#but then Billy just confirms that yeah no this man’s pain

[kingofanemptyworld]

one of my favorite moments from the Billy/Under betrayal arc is when Billy copies Andy’s Undead, operating under the assumption that the ability must dull his sensation of pain somewhat because how else could Andy possibly endure all that, right? But no. No, it does not. And Billy absolutely has a moment of “bitch you live like this?” that I felt in my soul

[loveinhawkins]

There’s a table in the school library that’s nestled in the corner, right by a radiator; Steve has claimed it ever since his double block of ‘private study periods’ began.

Not that he’s planning on doing any studying: it’s the last day of school before the winter break, and while his face has healed up from the whole Billy Hargrove Incident, he still finds himself feeling wiped at random—like his body’s having a delayed adrenaline crash ever since he pulled Dustin out of that freaky vine-infested tunnel.

So really, this spot should be ideal for a couple hours of not having to think.

And it would be perfect, if his eyes weren’t instinctively drawn to movement at the front desk.

Because for the past god-knows-how-long, Eddie Munson has been in a back-and-forth with the librarian.

It had started when he ambled up to the desk with a healthy pile of books in his hands, placed them down neatly, all ready to be stamped. Flashed a charming smile.

Steve was too far away to hear the words, but he got the gist that whatever the librarian had said amounted to no, absolutely not, because Eddie scooped the books back up, dumped them on a table a little distance away from Steve’s, then hemmed and hawed before returning to the desk with a more modest pile than before.

He was sent away again with presumably the same refusal, and so the pattern repeated until this very minute: he’s returning with just one book in his hands, his smile less charming now, more desperate.

But… no luck.

Eddie slouches back to the table in defeat. Just stands there, staring down at the books.

And goddamn it, Steve thinks, now he’s invested.

“Hey. Munson,” he says in an undertone. “What’s up?”

He doesn’t miss the weird kind of double take Eddie gives him, but at least Steve knows it’s not because of his face being a mess this time—seriously, drawing looks from students when all he wanted was to get in line for crappy cafeteria pizza had not been fun.

“Nothing,” Eddie says with a shrug, and he flashes another wide smile that makes Steve think bullshit. “Apparently I racked up a mountain of late fees. Who knew?” He sighs, glancing at his wristwatch. “Guess I’ve got enough time to just read the—oh. Um. Hey?”

“These books?” Steve confirms, having already stood up to look at them.

Eddie blinks a few times. “Yeah, these—uh, Harrington, what the fuck do you think you’re—?”

Steve heads over to the front desk with the books. It’s not all that difficult of a decision to make; he remembers Tommy H had his own library late fees in freshman year, but got nothing more than a simpering, “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again, sweetie,” just because his mom knew someone on the school board.

“For checking out, please,” Steve says, not bothering with a smile as he hands over his library card.

The only resistance he gets is a raised eyebrow from the librarian before all the books are stamped.

“What the fuck,” Eddie says, voice flat; he doesn’t take the books when Steve tries to give them to him, so Steve just shrugs and goes back to his seat, sets the books pointedly on the edge of the table.

“Look, man, it’s up to you, but I’m not gonna take them. They’ll just be sitting here.”

Eddie huffs. He goes over to the books, his hand twitching towards them before drawing back, like he’s at war with himself.

“You—you didn’t have to do that,” he gets out as if it physically pains him to do so.

Prickly, Steve thinks.

“It’s no big deal,” he says. “My account’s gathering dust, so someone might as well get the good of it.”

At hearing that, Eddie looks a little less defensive. He chews on his lips for a few seconds, then says, his tone serious, “Harrington, I’ll—I’ll forget. Like, with the holidays… like, I guarantee you, even if I write a million fucking reminders, I’m gonna take these books and forget to bring ‘em back for months.”

“Oh, no,” Steve says dryly, “lemme go alert the press, I just heard a blatant confession to a crime. Dude, just take them, what do I care if your homework takes you months to—”

“It’s not even for school,” Eddie interrupts through gritted teeth, “it’s dumb, it’s just—”

“Jesus Christ. Lemme call the press again, sounds like you’re reading a book for fun.”

Eddie stares at him. Steve raises an eyebrow in challenge—he could do this all day; just the other week, he’d beaten Mike in a brutal staring contest that felt like it went on for hours.

Eddie breaks first. “Fine,” he says with another huff, but he’s less agitated when handling the books—lingers thoughtfully on their titles, puts a couple in his backpack. The rest he opens at seemingly random parts, but it looks like he knows what he’s searching for.

And then it seems as if he’s just going to pick up the remaining books and walk away—Steve expects him to, honestly—but he ends up staying where he is, gives Steve a look of consideration, almost like he’s a book worth reading, too.

“You stole my table, you know?” Eddie says.

“Uh, no,” Steve says automatically, then adds with more confidence, “I was definitely here first.”

Eddie snorts. “Nope. My senior year, uh,” he shrugs self-deprecatingly, “the first time around. That was my spot. Was pretty possessive over it too, think I signed the table, like, underneath.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise in interest; he runs a finger along the underside of the table and soon feels it: an E.M scratched into the wood.

“Huh,” he says. “Guess you’re right.”

A pause.

And then Steve surprises himself.

“There’s, um, room here, if you want? I’m not gonna use the whole table.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. There’s a long enough silence in which Steve considers just telling him to forget about it, but then—

Eddie sits down opposite him.

It’s not as awkward as Steve was expecting: Eddie seems focused enough on his books, on bringing out a battered looking journal with sheets of paper that look like they’re hanging on by a thread. He roots around his backpack some more, retrieves a ballpoint pen with a quiet, triumphant, “Aha!”

He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve isn’t even making an attempt to look busy; his own side of the table is bare.

“Didn’t know you were left-handed,” Steve says after a moment.

Eddie looks up from his note-taking. He smirks, waggles his eyebrows briefly. “Fitting, huh? Spooky.”

“Oh, I’m terrified.”

And Eddie actually laughs—hushed, but it still counts as one.

He soon returns to being absorbed in whatever it is he’s writing, which means Steve has less of a distraction when the familiar wave of tiredness washes over him.

He tries to sit up as well as he can, conscious of the fact that he’s not alone, but the radiator is the perfect temperature, and the steady scratch of Eddie’s pen has a soporific effect. He’s distantly aware of the fact that his head is nodding down with dwindling energy to try and stop it—hears Eddie’s voice, as if from very far away, rising in question.

Steve sniffs sharply, jerks his head back up and blinks hard. “What?”

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie says quickly, and he sounds genuine. “Didn’t know you were sleeping.”

“I wasn’t,” Steve says.

“Uh, okay,” Eddie says. His lips twitch. “That was an awfully long blink then, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve retorts mildly. He stretches slightly, hides a yawn behind his hand. “Did you actually want something or—”

“Nah, wasn’t important.”

Steve frowns, unconvinced. The side of Eddie’s left hand is covered in ink, and Steve can see where his pen has started to die on him as his writing gets more faded across the page.

Steve puts a hand in his pocket, brings out another ballpoint and throws it at Eddie.

The pen bounces along the table, and Eddie manages to catch it one-handed.

“Good catch,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He sounds almost uncertain.

Silence falls. It only takes another minute or two of hearing Eddie writing away for Steve’s determination to stay awake to waver again. He slumps forward with a mumbled, “M’just gonna…” and lays his head down.

Eddie stops writing.

“Hey, man, are you… okay? Like, if you feel… if you wanna go home I could take you to the nurse? Or—”

“I’m fine,” Steve says into his folded arms. “S’just… the aftermath of… stuff. No big deal.”

“Oh?” Eddie says tentatively.

Steve lifts his head up a bit, squints dubiously. “C’mon, Munson. You must’ve heard the rumour mill.”

Billy Hargrove had spread it all over the school, how he had ‘taught King Steve a lesson.’ In all honesty, Steve hadn’t cared all that much about how he himself came across in whatever story Billy created, was just relieved that at least Max and Lucas’s names had been kept out of it.

“I don’t put much stock in rumours,” Eddie says carefully. “Folks can say… all kindsa things.”

Steve nods faintly. Fair point.

“Okay, but you can take a little bit of stock in this one. Like, a smidge.”

Steve demonstrates with his thumb and forefinger.

It’s only when Eddie doesn’t smile in response that Steve realises he’d been hoping to make him laugh again. Maybe.

“Huh. Well. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Steve says tiredly.

“Harrington. I’m not stupid, y’know? That was more than a… a stupid fight after school or something. Like, I can remember what your face looked like.”

“Gee, thanks.” Steve sets his head back down, closing his eyes.

“I didn’t—I just meant whatever it was, it… it went too far. Way too fucking far.”

Steve yawns again, doesn’t bother hiding it. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He’s resigning himself to the thought of waking up with a stiff neck before Eddie sighs and says, “If you’re gonna sleep, Harrington, don’t be an amateur about it.”

Steve looks up in time to see Eddie reaching underneath the table with one leg, hooking his ankle round the empty chair next to Steve and shoving it closer to him.

“Three or four’s probably the best amount for stretching out on,” Eddie says. “Uh, speaking from experience.”

Steve smiles. “Noted.”

He manoeuvres himself until he’s lying much more comfortably across the seats, using his backpack and coat as a pillow.

Frustratingly but predictably, despite his fatigue, sleep doesn’t come easily, so Steve looks underneath the table and asks, “What’re you writing about, Munson?”

He can see Eddie’s boots, how one foot is tapping away, as if in time to a song no-one else can hear.

“Um, I was just… getting inspiration for… it’s kinda like. Like a story, but—”

“Don’t hurt yourself, dude,” Steve says, “I know what a campaign is.”

The foot tapping stops.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?” Eddie says.

He sounds a bit far away again, though Steve knows that’s just in his head; he can feel his eyelids drooping.

“You’ve got…” He sighs, voice trailing off as he finishes, “No idea…”

Eddie launches into a speech; Steve can follow it well enough for a little while, Eddie rambling about the kind of decisions he thinks his players will make in the game, but eventually the words become a blur, and he drifts off just like that, into an unexpectedly peaceful sleep.

He wakes with the lightest of touches to his shoulder, a soft, “Steve?” that nevertheless makes him jolt to full alertness in a blink, reaching for a bat he doesn’t currently have.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps, almost falling back against the table. “What the hell kinda military training d’you have, Harrington?”

“Just have good reflexes,” Steve says, hopes it sounds casual enough as he breathes through his suddenly racing heart.

“Yeah, that’s one way to fucking put it. Anyway, uh. Sorry, didn’t mean to, like, startle you, but you slept right through the bell, man.”

Steve sits up; the library is empty apart from them, the librarian shooting them a not so subtle glare. And he realises that while everyone else was rushing out of school, eager for the holidays to start, Eddie must’ve stayed. Waited for him.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, quickly puts on his coat.

“God, sorry, you didn’t have to—if I’ve made you late, I’m—”

“Nah, don’t sweat it.” Eddie puts his backpack strap across one shoulder. “I wasn’t in a hurry. Um, are you… like, good to drive? I can give you a ride, if—”

“I’m okay,” Steve says, struck by the consideration behind the offer. He means what he says though; he feels pleasantly refreshed. He smiles self-effacingly. “Think I need one class where I can just sleep, and then I’ll get through the day.”

Eddie gives a playful scoff. “That’s already a thing, Harrington, it’s called first period.”

They walk out of the library together, and Steve finds that it’s kind of… nice, honestly. He keeps waiting for some awkwardness to creep in again, but it never does.

