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ladykailitha · 5 months

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Sweet Home Indiana Part 1

Hello! And welcome to this fun little fusion that I came up with here. If anyone can find the post about gay legal troubles after gay marriage was legalized (I think was originally about polyamory divorces) let me know so I can link here, too.

Summary: Eddie is a successful tattoo artist in Seattle and is engaged to be married to Chrissy. Only there is one problem. Well, technically three. You see, back before the Supreme Court ruled that gay marriage was a right and not a privilege Eddie had gotten married in a couple of different states to different people. But now that's it's legal, he's a bigamist and he has to get his exes to divorce him. Which is easy enough for two of the three, not so much for the third. You see the third just isn't just any ex, it's the ex. Steve Harrington. So now he has to go down to Hawkins and try to convince the person he thought he was going to spend his life with to divorce him. Something much easier said then done, especially when Eddie finds himself falling back in love.

EDDIE IS GAY IN THIS BUT THERE ARE REASONS OKAY!

****

Eddie’s life was good. Let it be said that it was really good. He knew that. But he had regrets. Didn’t everyone?

He regretted how his band broke up. It wasn’t his fault, but he hadn’t seen the cracks when they had started to show. He hadn’t seen how tired Jeff was getting or how fucked Gareth was. He hadn’t seen that Brian was only phoning it in every night.

So when it all fell apart after a concert in Seattle, he was left holding the pieces of his band and his broken heart. He had gotten a job as a tattoo apprentice and had worked really hard to get his own chair.

He had friends. Good ones. Jeff had stayed in Seattle, too. Gareth had gone into rehab and had moved to a small village in the south of France. Brian had gotten married and moved back to Indiana where he became a teacher and lived a quiet life. The life he had always wanted.

Then there was Chrissy. He loved her so much. They had met when she came into the tattoo parlor to get a tattoo covered. She wanted to cover the name of her ex-boyfriend with a purple violet. Eddie had smiled at her when she asked.

It was some of his best work, if he was honest.

She was a legal assistant that had just gotten her paralegal degree and was trying to get a work visa.

She had come over to the USA from Barbados. A little island country in the Caribbean.

He didn’t know how she could stand living in damp Seattle after being born on sun-soaked shores under glistening palm trees. But Chrissy was adamant that she loved being in Washington where it rained almost all the time.

Eddie was on a mission. One that he had sworn to Chrissy that he would do today.

He walked into the county clerk’s office and applied for a marriage license for him and Chrissy.

“I’m sorry Mr. Munson,” the clerk told him, “but our records show that you have not one, not two but three marriages in three different states.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide.

“What?” He would remember that, surely.

“To a William Hargrove in Hawaii, a Thomas M. Hagan in New York, and Steven J. Harrington in Massachusetts,” the woman said, holding up her reading glasses in front of her face to read off the list.

“But those were only legal in the state they were preformed in, right?” he asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

The woman shook her head. “Not since the Supreme Court ruled that it was legal for gays to get married. It’s cause a lot of trouble for a lot you people, let me tell you.”

Eddie knocked his knuckle on the counter and licked his lips. “Shit.”

She grimaced sympathetically. “I’m sorry, but before you can get a marriage license in the state of Washington, you’ll have to provide divorce decrees from all three of your exes.”

Eddie pounded on the counter this time with his open palm. “Thanks.”

He walked away and he heard her call out, “Next!”

Shit, shit, shit.

This was going to be hell, he could feel it.

****

Chrissy had fast food waiting for him when he got home from work.

“Did you get the license?” she asked, handing him his food and drink.

Eddie buried his head in his hands. “No, because stupid gay marriage legalization made all gay marriages legal, no matter what state you preformed them in.”

“Oh.”

She sat down hard. “So your three marriages suddenly count?”

“Yeah,” Eddie murmured. “I don’t even know where any of them are. Like I assume Steve’s still in Hawkins, because he’d never leave, but the other two? I have no fucking idea.”

She patted him on the shoulder and said, “We’ll find a way. The law firm has investigators on staff for this very reason. It might take a while, but we’ll find them.

Eddie nodded. “I’m sorry.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and sat down on his lap. “I’m not. You didn’t know. Otherwise you would have taken care of it when Obergefell v. Hodges went through the Supreme Court.”

Eddie nodded, but he pursed his lips, his hands up around her waist to hold her steady.

“Let’s just eat and I’ll start work on it tomorrow,” she murmured. “Okay?”

“Mmk,” he muttered.

****

Three weeks later, Eddie had in hand two of the three annulments. Billy had sent his back with a little note that said, “With pleasure.” Tommy had merely sent his back without comment.

That was a relief. He was no longer bound to either of those two assholes. He wasn’t even sure what possessed him to marry them in the first place.

Well, okay. He did. He was far away from home, lonely and willing to connect with anyone who would fuck him.

He was getting ready to call Chrissy to her the good news when the phone rang under his hand.

Eddie frowned at it for a moment, before he picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Eddie? Eddie Munson?” the familiar voice sounded through the cell phone.

“This is he,” he replied, still confused.

“If you want to divorce me, you asshole,” Steve spat, “then have the fucking courage to tell me to my face.”

“Steve?” Eddie asked, his confusion still there, but for a different reason now. How did he get his number?

“Yeah,” Steve hissed. “Remember me? The man you left for fame and fortune? How is that going, by the way?”

Eddie gritted his teeth. “You know full well we broke up, I know Dustin still talks to you.”

He could hear Steve snap his fingers. “That’s right. You broke up. And until you tell me to my face you want to do the same, you take your annulment and shove it up your ass.”

“Stevie...” Eddie pleaded.

“Don’t ‘Stevie’ me,” Steve growled. “Fuck you.”

And the phone went dead then Eddie turned his phone around to see that yes, Steve had disconnected the call.

“Fuck.”

****

Eddie called Chrissy with the news. Two yeses and a ‘fuck you’.

“All right, Ed,” she said. “There is more to this than you’ve been telling me, so you are coming over to my apartment with the annulments you got and you are going to spill. Capeesh?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she huffed and then hung up.

Looked like today was hang up on Eddie day. He sat down at the table both annulments spread out in front of him and buried his head in his hands.

After a few minutes of allowing himself to break down, he picked up the papers and grabbed his keys, wallet, and cell phone.

Time to face the music.

****

Chrissy opened the door with a scowl, but softened when she saw how miserable Eddie looked.

He handed her the annulments and she put them her bag to take to work so that they could be filed with county clerk.

“Tell me about Steve Harrington.”

So Eddie did.

He told her about how they had bonded over a bunch of kids. Kids Steve had used to babysit, but once they got into high school came under Eddie’s wing as leader and DM of the D&D club called The Hellfire Club. How they had gotten together and when Massachusetts made it legal, him, Steve, Jeff, and Steve’s best friend Robin all drove out to Boston and Steve and he got married in a little court house.

“My Uncle Wayne was pissed he wasn’t there,” Eddie said. “But it was spur of the moment thing. We drove all night and got there that afternoon. We put on little suits and let the judge say his words.”

“That sounds sweet, so what happened?”

He let out a shuddering sigh. “Gareth graduated from high school and we got an offer to record an album in New York.”

“Why didn’t he go with you?” she asked gently.

Eddie rubbed his nose. “Because the kids still had two years left of school. He wanted to be there for them. A couple of them didn’t have good home lives and he wanted to make sure they had someone they could count on. We fought about it. Hard.”

“I’m sorry, cher,” she whispered giving his arm a squeeze.

“God,” Eddie said, his voice cracking. “The things we said to each other. It was bad, Chris.”

“And now he won’t sign the papers?” she asked.

He shook his head. “He told me the only way he’d sign anything is I came back to Hawkins and handed it to him myself.”

