing from Dustin, but that's nothing new. He can handle that.

Steve gets Eddie situated. A blanket. Some pillows. A drink. All while Gareth looks around the house, snooping, and it sets Steve on edge. He's a kid. Is he really gonna trust a kid to keep Eddie safe? Alive? He supposes he is. It's not like he has any other choice.

Gareth's older than Steve was when he got involved in the Upside Down. But still. Kid.

Steve can't stay long. He takes a nap, and then gets back on the road before he's missed. Back in his bed in Hawkins before anyone has started asking any real questions that Robin can't deflect.

A week later, when Steve steps out of his front door, Pop Tart in his mouth, he nearly chokes when he sees two guys leaning against his car. Jeff and…the other one. Steve's drawing a blank. They're Eddie's friends, but as far as Steve knew, they'd evacuated with the rest of the town.

Out of the way, not a concern. But, here they are.

People are starting to come back, Steve's noticed, now that the town is rebuilding after the earthquake damage. If they have houses to return to, lots of them are doing just that.

He should have expected this.

Well, not this. Because they shouldn't know Eddie's alive or that Steve might be a person to talk to about anything.

"Uh, hey?" Steve says as he pulls the dry pastry out of his mouth, trying to chew it up, and buy himself some time.

"Where's Gareth?" the one that isn't Jeff asks.

"Um, Gareth who?" Steve asks.

Jeff laughs, showing a mouth full of braces.

"Gareth Jones. He's not with his mom, and she thinks he's with you."

Steve tenses. That little shit. Gareth told his mom the truth? What the fuck? For real. That wasn't the plan. At all.

What a dumbass kid. He can't believe he has to trust him with Eddie's safety. Clearly, he's doing a bang-up job.

Steve looks around, "Don't see him, do you?" Steve asks, sliding back into his King Steve persona easier than he'd imagine he'd be able to after a few years.

"Harrington," Jeff says.

"He's not with me," Steve says, which is true. "I don't even know him." Also true.

"If you have Eddie. If he's out there somewhere, you're gonna take us to him," the other one says. Goldie? Steve thinks his name is Goldie. Goldwin, maybe? Gareth was talking, and he's sure he mentioned him, but Gareth talked a lot. Steve zoned out.

"Or we're going to the cops."

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn't actually think they'll do that, but fuck, what does he know? He cannot risk that. He'd rather tell them what he knows, than have any officials poking holes in their story.

He makes a decision, one he hopes he won't regret.

"Okay, Goldie, get in," Steve says, resigned to this, but Jeff laughs loudly, mouth open as the guy who is probably not Goldie by his reaction, jabs Jeff in the ribs with his elbow.

"Goodie," Jeff corrects, "but that was closer than most get."

In the car, Steve squeezes the steering wheel.

"Where is he?" Jeff asks.

"Florida," Steve answers.

"Florida?" Goodie demands, and Steve just nods.

"He's healing. Gareth's with him. You can't tell anyone," Steve stresses. "If the government finds out. They'll, well. Dispose of him, I reckon. No loose ends."

And Steve starts from the beginning.

They worked out a schedule. Every week they'll switch. And somehow Steve is stuck making the long fucking haul in the dead of night, with one of them in his passenger seat. It's awkward. He doesn't know them, and they definitely don't like him.

This week it's Jeff Williams. Honestly, he's nice enough, but Steve runs out of things to say before they hit the Indiana state line.

The long haul back has Gareth jabbering nonstop about what they did this week. All Steve really wants to hear is updates on Eddie. Is he getting better? Are his wounds healing? Still no infection? Did you help him change the bandages he can't reach? Can he climb the stairs yet?

But he's having trouble getting those answers. He does learn all about the new Accept album, though. Whoever the fuck that is.

The third week is even worse, because hauling around Goodie Goodwin is like having an angry bear locked in the car with him. A brown bear, not a black one. He's fucking pissed, and snarky, and only belligerently agreeing to help for Eddie's sake. Not for Steve's. He's made that abundantly clear.

He hates Steve, in case Steve needs it spelled out for him.

Steve does not.

It's definitely clear.

Super duper clear.

Crystal clear.

And that's fine. Eddie just needs a babysitter, and an angry bear will do, so long as Eddie trusts said bear, and he seems to, for whatever reason.

When they fucking finally pull up, after a twelve hour drive that felt more like twenty-four, Eddie's sitting on the covered porch, the color finally seeping back in his face. Goodie sits down in the glider right next to Eddie, and steals Eddie's lit cigarette right from his mouth. Eddie leans against his shoulder, face pressed into his very weather inappropriate leather jacket, and smiles.

Oh, so now he's a gentle giant.

Fucking dickhead.

Hauling Jeff back to Hawkins is a breath of fresh air after twelve hours of having Chernabog in the passenger seat. And he actually gives helpful information. Eddie's doing great. He's made some real progress, and he probably doesn't need a babysitter much longer. He's getting out of the woods.

Steve wishes he knew that before he had to spend time in the car with Goodie, but it's still good news, even if Steve had to suffer.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone this week?" Steve asks, and he doesn't know what he'll do if the answer is no. Leave Goodie for a second week of duty? Stay himself?

"I'm fine, Harrington," Eddie promises, and Steve nods.

"Okay, then. I'll be back next weekend," Steve assures.

Steve worries about Eddie being alone the whole next week, and it's a long drive by himself, but not as long as it was with Goodie refusing to make even the smallest of small talk.

Goodie didn't say a word for the eight hundred miles back to Hawkins.

Honestly, it was actually an improvement from the ride down.

When Steve pulls up the house, Eddie's on the porch again, and Steve wonders if this is where he spends most of his time. There don't seem to be any neighbors here right now close enough to see him, and even if there were, they wouldn't know the Harringtons well enough to be sure Eddie didn't belong.

"Harrington," Eddie says, foot pushing slowly, keeping himself in a soft sway on the porch glider.

Steve sits down next to him, and then Eddie keeps them moving, the breeze coming through the porch, and not feeling bad at all.

"Ocean air is healing, you know," Eddie says as if he's serious, and Steve smiles.

"Is the gulf considered an ocean?" Steve asks.

And Eddie just shrugs and grins back, shaking another pack of cigarettes out of the fresh carton Steve brought him. Steve feels like a pack mule, hauling food and smokes and beer, back and forth across several states.

"Closest thing I've ever seen to one, at least," Eddie says, and Steve has the fleeting thought that someday, Steve will change that.

He doesn't know why. They aren't really friends or anything. Just two people that were thrown together to fight back against evil. They don't exactly have a whole hell of a lot in common beyond that.

They get into the beer, and Eddie pulls out a joint. It's fun, and relaxing, honestly. Doing a whole lot of nothing. It feels like a mini vacation, and like Steve's settled for the first time in weeks, months. So, he stays an extra day, and then another, because they're having so much fun. Robin will cover for him. She will. But he's really gotta go in the morning.

"Your friend Goodie hates me," Steve says.

"All bark, no bite," Eddie laughs.

Steve doesn't know about that. He seemed pretty nippy to him.

The next week, he brings the decks of cards Eddie had asked for, and now they sit around the round table on the porch, and play hand after hand, going through a case of beer and cigarette after cigarette. It's fun, and unexpected, and Steve's pretty sure next week, he's gonna find a way to stay longer.

He's tipsy, they both are, as they stumble up the stairs towards their rooms. He's got his hands on Eddie, the excuse that he's helping him not fall, but he's pretty sure that's not the whole reason.

He doesn't examine it too much.

They're just having fun, and that's a nice change of pace from the shitshow that Hawkins has been over the past few years.

He wants to stay.

As his head hits the pillow, and he rolls over onto his belly, he tries to devise a plan to make that happen, even as he's drifting.

The kids aren't happy about it when he says he's going to be traveling with his parents for a while, and they'd really be pissed if they knew that he was actually sneaking back to Florida to hole up with a very much still alive Eddie Munson.

He's gonna have to pay for lying about this, to a lot of people that really love Eddie. Steve knows it. But, he'd do it again. Eddie's safe. He's healing up. Every week he's been more mobile, more agile, more…Eddie.

Sure, it's not as if Steve knew him well before all this. But they went to school together. He knows what Eddie Munson is all about, and it's definitely not being quietly introverted on a couch.

When he gets there, he lugs in his huge suitcase, and takes back over the empty room across the hall from the one Eddie's been staying in.

And then they spend their time laying on the beach, or getting drunk, or stoned, as Eddie's body slowly finishes stitching itself back together. He still aches, and so does Steve, but it's not too bad anymore. There are no more bandaids, ointments or creams. No more antibiotics. They hurt, sure, but they're getting by better now.

Eddie wants to venture into the water, and with no open wounds, Steve can't find a reason to say no. Eddie had had to watch from the porch that first week as Gareth ran across the sand, wading out into the water.

Now, it's his turn.

Steve by his side, making sure he's okay. Strong enough. They didn't go through all this just for Eddie to drown.

Steve's getting concerned that he can't quit touching Eddie, but Eddie doesn't seem interested in making him stop.

They're wet, and wrapped in towels, but it feels inevitable when Steve pushes Eddie towards the bathroom, and into the shower. Inevitable when he turns to leave, and Eddie snags his hand, pulling him back towards the tub. Inevitable as he washes his body, trying to not only ignore his own half-hard dick, but Eddie's too.

