#Billy Hargrove mention

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 19 - Music Monday: Careless Whisper – George Michael

i’m challenging myself to keep all these at either 127 or 1,270 words each, see day one for more of an explanation!

“‘S.H's SEX MEX’?” Steve’s head whips around, staring wide-eyed at the tape in Eddie’s hand. “What’s this, Harrington?”

“None of your business, that’s what.” Steve stalks back to Eddie’s desk, moving to snatch the tape from him.

Eddie pulls it out of reach. “Lemme guess, George Michael’s saxophone-y stylings are heavily featured.”

It's weird, he thinks, that a song about cheating is already starting to find it's way onto these exact types of tapes but, to each their own.

Plus: Steve goes pink. Bingo.

“No. Shut up.” He swipes for it again.

“Nah uh uh–OOF!” Eddie’s teasing is cut short when Steve fully tackles him to the ground.

He stares dumbly up at him, every bit of his body that’s pinned under Steve feels like it’s on fire.

Steve snatches the tape from his hand and sits up, straddling Eddie’s legs in triumph.

“HA! Take that, Muns—”

“OooOHhhh! The fallen King falls lower! Caught in the lap of the town freak!” Tommy Hagan’s dumb freckled face sneers from the doorway.

Steve twists around at the sound of Tommy’s voice (a move that doesn't help Eddie’s ‘cute boy in his lap’ problem in the slightest), turns back to give Eddie another panicked look, then bolts up and out the door, face red as a stoplight.

“Think you’re real cool for gettin’ Stevie in your freak flock, Munson?”

“Didn’t think you still cared about Stevie, Hagan.” Eddie says, standing and brushing himself off, “Looked to me like you dropped him the second you had a new piece of ass to follow around.” He’s been getting some vibes from both Hagan and Hargrove ever since the latter arrived in Hawkins.

Pink Dalmatian is… well, Eddie wouldn’t say it’s a good look for Tommy, but it’s... different. “Shut the fuck up, Munson!”

“Oh yeah? Or what, you’ll sick your beefy boyfriend on me?” Eddie shrugs, nonchalant, “Gotta warn you though, I might like it.” he grins.

Tommy goes pinker, then leaves too, steam streaming out his ears.

Eddie’s decided he hates this fuckin’ mall.

Jameson’s record shop down on Main is already pricing down their stock to compete with the Sam Goody that’s opened up a couple doors down from here, and they’ve been sellin' music since Wayne was a kid 100 years ago!

Stupid fuckin’ mall.

In the middle of vowing to never set foot in this brightly-lit hellscape after he’s finished with his sundae, who should walk in but Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington. In a sailor suit. Just walked into Scoops Ahoy. Blue shorts, tall socks, matching fuckin shoes. Jesus H. Christ.

And what’s worse? The moment Eddie had looked up, the moment Steve set foot across the threshold, what should start playing over the speakers but the cheesy saxophone intro to Careless Fuckin’ Whisper.

Steve walks behind the counter, waves goodbye to whoever it was that he’s taking over for, and grabs a bucket. 

Eddie, the only person in here at 2:15pm on a Wednesday, watches as he starts methodically wiping down all the tables.

He glances up at some point and gives Eddie a tight-lipped smile before getting back to it. 

It knocks Eddie out of his reverie and he goes back to his now-soupy sundae. 

He hears Steve shuffle away at some point, but he’s not about to be caught staring again. 

The thought of what Steve’s ass looks like in those shorts almost breaks him but he stays strong, swirling his spoon around in his melted cup of goo.

He’s about to cut his losses and try to sneak a peek when a voice pipes up from in front of him.

“Thought you might need some of these.” Steve says, holding out a short stack of napkins.

“Uh.. thanks?” Eddie says, taking them.

“No problem.” Then he’s gone. 

Why would he think Eddie needed—- oh Jesus fucking Christ.

Eddie’s got a glob of vanilla ice cream melting down the front of his shirt. 

“God fuckin’---” he scrubs at the spot futilely, the flimsy napkins disintegrating against the fabric. 

The sundae’s in the trash not long after, along with his pride.

After spring break from hell, after the bats, the hospital, the NDAs, managing to come out the other side with not one but, what, 11? more friends, he and Steve are teetering on the edge of something.

Chrissy and Robin had gotten very close in the immediate aftermath of the former’s ill-fated trip to the Munson abode, bonding at first over Blondie, then over movies, then milkshakes, and kisses and– you get the idea.

He and Steve had somehow ended up on a weird duplicate of the same path. There was bonding over Dio of all things, over Star Wars, then over the ‘Ring Lord’ books as Steve liked to call them; now all that’s left to do is the date stuff if they’re gonna follow in their platonic soulmates’ footsteps.

And no matter what he’s seen happen in this stupid fuckin’ town, that’s not something he can even fathom happening.

Until.

“Hey Eds, what’re you doing on Friday night?”

Eddie shrugs, still half-focused on the miniature he’s painting for Will. “You’re lookin’ at it, Steve-o.” another touch of purple there… “Why?”

“Wanna come over? We can pick up take out from Enzo’s and watch a movie..?”

Why’s he sound so weird? Sounds like any one of their other hangouts, except the Enzo’s, that’s new. He looks up at Steve, a weird angle since he’s on the floor in front of the coffee table and Steve’s still on the couch. “Sure, sounds fun, but why Enzo’s?”

Steve’s cheeks look brighter, “I dunno, I’ve been craving fettuccine, we can get pizza if you want…?”

“Nah man, just get me some garlic bread and I’m good.” Eddie grins, going back to his work. Steve seems to relax further into the couch.

Until.

Eddie knocks on Steve’s door at 6pm on Friday evening. He scratches a spot on his arm under his jacket sleeve, wonders again why Wayne insisted Eddie not wear his favorite holey jeans and cut-off Black Sabbath tee.

Steve opens the door, “Hey! Eddie..”

“Hey Steve, you look nice.” he’s wearing a button-down shirt, odd. “What’s with the shirt?”

He looks down at himself, “Oh, just what I had left in my closet. C’mon in man..”

They’re halfway through their pasta when it hits him.

Like snapping out of a daydream, Eddie looks around.

Candles, nice shirt, pasta, wine that Steve apologized for because he “Ran out of beer, sorry.”...

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god!”

“What?!”

Eddie looks up from his plate to Steve’s face. There’s a bit of sauce on his lip. “This is a date.” he breathes.

Steve’s expression shifts from confusion to embarrassment. He puts his fork down. “Um.. Yeah. It is, that okay?”

He jerks up out of his seat and all but runs around the end of the table to pull Steve out of his. 

“Look, I’m sor—” he’s cut off by Eddie’s lips on his.

“You.” another kiss. “You took me on a date.” another. “What the fuck, Steve.”

Steve’s grinning brightly now, “Yeah, I did.”

Eddie kisses him again. “I can’t believe my uncle knew before me.”

After, when they’re lying sticky and satisfied in Steve’s bed, Eddie remembers something. “I can’t believe you sexed me up without your ‘SEX MEX’.” he laughs.

Steve does too, reaching over Eddie to push a button on his stereo. 

Those damn saxophones are at it again, crooning at them both. 

“I didn’t want to accidentally ruin the mood,” Steve admits.

Eddie laughs, “Consider the mood reignited, big boy.”

uhhh this one turned out more fun/fluffy than angsty... i'm pretty sure the only angst in it is the teasing at the beginning...... but i think i needed it after all the other angst i've been writing/reading this month.. so consider this some levity!!

see the collection on ao3!

[withacapitalp]

How to Rehabilitate a Jock Pt 18

Part One Link to ao3 Part 17. Part Nineteen

Thank you to @stevethehairington for being supportive af and the worlds best beta and @thefreakandthehair for encouraging everything I do y'all rock!!!

Step Eighteen: Get Some Supplies

Eddie had spent quite a lot of time watching Steve in the last few weeks. Observing the way Steve spoke, the way his smile curled slowly on his lips when he thought no one was watching, the way he noticed almost everything, but was somehow still so oblivious. Eddie saw it all. 

But by far the most interesting thing about Steve was the way he could switch at the drop of a hat. 

It was the most interesting, but also the most frightening. It was like the headlights on the van all over again- one second Steve had been joking around with him, saying things that made Eddie’s heart race and his chest sink heavy with guilt; and the next his entire face went blank, a hard protective look in his eyes and a painful tension setting his spine perfectly straight. 

All because of the sound of a car. 

Eddie had no way of knowing what happened to Steve to make him like this, but curiosity was eating at him again, completely pushing aside the fact that he had almost spilled the entire bet to Steve in a fit of regretful shame. 

Well, not completely pushing it aside. Eddie’s heart was still racing like a jackrabbit, but that was besides the point. 

“What’s wrong?” Eddie murmured. 

“Nothing,” Steve replied immediately, his voice so dead it killed something in Eddie too. Steve carefully pulled away from Eddie, leaving cold handprints where his warm palms had just been against Eddie’s skin. “Stay here.” 

Not a chance. Eddie knew whose car that was, and he knew that if Hargrove was here, then nothing good was about to come of it. He waited maybe two seconds before following Steve out of the kitchen, tracing his steps to the front door that was slightly ajar, slipping out the door and onto the porch-

And walking directly into Jim Hopper’s back. 

Hopper startled like he had been shot, and Eddie reared back on instinct, nearly hitting the door in his effort to put space between himself and the police chief. When Hopper saw who bumped into him, he practically growled, his eyebrows furrowing into one long fuzzy stripe as he gave Eddie a completely unwarranted death glare. 

Rude. And uncalled for. 

It wasn’t like they were friends, but Eddie and the chief usually had a pretty good rapport. Kind of like Tom and Jerry, if Tom was the chief of police in a podunk Indiana town, and Jerry was a trailer kid who dealt drugs on the side for grocery money. Usually Hopper regarded him with put upon fondness, not straight hostility, and the shift was… disconcerting to say the least. 

Luckily for Eddie, Hopper seemed to have a bigger target for his rage tonight. A target with a blue camaro and even worse anger issues. 

Steve had only been outside for maybe thirty seconds, but that thirty seconds was long enough for him to get in trouble. Hargrove had gotten out of his stupid car, leaving the engine idling as he swaggered up to Steve, a condescending smirk in his face as his eyes flashed dangerously. Max had also scrambled out of the car, and was on her way around the hood and over to Steve’s side. 

This wasn’t going to be good. 

But, before anything could go wrong, Eddie was reminded they weren’t alone. 

“Is there a problem here, Hargrove?!” Hopper barked just as Billy reached towards Steve, putting every ounce of authority he had into his growling tone, making even Eddie shudder. Eddie had only gotten that tone out of Hopper once or twice during his many run-ins with the law, but each time it scared the bejeezus out of him. 

“No sir,” Hargrove spat out, instantly taking a step away from Steve. It seemed that even his impervious armor of assholery could be penetrated by Hopper’s power. 

Hop started down the steps of the porch, and Eddie burst into action, scurrying after him and attempting to look at least a little bit intimidating as he came to Steve’s aid. 

Mission probably not accomplished, but Eddie hoped Steve at least appreciated the gesture. Hargrove was fucking scary, and if he could beat Steve’s face in, Eddie was pretty sure that Billy might actually kill him if Eddie decided to take a swing. 

“Max, go inside,” Steve said softly as they came over, a gentle hand pushing against her arm and urging her towards the safety of the house. She pushed back, giving Steve a silent glower. Little Red was stubborn, almost as stubborn as Steve, and it was obvious she didn’t want to go anywhere without knowing nothing bad would happen to her babysitter. 

It was admirable, but it was also really, really, stupid. If anything happened, Steve would one hundred percent focus on protecting her first, which might get him hurt. Eddie wasn’t great in a fight, but he knew how to find people’s weak spots, and anyone with eyes knew that Steve’s weak spots were the people he loved. 

“Please,” Steve whispered, taking his eyes off of Billy to give her a silent look. 

Another switch. The guard dog was gone, a sweet chocolate lab in its place. Soft and careful not to hurt as he nudged his pup away from the mountain lion that wanted to devour her whole. 