Chrissy nodded. “All right,” she said, “here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to get a proper divorce degree written up, making sure it’s worded so he knows you won’t be going after any assets he has and then you are taking a week off of work and going down there and facing him. Because holy fucking hell, Ed, he deserves some kind of closure as do you.”

Eddie let out a heartbreaking sigh. “I don’t know if I can face him, Chris. God, I put everything else before him and broke his heart. He always wanted this big wedding. A beautiful reception where all our friends and loved ones were there. A beautiful grey morning jacket with a proper boutonniere and saying his vows across from the one he loved. And instead he got an empty court house and broken promises from a screw up like me.”

She wrapped her arms around him and let him sob into her shoulder.

“Which is why you need to go down there and give him that closure,” she murmured, “so that he can have all that with someone else. Someone who isn’t afraid.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, just let me know when it’s ready and I’ll take one of my vacation weeks to go to Hawkins, Indiana.”

Chrissy winced. “Maybe don’t sound like you’re going to your funeral, yeah?”

Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes. As far as he was concerned he was going to a funeral. Maybe not his own, but the death of the first real relationship he ever had and if somehow he made it out alive, he was never going to be the same again.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Tag List:

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

@useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rom com au #minor hellcheer

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wintersoldierslover · 2 years

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my fic recs masterlist

---

Bucky Barnes:

all bucky barnes

headcanon - blurb - one-shot - series - two-parter

40s - The Winter Soldier - Avenger - TFATWS

dbf!bucky - brother’s bff - bff’s brother

neighbour - housewife reader

lumberjack - firefighter - bodyguard

priest bucky - college

football player - hockey player - boxer

professor - teacher - librarian/bookshop

coffee shop - soulmate - royal

other AUs - taboo

moodboard - deactivated:(

---

Stranger Things characters:

all eddie munson - all steve harrington

eddie and steve (x reader)

billy hargrove - jason carver - mike wheeler

dmitri enzo antonov - jim hopper

robin buckley - nancy wheeler

---

Outer Banks Characters:

all Rafe Cameron

all JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron and JJ Maybank (x reader)

Pope Heyward - Topper Thorton

John B. - Sarah Cameron

Kiara Carrera

---

Marvel characters:

Wanda Maximoff - Kate Bishop

Natasha Romanoff - Yelena Belova

Peter Parker - Pietro Maximoff

Steve Rogers - Stephen Strange

Frank Castle - Matt Murdock

Moon knight - Steven Grant

Joaqín Torres - Clint Barton

Loki Laufeyson - Druig

Eddie Brock - Miles Morales

Miguel O’hara - Hobie Brown

---

Harry Potter characters:

Sirius Black - Remus Lupin

James Potter - Poly!Marauders

Lily potter - Cedric Diggory

George Weasley - Fred Weasley

Severus Snape - Tom Riddle

Draco Malfoy

---

Avatar (James Cameron) charachters:

neteyam - aonung - lo’ak

rotxo - kiri - spider

jake sully - neytiri - tsu’tey

tonowari - ronal - colonel quaritch

---

Top Gun chracters:

Fanboy - Hangman - Rooster - Bob

Iceman

---

Wednesday characters:

Xavier Thorpe - Ajax Petropolus

Wednesday Addams - Divina

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Bridgerton characters:

Anthony Bridgerton - Benedict Bridgerton

Colin Bridgerton

---

Criminal Minds characters:

Spencer Reid - Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

---

The Last of Us characters:

Joel Miller - Ellie Williams

Abby Anderson

---

The Devil All The Time characters:

Tommy Matson - Lee Bodecker

---

Uncharted characters:

Nate Drake - Sam Drake

---

Euphoria characters:

Elliot (Euphoria) - Fezco

---

On My Block characters:

Mario Martinez - Oscar Diaz

---

Modern Family characters:

Luke Dunphy - Alex Dunphy

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Ted Lasso:

Roy Kent - Jamie Tartt

---

NHL players:

Matthew Ktachuk - Trevor Zegras

Nolan Patrick - Tyler Seguin

---

Actors:

Sebastian Stan - Joseph Quinn

Jamie Campbell Bower - Danny Ramirez

Drew Starkey - Rudy Pankow

Ben Hardy - Bella Ramsey

Jenna Ortega

---

Miscellaneous characters:

Eli ‘Hawk’ Moskowitz - Marcus Baker

Rodrick Heffley - Hunter Sylvester

Lloyd Hansen - Ari Levinson

Nick Fowler - Tangerine

Rhett Abbott - Hayden ‘Harvard Hottie’

Colin (Not Okay) - Min Ho (Xo, Kitty)

Ash (No Exit) - James Maguire (Derry Girls)

Jake Peralta - Nick Miller - Brian O’conner

Anakin Skywalker - Bruno Madrigal

Tadashi Hamada - Kakashi Hatake

---

Miscellaneous real people:

Billie Eilish - AEW Hook

---

*Updated whenever there’s a new character <3

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strangersteddierthings · 2 years

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Writing Prompt for this list, requested by @suddenlyinlove. #42. "His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow." and #30. “Can I sit here? The other tables are full.”

Details - This is an AU with a twist I don't wanna spoil so like... suspend your disbelief please. Period-typical homophobia and thus, the use of slurs derogatorily. Stir clear if that is triggering.

Posted on Ao3 because it is long (9.7k) and it might be easier to read there for some.

August 25, 1984 - Two Days Before the Start of School

There's a good view of the whole party from their dark corner of the yard, where Jeff, Gareth, and Brian are huddled around him. Eddie'd told Carol Perkins he'd show but only if his friends could come, too. If she wanted weed, then his friends could have beer.

Plus, if he was going to suffer, they were going to suffer. That's what friendship was about.

"His ego is so visible; I can almost watch it grow," Eddie mutters, glaring in the general direction of Steve 'The Hair' Harrington as he laughs at something (he's clutching his beer awfully tight for someone having fun- Nope, Eddie doesn't care).

"Right? Can see it ballooning right before our eyes," Jeff says. This is why Jeff is his best friend. They hate on the same things. People. Whatever.

"Sorry for you guys," Eddie fakes sympathy, "once I graduate, I won't have to deal with it. Let me know if anyone shoves you into a locker though. I'll slash some tires or refuse to sale 'em weed. Whichever hurts them more."

"You said that last year," Gareth says. "And yet."

Eddie pretends to stab himself in the heart, falling to the ground dramatically, gasping like he was dying before finally stilling, staring as unblinking as he could at the sky.

Jeff nudges him with his foot, "good riddance, Munson. People will remember you weirdly."

Eddie breaks character to grin up, lifting a hand that Jeff takes and helps pull him up. "Remembered weirdly is what it's all about."

"Speaking of weird, Harrington's being... weird," Gareth says, tilting his head slightly, still looking in the direction they'd all been looking at just moments before. "When you just dropped he like... I dunno. Weird."

"What, weird how. What did he do?" Eddie whips to look at Harrington, who is looking back, looking worried, and is slightly closer than he was before. Eddie watches as Harrington's eyes track his entire self, looking for what, Eddie can't even begin to understand. He can visibly see the tension leave Harrington's body, pretty sure even his friends clocked that (even though they have less experience in the Harrington-watching department than himself).

"When you dropped, he like... rushed forward. I think he caught how fucking weird that would be for him to do 'cause he stopped just as quickly. That's weird, right?"

"Really fucking weird."

Harrington steps back into his friend group, more on the outside than he was before. (Did seem like people loved Hargrove a bit more than Harrington these days).

Eddie and his friends go back to trash talking everyone they can set their eyes on. It's easy to do, what with being ignored in the corner again. Occasionally Eddie is flagged down by someone, or they try and make eye contact (which is worse), so he huffs as though put upon and marches off to a different corner of the Perkins' backyard to sale his contraband.