It's still inevitable as he slips on his clean underwear, and crawls into Eddie's bed instead of his own, and finally presses their lips together.

Eddie kisses back, and hands roam across bare skin. Eddie's fingers trailing his back, making Steve squeeze his eyes shut. He didn't realize how long it's been since someone touched him like that.

Neither of them take it further than that, but they do find themselves, lips kiss-swollen and laying together, breathing heavily in the quiet of the room, and Steve doesn't even know how they've gotten to this point.

One day Eddie was just some guy, then he was wanted on trumped up murder charges, and now, well, this.

"What's the plan? I can't stay here forever," Eddie says into the darkness, and Steve thinks maybe he could. They both could. They'd be safer that way. Hawkins can fuck off. It's their hometown, but not home anymore. Just a place that would arrest Eddie and throw away the key, given half the chance.

"We could," Steve says, and Eddie meets his eyes.

"You know you can't. And your grandparents will turn up eventually, and be less than thrilled to see me here."

"They won't be back until winter, and even that's iffy," Steve reassures, more himself than Eddie, he's pretty sure.

They could sneak around for months, until the snow birds fly south, and nobody would know.

That's all Steve thinks about as he falls asleep, Eddie's arm slung over his stomach.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Steve jerks, sitting bolt upright in bed. Eddie doesn't even stir beside him.

Gareth Jones is standing at the foot of the bed, and Jeff and Goodie are in the doorway. Steve's heart is hammering in his chest. There's no explaining this away as anything other than exactly what it is. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Eddie," Steve says, nudging him with his elbow. Eddie still doesn't budge, but his foot is sticking out of the comforter, and Gareth runs his knuckle up Eddie's bare sole.

Eddie's awake then, jerking his whole leg backwards.

"Jesus H. Christ, kid!" Eddie screeches, pulling the sheet up to his neck as if he's trying to protect his precious modesty. It's fucking endearing.

Terrifying, but endearing.

Steve must be staring at Gareth, because the kid shrugs, "He was late to school. A lot. Wayne asked me to start getting him there before he was a fifth year senior from tardies alone. The bottom of the foot is foolproof."

And Steve's hammering heart slows, just a little. Nobody is screaming, there's no fight breaking out. Nobody's being called names. He's not sure how to take this. They've been caught in bed, but nobody is really reacting to that.

It's just a best friend explaining how to get Eddie awake. Robin would know how to do that for him, too.

"What are you doing here?" Steve finally asks.

"We thought we'd come give you a break," Jeff says from the doorway.

"Doesn't look like you want it though," Goodie adds, and it's the nicest thing he's ever said to Steve, Steve's pretty sure.

"Our parents think we're at a band camp," Gareth adds, "before school starts back up for me."

"Band camp," Eddie laughs, flopping back against the pillows, "Go wait downstairs."

And they listen.

Steve just lays there next to him, finally saying, "Well."

Eddie laughs, then turns to face Steve, "They knew about me. I mean, the theory of me. It's not like I was getting any action. From boys or girls. But they're cool. Freaks gather together."

Steve chuckles, but Eddie keeps talking, "I'm sorry they know about you without you okaying it first, though."

It's fine. Honestly. Like, if they aren't gonna kick his ass? Everything's fine. Sneaking around always ends this way. Steve knows it. You always get caught by someone. He just didn't predict it to be so soon, or here.

"How'd they even get in here?" Steve asks, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He's pretty sure he locked the door when they went to bed.

"That's probably my bad. I taught Goodie to pick locks."

"Another Munson family trick?" Steve asks, pulling his jeans on, sliding up the zipper.

"Yep," Eddie answers, "the school would sometimes forget to leave the room unlocked for us to have Hellfire. So, I taught him to open it, since I have a bit of a tendency to run late."

Steve laughs, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Regret it now, though," Eddie says dryly, and Steve holds open the bedroom door for him.

Gareth and Goodie are sitting around the kitchen table, already helping themselves to the beer they found in the fridge. Cards dealt. Waiting.

Jeff's cooking a massive skillet of eggs and there's toast piled high on a plate.

Beer and eggs. That's something. Breakfast of champions.

"You can fuck him, but Eddie is my card partner," Gareth says, pushing a waiting hand of cards towards Eddie.

Fair enough.

Steve snags a plate, and is more interested in eating than cards, anyway.

"We can't have set partners with five of us," Jeff says. "It's just gotta happen as the game unfolds."

Gareth starts to argue, and it's like they totally moved on from what they all saw upstairs. Steve feels off-kilter, but he takes another bite of toast.

Maybe these guys are Eddie's version of Robin. That's the only thing that makes any sense.

Steve picks up his cards, and starts organizing them in his hand. He isn't even sure what they're playing, but he guesses he'll figure it out. There were lots of card parties in the Harrington household growing up. He probably knows whatever they're gonna throw at him, as long as it isn't something they've straight made up.

Which is possible, he's sure, knowing Eddie.

But that's about the extent of the discussion about what they walked in on earlier.

Jeff turns over a card.

"Eldest, auction is in your hands," Jeff says, and Eddie looks down at his cards.

"Order it up," Eddie says, eating eggs and playing at the same time.

"Trumped up, just like your murder charges," Goodie says, and everybody laughs.

"That doesn't even make sense," Jeff says.

"You just wanted to say it," Gareth adds, and Goodie takes his needling pretty damn well, all things considered.

And Steve smiles, happy that this is something they can all joke and laugh about. That as fucking terrible as it all was, is, that they can still make light of it to cope.

That's not nothing. That Eddie wasn't lost to it. That he's here to be gently ribbed. That his friends believe in his innocence, totally.

Eddie names his card, and Gareth plays it, becoming Eddie's partner.

They continue to play, and things do not go Gareth's way, which Goodie seems to be enjoying.

And later, Goodie smirks, "I'm in the barn."

Gareth heaves a big sigh, "Damn. I'm gonna get skunked."

And everybody laughs at his misfortune.

They stay. Camp out in all the rooms in the house, staking their claim. And it's actually a lot of fun. Like a high school house party that just doesn't end in a fist fight on the lawn. Steve hasn't been this relaxed since, well, before. Before 1983. Before monsters and the Upside Down came crashing into his life.

He embraces this break, this chance to just be. He's not a kid anymore. Not in age, and definitely not in life experience.

He lays on the beach, catching a tan.

These couple of weeks have felt as close to a vacation as he's gotten in years, and he lets the worry of the past slide off his back.

Steve supplies the beer, Goodie has a few pre-rolls left, so they smoke, drink, and play cards. Steve watches them fight over the stereo, and he learns to recognize the new Accept album by ear with time.

They swim, except for Goodie, because apparently he's scared of gators. Even if they tell him that the gulf isn't a swamp, and the chances of him being taken down by a gator are extremely unlikely. Not impossible, gators gonna gate, but it's not like it's super plausible.

Goodie doesn't care. He's not doing it, and says no amount of peer pressure will work on him. So, he sits on the porch, beer on his knee. Cigarette in hand.

So much for him being big and bad, Steve thinks.

Today, girls have suddenly appeared down the beach. Screaming and laughing, and they all watch them intently. Taking in the bikinis. The bouncing boobies. Not one of them above watching a free show.

They have a volleyball that comes bouncing in their direction, leading the girls to finally notice them and approach. Apparently Steve's the only one with a working voice, though. He learns there are a pair of sisters staying in their grandparents' beach house with their friends. One last hurrah before going back to, or for a couple of the girls starting, college.

University of Nebraska. Go, Cornhuskers. Apparently.

Since Steve's the only one engaging like a normal human, they're paying extra attention to him. One in particular. And she's cute. But he politely rebuffed her attention the best he could, and then watched Eddie do the same.

Goodie builds a little bonfire, and Steve is kind of impressed. He doesn't even know where he got the wood at.

Of course, Steve was less impressed when he was sent off for the stuff to make s'mores.

Eddie followed him, and as nervous as Steve is any time Eddie pokes his head out of the house, it's probably fine. Honestly. They are so far from Hawkins.

Eddie does wait in the car at the grocery store, but then digs through the bag to see what Steve bought.

Graham crackers, chocolate bars and marshmallows. Steve's not sure what else Eddie expected, honestly. It's s'mores.

By the time they get back, one of the girls has taken a shine to Gareth, and now Steve and Eddie are watching him blush and blunder through what Steve thinks could be considered flirting, maybe.

It's honestly a good show.

For some reason, she isn't put off by Gareth's awkwardness, and later that night, with the window to his room open, Steve can hear Gareth talking to her down below on the porch.

He's not as bad as Steve once thought, none of them are.

Just like Eddie.

Steve should have realized that earlier, he's pretty sure. First impressions are almost never right about anyone.

And their partying continues, just now there are girls involved. The group, growing.

Goodie's suddenly not as scared of gators, apparently. Because there's a girl on his back out in the water.

Steve sees Gareth dip under the water, and knows where this is going, and sure enough, he must snag Goodie's foot, which causes a commotion.

Steve misses Robin. He sits there considering if there's any way he could get Mrs. Buckley to let her join them, but can't think of an excuse that would seem plausible. Unless Robin also wants to go to fake band camp, too.

Steve's lounging on the steps, leaned back, his elbows braced against the wood. Watching from behind his sunglasses.

Gareth sits next to him.

Two of the girls are hitting around a volleyball. Bouncing along the sand.

"Boobies," Steve says.