Max sighed shortly, stopping to press a quick hug to Steve’s side and an even quicker flick of her middle finger towards Billy before she ran over to the porch. She sat herself down on the bottom step, her fiery red hair standing out in the dark as she leaned forward with her hands on her knees, watching them all like a hawk waiting to take flight. 

It was a compromise, and enough to keep her out of the fight that still seemed to be coming. 

“I’ll be back to get her at 8 sharp tomorrow, Harrington. She better be out here waiting,” Hargrove stated, bristling with barely concealed fury as Hopper and Eddie both flanked Steve. 

“I’ll drop Max off sometime in the afternoon, Billy,” Steve replied coolly, leaning casually backward as he crossed his arms. He was a picture of calm, a complete deviation from the rest of them. “If she’s gonna be later than 3, I’ll give you a call. Mkay?”  

Steve finished his sentence with a bitchy little smile, and Eddie bit his tongue, hating the way that his pants were starting to feel tight. It should not have been so much of a turn on to see Steve act like an ass, but when he was using his powers for good, there was something incredibly alluring about watching the former King tear someone down without so much as a swing of his fist. 

Hargrove’s nostrils were flared, and he looked like he swallowed an entire bag of lemons. He opened his mouth, probably to say something stupid, but Hopper wasn’t having any of it. 

“Anything else?” The man asked rhetorically. Before Billy could even shake his head, Hopper continued, putting his hands on his hips, “Good. Then scram before I bring you in on trespassing charges.” 

Hargrove deflated like a balloon, and Eddie barely resisted the urge to scoff. Of course Billy was the same as any other bully. It always went that way- they were all cocky and confident when they were with someone they thought they could beat, but if someone with actual power over them showed up, they instantly showed their belly. 

Eddie had no doubt that if Steve was out here alone, words would fly at the very least, and Steve might’ve even ended up with some new bruises. But the prospect of spending Christmas Eve in a cell seemed to be enough to get Billy Hargrove to fuck right off and leave them alone. 

Good riddance. 

“I could’ve handled that,” Steve complained the second Billy’s car disappeared around the corner. The annoyed face he was making at Hopper was ridiculously cute, and honestly, unfair. Eddie probably could have handled just the scrunched up nose, or the adorable little pout, but together they were a deadly combination that left him wanting to clutch his chest and beg for mercy. 

God, he was down bad for this boy. 

“Mhm,” Hopper hummed, raising a brow. 

“I could have!” Steve insisted. He turned to Eddie expectantly, waiting to hear his DM back him up. 

“You definitely could have,” Eddie reassured, despite not being entirely sure that Steve actually would have gotten out of that on his own, “but as much fun as bringing you to the hospital tonight sounds…”

The unsaid words spoke louder than Eddie had intended, and he even managed to get Hopper to bark out a short unexpected laugh. Eddie broke into a grin and shot Hop a smirk, the smile fading as Hopper seemed to realize exactly who had made him laugh and quickly went back to his angry scowling. 

What was his problem? 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Babydoll,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes, dragging Eddie’s attention back over to him. Behind them Hopper seemed to choke on air, but Steve didn’t seem to notice, too focused on his next mission. 

“I thought you couldn’t come tonight?” Steve asked Max as he walked towards where she was sitting. 

“Mom and Neil decided to go to a resort for the holiday, so it was just me and Billy alone for Christmas.” Max sighed as she stood, casually stretching her arms high above her head. “I’d rather step in front of a bus then deal with that so I gave him five bucks to drive me here.” 

Her movements and her tone were nonchalant, uncaring and almost lazy, but Eddie wasn’t fooled. Max was chewing on the inside of her lip, and she was avoiding eye contact like the plague. Most people might’ve missed it, but Eddie was good at looking. 

And Steve was too. 

“Sorry about your mom,” Steve murmured as he pulled her in for a hug. Max let him hold her for all of four seconds before pulling away roughly, tossing one braid over her shoulder and sticking her nose in the air. 

“I don’t care,” Max declared, despite all of them knowing how very much she cared. 

“Well El is going to be thrilled. She’s been stuck with just the boys all night,” Steve offered, giving Max an out from the big feelings talk. 

“I’m sure she was fine,” Max muttered, kicking at the ground, “not like anyone was missing me.” 

Eddie had spent the better part of his life being unwanted. From his parents, to his teachers, to basically the whole world. Not only was Eddie the local freak, he was also a barely closeted gay man in a small Indiana town. He had gotten good at being okay with being left behind or abandoned.  

But seeing that part of himself in the little girl in front of him hurt in a way he didn’t even think to expect.

Luckily, Steve seemed to have this handled. 

“Lucas was missing you,” Steve said teasingly, crushing her against his side as he dragged them both up the stairs. “I was too. Now that you’re here I can finally start karaoke. I’m thinking of starting with "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas.”

“Fuck off Steve, that song sucks and you know it,” Max complained, trying to wiggle out of his grip. Steve held her tighter, turning back to give Eddie a ‘watch this’ look before taking a comically long breath in.

“I WANT A HIPPOPOTAMUS FOR CHRISTMAS,” Steve crowed at the top of his lungs, startling the silent frigid air of the night with the force of his voice, “ONLY A HIPPOPOTAMUS WILL DO!”

“Oh my god, you suck!” Max shouted, finally escaping his grasp and clapping her hands over her ears. Her tone was angry, but Eddie could see the huge beaming grin that was overtaking her face. Once again the unstoppable force of Steve Harrington had managed to smooth things over. 

“I can see me now on Christmas morning creeping down the stair!” Steve continued without a care, giggling like a kid as he did. “Oh, what joy and what surprise! When I open up my eyes! To see a hippo hero standing there!”

Now Max was laughing too, holding her stomach as she tripped towards the front door to try and run from Steve’s singing. He held up his hands in mock trumpet form, vocalizing the instrumental parts of the song as he followed her in, leaving the front door wide open. 

And leaving Hopper and Eddie all alone outside. 

The silence materialized out of nowhere, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. As much as Eddie wanted to just run into the house after Steve and never even look at Hopper again, he held back. Yes, this was awkward, but Eddie could deal with awkward. He was good at awkward. He regularly stood on lunch tables for fun. He could do this. He would have them back to their normal bantering rivalry before midnight.

“Hiya chief! So how’s-”

“Are you selling Steve drugs?” Hopper demanded, cutting him mid-sentence and rounding on Eddie with fury in his eyes. 

Eddie, unable to help himself, did the absolute worst thing he could have in response. 

He laughed. 

He couldn't help it. The question was just that ridiculous. He had sold to Steve in the past, even jacked up his price with the ‘rich douchebag’ tax, but it was only ever weed. A joint here and there barely counted as drugs in Eddie’s book. Steve wasn’t even one of his regulars. And since joining Hellfire, Steve hadn’t even mentioned Eddie’s side hustle. 

“Chief, even if I was, would you really expect me to tell you?” Eddie snickered, still in shock that he was being asked this by Jim Hopper of all people. Was he worried that Steve was going to give Jane drugs? It couldn’t be that, there was no way anyone would ever think Steve would do that. 

So Hopper was just… weirdly overprotective over Steve. He almost sounded like a dad. 

“Cut the crap, Munson,” Hopper growled, taking a menacing step forward. “I’m serious. I don’t know what game you’re playing here-”

“Dungeons and Dragons,” Eddie supplied, still chuckling at how insane this conversation was. 

“-but!” Hopper continued, putting emphasis on the word and on ignoring Eddie, “nothing better happen to him, or so help me god-”

“Hop!”

Hopper was cut short by the sound of Joyce Byers. She and Steve were standing in the open doorway, twin disappointed looks on both of their faces as they took in the scene in front of them. Steve hung his head low, softly muttering to himself as he plodded down the steps and grabbed Eddie’s wrist, tugging him back towards the house. 

“Handle this?” Steve begged as they passed her. 

Joyce, who was in the process of lighting a cigarette, gave him one short nod, eyes already locked on her target. Eddie didn’t really know Mrs. Byers all that well, but he had dealt with enough irate mothers to know when to stay out of a woman’s way. 

“You promised you wouldn’t act so crazy-” Eddie heard her hiss to Hopper from behind their backs. 

“I am concerned! Am I not allowed to be concerned?!” Hopper exploded, and Steve slammed the door before they could hear anymore, pressing his back against it and groaning as he hid his face in his hands. 

“Why does everyone think I’m doing drugs?” Steve muttered. It was definitely a rhetorical question, but Eddie couldn’t help being a bit of a jackass. 

“I mean it’s not like I’ve never sold to you before, Sweetheart,” He pointed out, sticking both hands deep in his pockets and letting the smirk on his face grow three times as big as Steve groaned even louder. Eddie wasn’t exactly happy to be threatened by the chief of police, but it was nice to know that there was someone who was looking out for Steve. 

Hop was no Wayne, but every person needed a grumpy old man to watch over them in Eddie’s humble opinion, and if Hop was Steve’s, then Eddie could handle a few words thrown his way. 

Steve slowly slid down the door as he grumbled and mumbled, ending up cross legged on the floor, staring up at Eddie with the most pitiful pout known to man. 

If it was anyone else, Eddie would have kept the joke going, teased them to oblivion until they were both laughing until their stomachs hurt. But Eddie was a weak, weak man, and Steve’s eyes had somehow grown inhumanely wide and sad, and there was only so much he could take. 

“Come on, let’s go check on our completely clean, absolutely drug-free cookies,” Eddie offered, sticking a hand out to Steve to help him up, “just to prove to Hopper that I’m not your hookup.” 

Steve heaved the world’s biggest sigh in response, but took Eddie’s hand anyway. As he stood, rather than letting go, he intertwined their fingers, pulling Eddie into the kitchen and squeezing their palms together once before he went for his oven mitts. 

“By the way, I didn’t get to thank you,” Steve said randomly as he slowly lifted the tray filled with cookies out of the oven. 

“Thank me for what?” Eddie asked, reaching a hand towards the fresh treats, his mouth watering at the delicious aroma filling the air. 

“Hey! Too hot, you’ll burn yourself,” Steve said, jostling the tray to one side as he smacked Eddie’s fingers away before they could get singed. He placed the tray down far from Eddie and began to transfer the cookies onto a cooling rack. 

“I meant thank you for having my back out there… you didn’t have to do that,” Steve explained, his voice getting uncharacteristically shy as he continued to stare down at the cookies and avoid looking at Eddie in any way. His shoulders were curled inwards, and his bottom lip was caught firmly between his teeth. 

Eddie could have lightened things back up, made a joke about Steve’s innate ability to get into trouble, or pulled some bullshit insult about Billy’s intelligence to make them both smile and shake their heads, but he didn’t. There was something about the hesitancy sitting in Steve’s body, the way he was almost holding his breath, waiting to see why Eddie had gone after him when Steve had told him to stay behind. 

Like he couldn’t understand why someone would want to protect him instead of the other way around. 

“I didn’t want you getting hurt by him again,” Eddie stated, feeling his cheeks get stupidly warm as he did. It wasn’t like some big declaration of feelings or love, but the way the words laid his soul bare felt just a shade too close for comfort. 

“I would’ve been fine,” Steve protested, wrapping two cookies in a paper towel and handing them over to Eddie to test taste, shooting him a wry little grin as he did. “Billy won’t touch me now anyway. Not after last time. Max made sure of that.” 

“There shouldn’t have been a first time, and there won’t be a second,” Eddie said firmly, ignoring whatever weird joke Steve was making about Billy’s thirteen year old little sister being able to stop her eighteen year old brother. “Hargrove might be able to kill me with a single punch, but I’ll die fighting for your honor, Stevie.” 

“Well, I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t need anyone else dying on my watch,” Steve said softly, his smile disappearing as his eyes faded somewhere distant and sad. 

In an instant they were back in no man’s land, unmoored and untethered to the reality around them. Steve wasn’t at a party with him anymore, just lost in some far away place that Eddie couldn’t reach. Somewhere painful, and empty looking, and all Eddie wanted to do was pull him back and protect him from whatever was trying to steal his happiness. He wanted Steve to let him in, unhook the heavy cape that was set on his shoulders and unburden himself from whatever guilt was holding him hostage. 

Whatever it was, Eddie would help. He could make this easier, at least a little bit. All Steve had to do was tell him. All Eddie had to do was ask what was wrong. 