(If he's marking it up, well, these rich kids can afford it.)

Anyway, their trash talk always seems to come back to Harrington. None of them acknowledge it out loud but Harrington's the easiest to shit talk in public because he's the safest. He's egotistical, kinda airheaded, and an asshole, but in a different way than Hagan or Jackson or most of the other jocks.

Harrington is the kind of asshole that you introduce yourself to 15 times and unless you're 'popular' he doesn't bother to remember he's already met you. Hagan and Jackson are assholes that give you a swirlee if you sneeze wrong near them, or will call you a fag before gut punching you behind the bleachers because they think they caught you staring at them (which Eddie was not ((It was Harrington he was staring at)).

He's safe to shit talk because he doesn't get physical (couldn't win a fight if the rumors were true (Also they all saw how he looked after Jonathan got him)) and rarely gets confrontational (less so with each passing year). Eddie thinks that's his ego - he's so full of himself that anything you say about him can't possibly affect him. (What are the words of a peasant in the face of a king, after all?)

That's not to say they haven't fucked up and said something at just the right time to provoke Harrington in the past, because they all have, but it's typically his lackeys that jump in defense, that say something first to defend Harrington. And The King will let them bark and growl just enough to put the peasants back in their place, calming his dogs with words of 'they're not worth it' and 'if what he said meant anything it would have hurt, wouldn't it?' which is just rude. Like Eddie and his friends aren't even people capable of drawing Harrington's attention, much less his wrath.

If Eddie's honest with himself (he's not), he would stop to question why he even wants to provoke a reaction from Harrington (it's because of his stupid crush), but Eddie's not honest so...

The point is, they feel pretty comfortable trash talking Harrington in hushed whispers to themselves in a corner of Carol Perkins' yard.

"Do you think he, like, genuinely thinks he looks cool when he does that?" Gareth whispers as they watch Harrington shotgun a beer, again.

"Dunno, probab-" Jeff cuts himself off, a quizzical expression on his face as he turns his head to look towards the Perkins' house. He's got ears that pick up everything, so Eddie just watches as he moves away from the group to the fence. Watches as Jeff jumps to look over. When he lands, he flips quickly back to them, looking between them and the group of party goers. He takes a moment, assessing his options it seems, before cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, "Cops in bound! Just turned onto the street!"

The party starts scattering instantly, teens running in all directions.

Brian and Gareth eye the back fence and Eddie knows immediately they're not going to jump it. Eddie throws Gareth the keys to his van, "get Jeff and go."

They don't argue, they've done this song and dance before. Eddie knows they might get a stern talking to for smelling like beer but if Eddie's in the van with them, they're all ending up in jail because of what's in his lunchbox. (Hell, they'd still get a night in jail instead of just a warning for the beer if Eddie's in the van without the lunchbox).

Eddie's not the most athletic but he's gotta run. He tosses his lunchbox over the back fence before hauling himself up, one leg over and trying to get the other when he gets high-centered for a moment before gravity starts to pull him down (thankfully on the correct side of the fence) only to find the chain on his jeans catches along something at the top, leaving him to cling quickly to the fence, praying he can muster enough upper body strength to haul himself back up enough to unstick the chain before the cops get here. He tries to readjust and his hand slips, he can't get any leverage. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He's so screwed. Officer Callihan said if he was caught again, he'd be tried as an adult. Wayne's going to kill him. Why won't these stupid jeans just rip, how has the chain not given way yet? He's going to get caught with his lunchbox right at his feet. He's-

Being shoved back up, someone's shoulder digging painfully into his ribcage to get the leverage needed for Eddie's body to be high enough for the stranger's hand to sneak up and unstick the chain. Eddie expects to be dumped suddenly and unceremoniously on the ground but this does not happen. Instead, his mysterious hero manages to keep him pinned up on the fence long enough to turn themselves so both of the stranger's arms are under Eddie and then they kind of just... sink together, using the fence as a counterweight by leaning into but not actually dragging Eddie down against it.

The culmination of which ends with Eddie being held like some blushing bride in Steve Harrington's lap. Eddie opens his mouth to say... something. What, he doesn't know, but Harrington lifts a finger to his lips to signal him to be quiet. So, he stays quiet, heart pounding.

It takes about five full seconds before the sounds of the cops busting the party actually start, the sirens on the cars flipping on to let the scattering teens know they've been caught. In that same instance, Harrington sweeps up Eddie's lunch box and shoves it onto his chest, where one of Eddie's hands comes up to wrap around and hold it close on instinct, the sound the metal handle clanging on the metal lid meaningless in all the other sounds happening.

Using his other hand, Harrington basically folds Eddie forward and out of his lap, back on his own feet in a crouch. Harrington shoves his chin forward, a silent instruction to move but Eddie's still wrapping his head around the fact he's no longer dangling from a wooden fence like an idiot, so Harrington steps forward, a hand wrapping around the wrist of Eddie's free hand, forcing him to follow along as they stealth along the wooden fence of the Perkins' residence, then the fence of the neighbors, and finally a third neighbor before the fences run off and all that's left is the woods that boarder the town one way, and a way back to the road on the other.

Eddie should pull his wrist free and book it, run as fast and as far from Harrington and this party as he can get but he's kind of star struck right now (he can be a little honest with himself, as a treat). He just follows, lets Harrington jerk him around (don't even think it Munson, do not think about it-) and follows quietly.

Harrington peeks around the end of the fence, looking for any incoming trouble, Eddie assumes, and quickly jerks back, looking to Eddie, "you trust me, man?"

And Eddie, the idiot, says, "Yeah, man."

Harrington grabs his lunchbox, ripping it away from him with ease (Eddie's still star struck, okay?) and shoves it up against the fence, twisting his body as he does, so he ends up sitting with his back to this fence, body blocking sight of the lunchbox before pulling Eddie into his lap.

This is what brings Eddie back into his body. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Just don't punch me until I get the cop that's gonna round the fence any time now to go away."

Eddie could bolt but he's not particularly fast, so he'd be caught, and he knows the odds. Between himself and Harrington, they'll book him and let Harrington go with a warning. So, Harrington thinks he can get the cop to go away? Okay. He lets Harrington manhandle him (don't think it don'tthinkit don't-) He's absolutely thinking it because Harrington grabs his ass and pulls him flush against him before a hand cups the back of his head and shoves his face into Harrington's neck, and then Harrington whispers in his ear, "just pretend we've been making out back here for the last half hour."

Fuck! Harrington's trying to get him shot by the goddamn police. He is an idiot and should have known better than to trust him. Well. If Harrington thinks he can get away from this unscathed, he's sorely mistaken. Eddie lifts his hands to ruffle Harrington's perfect hair before gripping it roughly with one hand, the other moving to brace himself on the fence, then he latches onto Harrington's neck, intent on giving Harrington the biggest, ugliest hickie of his life. Try and explain that away you asshole.

Except Harrington's reaction isn't what Eddie had thought it would be. Instead of being shoved, the hands on his ass and in his hair squeeze, seemingly trying to get Eddie closer and that is definitely a moan his hears, breathed directly into his ear. It eggs Eddie on a bit, truthfully, so he pulls back a little, less set on just marking Harrington and a little more set on seeing if he can make Harrington actually enjoy it.

Eddie presses kisses over the bit of skin he'd just bit like a wild animal and runs his tongue up to gently pull at Harrington's earlobe, before kissing his way back down to suck at the same spot some more. Harrington keeps switching from squeezing at him to petting him and Eddie's not really going to complain. The police can come shoot him. He'll die- well, not happy but at least alright.

"Jesus Christ, kid!"