“Big holiday plans?” Eddie asks, smalltalk that should be stilted, but it just sounds like he’s sincerely interested in the answer.

Steve shrugs. “Not really. Oh, I’ve got—you know the Snow Ball thing tomorrow, at the middle school? There’s this kid I know, I’m gonna give him a ride there, but—”

Steve breaks off with a fond shake of the head, knowing that there’s this kid I know doesn’t really give it justice, doesn’t say the full truth: that Dustin Henderson has somehow wormed his way into Steve’s goddamn heart forever.

“His mom’s invited me over for dinner tonight,” he continues. “Think he wants, like, a dress-rehearsal of his outfit or something, which is probably the closest he’ll ever come to admitting he’s nervous. I kinda feel for him, honestly. God, do you remember being thirteen? Everything seemed to matter so much, and most of it was just… stupid shit.”

They’ve reached the parking lot, and Eddie gives Steve a sideways look with a bemused smile.

“Woah, Harrington, we’re still in school, remember? Don’t think we’re meant to sound so world-weary yet.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah.” He gestures at Eddie’s get-up. “Bet you’ve never once cared about the stupid shit, though.”

What people think.

Eddie’s smile turns more knowing. “Shockingly, Harrington,” he says, “I didn’t come out the womb like this.”

They both hesitate; they’re at Steve’s car now, Eddie’s van parked in a space that’s further away. There’s no reason, really, for the conversation to continue any longer.

But Eddie still lingers.

“Uh, enjoy your dinner, I guess. If the… dress-rehearsal goes shit, just tell the kid it’s good luck for the real night.”

Steve laughs. “He’s in the Drama Club, so that might work, actually. Thanks, Munson.” He opens the car door as Eddie nods, starts to head off to his van. Seized by a sudden impulse, Steve calls, “Happy holidays!”

“Yeah, you too.” Eddie turns, tapping at his temple exaggeratedly. “Won’t forget about the books, I promise.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You better not,” he says, tongue-in-cheek.

He starts the car and heads for Dustin’s house, honks the horn when he drives past Eddie’s van, catches Eddie waving.

Steve thinks he quite likes the idea (regardless of whether it’ll put his library account in jeopardy), of the books finding a permanent home at Eddie’s place. Briefly imagines Eddie writing with an ink-stained hand, curled up safely in a world of his own—where the only monsters are the ones that live in between the pages.

[half-oz-eddie]

Attached, like that ❤️‍🩹 internalized homophobia tw

"...I think I'm getting too attached to you." Billy said randomly, eating the soft pretzel Steve brought him on their lunch breaks.

"What? Whaddya mean?" Steve wondered, passing the shared drink between them.

"We spend a lot of time together lately. Now, whenever I don't see you, I'm..." He fought to hold back, or tried to, but if he couldn't talk to Steve, he felt like he couldn't talk to anyone. "I get pissed when I don't get to see you. Not pissed at you, just—pisses me off. I dunno."

"I think that's normal." Steve reassured.

"I don't think it is."

"It is." Steve confirmed again. "I get pretty bummed when we can't hang out too. Only difference is...everything pisses you off. So you show anger for all your emotions."

Billy tusked, narrowing his eyes at Steve. "Fuck you."

"Lighten up." Steve playfully nudged. "I'm not givin' you shit about it. Just saying."

"Okay so, what, it's normal to be upset when we don't see each other?"

"I think so." Steve nodded. "We're friends."

"Do you get upset when you can't see Robin? Or those dweebs?"

"Hm...Now that I think about it..." He shook his head, a chuckle escaping him. "No. It doesn't bother me at all."

"So then we're too attached to each other." Billy deduced. "You know this is pussy shit, right? To be attached to another guy?"

"So what if it is?" Steve shrugged. "You mean a lot to me, Billy. We've been getting along so much better than I could've imagined."

"I can't be...that way." Billy stared off, a tense, pained look on his face. "I can't...feel these things for you. It's not natural."

"If it wasn't natural, why do we feel like this?"

"I don't have all the fuckin answers, Harrington." Billy snapped. "It...feels like I did something wrong. I did something to make me like this."

Steve turned to Billy, hoping for clarity. "Billy...do you like me?"

Billy growled as he sprang up from the spot he sat with Steve, turning his back to him. "Yeah. I fuckin like you, alright? I couldn't help it. Couldn't control my feelings. Gonna fuck off and never talk to me again, now?"

"No. I think...I like you too. I didn't think I was...that way either. But I feel the same way I felt about Nancy about you. I didn't choose this. It just happened."

Billy turned his attention back to Steve. "We gotta make it stop, Harrington. We gotta make this shit go away so we can still hang out without...becoming..." He let out a defeated sigh. "Neil would kill me."

Steve stood, slowly grabbing Billy's hand.

Billy's heart skipped a beat when their fingers touched. He pulled away and turned his back to Steve once more. "We can't do this."

"Do you wanna do this?"

Billy shrugged.

Steve stared at Billy's tense back and scrunched up shoulders, overhearing a soft sniffle.

He peeked over at Billy's face, spotting the tears when Billy pointedly turned away.

Steve placed comforting hands on Billy's shoulders prompting him to loosen up. "Look at me. C'mon." He coaxed. "We stayed up all night on prom night, talking shit and drinking. We've seriously bonded, man. You know you can tell me anything."

"I wish I didn't tell you this." Billy admitted. "Now I feel like I lost my friend."

Steve slowly spun Billy around. "No matter what happens, you're always gonna be my friend, alright? We can pretend this conversation didn't happen if you want to."

"Don't you want to?" Billy questioned. "You don't wanna be...this either, right?"

"I don't really mind. I've already come to terms with this awhile ago. But if it's too hard for you, I don't mind that either. As long as we can still hang out."

Billy intertwined his pinky with Steve's. "I can't just be your friend. The feelings aren't gonna disappear. They're too strong."

Steve gently grasped Billy's chin. Billy's heart began to race with excitement and fear. He worriedly glanced around, and Steve turned his head back towards him. "We're alone. No one's ever disturbed us in the 2 months we've been hanging out in this shed."

Billy sighed. "I fuckin' know that, but it doesn't mean I'm not scared."

"Let's take this one step at a time, then. How about a kiss—"

"No." Billy immediately refused. "If I kiss you, I'm never gonna be able to stop thinking about you. Then I'll really be in deep."

Steve laughed. "I never took you for a worrier, Billy."

"Yeah, well, I never took me for a lot of things...but here we are."

"Listen, Billy. It's our life. We can do whatever we want, and we don't have to tell anyone anything about how we feel or...what we are. We can just...be two pals in public, and we can be who we really are in the privacy of my house."

Billy liked the idea of being able to be his true self with Steve. He needed to shed away some of the expectations from his father and sort his shit out a bit, but he knew one thing for certain: He wanted Steve.

"So you like me, huh? You really like me?"

Steve nodded with certainty. "Yeah. I really do."

"So you like...wanna fuck me and stuff?" Billy asked teasingly, sticking his tongue out at Steve.

Steve turned red at the thought. "I—" He laughed. "Maybe—how about...a kiss first?"

Billy finally agreed, his lips slowly meeting Steve's. They were soft and welcoming, and tasted like pepsi and bananas. Weird combination, sure, but it was Steve's lips he kissed, and that was the best part of all.

"I uh...I have to get back to work." Steve spoke softly, their lips still ghosting one another's.

"Me too. But I'll see you later, right?"

Steve nodded. "I can't wait."

Billy stole one more kiss and watched as Steve hurried out of the shed.

They hadn't discussed the nature of their relationship just yet, but Billy wanted to take one step at a time. Each step with Steve was another step toward Billy becoming his own person.

He realized...it was okay to be...like that with Steve. It was better than being like Neil.

Billy went back to his lifeguard chair, smiling to himself, thinking about the next time he'd kiss Steve's lips.

[sadhours]

late night phone calls

harringrove smut

The shrill tone of the phone ringing forces Steve out of bed abruptly. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, grabbing onto his alarm clock and seeing that it’s barely past three a.m., which has him panicking because only under emergency circumstances would someone be calling at this hour. Images of dark tunnels and monster-like dogs flood his mind. Where’s his bat? Not within reach. It’s in the trunk of the fucking BMW. He trips over his feet as he climbs out of bed, clutching onto his deck to catch himself before his face meets the hardwood.

“Jesus Christ,” he exhales, the distraction short lived as the phone lets out another loud chime.

Steve props himself upright, gripping the phone perhaps a little too hard because he feels a sharp pain shoot up his wrist as he picks up the receiver and shove it against his ear.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” he asks, frenzied, stomach turning in knots.

“I am not overly competitive,” it’s Billy’s voice on the other end and Steve sinks to the ground in relief, sitting down on the floor with a happy sigh as he listens to Billy’s irritated voice ramble on, “And actually, you’re just a little bitch and a sore loser.”

“Hargrove,” he exhales, letting his eyes fall shut, “It’s three in the morning.”

Billy ignores him, “I won that game of horse fair and square, you’re just mad because you suck.”

The tilt in Billy’s voice makes Steve think that he’s been stewing on this since they left the park. And their relationship is… frustrating. Because Billy can be fun but then take offense to the smallest comment that Steve made with absolutely no venom behind it. Usually, Billy will stalk away, all pissed off and not talk to him for a couple of days— a week at most. Him calling in the middle of the night is new.

“I’m flattered you’re thinking about me so late into the evening,” Steve quips, the flirtation dripping from his words.

The lines silent for a few beats and then Billy speaks again, quieter, “Yeah, well don’t be, I was just thinking about what a big baby you are.”

Steve can’t help himself, the lower tone of the other boys voice is enough to get his dick interested and he palms himself over his briefs. He could turn this into that direction really quickly, but that’s no fun.

So instead he asks, “Oh? And what makes me such a big baby?”

Billy grumbles, “You lost. And instead of taking it like a man, you have to talk shit and accuse me of cheating.”

“It was just a harmless game. You got all gloaty like it’s a big deal or something, that’s why I said you’re overly competitive,” Steve supplies, “But that’s fine. Gotta put all that pent up excitement somewhere.”

“Excitement?” Billy laughs, “What’re you saying, pretty boy?”

Hook, line and sinker. Steve’s won and he didn’t even have to fight for it. He smirks to himself, squeezing his half hard dick slightly.

“Oh, nothing. Just that there’s another reason you’re calling so late,” Steve replies, easily. He hears Billy inhale sharply over the line and he preens at it. “So why don’t we just get straight to it, Hargrove? You got your dick in your hand, or what?”

“Maybe,” Billy can’t keep up the game long, they’ve moved way past that at this point.

“Yeah?” Steve breathes, perking his ears up and trying to hear any indication that Billy does in fact, have his dick out. “Mines not. But it’s hard.”

“Do you always get hard when I’m telling you how much you suck at basketball?” The breathlessness of Billy’s words confirms to Steve what he suspected.

“Not always,” he whispers, stroking himself through the thin material of his underwear. “Depends on how mean you are about it.”

“You like when I’m mean?” Billy sounds needy, now and Steve has to push his underwear down and get his cock out.

He wouldn’t admit this to Billy under any other circumstances, “Yeah.”

“Your dick in your hand now?” he asks Steve, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“Mhm,” Steve pushes out after swallowing, he opens his eyes and looks down as he strokes himself, he’s leaking an absurd amount. His pre drips so much, he might not even need spit. He imagines Billy’s strong hand around him, his eyes fluttering shut as his hips involuntarily jerk up. “Keep talking,” he pleads.