"Boobies," Gareth echoes, then laughs.

They sit and watch a few seconds longer, then Gareth says, "Eddie doesn't have those, you know."

"I know," Steve answers. "I like both. I'm okay with that. Are you?"

"Yeah. Eddie does too," Gareth says, then turns and looks at Steve fully.

Steve turns to see what he's doing.

"Thanks. For saving him. I know we've been kinda shitty at times, but we owe you."

They don't owe him anything, but he still teases, "Don't worry. Someday I'll collect."

Gareth slaps him on the shoulder, and then inserts himself in the volleyball game down below.

The next morning, Steve's shaving at the sink, bathroom door open, when Gareth appears in the doorway.

Then says nothing.

Steve keeps shaving, waiting to see what this is. Finally asking, "Eddie okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he's fine. Um, I have a question."

Steve meets his eyes in the mirror. Still waiting.

"Do you have a condom I can borrow?"

Steve grins, "Maybe. But not borrow. I definitely don't want it back."

Gareth rolls his eyes, "Very funny. Eddie told me to ask you. I regret that decision, now."

Steve reaches over and gets his bathroom bag, and tosses it to Gareth, "Help yourself."

"Thanks," Gareth says, as he digs through it, finding what he was looking for. And then takes the whole box. Little shit.

But Steve lets him. He'd rather Gareth have more than he needs, instead of less. Steve can buy more. He's not embarrassed at all.

"Play safe," Steve says as Gareth tosses his bag back, it thumping against Steve's bare chest.

Gareth doesn't come home that night, and by mid-afternoon the next day and still no sight of him, Eddie is sending Steve down to check on him.

He's fine. Just laying on the couch in the girls' house, hand up the shirt of the petite, blonde one.

"Check in with Eddie later," Steve says, startling him. "You know how he worries."

Gareth laughs, and gives Steve a little salute and then a dismissive shooing away motion.

Another girl is at the top of the staircase, and lifts the hem of her shirt, flashing him.

"If only I wasn't already spoken for, sweetheart," he says, holding his hands to his heart, as if he's wounded by this admission.

And she's laughing, and seems charmed, not offended, which is what he'd hoped for. He hasn't made anything official with Eddie, and they have definitely cooled their jets since Eddie's friends arrived, even if they all know.

Steve walks down the sand, and Eddie is waiting on the porch.

"Well?" Eddie asks.

"I saw some tits," Steve says, sitting down next to him, "and Gareth's fine."

Eddie laughs, and briefly slides his hand through Steve's arm, squeezing his elbow.

In no time at all, the girls are packing up their cars, and Gareth is acting like he's about to become a war widow.

Steve gets it. He does. Your first, you don't forget. But this should have been a little summer fling for him, not a pending broken heart.

It's not like Gareth doesn't have to go soon, too. Labor day is quickly approaching.

Gareth is pretty pissed off that summer has slipped away, and now he has to go back to school. One more year. The youngest. Without him, they could probably stay indefinitely.

And he's very unhappy about that fact.

But, he's made it his life's mission to make it clear to all of them that while he has to go back to high school for another year, at least he's not a virgin anymore.

They're all sick of hearing it, and Steve's grateful it isn't gonna be him stuck in the car for twelve hours with him this time.

Eddie has given Gareth very explicit, detailed instructions on how to run Hellfire. How to keep it going for the other sheepies. Sure, the name will likely have to be changed. It's far too tainted now. And they might even if they have to do it in private, away from that godforsaken school, but Eddie wants that to happen, if need be.

A few days later, it's their turn to leave, and they're dragging feet, Gareth especially.

"Are you ever coming home?" Gareth asks Eddie, standing next to his mom's borrowed minivan.

Eddie looks at Steve, and Steve doesn't have the heart to answer that.

But no. Eddie's probably not.

Alone, once again, Steve follows Eddie up the staircase, his hand resting in the small of his back. As if Eddie still needs help with his balance. He doesn't, but Steve wants to touch him, nonetheless.

Steve watches as Eddie pulls his shirt over his head. He's gotten a bit of a tan while his friends were here, and he looks healthier, finally. Steve's hands find his bare skin, squeezing his sides. Eddie laughs, hair falling into his face.

And Steve wants.

He kisses him like he means it, then pulls back. During his last beer run, he'd done some other stocking up as well. He pulls the plastic sack out of the nightstand. New boxes of condoms and K-Y jelly. He shakes them out onto the bed.

"You wanna?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at them, cheeks going a little red, but he nods.

There's a little confusion on the expectations here, but Steve rolls over onto his belly. This is what he wants. He's never had it, but he wants it, anyway.

"I've never, have you ever?" Eddie asks, holding the tube in hand, flipping the cap open and shut, over and over again.

Steve shakes his head, "No."

There's a learning curve. It's kinda steep, but at least they can laugh about it. They can figure it out together, and now that Eddie's finally got two fingers in him, Steve thinks they're finally getting somewhere.

It's an odd feeling, honestly. He isn't sure what he feels about it, other than full.

But he's gonna ride this out. See where it goes.

Now up on his knees, the blunt head of Eddie's cock is definitely bigger than his fingers, and Steve hangs his head down between his shoulders, and sucks in a sharp breath.

Eddie stills, "You still okay?"

There's a hand on Steve's ass, and he focuses on that point of contact. Like everything is in that warm touch, and nowhere else.

"It's a lot," Steve admits. Because it is.

"Want me to stop?" Eddie asks, his other hand now trailing up Steve's spine.

"No. No. Just, more lube, I think. And go slow," which Steve knows is an ask. He's pretty sure Eddie's barely been moving at all.

Eddie slides out, and now Steve feels left open, and missing something. It's so fucking weird. There's more lube, and more fingers, and even more lube. Steve feels it dripping out of him, he's pretty sure.

But then Eddie's pressing in again, and it seems to go a little easier. He feels the head of his cock pop past his rim, right into him, and he groans, fisting at the sheets underneath him. It's good, and the rest of the slide feels easier.

Eddie eventually stills.

"You all in?" Steve asks. He's not sure what he'll do if there's more.

"Fuck, yes," Eddie answers, and then Steve can feels his fingertips brushing along his hole as it's stretched around his cock, buried deep inside. "Look at you."

Steve can't do that, but wishes he could.

"You good?" Eddie asks.

Yeah. Steve thinks he's good, "Yeah. Yeah. You can move. Slow. Go slow. But fuck me."

And Eddie does. It's a little hesitant, and uneven, but he draws back, and then slides deep again. And again. Until he's found a nice rhythm. Steve feels insane, and whiny, and so fucking needy.

He didn't expect how much he'd enjoy this. He kinda just thought he'd be taking one for the team.

Fuck that. He's taking this for himself. Happily, greedily.

It doesn't last long. Steve knows how that goes. The first time you slide into a body that's allowing, welcoming, you inside. It's overwhelming, and feels good in a way you can't even begin to expect.

Eddie shoves deep one more time, and comes with a noise that is nearly enough to send Steve over the edge, untouched.

When he pulls out, Steve feels empty. Cracked open, and then Eddie rolls him over onto his back, slick hand finding his cock, eyes locked straight on Steve's, and Steve melts into it. He looks at Eddie. Into his dark eyes, his hand gripping Eddie's scarred waist, holding on.

It's a firm slide up, and back down, and Steve can feel his orgasm building. And when he tenses and comes, splattering his own belly and chest, he feels so fucking good. Eddie eventually lets go, cleans him up, and then curls into his side.

Fingers dancing along his skin, and Steve suspects, going from mole to mole.

He's gonna fall in love with him, hell, probably already has.

"We gotta do something. Make a plan. We can't stay hidden here forever," Eddie eventually says, and Steve squeezes his eyes shut. "Even if I want to."

Steve knows. He knows that's true.

"Okay. I'll figure it out."

Steve paces on the porch, worried. He eyes the nailbat leaning against the railing, waiting, in case he needs it. He's scared he's made a mistake. Scared that it's gonna be helicopters, spotlights, and a whole fucking army decending on them.

It's not.

It's Dr. Sam Owens. Alone, with a briefcase.

Two hours later, Eddie Munson has a whole new identity, and a small tote bag of cash. A payout Steve hadn't even known to ask for, but Owens had brought as a peace offering to keep Eddie quiet if he'll just slink off and not expose all their secrets.

Wayne's paperwork is on the counter, if he wants it.

Jeff and Goodie are bringing Wayne out next week. That's the plan anyway. If they can lure him into the car.

Eddie can't return to Hawkins with his new identity, but he can leave the beach house. Can leave Florida. He can go anywhere he wants, now.

Dr. Owens is descending the steps, nearly onto the sand, when Steve hurries out onto the porch.

"Hey, wait!"

Dr. Owens turns around, and Steve suddenly isn't sure what to say.

"Yes?"

"Um. What would it take, to get me that kind of paperwork?"

Owens smirks, just a little, and reaches into his briefcase, pulling out a manilla envelope.

Steve takes it.

"How did you know?" Steve asks.

"I've had eyes on you from the moment you ferreted him out of Hawkins."

Steve swallows. Nods.

Looks down at the envelope he's gripping tight. He could disappear, too. If he wants. He'd have to find some way to loop in Robin, of course, but he could just…go.

Wherever Eddie wants.

"Thank you," Steve says.

"We think the activity in Hawkins has ceased. Once they finish rebuilding, it should be back to business as usual."