Eddie tries to jerk away, a reflex because that's Chief Hopper's voice and he's so fucking screwed, but Harrington keeps him moored there, face hidden, hand cradling his head more gently than it has been thus far, the hand on his ass moving up to his lower back, holding him closer... dare he say, protectively.

"Hopper," Harrington sounds more calm than Eddie thought he would, "hi."

Eddie wishes he could see what is happening because there is an awful lot of silence going on in which he can only assume Hopper and Harrington are staring at each other. (Having a silent conversation, perhaps?)

Then the heaviest sigh he's ever heard from Chief Hopper (and he's heard some heavy ones in his days) greets the air, "I don't want to know who that is. Just this once, I am going to pretend I didn't see you here. You'd think that you would learn- Next time you and your boyfriend sneak away from a party to- just go to his house. Jesus, if it had been anyone but me walking around this corner... Give it about twenty minutes before you leave." The sound of retreating footsteps and Hopper's voice reporting in his walkie an 'all clear' follow those words.

They don't part immediately. Eddie waits until the footsteps cannot be heard before pulling back. Harrington makes no move to remove his hands from Eddie's person, so as a result the hand that was in Eddie's hair falls to his shoulder, then his chest, where it rests now that he's back far enough to look at Harrington. The moon is bright, and Eddie's eyes have adjusted to the dark of the evening, so he can see Harrington's face. "How the fuck did that just work?"

Harrington gives an almost hysterical sounding giggle before he tries to drop his head back to rest on the fence. He can't successfully do that, because Eddie realizes he's still cradling Harrington's head with one hand.

He makes no motion to move his hand, just holds Harrington's head up as he seems to be going through... something right now.

It takes several minutes, but finally he speaks. "It's kinda personal. Let's just say, Hopper and I got history, a- well, a good history isn't how I'd put it, but like, we're on the same page with it."

"Did you fuck Hopper?"

Harrington laughs out loud and Eddie slaps his other hand (the one not currently petting his soft, soft hair) over his mouth to muffle the noise. That sobers Harrington a little, remembering the 'wait twenty minutes' thing and once it seems like he's got it together again, Eddie removes his hand.

"No. Nothing like that with Hopper."

Eddie's a bit hung up on that fact Harrington is not immediately shouting that he's not a fag and would never have slept with the chief of police, a man. "You're really not gonna tell me."

"No."

They just kind of look at each other after that. Eddie's not sure what to do now. He should get out of Harrington's lap, right? That's a thing he should definitely be doing right now.

But.

But Harrington isn't shoving him off. In fact, his eyes are half closed as he stares at Eddie, eyes occasionally flicking up to meet his own, so Eddie feels like he can confidently say King Steve is looking at his lips. Eddie licks his lips, a test of sorts.

Harrington passes, because his tongue flicks out to lick his own lips.

"Hey, Eddie," (what the fuck. Harrington has never, not once, said his name, and Eddie has re-introduced himself several times.) "I want to kiss you. Can I?"

Oh.

Eddie's never been asked that before.

Gross. Eddie's got fucking butterflies in his stomach from Steve fucking Harrington.

Eddie wants to say yes so fucking bad but- well, his whole world view of Steve Harrington has just been rocked and now a ball of guilt is forming inside him for how he's marked up Harrington's neck like a wanton slut and Harrington asks for a kiss. But Harrington is also, at minimum, five beers in plus the weed, so he's clearly not thinking straight (ha fucking ha) because he wouldn't be asking him for a kiss if he was.

"No," Eddie says softly, "you're drunk. If you still wanna kiss me in the daylight, ask then."

Harrington scrunches his face and Eddie doesn't know him well enough to decipher what that look means, but he nods, sitting up so he can lean forward and nuzzle his face into Eddie's chest, bumping the top of his head against Eddie's chin like a cat.

Eddie leans his head atop Harrington's and lets himself be cuddled.

What a weird fucking night.

"Jeff!" Eddie flings himself on his friend's couch the next day, face down in the cushions, his voice mumbled as he continues, "I don't know what to do."

Jeff, ever patient with Eddie, just folds his legs at the knee and sits on the couch, dropping his legs back down and into his lap. "The way I see it, you do nothing."

"Nothing?"

"You sound extra pathetic mumbling into the couch. Nothing. If Harrington wants to kiss you, he'll ask again. If he doesn't, or tries to turn this on you, remind him he's the one that let another boy mark him up. You don't know if you can trust him."

Eddie musters all his strength to turn his head to the side so he can breath again. "You're right. As usual."

"Try not to sound so annoyed and disappointed."

"I should trust the Munson doctrine. If it's too good to be true, then it's not true," Eddie says as he wiggles forward, out of Jeff's lap and onto his knees, shuffling around until he's sitting cross-legged on the center cushion.

"Maybe, maybe not. Like, we know Harrington's an asshole but he's not mean," Jeff says. "besides, maybe being dumped by Nancy Wheeler for Jonathan Byers might have shaken some decency into him. Humility, even."

Suppose they'll learn if that's true tomorrow. "You can't tell anyone what I told you."

"Duh. Blackmail only works if the leverage you have is still a secret."

“Can I sit here? The other tables are full.”

Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Brian all look up at the same time. Harrington isn't even holding a lunch tray, hands in the pockets of his letterman jacket, striped polo tucked into light wash jeans under his opened jacket, Eddie's hickie only half hidden by the polo's collar.

Eddie's eyes scan the cafeteria quickly. Hawkins is a small town, so it stands to reason the schools are too. There are literal, completely empty tables. So, Eddie's eyes go to the table Harrington usually sits at.

Ah.

Everyone there is looking over. Watching. Waiting, probably. This is the trick. The joke. If Eddie lets him sit, they've pegged him for the desperate fag they all tell him he is.

"'Fraid this table is full, too," Eddie says, careful to sound bored as he says it, looking directly at Harrington.

Harrington's eyes widen slightly, like he hadn't expected Eddie to deny him. Well, joke backfired, buddy.

"I.... see," Harrington says slowly. "My mistake."

And they all watch him leave with such little fanfare that Eddie's wondering if he misread the situation. Was Harrington actually wanting to sit with them- but no. He watches as Harrington returns to his table, to the royalty of Hawkins High. Hagan says something to him and Harrington just shrugs with one shoulder before plopping onto the bench.

They wait for Harrington to start up conversation, for the leering and mocking to start up but it doesn't. Harrington just sits there in silence.

"What... was that?" Gareth asks, looking away from the Royalty to look at Eddie.

"Got no idea," Eddie lies, even as Jeff is leveling him with a look he refuses to acknowledge.

November 7th, 1984

Harrington was absent yesterday (not that Eddie keeps track) and now here Harrington is, slinking into the American History class they share for first period, face busted to shit. Eddie does a double take because he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him but no. Harrington looks worse than when Jonathan got him.

Eddie spends the first twenty minutes of class just watching Harrington. Harrington slides into his chair and keeps his head down, eyes closed most of the time. Every now and then he winces and drops his head into his hands, palms digging into eyes. He looks bad.

Then Harrington goes a little green around the gills and looks like he's forcing himself to swallow down vomit and Eddie's done watching the sad display. "Hey, Miss Click, I think Harrington's gonna lose his breakfast all over the back of Thompson if he doesn't get outta here soon."

Miss Click looks like she's gonna give him detention again but then she looks at Harrington and must agree with his assessment. "Help him to the nurses office, Eddie."

Normally Eddie would argue but Harrington is also looking at him now and he really wants to know what happened so instead of arguing, he stands. Harrington does, too, grabbing his bag from the floor and shuffling towards the door.