“You’re too easy, Harrington.”

Steve could tell him the same thing, he’s starting to suspect Billy was already jerking off when he called. Like maybe it was the whole reason he called and not that he was actually still mad. As much as Billy will act like he doesn’t love this as much as Steve does, he knows it’s not true. Steve catches all the looks Billy tries sneaking. He purposely avoids Billy in the locker room since they started fooling around. Not because he’s ashamed but because he’s scared of his dick getting hard in front of the other guys.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “Stop messing around. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Billy gasps, soft but not too quiet that Steve can’t hear him. Steve wants all the raunchy details, wants to know exactly how Billy is touching himself, what position he’s in, everything.

“I’m lying on my bed,” Billy grunts out, “I’m naked. My.. fuck… I’m so fucking hard.”

“Where’s your hand?” Steve blurts out, closing his eyes tightly as he pictures Billy.

Billy chuckles again, it’s breathy though and Steve has to squeeze the head of his cock at the sound.

“Gotta know every detail,” Billy grumbles, but answers his anyway, “The base of my cock.”

“Shit,” Steve gasps out, “Just holding it?”

He giggles over the line, giggles and Steve wants that sound recorded so he can listen to it over and over again.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m kind of.. close and I’m trying to hold off.”

Steve snickers, cheeks flushing at the thought of Billy so turned on by him.

“So you were jerking off before you even called,” Steve insists, cheeks aching a bit with how big he’s smiling.

“Shut up, Harrington.”

“Wanna know what I’m doing?” Steve asks, shyly.

“Uh-huh,” Billy replies and Steve can hear him spitting, wonders if it’s into his hand or straight on his cock.

“I’m on the floor,” Steve explains, his pitch shifting higher as he strokes himself, from the base to the angry head, squeezing when he reaches the tip. “I have a shirt on, though.”

Billy tsks, “What a shame. Where’s your hand?”

“The head,” he chokes out, “I’m squeezing it. I’m so wet.”

“Always are,” Billy comments with a growl, “Would love to taste it.”

Steve moans softly, the thought of Billy’s tongue on him has him pulling at his cock. “Want to be in your mouth so bad…”

“Me too,” Billy grunts out.

It gets pretty desperate after that, they’re not really saying much besides pants of encouragement and little noises of pleasure. Steve focuses just under his tip, slightly curving his hand on each upstroke until he’s whimpering.

“Billy… gonna cum,” he blubbers, desperate to hear the other boys voice.

“Cum for me, pretty boy,” and with that, Steve’s shooting his load, thick ropes of cum spurting out and landing on his shirt and bare thighs. He cries out, perhaps a little too loudly but he can’t help it and hell, no one’s home.

Steve can tell Billy’s doing the same thing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he breathes out, much quieter than Steve had been and then he’s panting into the receiver.

They stay on the line for a moment but once they’ve both come back down to earth, Billy’s saying, “Talk to you later, Harrington.” and hanging up.

[cinnamoncitric]

It all starts with Robin.

In truth, if one might get technical, it starts with Billy Hargrove. Then, in due time, it restarts with Russian spies and a fortress underneath a mall. But neither of the parties was there for the result, so: in all the ways that matter, which is to say, in all the ways that help, it starts with Robin.

In all things Steve Harrington, there are two authorities other than the man himself, and, though he has known him longer, she doesn't think Dustin has noticed. Steve himself doesn't like to talk about it, has only ever opened up to her on the subject under scrutiny and prodding. But avoidance doesn't change the fact: Steve's hearing has suffered.

He tells her this exactly once, both sitting side by side on the bed in his room. He says it looking down, ashamed, one hand tightly pulling at his hair, the other holding Robin's in a tight knuckled grip. His voice is small. He does his best to suffocate the anguish and the fear that flood it when he says, What if it gets worse?

There's no reason to believe it will, for now. At least, that's what the doctor tells them once she bullies Steve into a visit. As long as there are no other injuries, no other blows to the head, he isn't in danger.

But the thing is, there might be. That's just the life they lead – never knowing if the danger is truly over. So Robin sits her ass down and picks up a book on sign language because she knows he'd never do it on his own.

Come on, she tells him, months of secret classes in Indy later. I'll teach you. We can just use it to talk in secret in front of everyone whenever we want to.

Which is, of course, not how it goes down. They go maybe a month into sneaking awkward signs behind everyone's back until Dustin gets wind of it. And when child prodigy Dustin Henderson decides he wants in, there's not much they can do to stop him. And he gets all the other genius gremlins to do it, too. Imagine how useful it would be to communicate without alerting demogorgons, he tells them, when Steve explains he doesn't want to talk about the real reason for it. They all figure it out anyway.

Mike learns it like he'd much rather not. His only argument for doing it is that it might be good for his college application and that Nancy took an interest in it and is now forcing him to learn with her as "sibling bonding."

Will is shy, Lucas is earnest, El is curious. By some point, all of them pick it up. All the older kids, all of the adults – Hopper, Joyce, Murray, Claudia Henderson – and Steve feels like he could cry. They all took the time and effort to learn a whole different language, just for him.

He does cry, and it's all because of one Max Mayfield.

Hey, loser, she calls out one day when the two of them are waiting for the others, searching for him with her cane so she can stand in his direction. Are you looking at me?

Steve twists so that's she's perfectly in his line of view and then confirms.

Good, Max says in sign with a shit-eating grin, pose triumphant, Guess what I fucking learned how to do.

Just like that, there are tears streaming down his face. He tries his best to control his breathing while Max goes on.

Lucas showed me, she continues in sign. It was a pain in the ass because he had to keep moving my hands himself every time I got it wrong, but I wasn't about to let you guys have one over me.

When he doesn't answer, when he can't answer due to the huge lump stuck on his throat and the tears streaming silently down his face, she pauses. Then starts again, this time out loud, Hey, you know you have to speak to the blind girl, though, right? I can't see your hands.

Steve laughs wetly. Shut up. Language, Mayfield.

She laughs at the unintentional pun. Yeah, language. Oh, man. Are you crying?

Shut up, Steve says again. I'm gonna hug you now, okay?

She huffs. Sure, if it's to get it out of your system.

[medusapelagia]

A Magnet For Trouble: CH 3 He seems… an interesting guy

written for the @billybigbang2024

Read here or on AO3

True to his word, Billy wakes Jason and guides him toward the bathroom, gives him a bathrobe and a pair of sweatpants, and lets him shower alone. If Jason is a bit disappointed that Billy didn’t insist on showering together he doesn’t say it. He takes a full shower, cleans his most personal bits with blushing cheeks, and then gets back into Billy’s room, where he finds the man holding a crumpled packet of cigarettes.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“It’s your place.”

“Yeah, but you’re here with me.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Cool.” The silver Zippo lightens the room for a quick moment, and then the only light that remains in the room is the red cherry of Billy’s cigarette and the dim light from the corridor.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Billy says, dragging some smoke with nervous hands, “I’m not usually like that.”

“Like what?”

“So reckless,” he replies, “I usually take things slower. But you… god, you're like catnip for me. So clean and pure. Not a single drop of ink on your skin. You’re like the perfect canvas. And I can’t resist you.”

“Yeah. I noticed that you’re covered in tattoos.”

“I’m a tattoo artist, so it’s almost a requirement.”

“Are you?” Jason asks, sitting on the bed next to Billy, tracing with his fingers some black lines, “Did you tattoo them yourself?”

“Not all of them, but some, yeah.”

“Did it hurt?”

“It depends,” Billy replies, showing Jason the back of his hand, “The ones that are closer to the bone are more painful, but nothing unbearable.”

Jason hums, looking at the complex drawing on Billy’s skin, every square inch of his skin is adorned with skulls, animals and weapons, intricately locked together, harsh and graceful,  “They seem to tell a story.”

“They do.” Billy confirms, “Some of them are very private but this,” he points to a wonky heart, “It’s the first one I did. It’s a stick and poke. Just a needle and a pen. I was fifteen years old when I made it. Even after all these years, it’s still my favorite. While this one,” he points to a long snake coiled around his left arm, “it’s one of Heather's masterpieces. It hurt like a motherfucker because she kept going back to define the details. It took almost two months, and even more to heal perfectly, but I love it.”

“It’s beautiful.” Jason agrees, feeling the impulse to lick the dark skin just to get a taste.

“Oh fuck. Heather!” Billy exclaims, getting up, “I told her I was going to open the shop.”

“I can go home.”

“No, please. Don’t.” Billy begs him, before trying to get a grip on himself, “Unless you want to. But I’d like you to stay. There’s a little diner nearby that has the best pancakes you have ever eaten and I would love to have breakfast with you in the morning.”

“Are you going to pay for it?”

“If you want.”

“Nah. I’ll pay for breakfast, to repay you for your hospitality.”

“Fine for me. But now I really need to sleep. I have to work on a big piece tomorrow.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You like the sound of my voice, don’t you?” Jason shrugs and Billy kisses the nape of his neck, “You’re lucky I like it too. So. It’s a sleeve. We’ve  been working on it for almost three months now. It’s a marine theme. It has mermen, and a pirate skull with tentacles and-”

Jason falls asleep, lulled by Billy’s soothing voice, and he sleeps like a child for the first time since his father kicked him out of his childhood home.

***

The tattoo parlor is small but clean. The walls are painted with a vibrant red, and they’re covered in fancy black frames with pictures of tattoo designs or photos of customers' tattoos, while the air smells of antiseptic mixed with the floral essence of air freshener. Jason is sitting on one of the stools at the entrance, scrolling his phone mindlessly, while the buzzing of Billy’s tattoo gun fills the air, when Heather arrives with a huge bag of supplies that Jason helps her to get inside.

“You still here, church boy?” she asks, but when her sight goes to Jason’s neck and she sees the huge hickey Billy left there, she smirks, “Billy’s t-shirt and a shiny new hickey, I guess you had fun last night, am I wrong?”

“We… We had a nice evening. Yeah.”

Heather raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, “So why are you here? Are you his new loyal puppy?”

“No, I just… I had a day off and I didn’t have any plans and I was curious to see the tattoo parlor and-”

“Gonna get a tattoo, church boy? Something metal, like a zombie eating a bloody brain on your bicep,  would look really cool.”

“I don’t know…. in my line of work it’s difficult.”

“What are you? An underwear model?” She mocks him.

“Policeman.” Jason replies, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“A policeman? You? I would have never guessed.” She states, “But if I’m not wrong you can have tattoos, the important thing is that they don’t show when you are on duty. What do you think of a big black rose on your ass? I know Billy would love it.”

Jason gulps, shaking his head. He can’t imagine having a tattoo on his ass, or even worse, having someone tattooing his ass, especially Billy. Only the thought makes him shiver with  pleasure and humiliation.

“It can be really pleasant,” Heather winks, “some people go into subspace while being tattooed, did you know that? Not Billy. He’s more the kind of person who enjoys control over pain. He tattooed himself, did he told you that?”

Jason nods, Billy already told him that, but he also told him that the big piece on his arm is Heather’s doing, so he says, “You’re a tattoo artist too.”

“Yeah. Actually, the idea of a tattoo parlor was mine, but this shit is expensive, so I asked him if he wanted to be my partner and he agreed. We have tattooed each other more than once. It’s sexy, you know? If it weren’t for the fact that Billy is one hundred percent gay I would have fucked him on that chair… maybe you’ll get luckier than me.” she winks and Jason blushes so hard that he feels his skin get uncomfortably hot.