Steve nods again. But it'll never be the same. Can't be. But the town will be able to start over. Have proven that's the plan. Hell, they've already figured out a way to start school on time and everything.

Dr. Owens gives him one last look, and then he's gone.

Eddie's standing on the porch, and as Steve climbs the steps, Eddie holds open the door, asking, "What's next?"

Steve turns the lock, "Anything you want."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesmuttyseptember and @steddiesongfics to follow along with the filth and fun! 💦🎵

Notes: In the 1980's Destin was just starting to turn into the vacation city it now is. It went from fishing village to a resort city.

Accept's album Russian Roulette was released on April 21, 1986. As we're all aware, Eddie was wearing an Accept pin on his battle vest during S4.

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theneighborhoodsave · 7 months

Text

Willow Creek Map Key

Crawdad Quarter

Willow Historical Society & streetcar depot- History Museum

Ellington's Jazz Lounge- Live music lounge

Ally's Boutique Salon- Salon, spa and clothing shop

Bayou Sentinel & Antiques- Local newspaper office, archives and thriftea shop

Magnolia Municipal Park- Local park, family splash park and Krazy Kajun food stand

Foundry Cove

YSAC (Young Sims Activity Center)- Community Center

Crick Convenience & Drug- 24 hour convenience store

20-24 Foundry Dr.

25 Foundry Dr.

26 Foundry Dr.

Courtyard Lane

Firehouse Vet & Pet Park- Veterinarian's office & pet training gym

Laissez Terrace- Bohemian Bean Cafe, 5 apartments and 738 Courtyard Ln.

731 Courtyard Ln.

732-734 Courtyard Ln.

733 Courtyard Ln.

Pendula View

Quiet Voices Memorial- Cemetery, speakeasy and nightclub

Lakeside Manor

Leonard-Montgomery House

Magnolia Estate

Sage Estates

Mariner's Outlook

Sage Beach Community- Shore House, Sea Esta, Ocean Pearl, Second Wind

#neighborhood save #the neighborhood save #sims 4 #ts4 #sims community #ts4 simblr #simblr #ts4 build #sims build #sims save file #sims map #save file progress #save file #ts4 builds #the sims #ts4 save file #ts4 willow creek #willow creek

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silkjade-archived · 2 years

Text

genshin men x driving

this is so dumb but it had to be said. I've been driving for a while so a lot of these are taken from irl experiences I've had myself or from friends. also I'm american so this is based on driving in the u.s. | modern au, humor, fluff, reckless driving

𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐭

albedo ;; he has a habit of driving on the inner most lane of the highway but he doesn’t start switching to the exit lane until like 1 exit before. drove klee to the beach once 2 years ago and is still somehow finding sand in his car. all his turns are super wide

diluc ;; probably drives a very classic luxury car, like an aston martin or something. it’s sleek, it’s black, it’s giving batmobile because he drove with his high beams on for like 6 months and doesn’t get why it’s bad. it makes the road brighter he says as he blinds everyone going the other way. drives stick shift (manual), very hot when he reverses and puts his arm around the passenger seat

kaeya ;; he was the first person to get his license and everyone would ask him for rides, so now he drives a tiny sports car that doesn't fit anything. it’s also a luxury car but it’s flashier than diluc’s. follows driving laws to the T except for the fact that he never fully stops at stop signs

venti ;; an okay driver but it’s a terrible experience. you're amazed at how he hasn't run into any trouble yet. like at all. the kind of person who would try to run the yellow light except he’s doesn’t make it and is forced to brake really hard and just goes like "is everyone ok ehe.” you almost die and he says “oops”

𝐥𝐢𝐲𝐮𝐞

xiao ;; pet peeve: slow drivers. absolutely cannot stand sitting in traffic so he rides a motorcycle. always weaving in between cars but does it significantly less if you’re riding with him. has yanfei on speed dial in case of an accident. doesn’t know he’s super hot when he takes off his helmet and shakes his hair

zhongli ;; a slow driver. goes under the speed limit on the highway and gets cut off like no tomorrow. he doesn't think he's the problem though, just complains about how everyone is going way too fast. safety king. fakes injury for insurance money when someone hits him; only feels kind of bad

𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐚

ayato ;; has a driver that takes him everywhere because he does not drive, doesn't even have a license. passed his written exam with flying colors but failed on all three tries behind-the-wheel. his younger sister drives the car their parents bought for him. always likes tweets that are like “hot people don’t have their license”

gorou ;; family van kind of guy. very reliable and will drive you to the airport or help you move. doesn’t signal when switching lanes though which is kind of annoying. gets anxious driving in areas where there are a lot of one ways. always buys fruits from vendors selling it on the side of the road

heizou ;; drives with the top down, windows down and will make you feel like a coming of age movie protagonist. has the best driving playlist but will still hand you the aux if you ask. doesn’t pay for street parking though; parking meter? never heard of her

itto ;; car guy ™ who goes to car meets and mods his car. revs his engine when he sees his friends on the road but other than that he's actually a really good driver. takes very good care of his car— that’s his baby. he’s hot when he backs into parking spaces perfectly. blasts his music too loud at night though

kazuha ;; public transport icon. somehow never misses his bus/train/whatever and always manages to squeeze on even during rush hour. he tells people it's for the environment but that’s only half true. it's not that he can't drive, he just has the jankiest car; it's old as hell, has a dent on one side, and the passenger door doesn't even open from the inside

thoma ;; shining example of a perfect driver, the dmv wants him to do all their instructional videos. was only ever pulled over once before for swerving, but talked his way out of a ticket because he was trying to avoid hitting an animal. has those family stickers on his rear windshield except it's one man and like 3 dogs

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐮

al haitham ;; probably has an suv because he thinks it’s the most useful car and can get the most out of it. almost exclusively listens to audiobooks while driving. he had a great record until he accidentally rear ended a bus because he turned around to argue with kaveh in the backseat and now his car insurance is insanely high

cyno ;; super responsible driver, both hands on the wheel at 9 and 3 at all times. secretly really wants a retired police car because he thinks the idea of people suddenly slowing down when they see him on the road, thinking it’s a cop, is hilarious. names his car something stupid like attila the hyundai

kaveh ;; terrible at directions, his gps is constantly saying “rerouting” because he keeps missing turns and exits. cannot parallel park to save his life and will ask you to switch and park for him. generally a polite driver but if he's ever behind al haitham at a stop light, he beeps his horn at him 0.2 seconds after the light turns green

tighnari ;; his trunk is always full of plants and bags of soil, fertilizer, etc. has mild road rage; if he’s forced to brake hard because someone cut him off, especially while he has the right of way, he’s yelling in the car like “I should’ve hit you” because insurance would be on his side. carries snacks in his glove compartment, soccer mom energy

𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

childe ;; exclusively uses the term 'my tesla' instead of 'my car.' he insists on having it self drive to you from the parking lot; it takes forever and more often than not, it'd be faster to just walk. doesn't matter how far away he is, he's gonna go for that yellow light, it's a race against time and he's gonna win. one hand on the wheel, one hand on your thigh

dainsleif ;; drives in silence, no music no radio— nothing; sometimes he'll listen to self help podcasts though. a lot of the times he zones out and doesn’t know how he got from point a to point b. sits in his car for like half an hour after arriving home. likes holding your hand while driving

dottore ;; mutters “this would be a good place to dump a body” whenever he drives past a ditch. got pulled over for driving in the carpool lane by himself and using a mannequin to fake a passenger. they also found a bunch of questionable things in his car that he swears is for science. no longer drives because his license got revoked

pantalone ;; his car is immaculately clean. charges you for gas and makes you wipe your shoes before stepping in. always wants to stop for coffee first before going anywhere. has a lot of money but doesn’t know shit about cars so he gets way overcharged at bodyshops

scaramouche ;; says things like “I will crash this car right now” if he’s arguing with someone. hates backseat drivers and will threaten to kick you out if you are one. sometimes speeds down an empty highway at night just to feel something but drives extra carefully when nahida’s around. parks in the far corner of a supermarket parking lot to cry

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin hcs #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #childe x reader #diluc x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #zhongli x reader #alhaitham x reader #kaeya x reader #dottore x reader #genshin impact imagines

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orangeinecstasy · 11 months

Note

i need more of those 5sos thoughts!!!!

bf ashton thoughts ⋆ฺ｡*:･

a/n: ask and you shall receive!!! i swear i've been seeing so much ash content so ofc i had to do him next. he also happens to be my 5sos lane which makes it even better. fluff and smut sections included in this one!!

so so so many beach days. he loved when you record a wave he caught while surfing and it doesn't hurt that you're wearing a bathing suit either

big gift giver. always brings you fresh flowers and makes sure to keep on to know when he needs to rebuy them. picks up little trinkets that he thinks you'll like and tries so hard to package them up cutely but ends up failing. but it's the thought that counts!!