The halls are empty and Steve makes it maybe ten feet down the hall before he falls against the lockers, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Come on, Harrington," Eddie grabs his backpack from him and shoulders it, then pulls one of Harrington's arms around him. "Just keep your eyes closed. I won't walk you into any walls."

"Thanks."

It's so quiet, Eddie's not sure he was even meant to hear it. They walk in silence a bit more before Eddie asks, "so, what happened?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, sure. Nothing causes this all the time."

"What'd'ya care."

Fair. That's fair. He shut Harrington down quickly at the beginning of the year. And Eddie's had plenty of time to concede it might have been the wrong thing to do. Harrington really wasn't setting him up to be a joke, or a punching bag, because if he had been, Eddie would have been jumped by now. Especially since it's fairly common knowledge that Harrington has fallen from grace, replaced by Billy Hargrove. A whole asshole and a half, that one.

They're silent all the way to nurse and even after Harrington vanishes behind the door, Eddie loiters in the hall. He doesn't care about getting back to class. Whatever is happening with Harrington is so much more important.

Another period later and Harrington is shoving himself through the door, even as the nurse protests behind him.

"I'll be fine, really. I'm sure my mom's not answering because she's not near the phone. There's no need to worry," Harrington catches sight of Eddie then. He looks surprised, but says to the nurse, "Eddie here will drive me home. I promise I won't be driving with a concussion."

She looks past Harrington to Eddie and he finds himself nodding frantically. The nurse, not paid enough to argue with teenagers, nods back and Harrington escapes back into the hall without argument.

"You need a ride?"

"I can drive myself."

"Absolutely not. You just said you were concussed."

Harrington looks like he wants to argue more but before he can, he folds a bit into himself, hands pressing into eyes again.

"Look, I owe you anyway, alright. Let me repay."

There's a long silence, then, "okay."

Eddie walks into Gareth's third period class and deposits the keys to his van to him with instructions to pick him up from Harrington's after school (Jeff is his best friend, but Gareth is the safer driver) before helping Harrington limp his way to his own car, where he hands over his keys very forlornly and climbs into his car. Eddie takes the driver's seat and they're off.

"You gonna give me directions, Harrington?"

"You've been to my house before."

This is true. He just didn't know Harrington remembered that. Hagan had invited Eddie to deal there, once; Harrington himself, twice. He didn't know Harrington had even remembered he was there. "Didn't know you remembered that."

"You've been to my house four times."

"Three."

Harrington lull his head to the side to squint (is he trying to glare?) at Eddie. "Four."

Four? Eddie didn't remember- oh. Harrington's ninth birthday party. Eddie was invited, one of the few who hadn't been in Harrington's class to get an invitation. He was in fifth grade, Harrington in fourth. It was shortly after Wayne had brought him to Hawkins.

"Your birthday party. Why'd you even invite me to that?"

Harrington doesn't answer.

"I thought you said your mom was home," Eddie says as he follows Harrington into his house.

"I lied."

"Clearly," Eddie says, looking around as he continues to follow Harrington upstairs.

Harrington just allows it, which Eddie wants to question but won't because he's working out how to apologize for the first day of school without apologizing.

"If you're here alone, who's waking you up to make sure you aren't dead?"

"No one. And clearly, I am not dead."

"Someone's supposed to wake you every few hours, right?"

Harrington shrugs. "Don't need anyone to. Why, were you gonna offer?"

Was he? No. Maybe. He follows him all the way to his plaid hellscape of a room, watches as Harrington flicks on his light, then tries to block the sunlight with his sad curtains and gives up quickly, opting to toe himself out of his shoes and crawl under his covers instead.

It's fucking pathetic.

Eddie leaves Harrington's room to start opening and closing doors around the upstairs. Rich people always have a- yes! A linen closet. Eddie pulls out the darkest towels and heads back to Harrington's room.

"You got tacks or nails or safety pins?"

Harrington pokes his head out from beneath his covers, squinting at Eddie. "Tacks in the cup on the dresser." then he disappears again. Quite an awfully lot of freedom Harrington seems to be giving him. He could be snooping through things.

He doesn't, though (yet). He uses almost all of the tacks to get the towels to stay up, but no sunlight breaches them when he's done. Then he turns off the light and closes the door, leaving it open just a crack, before sitting himself on the edge of Harrington's bed.

"I owe you an apology, Harrington," Eddie finds himself saying. Fuck. He was trying to do this without having to actually do it. Too late now.

"Oh," he hears in the near darkness Harrington's surprise, feels shuffling as Harrington must be moving to look at him. "Erm, why do you think you owe me an apology."

"For the first day of school. I thought- I thought it was a prank. Or a joke. A cruel one."

Eddie turns to see Harrington peering at him, just his nose and up visible, hair a static ruffled mess, the comforter held in place by one hand. "It wasn't."

"I know that now," Eddie whispers, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. "I just- I'm sorry. I did want you to sit."

Silence. Then, "I get it, Eddie. I wouldn't trust me either."

"I said I trusted you, that night," Eddie says, "and I did. I do? I think... I didn't trust myself, I think, enough to believe that you were truly being genuine with me. I was shitty to you. So, I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Harrington says, "I'm gonna go to sleep now, my head is killing me. If you're hungry help yourself to whatever you can find in the kitchen. You're missing lunch period."

"You gonna sleep in your jeans?"

"Too much work to remove 'em," Harrington mumbles.

"Undo your belt and jeans."

"How forward," Harrington has an eyebrow raised.

"Just do it, ya tool," Eddie says with more bravado than he feels. He slides off the bed and watches the comforter shift as Harrington does as he's told. Eddie rounds to the end of the bed, pulling up the comforter and reaching under blind, finding Harrington's legs and trailing up to his knees to grasp of the jeans. "For your modesty. Lift your hips." Harrington does, and Eddie pulls. Harrington drops his hips back down once the jeans are near his knees, lifting his legs slightly instead, allowing Eddie to pull them off and drop them on the floor at the end of the bed. "Alright, sleep it off, Harrington."

Eddie leaves him to wander to the kitchen because he is hungry and missing lunch, and this free food is going to be infinitely better than whatever the cafeteria was offering simply because it's free.

The fridge has some leftovers in it, so Eddie helps himself to leftover chicken and mashed potatoes. He eats it standing in the kitchen.

Once done, he explores Castle Harrington. A big kitchen leads to a dining room, which rounds to a large living room with a wall of windows that lookout to the pool. Eddie's familiar with the backyard, where he'd station up and wait for people to buy. There's a little hall that leads from the living room to the stairs and front door, with another hall alone the middle of the wall there. It leads to a bathroom and a rec room, complete with pool table (fucking rich people) and another door farther still. It's locked but Eddie's a snoop, so he flips the latch and opens. It's an empty garage.

Eddie ends up removing his shoes, denim vest, and leather jacket, flopping down on Harrington's couch to channel surf, though his eyes keep flicking down to his watch. At the one-hour mark he sneaks back up to Harrington's room and looks for signs of life. Easy enough, Harrington snores.

He checks each hour. Eventually Gareth shows up, signaling his arrival with three sharp jabs to the horn of Eddie's van. Eddie heads out without putting anything back on.

"I'm staying. Harrington is not- it's not good, dude," Eddie says. "Looks like he got beat worse than I did when took a chance behind The Hideout."

Gareth's eyes go wide. Eddie'd gotten beaten for being gay (a busted lip and bruised ribs; would have been worse if the owner of The Hideout hadn't been stepping out back to smoke and ended up chasing away Eddie's assailant). "What happened?"

Eddie shrugs. "Don't know. But I gotta find out. I think he was being genuine with us, on the first day of school. I feel like I have to make sure he's okay."

Jeff leans forward to peer around Gareth from the passenger seat. "You feeling guilty, Munson?"