The buzzing of the tattoo gun stops and a few moments later Billy comes back to the reception area, stretching his back, “Gonna need a massage after this. It took longer than I thought, but I’m pretty satisfied.”

Heather pops her gum loudly, “Don’t count on me, but maybe church boy will give you one if you ask politely.”

“Heather. Try to be kind for once, huh?”

“Nah… good girls go to Paradise, but bad girls go everywhere.” She chuckles, getting behind the cash register as soon as Billy’s client comes out to pay for his tattoo and make  another appointment in a few weeks to fix a few details and check on healing.

“Were you bored?” Billy asks, taking a bottle of orange juice from the little fridge hidden in a corner of the tattoo parlor and offering a glass of cold juice to Jason.

“No, I didn’t have any plans so…”

“Church boy was thinking about getting a tattoo.” Heather chirps in.

Billy raises an eyebrow “Really?”

“No… yeah.. I mean.. with my kind of work it is difficult to get one, but you’re really good. I was looking at the pictures on the wall, they’re great.”

Billy smiles, “Thanks but some of those are Heather’s too. I can show you my portfolio if you really are interested.”

“I… I don’t know. And I don’t want to make you lose too much time.”

“Come on, it’s just a portfolio, it won’t kill you,” Billy replies, taking an iPad and an old ring binder full of pictures and sketches. Some are horrific pictures of monsters and zombies, and others are very intricate images of flowers and animals, but those that Jason likes the most are the realistic portraits. An old woman's face on someone’s arm, a very realistic robin, a hissing leopard.

“See something you like?”

“I love the realistic ones.” Jason admits, finally lifting his eyes, pointing at a crow with its head tilted toward the audience, “I like this one especially.”

“Birds, huh? Crows are cool. They are messengers from the other world. Or so they say.”

“Huh?”

“Some popular belief says that they bring messages from the dead to the living. But they’re also very intelligent animals.” Billy says, “So, would you like a bird tattoo?”

“No… I don’t think so.”

“So what would you like?” Billy asks, gulping down the rest of his orange juice and Jason can’t avoid staring at Billy’s Adam apple bobbing up and down.

“I think I’d like something like yours.”

Billy chuckles, “You have to be more specific, baby. My entire body is covered in tattoos.”

“I… I’d like a statement tattoo. Like the one on your chest.”

“So you would like to shower in a police station with a big sign on your chest that screams ‘I’m gay’? Pretty bold for a closeted policeman”

“I’m not closeted!” Jason complains, crossing his arms, “And no, I don’t want a huge sign that states ‘I’m gay’,  but I’d like something that makes me feel special.”

Billy raises an eyebrow, “I have the feeling you know exactly what you would like but you don’t have the courage to ask.” 

Jason lowers his eyes, avoiding Billy’s stare.

“Come on. Don’t get shy now!” Heather interjects, resting her chin on her hand, “In for a penny…”

“Wings. I… I’d like to have a pair of wings. On my back.”

“Oh… wouldn’t expect that. Like bat wings or�� bird’s ones?”

Jason keeps his stare glued to the floor, cursing himself for making a fool out of himself again.

“Angel’s wings. Like the Archangel Michael’s ones.”

“Angel’s wings, huh? A church boy like you deserves some wings, don’t you think, Billy?” Heather winks.

But the tattoo artist closes his ring binder so harshly that the sound makes Jason startle.

“No. I won’t let you get something so big as a first tattoo. No fucking way. It’s too big, it takes too long, and if you change your mind you’re going to hate me for the rest of your life. And angel wings? That’s not my specialty.”

“Come on! You’re great at realistic tattoos, it’s just a bigger pair of wings than the ones you’re used to tattooing.” Heather tries to insist.

“No. And that’s definitive.”

Jason nods quietly, feeling stupid just for suggesting it. What was he thinking? He never thought about a tattoo before and now he wants a fucking huge tattoo on his back? How stupid is that? It’s just a teenager’s tantrum, “Yeah. You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” he says, looking at the time on his phone, “Fuck. It’s late. I have to go.”

“Jason…” Billy calls him, but Jason has already grabbed his jacket and it’s halfway through the door.

“Guess I’ll see you at the HideOut. Maybe?” The policeman says.

“Jason!” Billy calls again, but Jason has already closed the door behind himself and called for an Uber to get him home.

When the driver pulls over and he gets in the car, Jason looks one last time behind him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Billy will try to stop him and talk to him, but the tattoo parlor’s doors do not open and the car leaves quietly, moving toward Jason’s home.

***

The two weeks of suspension have finally come to an end, and Jason is back, patrolling the streets with a new partner, Patrick, a new recruit young and eager to help the community. He has just finished the academy and he’s still full of hope and dreams. Jason likes working with him, yeah he might be more concentrated because his partner is just a kid but at least he’s not an homophobic prick. He has so many brothers and sisters Jason never knows who he's   talking about when he recalls some funny event that happened when he was still in school, and a girlfriend that occupies all his thoughts.

A couple of times they have drank something together, with the rest of the unit, but not often. Patrick is always eager to get back to his girlfriend and Jason isn’t really keen to spend time with his ex-partner who keeps saying to everyone that Jason shouldn’t be on the police force anymore, that he can’t stand the stress and he’s a weak link in the chain.

Some nights he still invites himself to Chrissy and Robin’s. His cousin is always happy to have him and they invite him to every event Robin’s gallery organizes.

That’s why he finds himself drinking a very cheap and warm bubble wine that pretends to be champagne but it is definitely not, staring at some huge photographs.

The show's title is Humanity , and it’s a collection of nudes. Beautifully sculpted bodies and old wrinkled bodies are captured on photographic paper in black-and-white shadows that lead the audience through a maze that finds beauty in all its forms. Jason is moving absentmindedly from one picture to the other when his glass almost falls to the ground. In front of him is the picture of a sculpted tattooed chest with big bold letters from clavicle to clavicle that state: Born this way .

“You like this one?” A voice behind him asks, and when he turns, Jason sees a young man with a turtleneck and a business card in his hand, “That’s one of my favorites. I begged the model for almost an entire year before he agreed to pose for me.”

“He seems… an interesting guy.”

The photographer nods, “You seem an interesting guy too. Would you like to pose for me? I’m Byers. Jonathan Byers.”

“Carver, Jason Carver. And thank you but I’m not a model.”

“Oh, none of those people are professional models. That’s exactly why I chose them.” Jonathan says, “They are friends and family.” He adds, pointing in the direction of the buffet table where Jason recognizes the little woman with a piercing stare and a painfully familiar blond mane that’s giving him the shoulders, “But I don’t want to insist. Just keep my card. In case you change your mind.” 

Jason nods, turning to search frantically for his cousin who’s having some little side conversations with some potential buyers. He gently grabs Chrissy by the elbow and drags her away, searching for a quiet place where to have a little chat.

“Everything ok, Jason?”

“Do you remember the man I met at a club?”

“The one you saw one time and then you ran away?”

“I didn’t run away! I just.. we… well it doesn’t matter. He’s here.”

Chrissy chuckles, “That’s not possible, it’s a private party. Only potential buyers and family members were invited.”

“He’s one of the models.”

Chrissy looks at him with confusion, and then she sees the big picture of the sculpted torso behind Jason’s head, “Don’t tell me! He’s the tattoo man!”

“Bingo!” Jason hisses, “And he’s here with the other models. And I have to go. Now. Before he sees me! And…”

“Jay?”

Jason freezes, he would recognize that voice everywhere.

“Jay?” Chrissy asks, confused, and Jason would love to explain to her why a man he saw a couple of times in his life made up a nickname for him, and why it feels so perfect when he calls him that, but he really doesn’t have any explanation.

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t know you were here with someone.” Billy says, stepping back.

“Wait!” Chrissy exclaims, grabbing the man’s arm, “I think you’re misunderstanding the situation.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, sugar. I hope the two of you have fun.”

“He’s my cousin!” She almost yells, trying to get to the point as fast as she can, “I’m… I’m a lesbian. My partner works here at the gallery, you see? The tall blond girl that’s talking with the journalists? Her name is Robin Buckley. She’s my partner. And Jason is my cousin. Just... My cousin. Ok?”

Billy nods while Jason keeps avoiding his stare, “Well. I just came to say hi, but I guess we don’t have anything to say to each other anymore. My bad.”

“You didn’t call.” Jason finally replies.

“Neither did you.”

“But you were the one who was cruel to me. You owe me an apology.”

“I wasn’t cruel, I prevented you from making a huge mistake. You should be grateful to me.” Billy says back, lifting an eyebrow and Jason shakes his head.

“You didn’t call.” The policeman repeats, “Not a message. Nothing. I get it. It was a one-night stand for you, but don’t make me look like I’m the bad guy, because I’m not.” 

Billy sighs, tucking some blond curls behind his ear, “Listen. I didn’t mean it like that, ok? I had fun with you, and I would have loved to see you again but… but I got the feeling that you were trying to emulate me. To make me like you more, ok?”

“I’m a fucking adult, Billy, we were just talking about hypothetical tattoos, we weren’t organizing our wedding.” Jason retorts angrily.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have reacted like that, it's just… I had a bad experience in the past, ok? And I didn’t want…”

“Hey, why don’t you two step outside to get some fresh air, huh?” Chrissy suggests, trying to keep the situation under control before it escalates.

Jason nods but Billy asks him to wait a moment. He gets back to his friends and they all turn toward Jason who stubbornly refuses to lower his eyes once more, and then Billy follows him downstairs.

The night’s air is crisp, even though it’s April.

Billy grabs a cigarette and offers one to Jason, who refuses. With calculated movements, he lights the cigarette, plays with his Zippo a few times, and then buries the lighter back in his pocket, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” he admits inhaling some smoke, “it was a dick move.”

Jason doesn’t answer. He’s a big boy, he wasn’t expecting something after a good fuck, but maybe not being treated like a child who was throwing a tantrum.

“We had matching tattoos.” Billy says while the white smoke lifts from his cigarette, “Joseph and I.”

“The little heart?” 

Billy nods his head, “He always wanted to be like me, you know? He thought I was strong, determined, and unbreakable. He quickly found out I was neither of those things. And then he accused me of being manipulative and of having forced him to do things he didn’t want to. Including having sex with me. He went to my father. He told him I was a deviant, that he should have been ashamed of me, and that he should have sent me to one of those centers for conversion therapy, you know? He told him I was mentally ill.” Another slow drag of smoke, “That night my father beat me so hard I lost consciousness and I woke up three days later at the hospital. He said to the nurse that a group of angry teenagers attacked me and I didn’t remember anything so I couldn’t deny it. It was Heather who told me what happened. She heard Joseph bragging about my father giving me what I deserved and how sick I was. One week later I turned eighteen, I left my father's house and moved in with Heather. She was already into tattoos and we both enrolled in a few art classes. We found a mentor who taught us how to tattoo and the rest is history.”

The silence is heavy. Billy keeps dragging more smoke from his cigarette while Jason tries to find the right words to comfort him, but the only thing that comes to mind is a very weak “I’m sorry”, that doesn’t really match his deep feelings.

“You don’t have to apologize. Things happen, right?”

Jason takes a deep breath, looking at the dark sky above them. He never shared his personal story with anyone, but this feels like the perfect moment.