The time for being cautious was past them, and the time for being afraid Steve might run was over too. They had to be close enough for Eddie to at least know something about whatever was torturing Steve so badly. 

And Eddie had to care enough about Steve to put him over his stupid little crush. 

So despite the fact that his heart was threatening to leap out of his chest, and the dread was making his fingers ache, Eddie took a deep breath in and forced himself to speak. 

“Hey Sweetheart?” 

But unfortunately, the universe had other plans. 

“Steve!”

“What!” Steve yelled back to Mike, breaking away from Eddie and turning just in time to see all of the kids pile into the doorway like a pack of rabid animals. 

“Now that Max is here, can we do White Elephant?” Lucas pressed, impatiently drumming his fingers on the wall.

“Please?” Will added, quickly shooting a look over to his friend before turning back to Steve with barely hidden glee. 

“Fine,” Steve sighed, dragging out the word as the kids cheered and ran out of the room.  

The wild tornado of children had passed as quickly as they came, but whatever moment the two of them had been having had long since passed. Sharing Steve was gone, and Babysitter Steve had come back in full force. There was nothing wrong with him, nothing that would take precedence over his kids at least. 

It was admirable, but Eddie kind of hated it. Actually, more than hate. Eddie despised the fact that Steve was no longer with him, lost in taking care of the rest of the world once more. It was a good trait, something to respect, but it meant that Eddie had lost his chance to dig past Steve’s walls a bit more, and maybe finally get some answers. 

“Oh wait, Eddie what were you going to ask me?” Steve said, halting in his pursuit of the kids and turning to face Eddie. 

It was sweet that he cared, but it was pointless. This wasn’t the time anymore. 

But…

The supplies he had in the lunchbox in his van might just be the perfect way to get Steve to open up a bit. 

“I was going to ask if you maybe wanted to make some not clean kinda full of drugs cookies for us to enjoy later?” Eddie asked, mentally apologizing to Hopper. Steve quickly looked around to make sure no one else was listening, his eyes wide as a secretive smile already started to pull at his lips.  

“Ask me again once the kids are asleep,” Steve whispered in his ear, intertwining their fingers. Eddie steadfastly ignored the full body shudder rolling through his body, already calculating how much of a profit loss he was going to have to go through to get Steve to finally talk. 

Taglist: @paopaupaus @zerokrox-blog @surferboyzaza @whatever-is-a-good-name@minjintea @addelyin @5ammi90 @hagbaby420 @shinekocreator @bornonthesavage @starxlark @electrick-marionnett @resident-gay-bitch @ash-a-confused-enby @classicdinosaurdeathpose @valon-whomsttf @rotten-lil-goblin @thereindeerlady @love-ya-kash @kerlypride @sparkle-fiend @thefreakandthehair @flowercrowngods @milf-harrington @sadcanadianwinter @gothbat99 @hotcocoaharrington @henderdads @lightwoodbanethings @colorful565 @h0n3y-dw @craterbbox @sourw0lfs @lesliiieeeee @bidisastersworld @tinynebula @ravnlinn @bonescaro @mexmatch @cottagecoredreams @joruni @hellykelly @maegan1116 @farewell-wanderlvst @desertfern @due-to-the-fact-that-im-a-slut @anythingforourmoonyedits @eerielake @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sidekick-hero

[inujous]

she do be taking notes for literally no reason on people.

read my pinned before reblogging/liking.

[toburnup]

I don’t understand why people care enough to negatively comment on work because they don’t like a character…

I don’t like some characters that my friends reblog and I just scroll past like a normal person, I’m not going to dictate or judge what people like and I can’t stand the way people say “oh I block people who like *insert character they dislike*” like it’s so petty and strange… I like all your work I think you’re a great writer do I ship all the same people as you? Nope but does it bother me? Not at all. There is no letting people have fun in this fandom I swear to god!

i find it very odd. it's especially easy to avoid on tumblr, so i don't understand people's reactions (also, sorry, i accidentally wrote a whole essay here)

i'm not sure if it's because so many people in the ST fandom are newer to fandom in general, or it's just how things are now (i'm afraid it's this one), but i find that a surprising amount of people see any interest in a character as like... symbolic of someone's personal morals and values. and this is especially rampant among steddie shippers which is unfortunate. i block a ton of people on twitter because they say "hellcheer dni" and then i see passive aggressive messages on discord about how i blocked them. is this because people make the media they consume their whole ID? or people trying to play activist? (i've said it before on here but my activism isn't an online activity for me, it's my work and it's my personal life, and i'm intentional about separating these. i don't share much about my life on here on purpose).

billy anti's are actually scary at times. i personally don't see the logic of harassing real people in the name of fictional characters (and this is a generalization, but most of the time it's white shippers pulling that shit which just feels performative at best). this isn't billy-related, but joseph quinn fans bullied a jquinn fan account (run by a woc) off of twitter because she wasn't retweeting social justice-related posts. lmao. people really see sj rt's as the be-all and end-all of Being a Good Person. like people have lives outside of fandom and they can't see that.

LONG STORY SHORT, i know that posting my hellcheer and metalsandwich fic is going to make some people hate me or whatever, but i'm really tired of feeling like i can only openly like and enjoy steddie in order to have value here. if people are going to stop reading what i write, or blacklist me or whatever, i'll make my peace with that. and let's be real, who's really the one losing out in that scenario? because it's not me.

[chaosgremlinmunson]

"Billy!!!" Max woke up screaming, again she had the same nightmare, running from the living monster she'd known for years. breath she reminded herself, he isn't here anymore, he can't hurt me

She scrubbed at her face, willing the tears to disappear and reached over for the walkie, debating on if she should call one of the party. Normally they reached out to each other for this, but…she just couldn't make herself hold the button or say the words. don't burden them. they don't need the added issue of you she sobbed into her pillow again, pulling her knees to her stomach.

The radio crackled once, and she heard Steve calling for a check in, so she turned the radio off. She hadn't spoken to any of them in weeks, and she just couldn't bring herself to speak right now. They deserved better than her bullshit.

Max got up and walked through the trailer, she looked to the couch and saw her mom once again passed out in a drunken stupor on the couch and made her way to the front porch, she sat down pulling her walkman to her lap, and turned her favorite song on.

And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places

Be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

Be runnin' up that building

Say, if I only could, oh

She let the tears fall again silently as she stared up into the stars, she was glad he was gone, but she also missed him. She was angry that her feelings were so complicated for someone who'd only ever been her worst nightmare.

[cuepickle]

Do you have any more frat bro Billy art/headcanons?

Oh ABSOLUTELY I do.

Tells everyone he sells weed to fund his tuition, when really he got in to college on an academic scholarship

Despite being smart/studying this boy is WILD. He’s finally got a bit of freedom/has escaped his military style upbringing and is taking advantage of every second of it (but he still has the cleanest room in the flat)

Has convinced the frat to run weekly car washes throughout the summer so he can stare at wet boys the frat can make money for parties

When he first joined the frat, everyone thought he had a gf because he kept talking about going to visit “my girl”, but really that’s just his affectionate term for Max (he’d never call her that to her face though)

The frat lives in filth, but one weekend when Max came to visit he upturned the entire house and had it looking like a show home. He made them use COASTERS (cardboard ones stolen from a bar ofc)

Has a thing for brunettes (one in particular)

Body shots > solo cups

BIGGG ladies-man reputation because he stays out late af some nights, but really he’s studying in the library

Is constantly falling asleep in class, thanks to his study sessions:

If anyone else has Billy/Steve Harringrove Frat Boy AU headcanons PLEASE share them with me I beg

[shieldofiron]

Steve’s starting to think he’s crazy. Billy finally feels safe around him, safe coming over when he has a split lip and a black eye, and he’ll curl up next to Steve on the couch.

And it’s crazy to think, even to imagine.

Billy’s sniffling, stifling sobs and scooting closer. And Steve is a monster because he would love to taste that split lip. Can’t unthink the thought now that he’s started, that he knows what it would taste like, Billy’s blood. Knows what the kiss would taste like, and once he knows he can’t stop craving a taste.

And the knowing is rending him to pieces because you don’t kiss your friends, you’re not supposed to do that when they’re hurt, when they’re crying.

But Steve knows. He knows what Billy’s kiss would be like. Could draw the moment as if from memory, right up until the moment when Billy would shove him away, hurt and scared again.

And so Steve just huddles a little closer on the couch. And tries to be a good friend.

[intothedysphoria]

Billy’s always the first one on the dance floor when they play Bowie.

He’s fluid in his music taste, tells people not to just reduce him to a stereotype when they express surprise at him listening to anything other than metal.

He’ll listen to anything. Punk, reggae, pop, new wave. It’s Steve who’s rigid in his music taste.

Steve’s new to this dating a man thing. He’s particularly new to the idea of dancing with a man.

The thing is Billy loves dancing

He’ll dance anywhere, as long as it’s at home. The kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom. It’s ever-present, always beautiful.

Billy wants Steve to dance with him. Desperately.

And Steve longs for nothing more than to dance back.

It just feels like judging eyes are raining down on Steve’s back, even when there aren’t any.

But Steve is tired of being scared in his own house. In his own kitchen, with the red tiling and the green plant pot and the love of his life in front of him.

Rebel Rebel comes on the radio and Steve stops giving a fuck.

Steve takes Billy’s hand and they dance.

[weird-an]

Billy: It's Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.

Steve: …

Billy: It's Billy and Steve. Who is this Adam guy-

Steve: Are you fucking serious?

[enchanted-day-dreams]

I find it ironic that people love to talk about Billy Hargrove having internalized homophobia despite the fact that homophobic Billy is only a fanon trait, meanwhile Steve Harrington used queer as an insult against Jonathan Byers and yet folks wanna act like he's the most ally to ever ally (or even pretend he was never homophobic to begin with) just because he wasn't still a dick to Robin when she came out to him.

Y'all can have whatever headcanons you want, but the canon truth is that between Billy and Steve, only one of them got a homophobic insult slung at them but never slung it back, and it wasn't Steve.

[slime-hoe]

I need more people to get weird with analyzing and iterating on the American Pie sequence in ST season 3. Like there’s so much there. Like the idea that heather is genuinely concerned for her mother despite the mindflayer controlling her but the way she attacked her dad felt personal. Like he’d done something to her and the monster basically gave her the command and strength to go through with a revenge fantasy. The staging, the framing, the lines. Idk it feels very abuse victim gets her revenge. Her pinning her dad to the living room floor with a pristine white heel before grabbing him by the hair and smothering him with an ether soaked rag whispering �� I’m really sorry about this daddy, but it’ll be over soon. I promise” feels like a callback to something horrible in her past*. She’s taking her power back and making her abuser suffer the same fear she felt. Idk I’m probably just crazy, but I swear Billy and Heather both strike me as heavily abused kids who’ve been taken advantage of by the adults in their lives and I think that needs to be explored more. Not to mention the song choice. It’s just a really good scene and I need to hear what other people think.

* I know it’s in cannon meant to be like Billy’s line to her where it’s a genuine attempt at comfort and remorse that’s been blunted by the mindflayer but you can’t deny how similar it is to something that might be said by an abuser

[shichey97]

If Not For You (Hellcheer) pt 1

Eddie Munson hadn’t left Hawkins like he always planned, instead he went to a trade school after ‘86 and got his ASE certification. He found a small shop that was abandoned, paid the property taxes, and opened his business. He quickly became the best mechanic in Hawkins and thanks to his uncle managing the books he has been able to focus on fixing the cars.

However things weren't going smoothly due to Eddie having to make the appointments, leave time for walk-ins, etc. He needed help on that front so over dinner at Benny’s he asks about Wayne possibly hiring a person to make appointments. Wayne says of course and a few days later he calls Eddie into the office.

“The new hire is coming in soon. She’s a single mother and needs to bring her daughter with her for now. I set up a playpen for the girl.” Wayne says motioning to the corner behind the desk. “I expect you to be nice Eddie Munson.” he says firmly. “Wayne, I'm not going to ruin my business by being a jerk to whoever it is you hired.” He says sighing as he pours him some more coffee into his cup, “How old is the kid? I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“She’s 2. I’ve explained to her mom that she’ll need to keep her with her or in the playpen.” Wayne says and Eddie nods. “You have a customer.” He says pointing to the burgundy 1983 BMW 733i that just pulled in causing Eddie to take one final drink and set it down before walking out. Eddie is busy talking to none other than Steve Harrington to notice Chrissy walking into his shop with a blonde toddler on her hip and a baby bag on her shoulder.