100% tries to teach you how to play the drums, even if its just a simple beat

late night spontaneous dates are a normality when being with him. could be anywhere from going to a park and stargazing to diving into the city and going to a bar

he wants to show you off 24/7. like he doesn't have one picture "this is my partner" picture, its a whole album that he's showing to people because he can't believe you're all his

meditating together

guarding together

tbh just being outside and being in nature together would be a big thing for him

not a super huge pda person but BIG on physical touch

so so so many songs written about you. if they didn't end up on a 5sos album he would totally curate his own and dedicate it to you

tons and tons of inside jokes

would 100% get a tattoo for you. i don't think it would specifically be your name, but maybe some art you produced or something that reminds him of you, etc

not a super big pet name user, but sometimes he'll sprinkle them in

smoking together>>>

smutty/suggestive thoughts below the pics

its always ass or tits, and though ashton definitely loves both i feel like he's more of a thigh guy. they way they're so plush and he can squeeze them and mark them to his liking. how they look in skirts or dressed or when they they're over his shoulders. he can't get enough of them

100% puts you're pleasure first. if he comes, great! but he's so focused on you and making sure that you're experiencing as much pleasure as possible

on that note-- he loved to eat you out. your taste, your smell, the way your hands grip at his hair and his name falls from his lips is just intoxicating for him. he also can't deny how much it boosts his ego knowing that he can make you come with just his mouth

so many suggestive comments when you're with a group of friends. he loves watching you get riled up and pressing your thighs together by his words

he's such a tease oh my god. like you know something is about to happen just by how his eyes shift and that smirk that he can't seem to wipe off his face

such a slut for you. he wants you anywhere all the time. doesn't matter who's around, before a show- after a show, he needs you.

thigh riding!!!

so much casual dominance omg. driving you guys everywhere, constantly trying to find ways to help you, helping you pick out outfits. ugh i can't stop thinking about it

don't think he's a huge lingerie guy, but he really appreciated it when you take the time to pick out a set and doll yourself up

cannot get enough of bondage and blindfolds. both using it on you or you using it on him

obsessed with marking-- he wants people to know he's yours and you're his. like i can just imagine him posting a picture on his instagram story where his hair is all messy and his lips are plump from friction, neck littered with hickeys. he would probably delete it after a couple of minutes because the pr team would actually freak out, but it was most definitely worth it in his book.

high sex

likes to take his time, but doesn’t mind a quickie

cuddles that turn into sex that end up with you two curled back together asleep

love love loves kissing. how simple it can show your affection for someone and how it can be innocent and turn into something more

sleepy sex!!! early mornings or late at night when he’s back from the studio and just needs to be as close to you as possible

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sugrhigh · 8 months

Text

HOTBOX - ( m.s )

part two

summary- matt finally decides to smoke with his best friends for the first time, and he finds that it’s impossible to keep his eyes off of you

warnings- drug use, swearing, tiny bit suggestive

bff!matt x fem!reader

a/n: WOOOO finally a real piece of writing! i hope u guys enjoy. will possibly do a part two but idk, so if you have requests just ask!

he can’t stop drumming his fingers against the wheel as he steers the car along, desperately trying to relax a little bit and focus on the music that’s blaring through the speakers.

chris sits beside him in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard as you guys speed toward your destination. he can hear you and nate conversing in the back, practically shouting at each other over the song.

the waterfront comes into view through his windshield a moment later, moonlight shimmering against the glassy surface. matt takes the next left, swerving across both lanes of traffic to pull into the deserted lot.

there’s nobody on the beach of course, considering it’s almost midnight in the middle of november. he throws the car into park and lowers the volume, shifting in his seat so he can actually see everyone.

“i think that’s the fastest i’ve ever seen you drive, grandpa.” you tease him, unbuckling so you can lean forward in your seat.

he rolls his eyes, though he never actually minds it when you’re the one chirping at him.

“you’re gonna wish it was me once nate gets behind the wheel, i promise.”

“wow, so i volunteer to stay sober and this is the thanks i get?” his friend asks, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

“thank you nate.” you reply in a sing-song voice.

“yeah, yeah. whatever.”

matt watches as you claw through your bag, finally digging out a small blue pouch after a few more seconds of searching.

the moment you unzip it, the all-too familiar smell of weed fills the interior of the car. chris cheers when he sees you pull out a perfectly packed joint, holding it in between your middle and pointer finger with precision.

“you know, it’s really upsetting that you can roll better than me.” nate shakes his head with a sigh.

“aw, you gonna cry about it?” you puff your bottom lip out at him.

“i swear i’ll fucking walk home and leave you guys stranded.”

“sure you will. hold this.” you pass the joint to him before retrieving the lighter.

matt tries to play down the smile that’s beginning to take over his face as you hold it in your palm. he got that one for you on your last birthday. it’s a silver zippo lighter with a big winding dragon engraved on the side.

it was kind of a gag gift just because he knows how much you smoke, but you ended up genuinely loving it way more than he had ever expected.

chris smacks him in the arm gently, and he finally tears his eyes away from you.

“you sure you want to?” his brother double checks, though he doesn’t do a very good job of containing his obvious excitement.

“yup.” matt replies simply, his gaze darting in your direction again.

he’s never once felt pressured to smoke before, but he’s always been a little curious. he’s hung out with the three of you while you’re all stoned enough times to realize that he at least wants to try it.

and sure, maybe a tiny part of him is doing this because he wants to impress you. but what’s the harm in that?

“i’ll start her off, but then it’s coming your way matty b.” you nod at him with a smile, taking the joint back from nate.

his heart is already pounding and all you did was look at him.

you put the filter between your lips and spark his lighter, holding the flame to the end. he watches it burn as you inhale, trying to figure out exactly how he’s supposed to do this when it’s his turn.

you blow the smoke over your shoulder, careful not to do it in anyone’s face. no cough. matt doesn’t even see you flinch.

you take one more quick drag, and he’s already entranced by your fluid movements.

then you stretch your hand out, offering him the next hit as you silently exhale once again. it’s impossible for him to ignore the way he fumbles with your hand before he finally pinches it between his fingers.

it feels awkward, like he’s somehow already doing it wrong.

“just put your lips on it, suck in, not for long though because that’s real shit. then hold it in your throat, inhale it, exhale it.” you instruct him, and his mouth is already dry from the way you’re talking.

there’s something about the commanding edge to your voice that’s driving him crazy. he kind of likes that you’re the know-it-all, the one in control.

“sounds dirty, but you get the point.” chris states with a shrug.

yeah, sounds fucking dirty.

“you got this, don’t even think about it too much.” nate adds encouragingly.

matt bites the bullet, curling his lips around the end and inhaling. he definitely feels the smoke fill his lungs, so he pulls the joint away quickly and practically tosses it to chris.

“exhale, exhale.” you instruct, and he does so all at once.

it fogs up the car, smoke flying back up in his face instantly. then he feels it. the burning in his throat. the desperate need to cough.

he sputters, and chris is already motioning to one of the waters in the cup holder.

“keep holding your breath and drink that.”

he tries to do as he’s told, but it’s impossible to hold it in. he lets out a loud hacking cough. then another, and another. matt tries to sip on the water in between them, though it’s hard.

you rub his arm gently as the cough attack begins to die down, and the feeling of your fingernails scratching him lightly through his sweatshirt almost makes him shiver.

“i personally like a good cough everyone once in a while. humbles me.” you joke, removing your hand and sitting back in your seat once you’re sure he’s alright.

he misses your touch immediately, and it’s embarrassing.

chris has been keeping it lit, so he passes it back to you once you’re ready. matt is left out for a moment, and he doesn’t mind the brief break.

the music stays on in the background, a curated playlist of stuff that you all like. he sees you bopping your head along to baby keem, and you turn to him with the joint still burning between your lips.

“you want more?” you say as the smoke curls around your face.

in many ways.

matt nods and reaches to grab it from you, trying to be careful where he positions his fingers. he repeats his actions from earlier, breathing out slowly this time.

he still coughs quite a bit, but it’s not nearly as bad. the high is definitely rushing straight to his head, and it makes him feel like a balloon full of helium.

his brother guides the joint out of his hand gently. even he wheezes a bit as he takes his fair share, which makes matt feel better.

“how do you feel bro?” nathan asks him through the haze that’s filled the car.

“good. i feel good.” that’s all he can think to say.

and it is nice. everything seems just a little bit lighter. his body feels…loose. matt blinks, and he swears he sees stars behind his eyelids.

you reach up to open the sunroof, letting some fresh air into the car. there’s not a cloud in the sky tonight, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore calms him.

“one more baby hit, then you’re done.” you pass it to him for the last rotation.

“so bossy.” matt smirks at you, and there’s a humorous glint in your eyes as you watch him take a drag.

he tries impossibly hard to make it look cool, despite almost hacking up a lung and choking on his water. you laugh, but matt somehow understands that you’re not making fun of him by doing so.

chris snatches it from of his hand. “gimme that, it’s almost out.”

it’s like a game of ping pong as matt watches the two of you bounce back and forth, hit after hit. the joint dwindles and finally dies a minute later. you toss the burnt remains into a dunkin bag from god knows how long ago before slipping the lighter back into the pouch.

“alright, matt. time for you to switch with me big boy.” nathan reminds him, turning to open his car door.

matt follows his lead. his body feels like it’s three feet behind his brain, like his consciousness is just a few seconds faster. his legs wobble as his feet hit the ground, but he manages to steady himself, hand against the car as he moves.

nate walks him to the door just in case, and matt stumbles into his new home in the back, laughing at himself under his breath. you help him sit upright in the middle seat, reaching across his body to get to the belt.

“lift your arm.” you tell him, and even though he doesn’t want to, he listens.

you pull the buckle around and click it into place so he’s properly strapped in, doing it for him like he’s a toddler or something.

this is an action he’d normally protest, but he’s solely focused on how close together you are. he can feel the heat radiating from your body as your shoulder presses against his, knees knocking together as he gets comfortable.