“Chrissy and I… people always mistook us for twins. I was born in August and she was born in January. Our moms are sisters and we were always together when we were little. We had play dates every week, we went to the same schools, and we had the same group of friends… that’s why she was the first person I told I liked boys. I thought it was normal, I didn’t feel different, you know? She was the one who explained to me it wasn’t. You know, she’s always been so smart. She figured out her shit and mine before me and waited for me to get on the program. High school was so difficult for both of us. She had… well she had some problems and so did I. The first time I kissed a boy we were both drunk. It was during a game of Spin the Bottle.”

“Ah. The bottle game. Such a classic.” Billy sneers.

“Yeah. Only… I enjoyed it too much and I got hard in front of everyone.” Jason sighs, sitting on the pavement, “I tried to deny it. I tried to pretend it was the alcohol. But rumors were already spreading. A couple of weeks after that,  my father called me into his office, he’s a Reverend, he told me that the devil was trying to get to me. That I needed to be strong. That there were people that could have helped me. But I told him that I didn’t do anything bad, that God loves us all exactly as we are. He knows who we are deep down in our hearts and then… he didn’t get mad as I was expecting. He just… he pointed at the door and told me to get my things and never come back.”

Jason sighs before recalling how he quickly filled a duffel bag with a few things and ran to Chrissy's. A couple of weeks later they both graduated and when Chrissy’s mom told her she needed to let go of him, she refused. She told her she was gay too and then they left together, taking a greyhound and leaving their hometown behind them.

“I think Chrissy’s mom still thinks that being gay is a contagious disease.” Jason chuckles, “And that I gave it to her. She refuses to meet Robin, her girlfriend, even now they are living together.”

“Shit.” Billy says, sitting next to him, “I thought you were a closeted jock.”

“You were not wrong. I mean, at the beginning Chrissy and I even pretended to be a couple to get an apartment, you know? But more than closeted I’m fucking scared… and I know that it’s too soon and that I shouldn’t even think about it… but…”

“But what?”

“But you make me want things I never allowed myself to want.”

“Sex things?” Billy giggles.

“Also.”

They stare at each other for a long time, while the air crackles with electricity. Jason should bend just a little towards Billy. Or maybe Billy should do it. They should just kiss. Like in the movies. But they are still sitting on the concrete when the gallery show ends.

Billy is the first to get up, stomping out the cigarette with his leather booths, “I’ll call you. If it’s ok.”

“Please do.” Jason replies, looking at him still seated on the sidewalk, “Please.”

Billy bends down and kisses Jason’s forehead, “I will.” He promises before leaving. 

[schrijverr]

I Found Myself a Cheerleader 10

Chapter 10 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, with Starcourt behind them, they try to make it through, which is harder than it seems. Chrissy returns in time for Hopper’s funeral and catches Steve together with Robin, while Steve tries to catch the others.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie and buckingham

Warnings: grief, injury, nightmares, child abuse mention

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 10: The Aftermath

Part of Steve expects to be send away by the Buckley’s the next day, having fulfilled their good Samaritan act for the boy that saved their daughter. However, when he awakes nearly fifteen hours later, it is to Mrs. Buckley – Daisy, sweetie, just Daisy is fine – giving him some soup and asking if he feels up to shower and if he eats anything particular for breakfast, because she still has to go to the store later.

Confused Steve stumbles through an answer, his body still feeling like it has gone through a meat grinder. Daisy gives him a smile and cards a soft hand through his hair, before giving him directions to the shower and telling him to ask Robin if he needs anything.

She leaves to do groceries and is replaced by Robin, who looks way better than Steve. She bounces into the room, sliding onto the couch next to Steve and asks: “How are you feeling, dingus?”

“Confused,” Steve answers. “Your mom is nice.”

“Yeah, she is,” Robin smiles. “I told them your parents are away on business and can’t be reached, but I’m afraid to let you go home by yourself. So, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“Are you for real?” Steve asks, unable to imagine anyone opening up their home to him without having met him before. It sounds alien.

“I am, promise they’re cool,” Robin tells him with a soft smile. “Now, mom said you felt up to shower and no offense, Stevie, but you smell like sweat, blood and puke, which is like totally not a good smell. You’re excused of course, would be mean not to excuse it, seeing, you know, everything, but shower sounds smart. I’ll show you the buttons.”

She jumps up waiting for Steve to follow. Steve is a little slower, seeing he is more bruise than skin at this point.

The shower itself is painful. The water feels like it is beating down on his skin and the heat makes him lightheaded, but he can’t stand the cold. So, he takes it sitting on the floor of the shower. He washes his hair with Robin’s strawberry shampoo, remembering the smell from when they were tied together in the bunker. It gives him comfort.

Robin has lend him a set of her pajamas, a soft sweater and plaid pajama pants, as well as some fuzzy socks. It takes a bit to get them on, but in the end he feels more human than he has in the last 48 hours.

Dinner should be awkward, but it seems Robin has her rambling from her parents and the three happily fill the silence and let Steve disappear to the background.

With dinner done, the TV is turned on so they can watch the news. Both Robin’s parents protest, but they have to see. Have to be sure the mall is gone. That yesterday truly happened and they didn’t make it up.

So, the TV goes on and the newscaster tells them about the mall that burned down in a firework accident. That many bodies have been recovered, but not all can be identified. Among the confirmed dead are Jim Hopper, hero police chief, and Billy Hargrove.

Steve cries then. Cries for El, who lost her father, who is alone again. Cries for Joyce, who lost the man she could have had something with. Cries for himself and all the thing he never got to tell Hopper and all the things the other never said either. Even cries for Max, who will inevitably grieve for something that wasn’t real and a person who doesn’t deserve it.

Luckily, neither of Robin’s parents say anything about the tears and Robin holds him throughout it all, careful of his injuries.

After that he goes to sleep again on the couch, having gotten used to sleeping at one and not even bothered, despite Daisy’s apologies about it. It is the first night of a week in which he hides away from everyone in the Buckley house, safe with Robin by his side to keep both of them sane.

On the second day there he calls Joyce to check in with her. He told her he was going with the Buckleys that night at the mall, but checks in with her on Saturday anyway.

Quietly they talk about El, who has turned into herself, refusing to speak. How her powers aren’t working anymore and how she isn’t really coping. The poor kid has already been through so much and both Joyce and Steve wonder out loud to the other how they’re going to get her through this.

But after a few minutes neither can continue the topic they’ve been ignoring. It’s Joyce, who mentions it first, saying: “They’re burying Hopper this Tuesday. They- they don’t have a body, but…”

“I know,” Steve says, so she doesn’t have to. “What can I do?”

“They, uhm, they came here also for you,” she tells him. “Hopper wanted- he wanted you to be a pallbearer. You can say no, but-”

“No, no, I’ll do it,” Steve agrees easily. Of course he wants to help in Hopper’s funeral after all he has done for him, of course he wants to fulfill his wishes. “When do I have to be there?”

“At 10:00 AM,” Joyce answer, obviously grateful. “They’re reading his will too, El wants you to be there as well. It’s afterwards. Can you make it?”

“Of course,” Steve promises again, because he’d make all the time in the world for El, to support her after what she’s been through.

“Thank you, Steve,” Joyce sounds haggard and relived. “Bring whoever you want as support, it’s open to the public, so it’s probably going to be big. Lots of people. They wanted me to speak, but I- I can’t.”

Much to Steve’s horror, Joyce starts to cry. He is already bad with comfort and now he can’t even offer a shoulder like he usually does. Steve knows she doesn’t want to burden any of the kids with this, that she would usually go to Hopper about this, that Steve has to take his tasks now, but he’s still pulling a blank.

“It’s- it’s okay, Joyce,” he fumbles. “You don’t have to speak. He- he knows. He knew. You don’t have to say it for everyone.”

The words probably aren’t the best, but it’s what Steve can manage right now. And the words seem to help. A teary Joyce thanks him, before reminding him he’s welcome there any time. It’s a sweet sentiment, but Joyce has her own grief and that of El to deal with. Steve has a place to stay, he’ll be fine. She has to put her focus elsewhere.

So, he assures her he’s fine and to just focus on the people she has at home, before hanging up and going up to Robin’s room, crawling into her bed. He buries his face in her stomach and she plays with his hair as she reads her book, while he tries not to cry.

Robin has become his safe space, as he has become hers.

On the night from Saturday to Sunday he is awoken by Robin, who stands next to the couch, blanket wrapped around her shoulders tremble and she is crying as she softly confesses: “I- I had a nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?” Steve asks, getting into a seated position, so that she can crawl on the small couch with him.

“I was in the bunker again and you were there, tied- tied to me and I kept calling your name, but this time- this time you didn’t wake up,” Robin is weeping now, burying her face in the crook of Steve’s neck on the less injured side. Her hand is over his heart, so she can feel his heartbeat. “I was tied to your dead body, all alone. I just- I just needed to check.”

“It’s okay, Robbie,” he assures her, nosing the top of her head and planting a kiss there. “I’m alive, I’m okay. We’re okay. We made it out.”

She lets out a shuddery breath and nods, repeating: “We made it out. We made it out.”

“Yeah, we did,” Steve encourages her. “Want to drink some tea or stay here a bit?”

“Some tea, please,” Robin says.

They get up, Steve leading Robin through her own house, where he himself has gotten comfortable in a short amount of time. He parks her on one of the kitchen chairs, but she abandons it in favor of sitting on the counter as Steve starts the kettle, pulling him between her legs as they wait for the water to boil. Just holding him.

Steve can’t remember the last time a person held him this often and tenderly. He melts into her, hugging her back.

The two of them exist like that, intertwined. Robin shuffles along as Steve pours them tea, then shamelessly sits on Steve’s lap as they sip the hot beverage. To distract herself Robin tells him all about this book she has been reading.

When the tea is gone, Steve asks: “Do you feel up to sleeping again, Robs?”

“Probably smart,” Robin says with a yawn, not really answering the question. She clings a bit more to Steve and mumbles: “Just don’t wanna be alone.”

“I- I could come with,” Steve offers, a bit unsure and not wanting to overstep a boundary.

Robin lights up at his offer and says: “You’re a genius, dingus.”

“Your parents won’t mind?” Steve asks, not wanting to get either of them in trouble.

“Nah,” Robin assures him, getting to her feet and grabbing his hand to pull him along.

Her bed is as comfortable at night as it is during the days when he crashed there. He is still injured, only able to sleep on his back and Robin is careful with his injuries, lying next to him and taking his hand. As they lay there together, she says: “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“Me too,” Steve responds. “Though I hate you got dragged into all the crazy with me.”

“I think it’s worth it,” Robin tells him and Steve gets too choked up to say anything, only able to squeeze her hand and she squeezes back.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then Robin says: “If we were normal, this is where we’d confess our feelings for each other.”

Steve snorts, making a gagging noise that has Robin giggling as well. They lay there laughing for a bit more and when they try to sleep, thoughts of Russian bunkers are further away than thoughts of companionship and understanding.

Sunday passes in a haze. Steve calls all the kids, checking in on them. Mike hangs up after assuring him he’s fine, a bit in a foul mood, since his parents haven’t let him see the others. Lucas and Erica both talk to Steve a bit, neither of them mentioning the 4th and just talking of wanting to try out for basketball and wanting to learn DnD. Dustin talks with him for an hour, both of them crying. Will only speaks to for a bit. El doesn’t want to come to the phone, but Will assures him she’s okay, just going through a rough patch, which is an understatement. Max only says a few words, before hanging up quickly, a fight going on in the background.

Monday brings a new surprise to the Buckley doorstep. Steve is making lunch since Robin’s parents are off to work, so it is Robin who opens the door.