“Wayne, I need to order a new camshaft for the Bmw 733i.” Eddie calls as he walks through the door stopping short when he sees Chrissy behind their little desk on the phone with a client writing something in a notebook and then she hangs up.

“Hey, Eddie.” She says nervously, “Your uncle hired me.. I hope that’s not a problem.” She nervously played with the hem of her skirt.

“It’s ok.” He says giving her a small smile before walking over and taking the phone dialing a number. He gets the part ordered and has Chrissy write down when it’ll be in. He hangs up and looks at her, “If you can stay a bit later I’ll tell you what I need you to do around here.” 

She nods, “I can stay later. It’s just me and Beth now so I don’t have any reason I can’t stay.” She says quietly and Eddie nods.

“Ok thank you.” he says before leaving back to the garage part of the shop. He explains that it’ll be a few days and that Steve is welcome to use the phone in the shop to call someone to pick him up. Then his appointment arrived so he parked the BMW and hung the keys up.

It’s 6 hours later when Eddie closes up shop and walks into the office as the last customer was leaving. He has oil and grease on him from the cars, but he looks happier than he ever had in school. Chrissy iss swaying side to side with her daughter who looked like she had just got done crying.

He washes up and sighs, “I’m hungry. Are you guys?” He asks, looking at Wayne and Chrissy. Wayne nods, but Chrissy shakes her head.

“I don’t have extra cash for anything but essentials.” she explains and both men look at her then each other.

“My treat.” Wayne says, straightening up and grabbing his keys. “Come on we’ll get Benny’s.” He says and Eddie hums with a nod.

“You really don’t have to feed me. I can make something at home. It’s no problem.” she argues and Wayne looks at her with a small smile.

“Miss Cunningham, you’re a part of us now so we’ll take care of you as we would each other.” he says and pats her shoulder “You’re not a problem at all.”

Chrissy nods and grabs her diaper bag following Wayne out of the shop leaving Eddie to lock everything up. He had just bought Wayne a new truck since his truck had crapped out on him. Eddie opened the door for Chrissy who crawled in and buckled her and her daughter in with a soft thank you.

Eddie climbed in the front and looked at Wayne, “Let’s stop by the general store really quick.” He says and he turns down the radio.

“So what are you going to need from me?” Chrissy asks nervously as she holds the little girl’s hands.

“I’m sure Uncle Wayne explained most of it, but I need you to make appointments and order parts.” He says looking at her. “You’ll handle the money and I’ll need to make you a cheat sheet for what are problems and what questions to ask the people who call in.” He says making a list of things he needed to do, causing his uncle to laugh slightly at his nephew’s antics.

“Eddie slow down a little bit. It was her first day, there's no need to cram everything into one day.” Wayne says after he caught the panicked look on Chrissy’s face.

“Right. I’m sorry. The second half was more for me, not you.” He says twisting to look at her again. He studied her face a moment before humming, “What’s your little girl’s name?” 

“Elizabeth.” She says quietly and smiles at her. “She’s two and my whole world.” Chrissy says it proudly as if being 21 with a 2 year old was the best thing to happen to her.

“I see. She’s adorable. She looks like you.” He says reaching back to offer his hand to the little girl who just stared at him with big blue eyes. He laughs and pulls his hand back as they get to the general store.

Everyone in town knew who the father was; The Cunninghams and the Carvers made a huge deal out of their families merging and becoming one when Chrissy and Jason got married in September of ‘86 when they were just 19. Eddie, being 2 years older, couldn’t imagine being married with a kid at 19 let alone now.

“Chrissy, can you come in with me?” Eddie asks as he gets out of the truck. He helps her out and Wayne comes around to take Elizabeth promising to take care of her.

Chrissy nods and follows Eddie in, “What did we stop here for?” she asks, looking up at the curly haired man. “Well if we’re going to be feeding you and Elizabeth at the weekly business dinner then we’ll need to get a carseat for the truck. I also want to get some things to keep at the office in case you run out.” He says looking at her.

“I plan on getting a babysitter once I have a steady income. I just need to bring her for a little bit.” She says looking down. “I just have to find someone who would be willing to do it.”

“Why don’t you try Steve Harrington? A friend of mine says he’s great with kids. I could talk to him for you. I know he’s in between jobs right now.” Eddie says looking at the car seats he looks so lost as he reads about the features and safety things. He picks out one that sounds really good and looks at Chrissy in question. “That’s really expensive, Eddie. We can get a cheaper one.” She says, sounding like she’s panicking a little bit. It’s obvious she’s already thinking of how to pay him back.

“Hey don’t worry about paying me back. I want to make sure the little one is safe and has what she needs.” He then turns red, “Not that you’re not doing a good job. I just remember my mom and uncle telling me that sometimes you can have everything you think you need and then something happens and you need something else that you don’t have.”

Chrissy nods slowly, “Ok…you don’t have too though. I know you need office space for the business.” “We have a closet that holds the coffee, filters, snacks, and personal things. We can just put her stuff there.” He says smiling softly. So they spend a good 20 minutes making sure to get Elizabeth everything that Chrissy may need while at work including fruits and veggie snacks.

Once they are done and back at the truck Eddie installs the car seat properly and smiles, “There we go.” he says and takes Elizabeth and sits her in the car seat buckling her in with a big smile and puffing his cheeks out. The little girl giggles and grabs a handful of his hair causing Eddie to squawk and grab her little hand gently. “Gotta let go of my hair, pretty girl.” he says as Chrissy works to untangle her hand from his curls.

She finally got it undone and the girl starts whining so Eddie smiles, “How about I sit back here by you?” he asks looking at Chrissy for her ok. Once she nodded he climbed in and sat by Elizabeth entertaining her while they drove to Benny’s and then they took Chrissy and the baby back to her house bidding her good night.

[static-fucking-mess]

Eddie couldn't help himself. He stared at Billy Hargrove sometimes; the gorgeous curls and wild grin lit something inside of him the first time Eddie had ever laid eyes on him.

Billy's plush lips sucking in the smoke from his Marlboro reds, broad shoulders, tight jeans. Eddie couldn't help himself from focusing on the way Billy's tongue flashed out to wet his lips as the smoke billowed off into the sky from his nose.

Billy washed into Hawkins and Eddie's life like a hurricane from California. His loud car, crashing music, and Eddie knew just from catching sight of him once that he wanted to know everything about him. He imagined if he got close enough he'd still be able to smell the ocean air on his sun kissed skin. He wanted to know his favorite bands, his thoughts on media, God he'd even sit through talking about cars if it meant Billy would look his way. (It wasn't like he wasn't interested, just that his own knowledge was limited to keeping his dinosaur of a van alive, and he didn't want to sound like an idiot. Not in front of Billy.)

Everything about Billy attracted Eddie to him. Eddie Munson had never considered himself shy. Fuck, he was a bit awkward about social boundaries, but he'd never felt shy before. Then, there were rarely ever new people that came to Hawkins to stay. And Billy made it clear that he had no intention of staying. Hawkins was small, and desperately choking on its shallow gene pool, in Eddie's opinion. Fresh faces were hard to find, especially ones that were willing to look his way, after all.

Billy hadn't been willing. To look his way, that was. He took to the social hierarchy like a wrecking ball, and sent it all asunder. King Steve seemed no more, Tommy and Carol seemed to fight more amongst themselves these days instead of making biting remarks at others. But Billy? He still wouldn't spare a breath on Eddie the Freak Munson.

Eddie had tried once.

He'd been utterly tongue tied in approaching Billy, picking at his sleeve. The two stood awkwardly behind the school dumpsters as they had their smoke break. Eddie's hand shook as he rolled his wrist, searching for the right words that refused to come.

"I really— I mean... fuck— sorry. Hold on. Uh—"

Billy's cool gaze slid up from where his zippo burned the cherry of his cigarette. He flicked his wrist to close his lighter before he tucked it away, utterly unimpressed. Eddie would probably be unimpressed with himself too. But damn; Billy Hargrove was a God carved of marble and gold, blessed by California sun. Eddie was a home grown weed from an Indiana backyard. His brown hair frizzy, unkempt, and his skin a touch oily from his aversion to water. It wasn't like he skipped showers because he wanted to. But in that moment Eddie felt painfully aware that Billy Hargrove was miles out of his league.

"Beat it," Billy grumbled at him. "I'm not in the business of making friends with people like you," he hissed. Those beautiful blues steeling into something dangerous that made Eddie's insides go cold. He swallowed back his words and the shaking in his hand seemed to intensify.

"No um... no that's. Fair. People like me?" Eddie inquired, head tipping a bit. He wanted to know just what part of his stigma had reached Billy first. He'd seen the saints necklace dangling in the open neck of his shirt. "The Satan worshipper? The freak?"

"Queers," Billy snapped. He looked at Eddie like a hostile and wild animal. Like his smiles were more reflective of the animal kingdom than the humanity he bore to charm others. Eddie swallowed dry air and dropped his gaze? Putting his cigarette out under his shoe.

"Right," Eddie affirmed. Billy had seen the way the guy looked at him. It was impossible to miss those dark, chocolate doe eyes when they lingered on him. It tickled the inside of Billy's ribs something real funny when he noticed Eddie in class. Distracted, but gazing his way like he was looking at art in a museum.

Billy was used to people lusting after him. He was hot, and god he knew it. He utilized it more often than he probably should have, but his good genetics in the physical appearance department had gotten him into, and out of a lot of trouble.

But Eddie wasn't lusting.

Eddie looked like he was trying to figure him out. Wondering at him. And that was dangerous. Because Billy had caught himself wondering too. What calloused hands would feel like holding down his wrists, or what those pouty lips would feel like stealing the breath off his. Thoughts like that were what had led to them having to leave California. Thoughts that turned to action, action that had made Neil so angry that he gave Billy two options:

Leave California, and the boy behind...

Or go to Summer Camp.

The two seemed like impossible evils to wrestle with. And in the end, with defeat, Billy had chosen to leave his home behind. It had hurt more that the boy had moved on before Billy could even explain himself. He swore, man or woman, he wouldn't date. Dating just brought trouble. Laying roots was dangerous. Ripping them free just hurt more.

So, he broke Eddie's heart before it had the chance to bloom. So he thought.

Nearing the beginning of November, Billy struggled one morning to light his cigarette. Shivering from the cold, and possibly the pain in his ribs. The pain that curled up through him and reminded him that defiance tasted like iron and copper on every breath in.

"Here—" the voice was steeped in sweet honey. Eddie lit his cigarette for him, and Billy flicked his eyes up to meet with Eddie's.

Eddie cupped his hands around Billy's while the cigarette dangled from his lips. Eddie rubbed his rough hands over Billy's to warm them, breathing softly over them to fight away the frost and chill in the air. Billy stood stiff and still like the early frost had taken root in him.

Eddie gazed up at Billy and offered him a smile, almost sheepish as he stepped away. He mourned the loss of that warmth as soon as it was gone, the fleeting action stirring something inside that Billy didn't want to fan the flames of.

"Shit, sorry," Eddie snorted. "I'm kind of a touchy guy, and uh. Social boundaries? Not my strong suit."

Billy chuffed, shaking his head before he took his cigarette loosely between two fingers and spat onto the pavement.

"Don't fucking touch me, freak," he hissed to Eddie. His frustration sizzling as his voice lacked the ire he wanted it to have. He wanted Eddie to flinch and run. But he didn't. Instead he just... shrugged his shoulders, unbothered, and turned away to smoke his own cigarette.

The next time Billy had contact with Eddie, it happened so quickly that Eddie wasn't even sure what had happened. It was just something small. Something... simple. But as they passed in the hall, Tommy had shoulder checked Eddie hard enough to knock him on his ass, laughing like he was looking for Billy's approval. That was not what happened.

The loud crash against the lockers had startled Eddie back to himself from the position he was in on the floor.

Billy had Tommy pinned to the lockers, speaking to him in a low and deeply venomous tone.