This is a conversation they've had several times. One Eddie never wins. "Well, yeah. If I'd let him be our friend, he might not have been wherever he was when he got the shit beat out of him. Might have been watching us at band practice or something instead."

Gareth makes a gagging noise. "Ew. You've got it so bad for Harrington. Polos? That's what gets you hot and bothered?"

Eddie feels his face go red. "Fuck off."

"Don't fuck up this time, Eddie," Jeff says before sitting back out of view.

"Call if you need a ride to school tomorrow," Gareth says before reversing out of Harrington's driveway.

Eddie waits until Harrington's gotten a full eight hours (most of which he spends snooping about the place) before going to wake him up. "Hey, you gotta get some food in you, I think. Up, up."

Harrington groans, but it sounds more annoyed than pained.

"Up, up, up, up," Eddie repeats, swatting lightly at Harrington's legs, occasionally grabbing to jiggle a leg.

"'m up. I'm up," Harrington says, sounding more like himself than he has all day. "Have you always been this annoying?"

"Call it the Munson Charm."

"Charm," Harrington repeats flatly.

"I already ate your mashed potatoes, so I'm hoping you're not wanting those for dinner. Lunch? Whatever."

Harrington throws the covers off, standing before Eddie in a polo shirt and plaid boxers. "Hey, Eddie. It's still daytime out there, yeah?"

"Yeah, didn't miss it."

"Cool, cool. Can I kiss you?"

Eddie freezes, remembering that's what he'd told Harrington to do. Ask him in the daylight. He does still want to kiss Harrington, but also, he's afraid. "First you ask drunk. Now you ask concussed. Still a no, buddy. It's gotta be daylight and without anything that could be messing with your mind."

Harrington takes the rejection well, just nods an okay and motions towards his door for Eddie to lead the way to the kitchen.

Harrington opts for a TV dinner, offering one to Eddie. He accepts, because, again, free food. Then they eat them at the dinner table like it's a real meal, instead of off of TV trays in the living room like normal people.

And the odd thing about it all is how not odd all of it is, actually. The last time they were alone together, Eddie ravished his neck like a goddamn vampire. And now they're just hanging out, chatting ideally like it's a thing they do all the time.

Eddie can see why Harrington became popular so quickly. He's easy to like when he's like this, soft spoken and kind. Eddie finds he wants to know if the guy sitting across from him is the real Harrington, or an act. Or was King Harrington the act? Eddie really hasn't known him enough to say that but he's seen this house. Conformity seems important to the Harringtons.

"You looked like you could use something to cheer you up," Harrington says, out of left field.

"What?"

"It's why I invited you to my ninth birthday. You'd just transferred to our school. Looked so sad all the time. Eight-year-old me hadn't experienced a sad birthday party, so I thought it would cheer you up."

Oh. "That's-" what is that? Sweet? Considerate in a way Eddie didn't think young Harrington possible of? "It worked. Your party was fun."

Harrington smiles at him, a soft and shy thing that makes the butterflies erupt in his stomach again. "Well, thanks for watching over me today. Made it easier to sleep, having someone else in the house."

"Anytime."

"You mean that?"

Does he? Eddie can't promise even himself that it will always be true, that he does really mean anytime, but it's true right now so he says, "yeah, man."

Being friends with Steve Harrington is so much easier than Eddie thought it could be.

Steve -because he's Steve now, not Harrington- doesn't come back to school the rest of the week, but he makes Eddie go, asking if he can gather his homework from his classes so he won't fall behind. And school has never been a real priority for Eddie (it is his second senior year) but hanging out with Steve has become important.

Jeff, Gareth, and Brian even come over on Saturday evening, at Steve's insistence. He wants to be their friend, too, it seems. And what an odd thing to see, his friends and Steve lounging around his rec room, Brian beating all of them at pool so easily it should be humiliating. Steve chats with them all like it's easy, normal, a thing he enjoys doing.

He can see his friends keeping the topics safe, music, high school gossip, they even start to discuss their grades. Eddie is mostly listening because he's been chatting with Steve all week, so he can see his friends are steering clear of anything other. They don't bring up anything Steve wouldn't talk to other jocks about.

Leave it to Steve to throw them for a loop. "Hey, you guys are all in Hellfire, right?"

The room screeches to a stop, all eyes going to Steve. He's not sure what's showing on his own face, but he can see all his friend's faces. They look surprised.

"Yeah," Jeff finds his voice first. "We're the only members."

Steve nods, "right. You play Dungeons and Dragons?"

"You know what Dungeons and Dragons is?" Brian asks.

"Yeah," Steve shrugs, fiddling with the beer can in his hands, "I know that, it's like -Hellfire, that is-, a high school club but- oh, this is gonna sound bad. I can tell already."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, curious, "just say it, Harrington. If we don't like it, there's four of us and one of you. We'll give you a swirlee in your own damn toilet."

Steve laughs and that seems to be all the push he needed because he relaxes, setting the beer down on a coaster, "I know some super cool kids who'll be freshman next year. I think they'd really want to be in your club. But, uh, since Eddie and I will be graduating this year, I was wondering if you'd want to move your game from the school to here? So they can join in."

Eddie's brain shuts off. Steve knows some cool middle schoolers, who play Dungeons and Dragons, and thinks the should all come to Steve's house to do that. Play DnD together. (Steve also believes he's going to graduate this year, ha!)

"I'm sorry," Jeff says, laughter in his voice, "there's no such things as cool middle schoolers."

Steve frowns slightly, "well, these will be the first, then. They've got their own DM, his name's Will, but I think he could learn a lot from Eddie. And Dustin loves this game so much. But if they wait until next year to officially join the club, Eddie won't be there."

Steve knows that Eddie is the DM. Steve knows what a DM is. (Steve really believes he's going to graduate this year?). "How- what? How do you even know about Hellfire? Or that I'm the DM?"

"I go to school with you guys," Steve says, "I know I'm an asshole but I'm not oblivious. Just because I didn't acknowledge the existence of your club before now doesn't mean I was unaware of it."

Fair point.

"Alright. Let's have our next club meeting here instead of the school. You can bring these cool middle schoolers and we'll see. If they're just lame middle schoolers, we're going to be very disappointed."

"Great! You meet Thursdays, right? They'll be here."

Monday is the real test. Eddie's feeling some kind of way about Monday. It's lunch, and everyone is already at their usual tables except Steve, who hasn't arrived yet.

Jeff catches his eye and Eddie can see he's thinking the same thing. It was easy to be friends with Eddie 'The Freak' Munson behind closed doors and in front of people already his friend. But if Steve actually comes through those doors and sits at their table, he'll be a target. Fully and officially.

Of course, Eddie catches sight of Steve as soon as he does come in, sack lunch in hand. He watches as Steve doesn't even hesitate. He weaves his way around other teens and plops down at their table, into the space left available for him between Eddie and Gareth. Watches as Steve beams at him before pulling a fucking pb&j out of his stupid brown sack.

Eddie can hear the murmuring around them, catches Steve's name and his own, knows that they've all been noticed today. The outcome of what will happen because of this, unknown.

Eddie doesn't like the unknown.

He might be willing to face it, though, if Steve keeps smiling at him.

The week passes. No one says anything to him. Steve sits at their table every day.

Thursday comes and he gets to meet some pretty cool middle schoolers, though unexpected ones. Will, the DM, turns out to be Will Byers, who was dead and then not dead and also the little brother of the guy who beat Steve up and stole his girlfriend (what the hell sparked this kids friendship with Steve?). Mike Wheeler, little brother of said ex-girlfriend. Lucas Sinclair and Dustin Henderson are the last two. Eddie has never heard of these two, and therefore doesn't have any opinions just yet.