On the doorstep is Chrissy, looking stressed and haggard. Without preamble she starts: “Do you know where Steve is? Because I just came back from camp and I went by his house, because I heard he was at the mall when it burned down, but he didn’t answer and I’m really worried about him, because he always, always opens the door.”

Robin is about to answer when Steve comes wandering into the hall, asking: “Hey, Rob, do you like syrup on your pancakes or-” He looks up and sees Chrissy, smiling when he does: “Chris! I didn’t know you got back today.”

“Stevie,” Chrissy exclaims in relief, before her eyes grow wide as she takes in the state he’s in. She rushes into the house, brushing past Robin without a care as she cups Steve’s unbruised cheek with a concerned face, asking: “Oh my god, are you okay?”

And it is not the question itself that breaks Steve, it has been asked multiple times these last few days, but it is that it’s Chrissy. Chrissy, who has been nothing but sweet and kind to Steve, who has protected him, cheered him up, made sure he wanted to get to school. And even after Steve kind of brushed her off to hide that he has been kicked out, she is still so concerned for him. She went to Robin’s house to look for him.

Tears fall before he’s even aware of them and he crushes Chrissy in a hug that hurts his own ribs and maybe hers, but he doesn’t care, just happy to hold her again.

Chrissy makes a confused noise, however, she quickly moves to hug him back. Her wiry strength should not be underestimated as she sways them side from side, telling him that it’s all okay and to just let it out.

Robin latches onto his back, surrounding him with warmth from his two closest friends. And he cries, like he has done so much these past few days. He wants to stop, but he can’t, so he rides it out and hopes that Chrissy and Robin won’t let go until he’s done.

They don’t.

The three of them hug until Steve is done crying, ignoring the small wet patch on his back and how Robin also sniffles, before clapping her hands and leading them to the kitchen.

There is some batter left, so Steve makes pancakes for Chrissy as well, who hums appreciatively and says: “Steve, I missed your food. Camp food is terrible.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Steve smiles, the compliment warming him up from the inside.

None of them talk about the breakdown in the hall until the pancakes are gone. They just eat in silence and pile the dishes in the sink. It’s only when they’re sitting on the couch, their bellies full, that Chrissy asks: “What happened?”

Steve and Robin exchange a look, before Steve says: “I- I don’t really know. We were out late and closing up when we heard explosions, I suppose the fireworks, before we really knew it the whole mall was going up in flames around us.”

Robin jumps in, interjecting the made up hero story she told her parents: “We were like stuck in the shop and it was terrible. We couldn’t get out until a part of the front caved in and we could climb out. I got stuck and Steve pulled me out, but like a bunch of rubble fell on him. If he hadn’t had done it, well I- I might’ve-”

It’s getting a little too close to the truth now and Robin chokes up. Steve takes her hand and they smile at each other, a reassurance that they’re okay.

“Chief- Chief Hopper got us out,” Steve builds on the fiction they made. “He went back in to help and he- he didn’t-”

“Oh my god, that’s terrible,” Chrissy gasps, hearing their story with horror.

“The funeral is tomorrow,” Steve whispers. “They asked me to be pallbearer. They don’t have a- a body,” he swallows, “so it’s just going to be the casket. It’s ceremonial.”

“Do you want us to be there?” Chrissy asks and if Steve was straight he would've kissed her for offering so he wouldn’t have to ask.

“If you don’t mind,” he says softly, hoping she doesn’t.

Chrissy bumps her shoulder against his, a familiar move, and smiles: “Of course I don’t mind, Stevie.”

“Thank you,” he smiles back. He appreciates Chrissy so much, all she’s done for him, how she’s here for him without question. He feels bad about how he shut her out after the fight with his father, not telling her that he got kicked out. Another realization hits him and he says: “Fuck, I don’t have anything to wear tomorrow.”

“You don’t have a black suit?” Chrissy frowns.

Steve catches Robin’s wide eyes that ask ‘are you aware what you’re doing’ and he communicates back that he does, before answering: “I do, I just- well, I got kicked out by my parents. They changed the locks.”

“What!” Chrissy exclaims.

“Sorry for not telling you,” Steve says. “I didn’t want to worry you. It happened after graduation, remember that fight?”

“Holy shit, Steve,” Chrissy frowns. “That is terrible, I knew your parents were dicks, but this is a new low. What the hell? I’m going to fight them, I swear to God, I am, Stevie. Not a joke. They can’t just do that!”

Steve is touched by her anger on his behalf, but he is also realistic. He gives her a crooked smile and says: “I am an adult now, Chris. They can do that.”

“And what do you think of that?” Chrissy asks Robin, still full of righteous anger.

Robin looks a bit like a deer in headlights, eyes flitting between Chrissy and Steve. She stammers out: “Uh, I- I think they’re assholes?”

“See,” Chrissy tells Steve.

Steve quirks a brow at Robin, who glares at him in turn, before saying: “I already knew they were assholes, Chris. They just also have every right to kick me out if they want to.”

“I know you know that,” Chrissy huffs. “I’m just not going to let them get away with giving you nothing to wear to Chief Hopper’s funeral.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Steve asks, curious for her answer, since he has never seen her like this before.

“We’re going to break in,” Chrissy smiles mischievously.

“What?” Steve chokes.

“You can’t be serious,” Robin exclaims, eyes bulging out of her eyes.

“Come on, Stevie, you said yourself we have to try not to care right?” Chrissy pleads. “I’m sure you’ve snuck in from time to time, you must have a route. Everyone does. And it’s not like they’re going to be home to catch us.”

“I don’t know, Chris,” Steve says, even though he would love to grab a few things he forgot in his haste to pack that first time. It’s still risky.

Robin, however, seems to have gotten over her inhibitions and offers: “We can put shrimp in the air conditioning, give them a true surprise to come home to.”

“No,” Steve says. “We’ll break in, but no pranks.”

“Ugh, fine,” Robin rolls her eyes, while Chrissy just squeals in excitement.

So, Steve drives them to his old house in the car the government kindly brought over yesterday. He is technically not cleared to drive yet, but Chrissy doesn’t know that and if Robin heard, she doesn’t mention it.

The house is still looming, cold and dark. Steve can’t imagine how he lived there all those years without it creeping him out.

They sneak into the backyard to get to Steve’s room. His window broke and he never told his parents, afraid to get into trouble, which now works in his favor. He tells the girls about the window and adds: “But I’m too bruised to climb the pipe.”

“Don’t look at me, I’m clumsy,” Robin immediately defends herself, before Steve could even suggest her. He’s seen her run for her life, which had been less than stellar, so he already wasn’t planning on asking her.

Chrissy, however, also looks unsure and apologetically says: “I’ve always been a horrible climber. I have terrible grip.”

“I’m gonna boost you up,” Steve tells her. “Standing on my hands as we practiced. You can easily reach then.”

“Lisa will kill us if she heard we did that without back spotter,” Chrissy points out, though she has a glimmer in her eyes.

“Lisa doesn’t have to know,” Steve grins. “Besides, Robin can catch you if you fall.”

“I most definitely cannot,” Robin protests, but is ignored by the two others, who get into position.

The stunt is one they performed in their final competition, so they feel comfortable doing it without back spotter. Steve puts his hands on Chrissy’s hips and she jumps, giving him the momentum to throw her higher, before catching her on the palms of his hand. From that position, she easily scrambles onto the roof, disappearing into Steve’s old room and appearing a few moments later to unlock the backdoor for them.

“I can’t believe I broke into your house,” she whispers as Robin and Steve enter as well. None of them turning on the lights, because they don’t want to be spotted by neighbors and the afternoon sun is enough, even through the closed curtains.

“It’s okay, I gave you permission, pin it on me,” Steve tells her easily, looking around the room and taking it in.

His parents have left all the furniture without covers, so a light dust coats it, since Steve hasn’t been there to clean. They might get ruined, but his mother will likely redecorate. There are also two cups and plates in the sink with questionable contents, since Steve hasn’t washed their dishes after they left. It makes him both sad and a little vindictive.

He is pulled out of his thoughts by Robin, who is standing by the piano and exclaims: “Wow, this is a really nice piano. Can you play, dingus?”

“I can actually,” Steve replies. It had been part of his education on how to behave like his social standing.

“You can?” Chrissy comments. “I always assumed it was decorative.”

“Yeah, I can,” Steve says, sitting down on the stool and pressing a few keys. It’s not entirely in tune after years of disuse, but it is good enough.

Chrissy goes to sit down next to him and asks: “Can you play We’ll Meet Again? My grandfather used to play it for me whenever I was little.”

“Sure,” Steve says, starting to play the slightly sad song. He only knows it, because his piano teacher had been a nurse during the war and it had been popular then.

When he is done playing, he gets a small applause from Chrissy and Robin and he smiles at them, before closing the piano and saying: “Well, that’s enough for now. I want to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

His room is like he left it, still a mess from when he packed in a hurry. It’s like his parents closed the door and pretended that would make him go away. Likely, they just couldn't be bothered to clean up as they had to leave again soon after.

Steve first folds his suit and neatly packs it into the bottom of one of the bags they brought with them. Then he packs a few more of the other clothes he left there, favorites he forgot, some more underwear, a few warm sweaters for the upcoming winter, two extra pair of jeans that aren’t the most comfortable, but better than nothing.

After that is done, he braves to open a door he hasn’t since he was twelve years old. His father’s study.

The desk still stands there, imposing and sturdy. Steve is momentarily transported to all the times he stood in front of that desk as his father berated him or made him stand there, waiting until he was deemed worthy of attention as his father worked.

He shakes it off and moves behind the desk, putting in the code to the safe that his father had told him for emergencies, praying the man had forgotten to change it.

Steve is in luck, because the safe clicks open. There is ample of money in there and despite his lack of finances, he doesn’t take it. He doesn’t actually want a robbery charge. Instead, he searches under them and gets his birth certificate and other papers. Things that are necessary to have.

With those tucked away, he tells the other two to get out of there. He contemplates grabbing a new key, just to fuck with his parents, but decides against it. Best if no one will ever learn they were there.

So, they return everything as closely to how they found it as they can and sneak back out.

It’s now nearing dinner, so Steve drops of Chrissy at home, hiding so it looks like Robin drove her there. Robin is also the one to walk her to the door, being grilled as Stevie by Chrissy’s mother until she is satisfied.

“Chrissy’s mom is terrifying,” Robin hisses when she gets back to the car.

“I know, glad you survived, Robbie,” Steve tells her with a grin.

“She thinks I’m a cheerleader, Steve,” Robin says. “She asked if being a base was hard with my build. I don’t even know what a base is! I can’t lie. Chrissy stepped on my foot, before I could dig myself into a hole. I nearly died.”

“Well, thank you for your service, drama queen,” Steve rolls his eyes as he continues to drive, luckily all going well, despite the injuries. “But I’m sure you can manage. Cheer isn’t that hard to grasp, though maybe hard for you to do.”

“You know, I get that that was an insult, but I will ignore that, because I am nice,” Robin sniffs, haughtily.

“You aren’t nice.”

“Shut up, dingus,” Robin says, smacking him lightly. “What I meant to say is; you need to tell me more about cheer so that I can pretend to be a cheerleader to Chrissy’s mom and we can all continue to hang out together.”

The shit eating, teasing grin disappears from Steve’s face and he can’t help but sound surprised as he asks: “You want to hear me talk about cheer? You said you hated sports.”