"Hands off, Hagan. The only person who gets to mess with the freak is me," he snarled.

Eddie wondered what that meant, but it felt like stepping closer to a warm fire in a way. He knew Damm well it might be dangerous to get too close. But Eddie didn't mind the way Billy burned. He wanted to be caught in the rush of Billy's storm.

Eddie had held that warm feeling in his chest for a while. It felt like a glow, and it was something that made him look Billy's way, even when he was shoved against lockers, shoulder checked in the hall, or had his books knocked out of his hands. Eddie always caught it.

The smile that wasn't mocking, even when Billy would insult him. It was like he couldn't put the same vitriol in it that he used to.

"Freak" felt more like a term of endearment. "Loser" felt like an invitation to squabble. And God did Eddie take every chance to bicker with Billy Hargrove.

Mid December, their words had turned into a tussle.

"You wouldn't dare—" Eddie had invited, grinning at Billy who had every intention of dumping Eddie into a snowbank.

"I think you need to cool it," Billy had snarked back, looking less than threatening with his red beanie on his head, puff ball and all. It had been Eddie's. The beanie. But Eddie hadn't said a word about the gloves, scarf, and hat he'd left in Billy's locker after he had noticed that the boy from California didn't have clothes suited for Indiana winter.

"Don't do it, Billy," Eddie laughed.

"Do what? I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Billy said back, casual as he took a step closer.

It happened, in a crash of flailing limbs and shrieking laughter. Billy saw Eddie for the first time. He saw the bright smile that was punctuated by dimples on either side. He saw the way Eddie's fuzzy hair fanned out in the snow as he was dumped into the snow bank, and god he couldn't help but notice the way flakes stuck in his eyelashes. His cheeks and ears red from the cold; Eddie wasn't wearing gloves, a hat, or a scarf. He'd given up his warm clothes to keep Billy warm.

And that sure made something inside Billy warmer than the sun in California ever could.

It was mid January when a knock resonated number 12 at the forest hills trailer park. It brought Eddie out of dozing. The alarm clock read an ugly 2am back at him that made him groan.

He pulled himself up and out of bed as the knock grew more irritated and insistent, swiping his hands down over his tired face.

"Jesus christ, I'm coming! Fucking relax!" He bellowed. Eddie shoved his feet into his slippers and shuffled to the front door, ripping it open.

"My hours end at 11 pm on week... nights..." the irritation in Eddie's voice gave way to a shocked whisper as he was met with a ghastly sight before him.

Billy Hargrove standing on his porch, braced against the side of the trailer to stop any swaying. It looked like he had bruises littering half of his face, and Eddie imagined it was worse, with the way the bruises on his neck seemed to bloom down under his jacket.

"Hey," Eddie whispered, unsure if he could say more. When he reached to push a curl out of Billy's face, the man flinched like Eddie was about to put a knife to his throat.

Instead, Eddie put his hand on Billy's shoulder and guided him to come inside.

That was the night that Eddie learned about Neil Hargrove. It was the same night that Eddie slept, curled around Billy. Like he could protect him.

Billy slept with his nose pressed against Eddie's collarbone, sinking into the scents of cinnamon and cigarette smoke. Eddie was warm, and even though he was more elbows and knees than plush and soft... Billy felt like he fit perfectly with his head tucked under Eddie's chin. Eddie gave good hugs. Great hugs even. Enough of them that Billy felt drunk on the scent of cinnamon and the comfort of his best friend's arms.

They continued as best friends for a long time. Until the Tragedy of Starcourt. Nobody called Eddie. Nobody had thought to at first, really. With the chaos and the news of Russians under the mall— not to mention how the last week or two, Billy had been avoiding Eddie like he was a Germ.

"Get the fuck away from me—"

"Stay away from me Munson."

"Get the fuck out of my face."

"I won't warn you again, if you come near me, I'll break your fucking neck."

Eddie had been sulking about it. Well. More than sulking if he was honest. Had he cried on Wayne's shoulder? Absolutely. Did he get a speeding ticket on his way to the hospital once Max had called him? Absolutely.

Eddie stood in the doorway of Billy's hospital room, looking in on his best friend like the universe had put a knife through his heart. Billy looked barely alive. Fragile.

Eddie was one of the very few visitors that Billy got. Neil Hargrove hadn't shown his face once. Max had told him in a hushed voice that he had packed his things to leave town. Billy was a hero for saving so many people in the mall fire, and Neil still hated him. Didn't want a disabled son.

Billy woke up alone. He wasn't surprised to wake up alone, in a hospital room without a single card on his bedside. Sure, he wasn't surprised... but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. It hurt like being cracked open from the inside out. A glaring statement that told Billy Hargrove:

'You don't matter.'

Even alone, Billy stifled his sobs so he wouldn't be noticed.

"Easy tough guy," the gentle voice came from the doorway, making Billy's heart jump up into his throat. Eddie came in with the nurses, who checked his vitals and pain levels. But Billy barely noticed them. He was focused on the boy whose smile cleansed the tar clinging to his heart.

"Thought I told you to piss off," Billy snorted through his tears, managing a shaky smile.

"I've never been good at listening," Eddie replied, rubbing his hand through Billy's bed messy curls. "Can't shake me that easy, sweetheart. I thought you'd have learned that by now. That grouchy bullshit isn't gonna shake me," he assured. Eddie was determined enough to stick out the hurricane.

"You're annoying," Billy spat at him, pushing his hand away.

"And I'm determined to continue to be," Eddie replied as he snatched Billy's wrist. He slid his hand up to lace their fingers and squeeze.

"Give it time," Billy said, seemingly unimpressed. He refused to look at Eddie, only because the idiot was gazing at him like he was someone precious.

"I've got time," Eddie replied, unshaken.

"Jesus, Munson, why don't you just— just leave me the hell alone?! Why are you always," Billy's breath hitched as his voice broke. Eddie was always there. Like a balm to his wounds. He didn't flinch when Neil beat him. He opened the door or answered the call no matter how late. Eddie Munson was a rock in the hurricane, ready to weather his storm.

Billy thought back to the memories El had shown him in that pit of darkness. His mother, the beach, the waves... and the snowy December day that Billy had fallen in love with Eddie Munson.

Billy didn't resist when Eddie placed his hand on his neck, thumbing his jaw like he was brittle. Fragile. And Billy supposed he was.

"God damn," Eddie whispered, smiling at Billy with tender eyes.

"What? Quit fucking looking at me like that. Like— like... pity. Jesus or like I'm gonna break. I don't need your bullshit sympathies, or your God damn coddling, Munson."

Billy felt like a wild animal, backed into the corner of a cage. Snapping and growling at the tender hands that wanted to hold him. Especially if that monster still lurked inside him somewhere. Ready to hurt.

That fear washed away when Eddie kissed Billy's knuckles, something soft. Endearing. Billy could only hitch a sob as his forehead thudded in to rest on Eddie's collarbone. He squeezed Eddie's hand, and to his relief... Eddie squeezed back. It felt a whole lot like someone saying:

'You matter. I love you.'

And for once, Billy wasn't afraid of it being a lie.

[thediktatortot]

I get a lot of my POV of how I feel Billy would react/grow/make mistakes from how I've seen my dad in my life. My dad was the 3rd youngest of 9 back in the 60s as a little boy, and he experienced a lot of things in life that I'm surprised he's even told my mom and I of as much as he has.

When people say that abuse and recovering from abuse is complicated and messy and not always sunshine and roses and happy tears? They mean that. Life isn't easy to deal with in our world on a good day, so can you imagine the struggle of learning how to be what our world requires of a functioning human, when you've never been treated like a human yourself by those who are supposed to nurture and care for you?

Do you guy's realize how far that can set someone back in life? How much it can effect their every waking day?

My father and I have our moments where we can't see eye to eye because of some normal barrier of difference, that's just life, but I can dissolve 90% of my father's opinions down to the fears that he has because of the life he experienced.

Abused people can often stay...heightened? at all times. There is not a day my father does not work because he believes the moment he stops working is the moment he has failed his family and will send us into further poverty. He might be correct, he also might be wrong and is unable to see that he doesn't have to further degrade his already broken body into dust just because he takes a few days to do nothing or to focus on himself.

Billy himself his close in age to my father, only about 9 years younger than my dad and I can say with certainty that the way society and people in general treated children, let alone low class abused children, was horrific and predatory.

I'm not really sure what I want to say with this, but when I see people saying that people like Billy shouldn't be helped or they should die or be shunned- all I can see is the same shit that people have been giving my own father his whole life.

The looks, the judgement, the distaste- like they are looking at some kind of dirty animal only fit to be put to work or put down.

You people do realize how evil you sound right?

[fizzigigsimmer]

Back At One Part 2

Pairing: Caligator, Billy Hargrove x Gator Tillman

Fandom Fusion: Stranger Things & Fargo S5

Dom/Sub au

*Title taken from this truly sappy love song by Brian McKnight that these boys would NEVER admit was kinda okay lol.

<<<<PART I

“When is that fella of yours gonna make an honest man out of you?" Dot asks, just as Gator reaches for the pans stacked on top of the fridge, and he jerks, pulling too quickly, sending a cookie sheet clattering toward the kitchen floor - he just manages to save it. Scotty raises the cover of her book to hide her face, but his ears work just fine and he hears her snicker.

"What do you mean?" he gripes as he fumbles with the cookware. This is what he gets for trying to do something nice for his boyfriend on his birthday. "Billy's already registered as my dominant."

Which means if Gator really does burn the house down trying to make this fucking cake, Billy can have the honor of identifying his barbecued remains and save Dot the trouble.

Dot’s giving him this look though. Like she can see right through his bullshit. Let's get real. She always could read him like a book and play him like a fiddle.

“Alright, lets bake this mother fu-uuning,cake” Gator self corrects, remembering Scotty at the last minute. Shit that was close. Dot only has a few rules for when they’re together: no talking about the past when Scotty’s in earshot and no potty mouth. She literally calls it that. It’s kind of annoying though, cause the kid is like twelve right? Gator could curse in three different languages by the time he was twelve. But apparently that’s not the thing to be proud of that he thought it was when he was twelve.

“Real nice save Hon.” Dot laughs at him.

“Yeah yeah. Let’s just do this.” Gator grumbles in reply, and they do. 

Dot ties an apron around Gator's waist and hands him a mixing bowl while Scotty eagerly climbs up on a stool to read out the recipe as they work. She’s only meant to be walking him through the basics of a simple white cake with Billy’s name spelled out on it, but somehow the kitchen quickly descends into chaos. 

"Okay, first we need to cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy," Scotty reads.

Gator dumps an entire stick of butter and a heaping cup of sugar into the bowl. He picks up the electric mixer and jams it in after, cause that much he can figure out for himself. Only it sends a plume of sugar into the air the minute he powers it on. 

“Holy shit!”

"No, silly!" Scotty giggles. "You have to soften the butter first or it won't mix right."

Grumbling, Gator fishes the hard butter out of the bowl and tosses it into the microwave. A few seconds later, there's a loud pop - because he’s a fucking idiot and apparently it doesn’t take more than a few seconds to warm butter. One glance inside confirms the worst: the stick is now a molten mess, and butter drips down the microwave door.

"Oh honey," Dot sighs, grabbing a towel to wipe up the mess. "Just grab another stick and leave it on the counter for a bit to soften."

“Jesus. Come on. Get your head in the game!” Gator admonishes himself, trying to shake off his embarrassment and the feeling of shame welling up inside of him from fucking up something so simple. “I have cooked before. I’m just -”

What? Nervous? Fucking stupid? What else is there to say when he can’t even melt butter.

Dot lays a hand on his back. She doesn’t need to say anything, and she doesn’t as she hands him a clean bowl and Scotty reads out from Dot’s phone that it’s time to sift the dry ingredients together. He upends the bag of flour over the sifter, and thinks it might be too much. It definitely is, because he doesn’t get more than a few taps in before flour has started to overflow everywhere, dusting his hands and the arms of his black t-shirt. But hey, some of it is getting into the bowl.

Somehow with Dot's patient guidance and Scotty's enthusiastic "assistance", they manage to get the cake batter mixed and poured into pans. Gator slides them into the oven, sets the timer, and leans back against the counter with a sigh, his shirt and jeans thoroughly dusted with flour, bits of batter streaked in between.