The kids know their stuff but they don't end up playing. Character creation takes some time, and Eddie's gotta think about how to incorporate four new characters (he was expecting one lame middle schooler, even though Steve had used the plural of kid every time he talked about them).

Before they all head out, Steve asks to talk to Eddie.

"Hey, I just- if the kids get into other after school activities, would you be okay with moving the date of the club meeting? My house is available every day, not just school days."

What an odd request. "I guess? Why?"

Steve shrugs (but it's a shrug Eddie has come to know doesn't mean 'I don't know' and means something closer to 'I have a perfectly valid explanation for this but don't know how to put it into words so it's easier to say I don't know') and says, "some school activities can't be rescheduled. It's be kinda shitty to make them miss this by forcing them to chose."

"There's a story there. I want to know it."

Steve looks at him, open in a way that Eddie hasn't experienced. "I want to tell you. But I'm not ready for that. Not yet. Now, go home and do your damn homework. I gotta drop these kids off."

December 21st, 1984 - Christmas Break

"I can't believe you did Dustin's hair for their Snowball dance," Eddie says as they watch Jeff, Gareth, Brian, Mike, Will, Lucas, and Dustin pile into Eddie's van after a rare, afternoon meeting of Hellfire. Gareth offered to take everyone home (maybe Eddie had to beg him to do it so he could stay and bother Steve, but that's between him and Gareth).

"He deserves a good older role model. I try to be that person," Steve says, and before Eddie can mock him for being egotistical, he continues, "that's why I wanted them to meet you, I guess, back in November. Dustin deserves a role model who understands the things he likes. Dustin needs you."

Eddie doesn't know what to say to that, so he just walks to the living room, grabbing the remote and settling in on the couch. Steve joins him shortly, sitting next to him rather than at the other end of the couch.

"You finish your homework?"

"Oh my god, mom," Eddie rolls his whole head dramatically, "no. I'll get it done eventually."

"Eddie," Steve says, sounding serious. Eddie turns to him, and Steve reaches out, grabbing one of Eddies hands, slotting their fingers together and Eddie feels those damn butterflies he's so used to these days. "I want to graduate with you. We can have a joint graduation party here. But that can't happen if you don't do your homework."

Eddie looks at Steve, feeling more seen than he's ever been in his life. His hand clutches back at Steve's. "Yeah. Okay. I'll graduate with you. Class of '85."

"Joint party?"

This is Eddie's chance to ask the question he's been itching to ask. "Your parent's won't mind you sharing with the resident freak?"

"My parents won't be here. They send me a card with a letter to take to their local accountant, who will arrange for a graduation cake to be delivered on a date of my choosing and give me money to host whatever kinda party I want. And what I want, is a joint party."

"You sound so sure of that."

"I am," Steve says, looking away to stare towards the TV, "I know the exact date they'll be in town between now and April 1986."

The fact Steve says 'date' and not 'dates' is not lost on Eddie. "When's that?"

"May 28th, 1985."

Eddie studies the side of his face, looking for any hint of a joke. "How do you know that?"

"Would you believe me if I said it's because I'm actually twenty-one, and have already lived through these events, and by some miracle was sent back into the body of my 17-year-old self to try and stop something terrible from happening?"

Eddie hits him with a throw pillow. He'll get the truth out of him one day.

May 3rd, 1985

Eddie graduates with Steve. It was fucking hell making it happen, but Steve recruited Nancy Wheeler to help tutor them both. (Eddie thought he'd be jealous, but Steve really isn't into Nancy anymore. They'd chat, he'd ask about Jonathan even, but most importantly, he'd always sat closer to Eddie than Nancy).

All of Hellfire is invited to their graduation party, his Uncle Wayne, too, along with the entire Byer's family, Chief Hopper and his daughter, Max Mayfield, and Robin Buckley. Most of these people aren't a surprise to Eddie by the time the party comes around but meeting them and learning that Steve considers this odd group of people his family was a surreal thing when it was happening.

(The real surprise person is Robin Buckley, who Steve had tried to befriend briefly during January but quickly backed out of doing that when he saw how weirded out it made Buckley. Buckley does not show to their joint graduation party but everyone else does.)

Steve and his uncle get along well and it makes some deep part of Eddie warm and fuzzy. Wayne was initially distrustful of Steve (rightfully so, given Eddie's history with jocks, and that he might have complained, loudly and often, about Steve to his uncle before. Hard to backtrack that.)

But Steve had shown up one day, asking to speak to Wayne instead of Eddie. Wayne had said yes, and then they both climbed into Wayne's pickup and went God knows where because Wayne and Eddie both know if they'd stayed on the property, Eddie would have done his best to eavesdrop.

Upon return, Steve had given Wayne a hug, hopped in his own car, and left.

Neither will tell him what they talked about, the jerks.

But all that to say, they're here, the sliding-glass door that leads to Steve's backyard wide open as people freely move from the inside to the outside and back. His friends, Steve's friends, their friends mingling easily. Hopper and Wayne chat, Jonathan and Gareth are hucking kids into the pool (at their request), Nancy is talking with Jeff and Brian, and Steve is standing at Eddie's side, holding a plate and eating cake (chocolate with raspberry filling, Eddie's favorite).

Steve spends a lot his time at Eddie's side.

Eddie expected Steve to be tired of him by now. To give up. But he hasn't. Every now and then, he still asks if he can kiss Eddie. And Eddie keeps saying no. Always an excuse, always a reason. It's been fucking with Eddie's head because he doesn't understand how Steve can be so willing, and wanting, to kiss another guy. Especially since the guy he wants to his is Eddie Munson!

Steve doesn't always ask when they're alone. He's asked when other people at this party are around, but always too quiet to be heard, like he's protecting Eddie's secret but doesn't care if people know his own. A little part of Eddie was mad at him about it; Steve's never been beaten up for being queer which probably makes it easier to be open about it.

In fact, Steve had asked him just this morning as they put their graduation gowns on over their regular clothes in the school parking lot.

"Eddie, can I kiss you?"

"No. Why are you so eager to get beat up?"

"I'm not scared of these people, Eds," Steve says with that damn shrug.

"You should be! This town'll try and kill you for being a fag," Eddie spits out, memories of Hagan, Jackson, Hargrove, the man from The Hideout, all come back to him.

"I've seen Hell, and I'm not afraid of a single person in this town," Steve says, voice cold and Eddie used to doubt that, but they've been friends for months now and Eddie's seen the nail bat he keeps in the trunk of his car, and been there when Steve's woken up screaming. Steve doesn't talk about it and Eddie hasn't pushed but this is- hearing this is the most direct Steve's ever been about it. Whatever the fuck it was.

"Tell me about it," Eddie finds himself say. "You've seen Hell?"

This brings Steve back to himself it seems, because he looks shocked by Eddie's words even though Steve said them first. "Not today. Today, we graduate!"

So, they've graduated, they've partied, and now, Eddie has questions.

"Hey, Steve, follow me," Eddie says and heads back into the house. He doesn't look back, doesn't need to to know Steve is following. He goes up the stairs and into Steve's room, waiting for Steve to enter before closing the door behind him.

"Want to get me alone, Munson?" Steve asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Yeah. I want to know about Hell."

Steve drops onto the edge of his bed like a stone. He can see the war going on in Steve's head. He can wait this out. He leans back against the door, a confirmation for Steve that he's not going to give up on this easy.

"Eds, you didn't believe me before. I don't- I don't want to lose you if you don't believe me again."

Again? Eddie would have remembered if Steve had told him anything about Hell. "Trust me, then. Trust that I'm not going to leave just because I don't believe what you say."

"Okay," Steve says. "You asked, back in December, how I knew when I'd be seeing my parents again. Remember?"