“how are you doing? everything okay?” you ask lowly, looking up at him through those long lashes.

he can see the red tinging your eyes, and his own feel droopy as he continues to stare. matt just can’t help it. you look so gorgeous, somehow even more so when you’re both faded.

“cat got your tongue?” you joke, head tilted back to rest against the seat as nate puts the car in reverse.

“you’re pretty.” it slips out before he can stop it, and yet he’s too high to care.

your eyes go a little wide, and your lips part slightly as you suck in a breath. he wants to kiss you so bad, to get rid of the centimeters of space between you and just press his mouth to yours.

“and you’re stoned.” you smile a bit and look away, trying to play it off.

“but i’m serious.” he doubles down, and you glance at him once more with those fucking bambi eyes.

you shake your head and place your hand on his thigh. “i promise you’re not.”

it ignites a fire in his stomach, one that won’t die down. he wants to move his hips, to feel some sort of friction against your palm. but he holds still, even despite how much he needs you.

“you don't know me.” matt hears his words slur together slightly as he speaks.

“i definitely do.” you argue.

“fine, but you can’t possibly guess what’s going on in my head.”

matt’s still not sure where any of this is coming from, or why he’s saying it to you now, but the word vomit won’t stop.

you shrug, squeezing his thigh lightly. he shifts a little bit, trying not to get too worked up over the pressure.

“i guess that’s true. so what are you thinking?”

matt glances up front at his brother and his best friend, and he knows neither of them are paying attention to the two of you. they’re too busy singing piña colada by yung pinch to care.

he hears you hum a little bit of the chorus under your breath as you wait for his response.

“i’m thinking about you.” he finally admits, leaning over so he can say it directly into your ear.

he can smell your rose shampoo, the fading hints of flowery perfume on your skin. it’s intoxicating, being near you like this.

you move your hand off his leg to shove his chest playfully. “shut up.”

the city blurs by as nate continues to drive, and matt admires the way the light from the street lamps dance across your face.

“why don’t you believe me?” he mumbles, barely audible over the combination of the breeze and the music.

“because you’re high as a kite, i can see it written all over your face.”

“doesn’t mean i’m lying.”

you study his face like you’re trying to find the truth in it. he can’t help but grin, because you’re so fucking clueless, and it makes you smile right back.

“touché.”

#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #fanfic #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #youtube

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half-oz-eddie · 5 months

Text

parental death mention

Billy received a devastating phone call from an executor, asking if they could meet at an office in town regarding his mother.

Billy didn’t need to know much else, except the fact that it was about his mother and it was urgent.

When he got to the office, he was given an urn, an apology, a vague explanation, and a check.

His mother died, and there was no chance of him ever seeing her again.

Billy stood in front of his car, emotionless and confused, staring down at the urn as memories of being in her arms flashed through his mind.

And the only way he can hold her close is by clutching her urn to his chest. But the warmth was gone and he could never hope to feel it again.

He stared down at it, longingly, as if he was staring into her eyes. The sand casted urn is blonde just like her hair, iridescent and sparkling in a way he remembered the shore of the beach on their last happy day together.

He walked, ever so slowly back to Cherry Lane, his heart heavy from the terrible news and the uncertainty of what would happen once he arrived home with the urn.

Would Neil take it away? Would he smash it right in front of him? He dreaded what the near future held.

“So…” He awkwardly began. “Nice to uh…see you again. Not what I ever imagined but…I guess death is inevitable, and we can’t predict when it will come and get us.” Billy sighed. “I hate that you’re gone. We’re not even on the same planet anymore. At least when you were alive, the fact that we lived on the same earth gave me hope. Now…now that’s just gone. What’m I supposed to do?”

He could hear a car approaching behind and glared over when it slowed down beside him.

“You okay?”

Harrington? Why would he fucking ask that? He doesn’t care.

“I never see you on foot. Did your car break down somewhere—“

“No. I’m good. I don’t need anything.”

“What’re you carrying?” Steve asked, slowly driving beside him.

“Why’re you in my business, Harrington? We’re not even friends.”

“I’m asking because…I didn’t wanna assume but—i-it looks similar to my nana’s urn.”

Billy stopped walking, his head hanging down. “It’s my mom.” He replied despondently.

“Your mom? Jesus, I’m so sorry, man. D’you wanna talk or—“

“I told you, I’m fine.” Billy chuckled it off. “I haven’t seen her since I was 9. I don’t even care that much that she’s gone.”

Steve didn’t buy that for a second. He noticed the way Billy hung his head down and clutched the urn so close to his body like a scared child holding a teddy bear.

“Billy, your house is 20 minutes from here by foot, and mine is on the way. Why don’t you just let me drive you—“

“I’m not in a rush to go home, Harrington. Just leave me alone.” He continued walking, speeding up slightly.

“Fine.” Steve sped off.

Billy wasn’t sure why, but he felt a tinge of guilt for pushing Steve away, until he realized Steve was parking up ahead and getting out of his car.

He froze when Steve began to run toward him.

“If you’re gonna walk, I’ll just walk with you.”

“Why?”

“Because your mom died, man. And the fact that you didn’t try to punch me earlier says a lot.”

“I just didn’t wanna drop my mom’s urn, or I would’ve punched you.”

Steve smirked, nodding in understanding. “Fair enough. I guess I’m being annoying.”

“A little.” Billy mumbled.

“Only a little?”

“Do you want me to say that you’re getting on my fucking nerves instead?”

“Nah. A little annoying is fine.”

They continued to walk together in silence, when Billy stopped.

“I don’t wanna go home.”

“How come? Don’t you wanna safely store your mom’s—“

“It’s not safe there. Even in death, mom’s not safe under Neil’s roof. He’ll probably break it in front of me then make me sweep up her ashes.” His lip began to tremble at the thought.

“Hey, man, we’re not gonna let that happen, okay? My car’s right here.” He pointed. “We can go to my house. My parents never come upstairs and there’s a nice place we can set her urn. Nobody’ll mess with it and you can come see her whenever you want.”

“Why are you doing this for me?” Billy questioned.

“I already told you. Your mom died. I’m not gonna kick a man while he’s down. That’s your thing.”

Billy chuckled, causing Steve to smile.

“So whaddya say? Wanna come back to casa Harrington and give your mom a safe place?”

Billy nodded. “Under one condition.”

“Hm?”

“Never call your house ‘casa Harrington’ again.”

Steve laughed. “Alright, alright. Deal.”

—

Steve drove Billy to his house and showed him to a marble console table at the end of the hallway.

There wasn’t anything on it, except for an old copy of Gone With The Wind.

“This was her favorite book.” Billy mentioned, setting the urn down beside the book.

He stood back and reached into his pocket for a small seashell to place next to her urn.

“Hm…” Steve hummed pensively.

“What?”

“No, it’s just…I dunno, her urn’s like…lopsided. I don’t want it to fall over.

Billy stood back, noticing the way her urn didn’t rest flat on the surface like it was supposed to.

“Maybe there’s something under it.” Steve suggested.

Billy lifted the urn. There was nothing on the table, so he felt the bottom of the urn, noticing a strange bump beneath the felt.

He carefully peeled away at the felt, startled when a square fell to the floor by his feet.

He set his mother’s urn down and focused his attention on the square.

“Is that a…floppy disk?” Steve asked as Billy picked the black square up off the floor.

“Yeah. D’you have a computer?”

“I do but uh—are you sure we should like…actually open that?”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “Why the hell not? It could be a special message from my mom.”

“Because! What if it, I dunno, self destructs or something.”

“My mom wasn’t a fucking spy, shit-for-brains. Show me where your computer is.” Billy demanded.

“Fine.”

Steve led Billy to his computer and Billy inserted the floppy disk into the drive.

The floppy only contained two files. A photo, and an audio file.

Billy opened the photo first, frowning deeply.

“Cute kid. That you?”

“Yeah, it’s…me and my mom at the beach.”

“Aw, you look so happy. Look at that big bright smile. And your mom, she was…she was super pretty, man. You look just like her.”

“You callin’ me pretty?” He glanced over at Steve.

Steve gulped, his eyes shifting away. “Well I mean you called me pretty before! So what’s it matter?”

Billy answered with a shrug, returning his attention to the computer.

“You got headphones?”

“Yeah, check the drawer right there.”

Billy pulled the drawer handle and peered inside. He quickly grabbed the headphones, disregarding the condoms in the drawer beside it.

He plugged the headphones in and listened to the audio file.

“Hello, Billy. If you’re listening to this, it means I’ve passed on, which is…so unfortunate, but I learned I have cancer, and the more I struggle, the more I become aware of how little time I have left. It pains me everyday, Billy. I wish we had more time together. I’m sure you grew up to become a fine young man.”

There was a pause in the audio. Billy could hear soft sniffles.

“And I want you to continue to grow. But I’ve learned some disturbing news, about your father…have you ever wondered why we had so many nice things, even on your father’s salary? I wasn’t working, and yet I was always able to keep the finest foods on the table, and buy you the most expensive clothing. You were probably too young to think anything of it. Before you were born, your father was an active duty soldier. Now, he’s a resident spy. He has been engaging in espionage for several years and feeding classified data to Russians. You have moved very close to a secret Russian military base. I’m not sure where in Hawkins the military base is located, but this is all the information I’ve gathered over the years. I need you to promise me. Promise me. You will get away from your father before he gets you killed. I love you so much, sweetie. Take care and be safe. And…I am so sorry. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

When the audio message ended, Billy removed the headphones and stared at the screen, wide-eyed.