Dot chuckles as she hands him a damp towel. "Well, that was an adventure. I think Billy will appreciate the effort you put in, even if it's not perfect."

Gator wipes his hands and grumbles. "It better turn out decent after all that. I still think I shoulda gotten him something else though. Something big, to really wow him, y'know?"

Dot studies him for a long moment, and then finally broaches the subject that has been festering like a smelly turd in the corner of the room.

"Want to talk about what happened at the store today?"

No. No he really fucking doesn’t. Gator turns to snap on the faucet, thinking that he’d like to stick his head under it and drown himself right about now. He focuses intently on scrubbing the batter caked on his nails instead.

"Nothin' happened. She was a stuck-up bitch is all. Lookin' down on me like I'm nothin' just 'cause I ain't some fancy dom in a suit."

He hears Dot murmur something quietly to Scotty about going to get her things together, and grunts in acknowledgment when the twerp says a shy goodbye before slipping from the room. He immediately feels like shit, because Dot can’t really punish him anymore - it’s not her place, and she’s got too much respect for Billy to overstep - but she can take away the one thing she knows he really wants. He wasn’t ready for them to leave, but he can’t blame Dot for not wanting her kid around him when he’s like this.

Her family is not something that Dot plays around with, and Gator might be someone she cares about, but there’s a stark line between whatever the hell they are to each other and the beautiful thing Nadine - fuck - Dot, built for herself with her own grit and guts in the aftermath of the Tillmans.

He understands. He gets it. He does. And yet he still flinches when she speaks again, body somehow unprepared for her to still be there even though he would have heard her leave if she wasn’t.

"She shouldn't have treated you that way," Dot says softly. "But Gator, how you reacted wasn’t like you. I haven’t seen you do something that rash in a long time. What’s this really about?”

Gator's jaw clenches and his hands still, suds dripping from his fingers into the sink. The air grows heavy with all the things unsaid between them.

"It’s nothin'. Alright?" he mutters unconvincingly. "I lost my cool is all. Won't happen again."

Dot sighs and leans her hip against the counter next to him, arms crossed. Her eyes are filled with gentle understanding and he hates it. Hates how much it reminds him of his mom, and all the times after, when she was gone and it was Dot standing in her place, filling the void as best she could. Hates most of all that he’s never been strong enough to resist the comfort Dot offers and the temptation to fall apart in her arms. She was his safety, even when safety was a lie and she was just a kid who couldn’t do shit to keep herself safe, let alone him.

But no matter how hard Gator had tried, he’d never stopped needing someone to lean on and take him apart and clean out his rust and dust, to put back together again good as new. That’s his curse, the sub in him, which is hard to swallow most days but Billy makes it better. No one does any of that for him like Billy Hargrove does. Even when Gator makes it hard on him, Billy always knows just which way he’s bent and how to fix it. Yeah it bugs the shit out of him, but he wouldn’t know what the hell to do with himself now without it. If Billy left he’d -

Stop that shit! He flinches away from the thoughts, and reminds himself for the umpteenth time that Billy isn’t going to leave him over some dumb shit like a lame birthday gift. He needs to just quit already. Why can’t he make the thoughts stop?

"You've been doing so well lately, Gator. Really making progress in therapy, communicating better when you’re dropping... What happened today?" Dot presses again.

Gator's throat works as he swallows hard. His hands clench the edge of the sink, knuckles going white. He doesn’t want to talk about this but maybe it will help. God he hopes it helps.

"I just... I wanted to get him somethin' special, y'know? Somethin' to show him how much he means to me." His voice cracks slightly on the last word and Dot's face softens. She reaches for him, laying a hand on his shoulder. 

"Oh honey... Billy knows how much you love him. You don't need fancy gifts to prove that."

"Don't I though?" Gator argues, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. "He does so much for me, Dot. Takes such good care of me, even when I'm a pain in the ass. And, like when am I not a pain in the ass, huh? You were gonna kick his ass and like send him to the Gulag. How am I worth that?”

Dot laughs, giving Gator's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Listen to me. You are a pain in the ass, but only when you’re trying so hard not to be the sweet, kind, and wonderful man I know you are. You're a good boy, Gator. You always have been. And yes, at first I was worried when I found out your Saftey-Dom had a thing for you. Who wouldn’t be?”

Gator shrugs away her very good point - doms who are employed to counsel and provide subs with therapeutic care are bound by a strict code of ethics. Billy could have been in deep shit if anyone other than Dot had found out about their relationship before Billy stopped being his therapy dom.

“I kissed him Dot, and he never let it happen again while I was still just a case.” Gator laments. “That’s what I’m talking about though, all I could do was think with my dick - meanwhile I could have seriously fucked up his life. And he still took care of me!”

“He did. Which is what convinced me he’s the best thing for you.” Dot says. “It’s because he loves you for who you are, flaws and all."

Gator shakes his head, jaw tight. "You don't get it, Dot. I'm not...I'm not good like you keep saying. The shit that goes through my head sometimes…”

He trails off, shame burning hot in his gut. He can't even bring himself to say it out loud. But with Dot he doesn’t need to. 

She was there through the worst of it. She’s seen the worst of him. Shit Billy knows about, but hasn’t seen. Hasn’t really lived it, the way Dot had to live it, and maybe that’s why Gator’s been fucking everything up. 

Maybe he’s trying to see once and for all whether or not someone who isn’t trauma bonded to him will stay once they see him for what he really is.

"I know I'm fucked up, alright? I know I got a long way to go before I'm anything close to the kinda sub Billy deserves.” He tries to shrug off the admission like the words aren’t sending pain twisting inside him like a knife.

But Dot, perceptive as always, cups Gator's face, turning him back to meet her gentle gaze. "Oh honey... Is that what this is about? You want Billy to collar you?"

Gator's breath hitches. Hearing it stated so plainly sends a jolt through him, equal parts longing and terror. He jerks away from Dot's touch, arms wrapping defensively around himself.

"No! I mean... Fuck, I don't know," he stammers, the words tangling on his tongue.

Dot is quiet for a long moment, letting his confession settle heavily between them. When she speaks again, her tone is thoughtful.

"Have you talked to Billy about this? About wanting his collar?"

Gator barks out a harsh laugh. "No. No fuckin' way. He'd probably laugh in my face if I did.”

Dot's brow furrows, her eyes shadowed with concern as she clicks her tongue in admonishment. "I don’t believe you really think that for a second. That Billy would laugh at you for expressing your needs."

Gator's shoulders hunch, defensive. He keeps his gaze fixed resolutely on the mixing bowl in the sink, watching the dregs of batter slowly dissolve under the running tap. The sweet scent of vanilla and butter hangs heavy in the air, incongruously cheerful.

"I didn't say I needed it," he mutters. "I'm just sayin'... a guy like me askin' for a collar. It's funny right? Like, I’m not some needy bitch who needs a collar to keep from dropping, and I don’t need Billy thinking he gets to boss me around more than he already does. Guy’s an absolute control freak."

"Uh-huh and you love it. I've seen the two of you together. The way Billy is with you... It's special. He'd move heaven and earth to make you happy. To give you what you need." Dot says. Her voice is soft but sure.

Gator swallows thickly, his eyes stinging. He blinks rapidly, determined not to let the tears building behind his lids fall. "Sure. Why hasn’t he done it then? I’d put that shit down in two seconds, but he hasn’t even tried. Y’know?"

And the reason why is obvious. Yeah, there’s the fact that Gator doesn’t need a collar, but even if he wanted one he’s too much work, too damaged.

Dot sighs heavily, like he said the last part out loud.

"Honestly Honey, I think you should think about it from his perspective. With the way you talk about it... He may not realize how much this would mean to you. Billy does a good job, making sense of what’s going on in that squirrel head of yours but he’s not superman. Talk to him.”

Gator grunts noncommittally. Because hell no. He will not be begging his dom to collar him any time soon thanks, but he doesn’t want her to worry either. 

Dot says she has to get Scotty home in time to start dinner and he follows her out to the front door where Scotty is waiting with Dot's purse and her school bag. He sees them off with a wave and a promise to attend some talent show at Scotty’s school next week. Dot gives him a kiss on the cheek, urges him to talk to Billy one more time and reminds him that her mother-in-law knows the president, and really can get Billy thrown in the gulag if he really does laugh in Gator’s face.

And then he’s alone. Alone with his thoughts. Which is frankly the best way to be. Gator can think much more clearly about this now that Dot’s not here, reminding him of the past and making him feel weaker than he actually is. He can totally still salvage this situation. He’ll just make the cake really impressive. Like those 3D ones that look like real shit? Billy loves to chill with him on the weekend and watch that show where people try and guess which random item is cake or not. Gator’s usually tied up, plugged or gagged when that happens so his memories are a little hazy - but it doesn’t look that hard. It’s just cake right?

When the timer goes off Gator brings the cake out of the oven.

He whips out his phone and starts scrolling through cake decorating videos on YouTube, determined to find something suitably impressive. His eyes light up when he spots a tutorial for a realistic 3D surfboard cake, uploaded by some fruit calling himself Barry Bakes. He doesn’t really want to take advice from some dude with pink hair, a full face of makeup, wearing a sparkly crop top with the word TWINK encrusted on the front, but the cake is undeniably badass.

"Alright, let's do this," Gator mutters, cracking his knuckles. He fast forwards through the beginning of the video, impatient to get to the good stuff.

First step - carving the cakes into a surfboard shape. Easy enough. Gator grabs a serrated knife and starts hacking away at the layers, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. Crumbs fly everywhere as he saws off uneven chunks. When he's done, he steps back to survey his work. It...sort of looks like a surfboard. If you squint. And tilt your head to the side.

Next up - the "ocean" frosting. Gator mixes a batch of blue buttercream, dumping in what is probably way too much food coloring, but whatever at least he softened the butter without blowing up the microwave this time.

Gator continues to follow along with Barry Bakes' tutorial, growing increasingly frustrated as each step seems to go awry. The blue buttercream frosting he mixed up is a garish turquoise color from the excessive food dye. It's also too thin and runny, dripping off the cake in gloopy rivulets.

He blames Barry, that fucking fruit, because if he weren’t so hell bent on turning everything into some kinda innuendo maybe Gator could actually concentrate on what he is doing!

"Shit shit shit," Gator grumbles under his breath, frantically trying to smooth the messy frosting over the lopsided surfboard shape he carved. It's a losing battle. The cake looks like a melted smurf.

Next, Barry cheerfully pipes delicate white frosting swirls and curls to create realistic seafoam on his perfectly smooth blue surfboard. Reminding the audience that big tips are better for piping, and everybody loves a good pipe.

Gator glares at the screen. His own piping bag is loaded with frosting that's somehow both too stiff and too drippy at the same time. When he tries to pipe, it comes out in sad, deflated spurts. He can only imagine what Barry would have to say about that.

"Motherf-!" Gator bites off the curse, chucking the piping bag down on the counter. This was a stupid idea. He's no baker, who was he kidding? He should've just bought Billy a damn gift card like a normal person.

Dejected, Gator slumps against the counter, hanging his head. Failure churns in his gut, sharp and nauseating. He can't give this monstrosity to Billy. He just can’t. Can’t bear to watch him try to hide his disappointment.

Frustrated and embarrassed, Gator gives up on trying to salvage the cake. In a fit of pique, he grabs a spatula and starts roughly shaping the blue frosted mess, not even bothering to smooth it out anymore. He carves angry slashes and gouges into the cake's surface with the edge of the spatula.

Before he even fully realizes what he's doing, the cake has taken on a new, crude shape under his hands - a lumpy, misshapen hand with the middle finger extended in an unmistakable gesture of "fuck you".

Gator steps back, breathing hard, and stares at his handiwork. The hand is far from anatomically correct, with uneven sausage-like fingers and a palm that curves at an odd angle. Globs of sticky frosting cling to the digits in gloopy turquoise clumps. The raised middle finger lists slightly to the side, like it's too heavy to hold itself up properly.

It's possibly the ugliest cake Gator has ever seen. So ugly it crosses the line twice and becomes perversely impressive in its sheer awfulness. A surprised, slightly unhinged laugh bubbles up from his chest as he takes it in.