“I mean, I do,” Robin shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable. “But you like sports. And you’re like my best friend. I wanna know about your sports.”

“That- that is honestly so sweet,” Steve tells her, having to swallow, so he won’t cry.

“Shut up,” Robin says, suspiciously not looking his way.

That evening Steve tells Robin all about cheer, the two of them pointedly not talking about what they did today and what is going to happen tomorrow. Instead going over cheer formations and types of stunts and positions in the team until they’re tired, Steve falling asleep in Robin’s bed again, without either of them commenting on that as well.

On Tuesday 9th of July, they bury Chief Jim Hopper.

Out of all the pallbearers, Steve and Jonathan are the ones that are not police. Steve is walking in the front and then the right, so his injured side doesn’t hit the casket. He is well aware of the large crowd of people staring at his beat up face, the rumors that are going around.

Steve wills himself not to cry, he has done enough of that already and today he needs to be strong for Joyce and El, who have suffered a much greater loss than him. He is aware of how light the casket is, how there is no body and no closure for them. It makes it easier on his bruised body, but he gladly would’ve suffered the pain to give them that.

His suit is from prom and luckily still fits. He looks like he has more money to his name than he does, but he’s not complaining about it. Though, he feels guilty at the thought.

He purposefully doesn’t look at the crowd, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze. He just stares straight ahead, his face stony.

Once the casket is positioned for burial, Steve lets go and follows Jonathan to where Joyce is standing with El and Will. Joyce falls into Jonathan’s arms and Steve takes El, who had been hiding in Joyce’s side.

The five of them watch the burial like that. Will next to his older brother, who has one arm on Will’s shoulder. Jonathan’s other arm around his mother as she cries silent tears. Joyce holds Steve’s hand tightly and Steve holds it right back. El is under Steve’s other arm and he hugs her as best as he can, ignoring how his ribs twinge.

Throughout the entire ceremony, Steve doesn’t cry. He keeps up his impersonation of a statue and looks ahead. He is their rock now. He is keeping it together.

Only when the grave is filled and the Byers get ready to leave, does Steve turn around, El is still stuck to his side and he just keeps holding her. He spots the Buckleys in the crowd, already coming his way to support him, and catches Chrissy’s eyes, who sends him a sympathetic look, stuck next to her mother.

Daisy kisses his cheek and hugs him tightly, while Thomas, Robin’s dad, claps him on the back a few times. Robin ducks between them to cling to him and El, it’s a little awkward, but he clings right back.

It is when he is hugging Robin that he meets his father’s eyes from over her head. He is standing in an expensive black suit next to his mother in a stylish black dress. They look every part the rich socialites, who have come to show support for the town’s tragedy.

In that moment, Steve hates them more than he ever has before. He hugs Robin even closer and glares at them, before letting go of Robin and asking Jonathan where to meet, since El doesn’t look like she is letting go and they still have to hear the will.

He doesn’t care about his parents. He isn’t going to let them get to him. Especially not today when there are more important people counting on him.

Steve goes by all the kids, who are clumped together, making sure to hug them all and tell them that they’re going to be okay. That they’re going to get through this. Mike tries to talk to El, who is still by Steve’s side, but she just shakes her head, before hiding in Steve’s jacket again. This causes Mike to glare at Steve, which he ignores. Emotions are already running high enough.

As he leaves, he is stopped by Max, who tugs on his sleeve and asks: “Steve?”

“Yeah, Max?” he says kindly, not wanting to trigger an upset reaction when she already looks like she can cry at any moment.

“Uhm, I- I know you didn’t have the best history with- with Billy,” she is stumbling over her words, but valiantly keeping in the tears. “But can you come. Tomorrow. To his funeral?”

“Of course,” he promises. He isn’t going to abandon her, not when she already lost a brother.

After that, he drives to the reading of the will with El, since she hasn’t left his side. He doesn’t know why she is clinging to him, when the two of them haven’t interacted much, but he isn’t going to abandon her when she obviously needs someone to lean on.

The group for the will is much smaller and Steve ends up sitting next to Joyce, with El squished between them. Steve gets a few odd looks, but he ignores it to support El.

Hopper didn’t have much, so most of the things that are in his will are sentimental things that he shared with people. Steve tries to ignore that Hopper must have made this will after their second run in with the Upside Down. How he must have foreseen that it wouldn’t be over and they might not all make it out next time.

That he was right about it.

The big thing he owns is the cabin, which has been paid off already. No one who knew about her is surprised when that goes to El. She is still a minor and Hopper has appointed Joyce as her guardian with her consent, which makes Steve glance at her.

Joyce looks back and he can see in her eyes that she remembers the conversation when Hopper asked her to look after El should something happen clearly now. He reaches over and squeezes her shoulder. No one should go through such a thing, but especially not Joyce.

When it’s all done, Steve asks her: “Have you talked to El about what will happen now?”

Both of them look to El, who is currently with Jonathan after she felt good enough to leave Joyce and Steve’s side for a bit. Then they look at each other and Steve sees some awkwardness in Joyce’s eyes that has him on edge.

“I am planning to move to California,” she tells him softly. “She and Will have been through too much here. I don’t want El to start school here and have everyone know and ask her questions. I haven’t started looking for places, since I wanted to ask if you wanted to come too. I know it’s all suddenly and I don’t expect an answer, but I’ve taken you in and I’m not planning on abandoning you, okay, honey?”

It takes a second for all her words to register.

First, all that plays through Steve’s mind is that the Byers are leaving Hawkins. They’re moving away, which is the only competent adult they have left and the girl with the power and knowledge, though the power has disappeared. Jonathan, who can fight. And Will, well, Will makes the most sense, but Steve knows how the party will miss him. How he holds them together.

If they all go, the party practically halves in numbers and Steve is the only one who is a proper adult. Nancy and Robin are there as well and while Robin is new to this, she can be counted on and Nancy is a powerhouse in her own right, but still. Steve will be the one most of the party turns to when shit hits the fan again.

At this point, Steve is still in the stage where the Upside Down coming back seems like an inevitability, though hopefully that will leave – it might be better to keep the mentality, seeing how it has come back again already, but still.

Then it hits Steve that Joyce is offering him to come with her. That she is giving him a way out of this hellhole to California. California where people are more accepting, where he isn’t tied to the Harrington name and his old reputation as well as new rumors. He can just accept her offer and be free of that.

But-

But he can’t.

Chrissy is still here, unable to leave her mom. They’re friends. They bonded over having horrible parents and how much it sucks to be alone in that. She broke into his house with him. He promised her they could always stunt together. That he would always make her fly.

And what about Robin, his favorite lesbian. The only other queer person, he has met besides Will, and that is still a maybe, and Eddie. But Robin. Robin is his queer friend. She knows him. They give each other hope and safety. He can’t just leave her.

Plus, they got tortured together. They were drugged together. They came out to each other. She has never had to deal with the aftermath of the Upside Down before. She obviously isn’t dealing perfectly and neither is he. And the thought of being away from her pains him.

Then there are the kids. They’re already going to loose two friends, who are moving to Cali and they have lost Hopper, who was as much their safety net as Steve is. He can’t hang them out to dry like it’s nothing. And Billy’s loss has hit Max harder than he thought. He can’t abandon her now, not after that.

His mind also jumps to Eddie, who is here in Hawkins. Eddie, who knows him, who has been kind in the moments he needed it. Eddie, who he likes. Eddie, who he wants to have a chance with. The boy he wanted to kiss when he was being tortured, the boy he still wants to kiss.

Steve shoves that last thought away, the other reasons are more important. Plus, him going would be an extra financial burden Joyce doesn’t need.

He is already shaking his head no, before he even thinks about it more. His voice is a little pained, because he would have loved to say yes, as he says: “I- I can’t. I can’t come with you. Thank you, but- I mean, the kids-”

As he stumbles over the words El pops up between them. It is obvious she has been eavesdropping, because she says: “He can have the cabin.”

Both Joyce and Steve look at her and Joyce immediately tells her that she is very sweet for offering, but she should think about such things and Steve is agreeing with Joyce, telling El that is not necessary at all.

“No,” El says, as stubborn as ever. “Hopper was going to take you in if you had no place to go. He wanted you to have a place. You cannot come with us, so you need a place to stay. He would want you to have a place to stay.”

For the hundredth time today, Steve has to repress the urge to cry, because he knows that he cares about Hopper and he kind of thought the other man cared about him, but the fact that he was willing to take him in confirms it.

He takes her cheeks between his hands and presses a kiss on her forehead, before hugging her close and swaying her from side to side. Squished into his chest, he hears her whisper: “We could have been siblings.”

And Steve remembers her running away to find the other numbers, to find a sibling. A connection out there. Remembers how she came back and decided Hopper was her connection. His heart swells with affection and aches at the same time about how she wanted him to feel included in that.

Still, he can recognize that she is in an emotional state, so he just says: “Thank you, El. You’re really sweet. Let’s talk about this later.”

She nods in his chest, mollified with his reaction. She allows Joyce to take her home, while Steve climbs into his own car and cries like he has wanted to all day. He cries until his tears have run dry, then drives to the Buckley house.

He doesn’t say anything all evening and none of them seem to expect him to, which he is grateful for. He sleeps in Robin’s bed again, holding her close against his chest and knows he made the right choice in saying no.

On Wednesday 10th of July, they bury Billy Hargrove. Steve hates the man, but seeing him die has been horrible and he can respect who he gave his life for and acknowledge who he hurt by dying.

So, he puts his black suit on again like an armor and holds Max throughout the ceremony, watching the distance between her mom and step-dad. An ominous feeling about it hanging in the air. Sees how neither of them look back to Max or check if she’s okay.

After the funeral, he takes her to get a milkshake. Neither of them speak as they drink it in their mourning clothes, everyone giving them a wide berth.

It is a week of many funerals, it seems like everyone has lost someone.

When he brings her home, neither parent had noticed her missing, but she seems happier than when he met her at the graveyard. They’ll just have to be there for her, Steve thinks, making a note to keep an eye on her for a few months.

[quellmythirst]

When you need me - 4

Summary: You head to the club with Frankie and Matt. You're date seems to be going well..

Pairs: Ex!Military Reader x Billy Russo

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Swearing, pining, dates not the main pair, plotting, flashbacks, Frank Castle.

An: Hey! so, I am on alot of pain meds after coming out of the hospital, I hope I didnt make to many mistakes and I apologixe for the Cliff hanger.

3

You squish tight into the back of the taxi, your leg pushing up next to Matts. Frank had taken the front seat, insisting that you’d be fine in the back. The man sitting next to you, thankfully kept his hands on his lap. His cologne wafting into your nose at such close quarters, the soft, subtle scents of cedarwood and sage wafting around you, it made you feel a little sick. You’re sure it was meant to be enticing, but it was wrong. The wrong smell on the wrong man, who kept staring at you with a charming smile, that you knew would’ve worked on you, should’ve worked on you. But again, he isn’t the right guy, couldn't be the right guy. Now is not the time though, you promised Frank that you would at least give the guy a chance. So, you close your eyes, taking a silent breath before turning and giving Matt your most charming smile, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see it. Nevres creep in when he beams back. “Are you smiling at me?” 

“Uh, yeah, how’d you?”

“I bet you’ve got the prettiest smile,” Matt says, he’s about to say something else when the taxi pulls to a stop. Frank turns around from the front seat, a sly as fuck smile on his smug face. 

“Nice to see ya smile,” he laughs, stepping out of the car, “Ready to have some fun?” 