Eddie thinks before wrinkling his nose and saying, "Yeah. Time travel."

"Yeah. Like Back to the Future but- shit. That's not out yet. But yeah, time travel. Sorta? I don't know. Maybe I didn't travel through time and instead just had a vision of the future. Or a prophetic dream. Or whatever."

Eddie is less leaning against the door, and more using it for support now. "The fuck, Harrington? You weren't joking about that? You really believe that?"

"Yeah. And I got a majority of the people in my backyard to believe me, so I'm hoping I can convince you, too. And if-if I lose you. If you think I'm crazy, or a liar, or whatever, it's better that I lose you this way than-" Steve cuts himself off, a choked sob following those words. Never, not once, has Eddie seen Steve cry, but he's seeing it now. Crying, over the mere thought of losing Eddie. Because Eddie isn't gone, he's here in this room with Steve, and still Steve cries.

"Hey, hey, shh," Eddie shoves off the door to drop to his knees before him, hands going up to cup his face. "I'm here. You're not losing me because I'm here."

Steve nods, cheeks rubbing against Eddie's palms before Steve's hands come up to grip loosely at Eddie's wrists, Steve leaning in to rest his forehead against Eddie's. He takes a shaky breath in before he speaks. "I've already changed the future. In that other timeline, the bad one, you didn't graduate this year. You don't meet Dustin or Mike or Lucas until next year. I'm so fucking jealous of you because I think Dustin like you better than me because you understand the things he likes and I don't. You never got to meet Will, the Byers' had already moved to California by the time the kids are Freshman."

Eddie stays quiet, waits, closes his own eyes to just hear Steve.

"There's another world, Dustin says it's another dimension. I don't know enough about how it all works but we call it the Upside Down. There are monster there, the Demogorgon and Demodogs, and later, Demobats and Vecna."

"Vecna and Demogorgon at from Dungeons and Dragons."

"I know. These things had no name until we had to fight them. The kids named the Demogorgon. You and Dustin name Vecna. Now shush."

Eddie nods against Steve's forehead and listens to the impossible. Will being stuck in the Upside Down, a girl with superpowers, how Steve got involved, that Steve returned to a body that had fought the Demogorgon but the Demodogs hadn't happened yet. That he and Nancy break up because Steve knows both their hearts belong to others (Eddie's insides twist because he's sure that Steve is hinting that his heart belongs to Eddie but that's for later in the story).

Steve talks about going to Carol Perkins' party because he'd heard Eddie was going to be there. He doesn't know how the events go before this timeline because Steve hadn't gone to that party last timeline. He'd been with Nancy still, then.

He talks about how Hopper was the first person he told about the timeline change, because if anyone could prove he was telling the truth, it was El. Hopper hadn't believed him but it had built enough of a trust that Hopper was willing to let them go at the party.

He talks about the events that led to the concussion he'd got, that sparked their friendship fully. How he'd gotten it protecting those kids from Billy Hargrove. Burning down a pumpkin patch.

"You said you were twenty-one," Eddie says, when Steve stops talking. "That would make the year 1986? '87?. What happens next?"

Steve shakes his head. "I can't- there are things I can't say. Can't talk about yet because if I change the timeline too much, Vecna could win. And I can't-he cannot-I-"

"Shh, shhh," Eddie soothes, "no, you don't have to tell me. Thank you, for sharing this with me. I do... I have a question."

"Mmm?"

"How do I play into this. Why did you decide to be my friend now?"

"To change the future. In March of '86, you get- the Upside Down shit effects your life, too. We trauma bond and- I realized that I wish I had known you better. Sooner. We had one week together and honestly, I spent most of it pining after my ex. It took a while, but I realized I will always love Nance, but I wasn't in love with her. But that realization came after it was too late for us-" Steve cuts off, sobbing.

Eddie doesn't know what happened. Isn't sure he wants to. That's a timeline that's already lost forever. For it to come true, it requires him to be in high school and he's not. "Hey, it's okay. We're okay. We're going to stay okay."

They stay there, close, until Steve is calm again and ready to rejoin the party.

"Hey. Any chance I can see El move something with her mind?"

"Yeah. Gonna have to wait until your side of the family leaves, though. It's still fragile, who knows and who doesn't."

His side of the family. Like- Eddie cannot think on that too long or he's going to combust. "Can't wait to see."

Eddie does get to see. Steve pulls El aside as the party winds down and whispers in her ear. A little while later, while Eddie is the only one outside for his smoke break, his cigarette gets pulled from his mouth and flung into the pool. He jumps, because Jesus Christ, but a quick look towards the house shows him Steve, arms crossed and smiling, with El, arm extended towards Eddie still.

He can't find himself to be mad about the cigarette when El smiles at him.

Steve is already cooking breakfast when Eddie emerges from the guest room the morning after graduation. He'd been invited to share Steve's bed (just to sleep, Steve had sworn) but Eddie had to decline because he wasn't sure he could trust himself.

"Morning," Eddie says, draping himself boldly against Steve's back to look over his shoulder as he fries up hashbrowns. Steve doesn't even hesitate to lean back against Eddie.

"Morning."

"Put that down and turn around for a moment," Eddie steps back and Steve obeys, setting the wooden spoon he'd been pushing hashbrowns around with down, turning to lean himself against the counter rather than stay in front of the stove.

"What's up?"

"Just wanted to report that I am suffering no hang over effects. You?"

"None," Steve says, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Good, good. Didn't fall out of bed and concuss myself either. Same for you I assume?"

"Same."

Eddie thinks Steve is starting to understand, if the little surprised face he does is anything to go by. "And I can't help but notice the daylight out that window. You see the daylight?"

Steve gives him a lopsided grin. "I do see it. Eddie, can I kiss you?"

"Yes."

They meet in the middle. For a kiss that's been a long time coming, it's so gentle. Steve cups his face like he's made of glass and Eddie should be annoyed by that but he's not. It just makes him feel safe.

Feel loved.

They break for air but don't go far from each other.

"I don't know what the future holds, unlike you," Eddie says, because he's a cheeky boy, "but I do know that no matter what it brings I'm here. You can't get rid of me now."

Steve looks conflicted, "not even if I asked you to go? For your safety? Even if it's to save you?"

Eddie shakes his head. "Babe, you've already saved me. You've already changed the course of my life." He clocks the way Steve's eyes darken when he calls him babe. "I'm gonna make sure I've changed yours for the better, too."

Steve hauls him back in by his shoulders. They kiss and kiss and kiss until the smell of burning hashbrowns ruins the mood.

Eddie doesn't know what horrors await (no one but Steve does) but they'll face those together.

#steddie #my fic #writing prompt #this is a monster so posted to ao3 for easier reading

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rockabye-billy · 1 year

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Harringrove meets “Queer as Folk” because god help me, Billy should have been saying the lines like these.

#harringrove meets queer as folk #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #incorrect harringrove quotes #source: queer as folk #(in)correct quotes #my stuff #[my stuff - harringrove]#edit #my sweet billy #know that in my heart you will always be written like brian kinney

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sunwarmed-ash · 2 years

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Don't worry, The Breakfast Club AU (yeah another one) Stranger Things edition is coming soon 👀😈🔥

The Criminal

The Athlete

The Princess

The Basket Case

The Brain

#whos ready for so much gay #sinful sunday #the breakfast club #stranger things #john bender #eddie munson #andrew clark #billy hargrove #steve harrington #brian johnson #robin buckley #allison renyolds #claire standish #nancy wheeler

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fizzigigsimmer · 1 month

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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.

#billy hargrove #gator tillman #billy x gator #gator x billy #caligator #dot lyon #fargo season 5 #stranger things #fizzi writes caligator #collaring #dom/sub #tw: mentions of abuse

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