This is what he has to show for his efforts. This fuck-ugly, lewd gesture of a cake, cobbled together from the dregs of his failure. It suits him.

“Yeah don’t know what the fuck else I expected.” Gator grumbles, despondent. He goes to the fridge to fetch a beer and tabs it open roughly, determined to drink thoughts of the stupid cake away. 

He’s not crying over cake like some lame ass. It’s whatever. It’ll probably still taste good, and if Billy doesn’t like it he can throw it in the trash. They’ll order a pizza or something and Gator will ride him till his dick goes numb and call it a night. Happy birthday.

Gator stomps to the bedroom he and Billy share and pulls out the trunk where he keeps his hunting gear from under the bed, because it’s been awhile since he polished his knives and that always helps lift his mood. He takes the trunk out to the living room and gets to work. Ques up his workout playlist on his phone and connects it to the TV so he can put it on blast.

It helps a little. Allows him time not to think. But the time gets away from him, because he doesn’t even hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. 

Billy's entrance is marked by the faint scrape of his boots against the hardwood floor as he turns the corner into the living room. He pauses briefly, taking in the scene before him—Gator, surrounded by an array of gleaming knives, his trunk spilling open on the coffee table, and the ear splitting rifts of heavy metal blaring from the television speakers.

A faint smile tugs at Billy's lips as the dom sets down his bag and sheds his leather jacket, revealing the broad contours of his chest hugged by a tight white T-shirt. The room is thick with the scent of metal and leather, a comforting familiarity that wraps around Billy like a second skin. He approaches Gator slowly, noiselessly, his gaze fixed not on the array of blades but on the man holding them as gently as baby chicks.

Billy casts a long shadow across the coach and Gator finally notices him. He jumps up, fumbling the knife in his hands which clatters to the floor. The music crescendos, a dramatic backdrop to the moment. Gator lowers the volume, and whips around to glare at Billy who laughs at the fright he gave him.

“Hey, Baby Gay.”

“Don’t call me that!” Gator snaps. “And don’t sneak up on me. I was like, this close to killing you!”

“Oh?” Billy arches a mocking brow. “Probably shouldn’t have dropped the knife then.”

“Haha. Very funny asshole. You’re lucky I did,” Gator grumbles in reply, bending down to pick up the fallen knife. “You know how sharp one of these babies are? With one o’ these I can cut through the shell on a coconut just like that.”

He flicks his wrist to demonstrate the ease with which he could peel Billy’s flesh off, and Billy gives him this look - like Gator is just fucking adorable - and it’s god damn condescending, is what it is. But it also makes the back of Gator’s neck tingle with awareness, and his dick try to get hard. So yeah.

It’s probably a good thing that Billy’s so distracted anyway. Because swearing at his dom is firmly against their rules on account of the fact that Gator uses it as some kinda defense mechanism to keep Billy at arms length.

Or that’s what Billy said anyway when he made the stupid rule. Gator doesn’t make the rules here, he just follows them.

“I’ll count myself lucky then. I think I’ll get a beer. You want one killer?” Billy asks, already on his way to the kitchen. 

FUCK! The Kitchen. Gator remembers too late that he forgot to clean up and do something with that awful cake and scampers after him.

Billy strides into the kitchen before Gator can stop him.

His stomach knots as Billy pauses, his gaze landing on the misshapen dessert surrounded by strewn icing bags, crumbs and powdered sugar. Slowly a grin spreads across Billy's face, and blue eyes sparkle as he turns to look at Gator, where he lingers hesitantly in the kitchen doorway.

"Is this cake trying to tell me something?" he teases, amusement rich in his voice. He leans forward slightly to inspect the cake more closely. "Is this your way of telling me you don’t want to sixty-nine later, or is it a failed science experiment? Hard to tell."

Gator feels heat rush to his face, embarrassment mixed with irritation bubbling in his chest. He knows Billy is just poking fun, yet it stings, tapping into that deep-seated insecurity instilled by years under his father's critical eye.

"Scotty was here with Dot and it gave us something to do. That’s all," Gator mumbles defensively, his words sharper than intended. Then, unable to stop the words from tumbling out recklessly, he adds, "Just thought it would be nice to share, but you don’t have to have any if you’re just going to be an asshole."

As soon as the words are out, Gator regrets them. Swearing at Billy is one thing, but lying to him breaks one of their most cardinal rules. It’s not just about respect; it’s about trust.

Billy’s expression shifts subtly; the playful light in his eyes dims as he adopts a more serious demeanor. He closes the distance between them with measured steps. "Gator," he says softly yet firmly, "That’s the second time you’ve pulled that tonight. Watch it.”

Gator snaps his mouth shut and fumes silently, hanging his head. God, Billy sounds so disappointed in him and it’s worse than he even imagined.He wants to puke.

“Did Scotty really make this?” Billy asks, and Gator can tell just from his tone that Billy already knows the answer, but he’s waiting for Gator to fess up to it. Gator shakes his head, hot tears stinging at his eyes that he blinks away as rapidly as he can.

“It’s for you.” He confesses, feeling a weight lift off his chest despite his overall misery. “I made it for your birthday, and you made fun of it.”

“I did.” Billy acknowledges too easily for Gators liking, but before he can say anything Billy goes on. “I could have handled that better. You’re right. But before we get to that, don’t you have anything to say to me?”

“No. Can’t think of anything.” Gator immediately denies, because how is it fair that he has to apologize for a little white lie when he only did it in the first place because he knew Billy was going to laugh. He knew it.

“Oh?” Billy’s face is impassive but he’s unhappy with Gators answer. It crackles in the air between them. “Do you need a reminder of the rules?"

Gator swallows hard, defiance battling with remorse inside him. He shrugs stiffly, avoiding Billy’s gaze. “Let's just forget it. I don’t need a lecture right now.”

“I’ll decide whether you do or not.” Billy’s tone is calm but carries an undeniable edge of authority—one that sends shivers down Gator’s spine and fear bolting through him all at once. “You know, I was looking forward to a nice night with my boy. Didn’t know I was coming home to a brat.”

Gator ignores the voice inside that screams for him to stop stop stop, barreling ahead in desperate angry defiance.

“Fuck you and what you want! Maybe I want a boyfriend who knows how to lighten up huh?  Sorry I’m not your perfect little bitch. Go cry about it to someone else!” 

His insides shake from the fear and lingering tension. Gator has just royally pissed off his dom. It’s in Billy’s eyes and the slow exhale of breath he takes. Punishment is inevitable. Gator longs to take it back but he can’t - can never take it back - and nothing will fix it. Or fix him. He’s all wrong inside and nothing works no matter how hard he tries.

But the thing is, Billy is safe.

Billy is angry and Gator is terrified and trembling but It’s nothing like it was before, in his father’s house. When the fear of a hand went bone deep and lived in his nightmares.

Gator loves Billy’s hands. They way they touch him. The way they hold him fast and glue him back together. They’ve never let him down those hands, which is why Gator is shaking like a leaf right now, terrified that they won’t reach for him.

He didn’t yell those things at Billy because he wants more space. It’s stupid, he knows, but he yelled them because he needs Billy to take over. He can’t stop himself running full speed ahead toward a punishment. Billy will straighten him out. He can trust Billy to know what to do even when he’s lost sense of which way he’s turned.

Gator’s dom considers him for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between them.

“Go in our room and get me a paddle.” Billy finally orders. Then, deliberately turning away, he starts rummaging through the kitchen cupboards - no doubt in his mind apparently that Gator will obey him.

Of course he does. Knees shaking, Gator stumbles out of the kitchen because now that he’s driven them to this point his skin is crawling with the need to make it right. He’s aching with the need to be good so bad his knees feel like jelly and it’s everything he can do just to follow the order. He wants to hit the floor - go to his belly and plead for his dom’s forgiveness but that’s not what Billy asked for.

He will be good. He’ll make Billy forget that mouthy idiot who talked back and clearly had shit for brains. He can be such a good boy. The best boy! Just give him a chance and he’ll come wagging his fucking tail.

It’s pathetic.

But it’s also a relief, when he returns to the kitchen a few minutes later with a paddle from their toy chest and sets it on the table and Billy acknowledges it with an approving nod.

“Good boy.” he says, and Gator’s knees buckle. He catches himself on the table, holds himself up with palms pressed firmly to the wood because Billy hasn’t told him to kneel yet. He forces himself to focus on Billy as the dom takes an empty glass vase inexplicably sitting next to a bag of rice on the table, and places it on the floor between their feet.

Gator watches warily as next, Billy grabs the open bag of rice and tilts it sending a stream of white grains cascading down onto the tile. He stops when the bag is empty and kneels briefly to stir through them gently with his fingers before straightening and meeting Gator’s eyes again.

“Pants off.” he orders, and Gator sucks in a breath. He doesn’t have to ask why, and doesn’t bother, cheeks hot with shame as he reaches for his belt and gets to work.

"On the floor," BIlly commands softly, when Gator is down to his underwear. The dom points to the pile of rice on the floor.

"Kneel."

And Gator folds like fucking cake batter, sweet sweet relief coursing through his veins. He puts himself at Billy’s feet where he belongs, where he wants to be and shudders, biting his lip to stop himself from begging for the dom’s touch. He hasn’t earned that. Doesn’t make him want it less, but he can be good for Billy and prove when he remembers how.

Billy picks up the paddle that Gator chose – sleek and dark, crafted from polished walnut. As Gator settles on his haunches, head lowered in submission.

“You picked the heavy one. My favorite.” Billy remarks. “That why you picked it, or do you just really need to feel it tonight? You can answer.”

“Want to feel it.” Gator licks his lips. “Want you to be happy.”

“Good boy.” Billy says, leaving Gator to wonder which he is pleased with: that Gator wants his ass beat so raw he can’t sit or Gator wanting those things because they please his dom?

“Alright Baby, are you listening? I want you to pick those up and put them in the vase. Count each one,” Billy instructs, motioning toward the scatter of grains. His voice is firm. It brooks no argument.

Gator looks down at the nearly indistinguishable mass of tiny grains and feels a rush of frustration. "All of them?" His voice is a mix of incredulity and unease. What if he can’t do it? What if he can’t be good and Billy is disappointed in him again?

“Every last one Baby boy," Billy confirms with an implacable nod. “Don’t think about it. It’s not your job right now to think. Just do what I ask you to do. Can you do that?”

Gator takes a deep breath, steadies himself on the sound of Billy’s voice and nods. He can do that. He can follow Billy’s instructions. He doesn’t have to worry about ho much rice there is or whether he can even find it all. That’s not his to worry about. Not his place. He just has to listen. 

He reaches out shakily to touch the closest grain, his voice barely audible as he starts, “One… two… three…” His fingers tremble slightly; counting each grain feels like an impossible task. But Billy never sets him up for failure - not the way his dad used to. Billy doesn’t ask him to do things he’s not capable of just to fail. He asks Gator for things he knows he can do, and if he fails anyway it’s because Billy wants to be there when he breaks. He won’t leave Gator laden with shame and misery that will eat away at his insides.

As Gator focuses on the rice, Billy steps behind him. Without warning, he brings the paddle down gently but firmly across Gator's backside. The sound cracks sharply in the air, followed by another count from Gator's lips that judders from the impact.

“Four… five…”

Billy administers each swat in time with Gator’s counting—methodical and paced.

The pain is not harsh but it accumulates with each slap—the stinging warmth spreading across Gator’s skin contrasting starkly with the coolness of the floor beneath his knees and hands. Tears prickle at Gator’s eyes as he continues—his voice breaks around “twenty-nine… thirty…” 

It’s more than just physical pain; it's a release valve for all he’s been holding inside. Every impact sends ripples through him, but it’s not just his body. It does something to his soul too that he can’t explain. Something he no longer wants to deny.

“Let it out,” Billy murmurs close to his ear between paddles—a soothing contrast to the sharp swats.

“Thirty-one… thirty-two…” The numbers start blurring together as sobs hitch in his throat. The task which seemed merely frustrating at first now feels poignant— slowly, bit by bit, Gator cleans up the mess on the floor, and swat by swat Billy cleans up the mess inside. He doesn’t hit Gator after every grain, that would be excessive. He takes breaks at interment periods, spacing them out so that it’s impossible for Gator to try and guess when he might start up again. The fresh sting whenever he does is brutal, worse in some ways than if he had just continued until Gator’s cheeks were numb.