“Billy? Everything okay?”

He slowly turned to Steve, still in disbelief. “Hey, Harrington. Can I trust you?”

“Y—what?”

“Can I trust you?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. You can trust me.”

“My mom said my dad’s a spy. He’s been spying for the Russian military and that’s why we moved here. She thinks he’s gonna get me killed.”

“Holy shit…” Steve quietly whispered. “We need to talk to Hop.”

“What? No!” Billy shouted. “You said I could trust you!”

“Listen!” Steve exclaimed. “Hop’s been taking care of this kid, her name’s El, short for Eleven. She used to live in the Hawkins National Lab. She—she’s got powers and she was used as like a-a radio to spy on the Russian military.”

“Nah.” Billy laughed. “No that’s bullshit—“

“It’s not. I swear. You trust me, right? Then come with me.”

Billy shrugged. “I dunno about this.”

“Look This town’s got a lot of secrets. Really…weird secrets. I think it’s time you find out everything we know.”

“We? We who?”

Steve shrugged. “Sinclair, Henderson, Wheeler…Max.”

“Max?! That little shit knows things?!”

“Yes! And I tried to tell you that night we fought but you didn’t wanna hear me out.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Billy argued.

“I know! I know! Now we…we’ve gotta figure this shit out.” Steve grabbed a walkie talkie. “We’ve got a code red. Everybody meet at the quarry ASAP.”

“Copy that!” Dustin responded.

Steve returned his attention to Billy. “Let’s go. It’s time for you to learn the truth.”

#no idea where i was going with this #but i'm clearing out my drafts #so have this #death mention tw #ivy.doc #caliscoops.doc

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hometoursandotherstuff · 5 months

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I don't know if this is crazy or clever, but it's a 1918 bank in Newark, MD. And, it's still a bank, but someone had the wherewithal to stage it to look like a house. They are calling it 2bds, 1ba and asking $209,999. I've never seen such chicanery.

So, in the bank staff room, they put a living room in the corner, then a wood dining room set.

It's pretty clever, though. They put a portable bar in front of the employee kitchen and added stools and spices, etc.

You can see that this is small staff kitchen. They put out a cannister set, some decor, a pot on the fridge, a pan on the stove, and a dish rag. Looks like they brought in a bigger fridge and put it next to the small staff one.

And, they very cleverly made the bank president's office into a primary bedroom.

But, what do you do with the actual bank teller windows?

Well, you make it into a combination home office/pool room.

It's okay to leave the vault, unlike the other bank we saw this week, b/c people like that feature.

This office became the 2nd bedroom.

They redid the bathroom and put in a shower.

In this office they put in a washer/dryer and piled some beach stuff in to make it look like storage.

Also, unlike the other bank we saw, the drive-thru is completely intact. Being a smaller facility, it only has one lane but the window is completely intact.

Of course, there's no yard, but the .27 acre property is a large parking lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/8420-Newark-Rd-Newark-MD-21841/37733343_zpid/

#bank conversions #creative staging #houses #house tours #home tour

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allthecanadianpolitics · 2 months

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The District of West Vancouver council is accused of making a deal with a private buyer that has removed access to part of a beach for the public. The waterfront property at 3000 Park Lane has been listed for just under $7 million and is now listed as “sold – pending.” Residents say the “pending” refers to a condition by the prospective buyer that the municipality closes a trail to that part of the beach to the public. Beside the trail is vacant land owned by the West Vancouver District that was originally set aside for a road.

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

#public lands #public space #land ownership #vancouver bc #british columbia #cdnpoli #canadian politics #canadian news #canada

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calabria-mediterranea · 10 months

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Calabria, the toe of southern Italy is one of the country’s least-known regions and probably the most underrated one.

Calabria is best known for its beautiful sandy beaches along the Tyrrhenian and the Ionian Sea, and its dramatic cliffs, coves, and rock formations: 800 km of coastline, stunning turquoise waters and green hills adorned with olive, orange, and lemon trees.

The heart of the region offers a pure and unspoiled scenery, comprised of thick forests, dotted with canyons, streams, and waterfalls and three national parks: Aspromonte, Pollino (UNESCO heritage site), and Sila.

The warm weather, the wild and mysterious nature, the strong and genuine flavors of local food and the vestiges of its ancient origins, when it was a colony of Greece, make Calabria an ideal destination all year around, without the long-haul flights of more exotic destinations.

Art lovers cannot miss the famous Riace bronzes, that were found in the Ionian Sea near Riace in 1972 and exhibited in the National Museum of Reggio Calabria. These beautiful statues, probably two warrior heroes larger than life-size, are a fine example of classical Greek sculpture.

Reggio's ancient history predates the Greeks, who settled this strategic location at the exact center of the Mediterranean in the 8th century BC. They called their colony Rhegion, which was subsequently Latinized by the Romans and transformed through the ages under the area’s various rulers.

In Reggio Calabria, the lungomare or waterfront is a great place for a stroll, either down at beach level or along the upper promenade, which flanks what is commonly referred to as Via Marina, a pair of north-south coastal roads laid out in boulevard style. The approximate two-kilometer strip of land between serves as a lovely city park the length of the downtown area.

Stately mansions face this public garden and the strait beyond.

The seafront elegant, panoramic promenade lined with palm trees, with its views across the Messina Strait, which divides the Italian peninsula from the island of Sicily, to Mt Etna is one of the most atmospheric places for a walk.

Capo Vaticano is considered one of the 100 most beautiful beaches in the world: a long beach of fine sand with crystal clear waters, surrounded by ancient trees.

Tropea, a puzzle of lanes and piazzas, is one of Calabria’s most attractive towns. It is set in a dramatic spot on a cliff where the houses seem to blend into the rock. Tropea is famed for the spectacular sunsets, between the cliff and the rocky promontory with the church of Santa Maria dell’Isola.

Stacked high up on a sea cliff, there is Pizzo with its unique Church of Piedigrotta, entirely carved out of tuff stone.

Chili pepper, ‘nduja and Tropea onions are the first ingredients that come to mind when talking about Calabrese cuisine.

Calabrians love chilli peppers and they add it in everything, from pasta to ice-cream! Every September, the “peperoncino” festival takes place in Diamante to celebrate its locally produced food.

‘Nduja is the Calabrian version of salami. A spicy, spreadable cold cut with chilli peppers (of course) and spices.

Tropea’s red onion is known for its mild, sweet flavour. In fact, these onions are so famous that cipolla di Tropea has become a Calabrian symbol.

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sadhours · 4 months

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stuck in the middle with you - prologue

billy hargrove x mayfield!oc

series master-list • read on ao3

contents: 18+ minors dni, stepcest, psuedocest, forbidden love trope, slow burn ish, mutual pining

summary: the newly mixed hargrove-mayfield household is awkward and a little tumultuous. eldest teens billy and pamela struggle to find a good balance between them. billy was under the impression that susan and neil wouldn’t last long, but once the pair tie the knot, billy has to nip his attraction to pamela in the bud. that proves to be difficult.

It’s a sunny day in San Diego and Billy’s feeling good. Forgoes the numerous cassettes in his car for the radio, thumbs through the channels until he hears Bill Wither’s Lovely Day billowing through the Camaro’s speakers. He’s on his way to work. The grocery store is ten minutes from the Hargrove residence. He got an early start, got to hit some waves and did some shit he’s pretty proud of. His fingers twirl the volume dial up. He hits a red light and fumbles with his pack of Red’s, plucks one out and brings it to his lips. Lights it with a flick of his Zippo and turns his head to catch a red convertible, full of bleach blonde honey’s in swimsuits. They giggle and wave, squealing as Billy revvs his engine. Chuck Taylor on the brake pedal and the other on the accelerator, waves his fingers at the blondes and as the light turns green, he punches it. Life is good.

He clicks the turn signal, switching lanes before he turns into the grocery parking lot. Parks as far as he can from the entrance and uses up the rest of the free time he has, blasting his radio and finishing up his cigarette. There’s a view of the ocean from here, no doubt where the girls in the convertible were headed. Same beach he spent the morning.

Once Billy’s finished his smoke, he takes the walk from the edge of the parking lot to the Albertson’s entrance. Waves to Mrs. Jones, as she's walking out, makes a cheeky comment about how he’s bummed to have missed her and doesn’t miss the way she blushes. He’s the favorite bagboy around here. If not for his looks, then for his skill and diligence. But if Billy can find a way to compete, he’ll take it. If there was a competitive sport for bagging groceries, he’d surely have the first place trophy.

He makes it to the lockers, circles the dial for his lock and pops it open. Retrieves his apron and slides it on, ties it around his waist and reaches for his name tag next, slides the sharp point of the safety pin into his white button up and closes it up. Pops a piece of gum between his teeth before closing up his locker, nods to a coworker as he grabs his time card and slips it into the time clock. Two minutes early.

“How ya doing, Billy?” his coworker greets before grabbing his own time card and clocks out for break.

“Living the dream,” Billy chides, easy and all smiles.