“Two-hundred and ten…” 

Billy pauses, placing his hand gently on Gator's shoulder as he surveys his progress.

"You’re doing well," he encourages softly, and that little praise, that nothing bit of touch, is enough to break him. Gator chokes on a sob, hot tears spilling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to hold them in.

“Keep going.” Billy reminds him and Gator nods emphatically, tears dripping off his chin, because he hadn’t meant to stop. He was doing so well. Billy said so. He’ll never stop. Not until Billy tells him too.

With shaking hands Gator pinches grains of rice between his fingers and continues to count aloud between sobs and hits from the paddle—each number spoken is more than just an acknowledgement of rice grains; but of his submission to Billy. 

Billy’s little murmurs of praise and sounds of pleasure make him feel high. Like his head is floating in the clouds.

He loves subspace. Wishes it were easier for him to reach and he didn’t have to be taken down so hard. But finally he feels the familiar edges of it and the tears fall faster as he lets himself go.

Gator sinks into the feeling of weightlessness as it rises up to take him. Billy maintains a rhythm that is both firm and considerate, attuned to Gator's responses—his body language, his breathing, his blown out pupils and slurred speech. 

This is no longer about punishment. It’s a guided breakdown.

As Gator’s cries begin to subside into quiet murmurs and his ability to speak leaves him, Billy lessens the intensity of his strikes until he stops altogether. 

“That’s enough. You were beautiful Baby.” Billy halts Gator’s hands woozly still trying to lift rice and the sub sags against him. “You’re always so good for me baby boy.”

He brushes his fingertips along Gator's heated skin, tracing the raised welts along his buttocks and thighs softly, and making him shiver. Gator’s mouth stretches in a dopey lopsided smile, beaming from inside and out. He soars. Works his mouth to ask Billy to do it again - he can take more - but can’t get past the mushmouth.

The room is heavy with the scent of sweat and leather, the only sound now the quiet thud of Billy’s heart and Gator’s shaky breaths.

Hands roam over Gator’s back and legs, soft, soothing caresses that glide over his flushed skin. Billy leans close, his breath warm against the nape of Gator’s neck, whispering reassurances that float through his head like feathers.

The shift is gentle, a tender transition as Gator's breathing evens out and his trembling subsides. Billy’s hands are confident, knowing exactly where to touch to bring Gator back from the intense high of subspace. With each calculated stroke on his back and whisper against his ear, Gator feels the ground slowly come back under him, the weightlessness dissipating as reality takes hold once more.

Billy finally eases back, giving space for Gator to gather himself in the afterglow of their session. He cups Gator’s face tenderly, wiping away the trails left by tears with his thumbs. 

“Talk to me, Gator. What’s been eating at you?”

The use of his real name pulls Gator further out of his dazed state. He blinks slowly, focusing on Billy’s concerned face, grounding himself. “I... I’m scared,” he admits, voice still hoarse.

“Scared of what?” Billy probes gently, petting the long side of Gator’s hair now.

“I’m scared I’m not enough for you,” he confesses, dropping his gaze to where their fingers are entwined. He knows the words will hurt Billy. Make his dominant frown in the middle of his brow and start thinking of all the ways Neil Hargrove used to tell him he was a waste of space - too broken and wrong to ever take proper care of a sub. Nothing could be further from the truth. But if there’s one thing Gator knows it’s daddy issues and how they can haunt you.

But to his surprise Billy’s expression doesn’t change. He just nods quietly, still petting Gator’s hair. “Why would you think that?”

Gator hesitates, lips parting but no sound coming out. He swallows hard and shrugs.

“Listen to me Baby.” Billy says after a moment, fisting Gator’s hair between his fingers and tugging until he brings his eyes up. “You’re what I want. You. Even when you’re being a greasy dirtbag leaving your shit everywhere and blaring your candyass music.”

“Hey, lay off my Skyfire man.” Gator can’t help but smile, because Billy’s lips have curved up in amusement and they’ve had this argument a dozen times or more and it just makes him feel so good, that Billy pays attention to which albums he gravitates to depending on his moods. “They aren’t candy. Fractal is the best album produced since Reign In Blood.”

“Why are we talking about fucking Slayer, or Skyfire, right now when Ride the Lightning exists?” Billy growls, tugging on Gator’s hair until his scalp stings just the sweetest bit. “I should beat your ass again just for that.“

“Yeah. If you wanna.” he pants, eager, and Billy’s smiling mouth kisses him, hot and hungry. Billy licks into Gator’s mouth, possessive and sweeping, until he whimpers. The dom nips at his plump lower lip with a grin before pulling back.

“Don’t think you realize how sore you’re gonna be when you come down off this high babe.” He says. “But you heard me right? When I said I loved you? Cause I do. I wasn’t about to lose you before over shitty timing, and I’d never let anything take you from me now. Not Dot. Not him. Not anyone or anything. Okay?”

Gator shivers, but even the mention of his father can’t intrude on the blanket of safety Billy has woven around him, the sure way his gaze holds Gator and rings with truth.

“Yeah.” he sighs, breathless.

“Yeah?”

But it’s not good enough, according to Billy’s tightening grip. And fuck that feels good. Gator is suddenly aware of how hard he is in his briefs, but it’s strangely distant. Like he’d be happy to just sit here hard for another hour or more, letting Billy play with him.

“Yes Billy.”

“Good boy.” Billy's voice is soft, infused with a warmth that seeps into Gator's bones, coaxing his tight muscles to loosen.The room around them—their living room with its deep blue walls and plush gray couches— disappears momentarily, focusing all existence on their intimate bubble.

Billy lifts Gator’s chin so their eyes meet. "Nah nah, stay up for me Baby boy. I need you present." His thumbs brush under Gator’s eyes, rubbing warmth into his skin while he waits for Gator’s eyes to focus. "I think it’s time I show you something," Billy continues, when Gator’s gaze is clear once more.

"In the bedroom," Billy instructs softly, "In my sock drawer, there's a small white box. I want you to go and bring it to me."

Gator feels a jolt run through him. It shocks him rather unpleasantly back to reality, like he’s been dropped from a short height.

“Wait what?” he tries to ask, tries to think, because Billy can’t be hinting at what his muddled brain is trying to convince him he is. Can he?

“Shh. Don’t ask questions.” Billy warns. “And absolutely no peeking either. Just go get it.”

Gator’s movements are slow and automatic as he stands and makes his way down the hallway. This isn’t happening. Well obviously it is, he is on his way to their bedroom to open Billy’s drawer - which is strictly hands off unless he has permission - and get some mysterious box. But it’s probably like some new toy they can enjoy together. Maybe Billy went out and finally got those chains Gator found on that web store, the ones with the studs that dig into your wrists the more you struggle? He’s going to feel so owned wearing those. It’s gonna be great.

He’s convinced himself down off the ledge by the time he gets to the bedroom, but his heart hasn’t gotten the memo because it starts going double time in his chest as he reaches for Billy’s drawer. It slips open smoothly under his fingers which are trembling slightly. From fear or excitement, he isn't sure.

Inside lies a small white box, unassuming in its simplicity yet Gator just stands there and stares at it like it’s a bomb for a full minute before lifting it from its nest among Billy's socks. The weight of potential futures presses down upon him as he clutches the box in his hands.

He should be a good boy. He can just turn and go back into the living room and - Fuck it! Gator’s not kidding anyone. Least of all himself.

Before he knows it, Gator has torn off the ribbon and lifted the lid on the box to peek inside.

And there lies a beautiful black leather collar, its surface smooth and flawless except for the bold engraving of 'GATOR' studded across it in shining silver letters.

Gator stares at it in disbelief, eyes flooding with fresh tears. His heart trips over itself in his chest, thrumming against his ribcage like a caged bird desperate for flight.

The room is silent except for the sound of Gator's shallow, ragged breathing. Gator runs his fingers over the cool, shining letters that form his name, the studs scraping against the pads of his fingers sending tingles through him.

He lifts the collar, feeling its weight in his hands. It's heavier than it looks. He brings it closer, inhaling deeply—the leather smells rich and earthy. It’s the good shit. Supple and strong enough to take some serious pull, and yet the inside of the collar is lined with soft velvet, ensuring his comfort.

Something white resting on the blue lining of the box catches Gator’s eye. It’s a folded card, its crisp edge nearly taller than the sides of the box. Gently plucking it up, Gator flicks it open and scans, eyes widening at the one word message inside.

Peeker!

An unexpected burst of laughter escapes him as he wipes away tears. The simple word on the card speaks volumes, but so does Billy’s presence in their bedroom doorway where Gator finds him leaning when he looks up.

Billy is gazing at Gator with an intense mixture of emotions.

"Do you like it?" he asks, and there’s something like worry there. As if Gator might actually have shit for brains and do all that stupid stuff he’d told Dot he’d do back when he was scared shitless. All because he’d convinced himself that Billy wasn’t true - that he’d disappear like every other good thing has.

“Yeah.” Gator sniffs through his red nose, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. “Shit man. How long have you had this?”

“Since right after your birthday actually.” Billy confesses with an easy shrug. Like he isn’t just standing there admitting that he bought a collar for Gator and has been hanging onto it since September.

“Billy! It’s fucking March!”

“I know! I thought if I forbid you from going through my drawer eventually you would. I know what you’re like.” Billy said. Meaning of course he knows that no matter what, Gator eventually messes up.

But Billy says, “I guess I underestimated what a good boy I’ve got, huh?” with this soft look in his eye, like he’s looking at the best sight in the world and not his fuckup boyfriend standing in the middle of their bedroom in his tighty-whities.

Gator might be melting a little, which is why he has to sit down heavily on the bed before he crumples.

“Hey Billy?”

“Yeah, Babe?”

“I’m your sub…” Gator begins and Billy laughs, the sound loud and full of joy instead of mockery.

“No shit?”

“Come on, Billy please. Don’t be mean.” Gator whines, lifting the hand still holding the collar wordlessly and Billy finally takes pity on him and crosses the room to take it from him. Gator trembles, straightening up and bending his neck a little to give Billy room as he claps it on. He gasps a little, shuddering when Billy leans back and the heavy weight settles against his skin.

"You’re my sub," Billy repeats with finality."With or without this. But when you wear this, I want you to remember," he pauses for effect, letting his fingers softly caress down Gator’s neck and over the dark leather. "You’re my gift. The love you give me, makes me Gator, and I thank whatever lucky stars I’ve got that you came into my life when you did. Okay?"

A simple nod is all Gator manages in response; it’s all that’s needed. The smile that spreads across Billy's face is radiant—as if a piece has clicked into place within him too.

Carefully, lovingly, Billy cradles his chin and pulls him into a kiss.

It tastes sweet… like buttercream icing.

[runraerun]

For your wip game…. MERMAY!!!!! 👀👀👀

Ooooh I love my MerMay WIP so freaking much. Thank you so much for asking~🩵🧜‍♂️ here’s a snippet!

—

Sometimes his mother would even bring back humans—dead ones, of course. One’s that she’s lured to the water's edge with her siren's song before pulling them under and holding them tight until the bubbles stop coming out of their noses and mouths.

Females need their meat to survive—males don’t. His sharp claws and teeth are only to crack shells and defend territories, while the females’ attributes are more equipped for the seduction, luring, and the breaking of the bodies of human men. To mate with them, if they wanted to.

Billy knows this is how he came to be; his mother sang her song to some dumb human who fell face first into the waves, then she’d drug him down to their cove and meticulously tore him open in order to fertilize her eggs. So far, Billy was the only offspring she’d bothered to hatch. He had wondered more times than he can count if maybe she’d only kept him around as long as she did to alleviate her own loneliness.

And even though his mother seemed perpetually disappointed over the fact, Billy’s always been sort of relieved to have been born a male. Because the truth is… he likes the humans. Likes the strange things they drop, likes to way they ride on waves, and then he likes to watch the way they kick and flailing their skinny limbs when they get knocked, trying to stay afloat. Humans are endlessly amusing—Billy’s glad he doesn’t need to consume their flesh.

It seems like something akin to fate that Billy would find his mate in a human.