He checks the clipboard to see where he’s stationed first and then makes his way to the check stands. Salutes the cashier as he takes his post at the bagging area. First customer of the day is an absolute babe. Soft, styled blonde hair and blue eyes. Wears a sundress and clings onto the strap of her purse with manicured nails. Red. Billy’s favorite color. He winks at her as he says hello as he smacks his gum.

“Hi,” she replies, cheeks pink and it might be powder blush but Billy would like to think it’s from him.

“How’s your day going?” he inquires, reaching for the groceries rotating his way. Even with the distraction of the gorgeous blonde, he bags with precision. Canned corn with canned soup, double bagged and placed in the cart.

The blonde purses her lips, glances behind her and then turns to Billy, “It’s fine. How’s yours?”

“Can’t complain, got to catch some killer waves before work,” he replies easily and then a familiar face appears behind the blonde. Makes Billy’s face fall.

Susan. His dad’s new girlfriend. She looks at him surprised and then smiles, “Billy! I forgot you work here.”

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckles, shaking his head ‘cause he doesn’t buy it. He heard she lives on the opposite side of town. No reason to do grocery shopping here. “Hey, Susan.”

“So, you’ve met my daughter,” Susan smiles, motioning to the blonde. Fuck. He was flirting with his dad’s girlfriend’s daughter. Gross. Why would Neil date someone with such a hot daughter? That’s like, totally unfair.

“Not officially. I’m Billy,” he offers.

“Pamela,” the girl replies curtly, glancing down at her feet as another, younger girl bounces up beside them. This one looks a lot more like Susan.

“And this is my youngest, Maxine,” Susan introduces the middle schooler.

The younger redhead scowls, turns her nose up at her mother and then looks to Billy, “It’s Max.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Billy plasters on the fakest smile. The few times he’s met Susan, he hasn’t liked her. Doesn’t buy the facade she puts on.

“You, too,” Pamela mumbles and Max looks disinterested.

Billy doesn’t miss a beat bagging their groceries, but he does notice that when he grabs the box of tampons, Pamela’s eyes widen and her face gets redder. It makes him smirk, but he feels like he really shouldn’t be finding his dad’s girlfriend’s daughter so hot.

“Well, we’re heading to your house. You were supposed to meet my girls at dinner but it looks like we got a jump on that,” Susan says, voice all cheery.

“Yep,” Billy smiles again, still forced. This kind of put a real damper on his mood. Seeing Susan does that but knowing her daughter is such a smoke show and so off limits really drives it home.

He doesn’t say much else, keeps bagging the dinner he’s doomed to eat. It’s unlike Billy and the cashier notices and gives him a look. He’s typically a chatterbox. Charming his way through the whole process. Susan pays, and Billy notices she used food stamps. He doesn’t express any judgment but his dad talks real negatively about single mothers who take advantage of the government. Billy has to wonder if he knows he’s sleeping with one.

“We’ll see you at dinner, Billy,” Susan grins, behind Pamela who pushes the cart.

He meets her eyes, tries to read them as he says bye. She averts hers and Billy has to wonder if she’s just as attracted to him.

—

He’s been dreading the dinner his whole shift. Even considers skipping it all together. Sits in the Camaro for a good twenty minutes before he even starts it up. He’s pretty sure there’s a bonfire at the beach but Neil would kill him. And also, there’s a big part of him that wants to see Pamela again. Even if she’s off limits, he can still look, can’t he?

The drive home is too quick and Susan’s dumb station wagon is in his place in the driveway. He sits outside and has a cigarette, listening to the radio as he just watches the door. Half expects Neil to come out and yell at him, or worse, Susan. It doesn’t happen. Of course his dads gonna put on a front for these women. Which buys him something. But the second they leave, that’s another story. And Billy’s gone a month without a black eye, he’d really like to keep that going so he turns off the Camaro. Tosses his cigarette and trudges his way up to the house. Upon entering, Max is sat on the couch, looking bored to hell while Neil’s nursing a beer, sat on his recliner as the news bubbles out from the TV.

“Billy. How was work?” Neil asks, absentmindedly. He’s not really paying attention, doesn’t really care. His eyes focused on President Reagan, talking some bullshit on the TV.

“Fine,” he mumbles, closing the door behind him as he reaches down to untie his Converse. Looks at the three pair of shoes discarded by the front door. He slips his off and holds them between his fingers as he trails down the hallway to his bedroom. Tosses them to the floor and closes his door. Leans against the cheap particle board and heaves a sigh. He can’t be in here too long. Neil’ll come looking for him. Tell him he has to mingle.

So he takes the short time he has to change his clothes. Just slips out of his button up and pulls on an old t-shirt. And yeah. He walks over to his mirror, checks how his hair is looking. Sure as hell can’t flirt with the pretty blonde in his house, but who says he can’t look good for her anyways. A spray of Aquanet can’t hurt and shit, he smells like work so a few sprays of his cologne ain’t gonna kill anyone.

Looking in the mirror, he catches his cat on his bed. Locked in here because Susan insists she’s allergic. He doesn’t believe her because Gloria’s fur is all over this house and Susan never has a reaction. He collapses on his bed and Gloria stands up, stretches all exaggerated and struts her way over to Billy. Cozies up on his lap and nudges her head against his hand. He gets the idea and scratches at the gray fur behind her ears, pouts as he looks at her.

“Wish I could be locked in here with ya,” he mumbles out. Gloria purrs, eyes closing as she nuzzles against his chest.

Then there’s a knock on his door and he huffs, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he calls out, “Yeah?”

The door opens slowly, his eyes catch her feet first. Simple black kitten heels, tights adorning long legs up to her flowy black skirt and baby pink blouse with a frilly collar. Yeah, this night is gonna suck. Pamela’s hair is tied back in a haphazard bun and he wonders if she’s been in the kitchen, helping Susan.

“Salad is re— you have a cat?!” her plush lips pulling up into an excited smile as she moves in closer.

“Yeah, shut the door,” Billy tells her, “Your mom’s allergic.”

Pamela closes the door and steps closer to the bed, “So she says. We had cats when I was a kid, though. What’s its name?”

She reaches her manicured fingers out for Gloria to sniff. Gloria does, looks up at the girl curiously and then nudges her head against Pamela’s knuckles. She scratches the cat's head, smiling all fondly at her.

“Gloria, or Glo for short,” Billy says.

“Such a pretty girl,” Pamela praises with a pout, voice all babied.

Billy smiles, watching the interaction and ignoring how close Pamela is to him. But he can smell her perfume, citrusy and floral. His instinct to flirt is weighing heavy on him and it’s kind of painful not to. Off limits, he tells himself and clears his throat, “So uh, dinner’s ready?”

Pamela nods, hair bouncing with the movement as she keeps scratching at the cat's neck. “Well, salad is. Meatloafs almost done.”

“Meatloaf, eh? Sounds tasty,” he tries to sound like he means it but Pamela catches it.

She laughs, breezy and a sound Billy wants to hear over and over. “Don’t worry, I did all the heavy lifting. But don’t tell your dad that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grins, sitting up and picking up Gloria. Pamela turns towards the door and Billy can’t stop his dumb mouth, “You’re really pretty, by the way.”

“Oh,” she turns slightly and her cheeks are redder. “Thanks.” Pamela exits his bedroom and leaves Billy feeling like a creep. The hell is wrong with him? Why the fuck did he say that?

He puts the cat down and walks out behind Pamela, but he doesn’t follow her out into the kitchen yet. Detours to the bathroom so he can splash his face and get a grip. Off limits, he repeats. Fixes his hair some more and decides he’s not gonna talk to Pamela if he can help it.

She’s already sat at the table by the time he gets there and wouldn’t you know it, the only empty spot is right across from her. Awesome. They’ve pulled up an old wooden chair for Max, next to Pamela. Neil and Susan sit at the other ends. There’s a salad plated for him. He sits down and gulps some of the water placed for him while he waits for his dad to start grace, but he doesn’t. And all the girls are already eating. Neil gives him a look, then looks up at the ceiling so Billy does the same. Tells God thanks in his head and starts in on his salad.

Susan talks a lot so it’s easy for Billy to zone out on his food and not look up at the pretty girl across from him. But apparently, this dinner is supposed to be about the teens getting to know each other. Susan says, in her shrill voice, “Billy! You and Pamela are in the same grade. Isn’t that neat?”

“Yeah,” Billy offers a soft grin, doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Max is about to start the eighth grade,” Susan continues and Billy just nods, pretends he’s listening as she keeps rambling. Then she says, “Max skateboards, your dad says you surf, that’s pretty much the same thing, right?”

He scoffs, a smile that’s not at all joyful plays at his lips as he looks at Susan, “I mean, no. Not really, at all.”

Neil shoots him daggers, he can’t see them but he can feel his dads eyes hardened on the side of his face so he offers, quickly, “But I skate, too. Not that often but I’ve got a board. I like surfing more, been doing it longer.”

“I only started this year,” Max mumbles, luckily getting the attention away from Billy.

“That’s cool,” Billy tries, mostly for the sake of his dad. Neil hasn’t dated seriously enough to introduce his girlfriend’s kids before. And really, Susan’s made an effort to get to know Billy, though fruitless. But perhaps he can play nice for the time being. And when Neil and Susan inevitably fizzle out, he can make his move on the daughter. That’s his plan, at least.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x mayfield!oc #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x original character #billy hargrove x fem!oc #billy Hargrove x original female character #tw stepcest #stepcest cw

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