Opening the car door, nodding at Frank you roll your eyes and step out onto the sidewalk. Your eyes drift up to the warehouse, the whole thing was covered in black paint, the large windows full of flashing lights and the sound of thumping bass sleeping through the large wooden door. You spy who you assume is the doorman, probably one of Billy’s guys. He looks military, haircut still growing out, but it's his eyes that give him away, the sharp way they dart around the street. Frank confirms it when he spots him, recognizing him, he tilts his head towards the door.

“Alenko!” Frank shouts, as he approaches the man, shaking his hand. Alenko returns the gesture, his eyes grow wide when he sees you but he quickly focuses back on Frank.

“Castle, it’s been too long,” he steps back, eyeing you and the man coming up to your side. Alenko takes his time, his eyes glancing up and down at your body, ogling you in the most obvious way, making you kind of feel like a piece of meat. Maybe you should dress up more, you start to think, but you have never had a reason to, not really. The only thing you ever dress up for these days was for funerals and thank fuck, you hadn’t had to go to one in a while. It’s not like you went on dates every week or ever. Fucking hell, you can barely believe your on one now and at the club Billy works at of all places. You had hoped- No, that was dumb. He wouldn’t care, probably wouldn’t even notice you, a speck hidden in a sea of beautiful women. 

He was here though, and maybe it was kind of sad, but in the last few hours you’d been apart you missed him. Missed those easy smiles he had for you, his reassuring gaze and the calm you felt whenever he was around. He was here, you need to see Billy, your nervous at being outside, in a crowd, you were glad that he would be close by. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see how he would react to you in this dress. If this was how Alenko was reacting, Billy might, just maybe, see you as more, see that you could be sexy. Matt's arm brushes yours and you remember that you’re on a date and he at least seems to have some interest, even if Frankie did arrange this whole thing.

You turn to your side when you hear a gentle cough at your side, feeling Matt's arm brushes up against you again, "Would it be ok if you led me in?" Matt asks you, folding his cane up and slipping it into his jacket pocket, "it's harder to use in crowded places," he lowers his voice so that only you can hear, "and I got a feeling a pretty girl on my arm will keep the weirdos away." 

"Oh, yeh. Sure,"  You say, not wanting to seem rude. Your arm twitches when his hand comes into contact with your bare skin, linking your elbows together. 

"Russo is inside, you guys are right to go in," Alenko says, giving you a salute as you pass him. You don't fail to notice his eyes on your ass when you pass him.

"Bar?" Frank says, inclining his head towards it and you agree. Your eyes scan the room for Billy, while you simultaneously try to keep Matt's path free from obstructions. 

The urge to pull away fills your mind, the way his fingers are gently caressing your arm. The tight circles of his thumb giving you goosebumps, it should feel nice, comforting even. Instead it makes you want to hurl, he shouldn't be the one doing it, but with no other option you decide to enjoy the night. To push down those feelings and focus on the man who seemed very much interested. Frank was right, it had been way too long since you got laid and it's not like Billy would even notice or care.

Billy spots you the moment you enter the bar, your strong legs dripping from your dress, your hair framing your face making your features sharper, the dress he'd never seen wrapping around you tightly and accentuating your delicious body. He wonders how you somehow manage to be even more breathtaking in the flashing lights of the club, his eyes rake over you and he knows that nothing could begin to compare to the sleepy look you had given him this morning. Hoping that he could get to see it again one day. The last few days had been perfect, he wants nothing more than to wake every morning to that look as you prepare to face the day together.

His skin under his tight suit jacket begins to crawl when he sees another man's hands on you. But it wasn't his place, you weren't his. You didn’t even know, how could you? He’d never said anything and sworn Frank to secrecy when he figured it out. He had to keep his cool, he’d deal with Frank later, he had no doubt that this would have been his idea. Taking a deep breath he tries to calm his temper as he stalks toward where you where sitting.

"Hey,' Billy says, approaching you. His heart skips a beat as you smile up at him, leaping down from the high stool to pull him into a tight hug. He lets out the breath he had been holding, you had come. He had asked and you had come, "Shit, Birdie I was only gone for a few hours. Who's your friend?" Trying to keep his mask of indifference in place as he sizes up the man sat to your left, ignoring the smirk that Frank has on his face when he turns to face him. Truthfully, he had barely noticed that Frank was even here, to enraptured by you to even give a shit, too annoyed at the asshat next to you to even spare him a glance. He leans down hugging you tighter, unable to stop the predatory grin that spreads across his face as he stares down the other man, who doesn't even seem to notice. He hold's you tight, not wanting to let you go, the scent of your perfume so close. His nose pushes your hair back, eliciting a giggle from your lips. He wants nothing more than to swallow the sound, but you're pulling back so he releases you.

"Well," you say, stepping back up into your stool, the playful smile on your lips just for him. He knows you didn't see the way Frank had just watched your whole interaction. "This is Frankie, he's a sneaky motherfucker," you joke before turning, "and this is Matt, one of his friends" he feels a deep kind of dread when you pat Matt on the arm. It was only hours ago that he held you close in his arms and now you were treating this guy like an old friend.

"Bill!" Frank says, finally standing up and pulling him into a bear hug, "nice place you got here," like he doesn't know the effect this is having on him. 

"Who's he?" Billy snarls into Frank's ear. Frank laughs him off, pulling back and clapping him on the shoulder, taking his shit eating grin with him as he sits down on your right. 

"Matt Murdoch," the man introduces himself, "I'd say your place looks real nice, but-" he shrugs, raising his brow "the company's good though," the man who will be dead in 10 seconds if he keeps nudging you like that says, "not much of a handshaker?" He snips, moving his hand back and taking a long sip of his whiskey. Billy tries not to be obvious, but apparently fails when he hears Frank snicker at the way his eyes watch Matt's hand trail up your arm when he turns back to the bar.

"Need you back here," Williams says into Billy's ear piece drawing his attention from the fury building in his belly.

"Be right there," he replies, taking one last look at you and that fuckers close proximity,  "Have a goodnight," he says to you in a flat tone before he heads out into the back of the club. The wall wasn't ready for his fist, but the pain felt relieving, a distraction from the way his head was reeling. You weren't his, he kept telling himself, but fuck he wished you were. Wished he was the one bringing you here, well he had thought he was, until you showed up with Frank and his fucking friend.

"You right there boss?" William's says as she approaches him from behind.

"Fine Ash," 

"That's her then?" 

"What?"

"Yep, must be," she snickers, "you're welcome for the save, by the way," winking at him when she closes the door behind her, leaving Billy alone to ponder if everyone had seen, if you had seen. 

You try not to see the tall brunette follow Billy into the backroom, her ponytail swishing behind her when the door closes. Focusing instead on the conversation that Matt and Frank are having around you. You keep glancing at the door, counting every second that they're alone together. Matt tries his hardest to draw your attention with a question about you. You chance a peak at Frank and when his eyes meet with yours, you see something in them, he says nothing, but you know he's just caught you. 

You ignore him, turning back to Matt, hoping that he keeps his fuckin mouth shut. You listen as Matt continues his story about something that happened in college, but your eyes keep darting back to the mirror behind the bar. Watching and waiting for Billy and this random woman to emerge from the room

"Sorry," you say when Matt taps you on the arm, "it's so loud in here,"

"You're telling me," Matt laughs, "the waitress just said there's a booth open at the back, where it's a bit quieter."

"You kids go have fun," Frank winks at you.

Matt takes your arm, both of you swiveling through the crowd, making a dash for the booth, when movement from behind you catches your eye. Keeping your head forward you watch Billy exit the room alone, his hair falling down in front of his face and rubbing at his hands. Typical.

“You alright?” Matt asks from beside you, “you kinda just stopped moving for a second there,”

“Yeah,” you smile, “we’re almost at the booth. Just thought I saw someone,” 

Feeling a little lost with just this stranger at your side you pick up the pace. Failing to notice the random woman who knocks your drink, making it splatter onto the ground. The clang of glass rings in your ear and you shriek more out of shock than anything else. The woman applogises, more to Matt than you, wiping down the front of his dry jacket. Rolling your eyes, you catch the eye of the waitress who is on her way with a vacuum to pick up the mess.

You've almost reached the booth,  your ears perk up at the familiar sound, a looming voice resonating over the thumping bass of the music. You shake your head, it was something you definitely didn't expect to hear in a club in New York. "conejito" the noise following you all the way to the table. When you hear it right behind you, you spin, dropping Matt's arm and raising your fists.  "I see we meet again, conejito," he says, lightly hitting you in the arm. You were relieved to see your old friend, especially given how hands on Matt had been during your last hour of conversation and Frank is nowhere in sight.

"Vega, my old nemesis," you narrow your eyes at the man clocking him in the jaw, he narrows his eyes at you before sweeping you into a hug. His huge biceps nearly squishing the life from you, while your feet dangle inches over the floor.

"Been to long," he says setting you in the ground, "knew the guys said we had a special guest today didn't know if be you,"

"What are you doing here?" 

"Alenko got me the job, the new boss is pretty cool." He clicks his tongue, twirling you around to admire your outfit. 

"You look weird in a suit, Vega," you say to him as he spins on the tips of his toes. His eyes darting to the right when you hear a cough from behind you and remember that you're meant to be on a date, Vega seems to notice at the same time. His eyes asses the man before him, shaking his head.

"Another one of your friends?" Matt asks, adjusting his jacket and moving over so you can sit down next to him.

"He's certainly been called worse," you joke, and Vega taps you on the shoulder, "Mr Murdoch this is Jim Vega,"

"I'm her bestie," he winks, nudging you down so he can sit beside you.

"You're not my bestie," snip at Vega, your hand resting on the side of the booth, to keep him at a distance from your- from Matt.

"Closest thing you'll ever have,"

"Fuck off James,"

"You fuck off, this guy seems way to cool to be in a date with you.  Plus I thought-'' he's cut off by your knee in his calf. He didn't know about Billy exactly, but those nights you had spent over a campfire lost and alone in the desert. Maybe you had revealed too much to him, "- nevermind. I should get back to work, but I'll catch up with you later,"

"By Vega, we should catch up soon," you call from behind him, knowing that you wouldn't.

"Yeah, sure," he rolls his eyes as he heads towards the club door.

“You know for a woman who seems very put together, you've got some weird friends,”

“Oh really? Says Mr I could talk about what was his name? Foggy? All day long,” you say dryly, "So, I'm guessing this is the one, looks comfy,"

You go to step in but Matt grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips, “don't know that I've ever been called that before,” he says in a low voice. Your eyes dart from his face to your hand and you are completely blind sighted. Opting instead of answering to just laugh awkwardly and slide yourself into the booth. 

“To direct?” He laughs and you can tell right away why Frank thought this would be a good idea.

“You always this cheesy?” You ask, flagging down a waitress and ordering another round. Your eyes watching as the crowd descends onto the dancefloor. The music turning up, but still quiet in this corner of the club.

“Usually, yeah,” he smiles, his side pushing up against you while his hand glides along the back of the chair, “am I too close?” He asks, his whiskey breath right in your ear. You feel your heart start to race at his proximity, his arm almost on your shoulders when he leans in a bit closer, “do you want me to move?”

“You're fine,” you respond, surprising yourself. Well, maybe not too much. The only man you had any interest in had just come out of a supply closet with another woman. You could enjoy this, Matt is a nice guy, you tell yourself and certainly handsome enough. Even if nothing was ever going to happen with Billy, you like Matt. And the alcohol sure was helping with the nerves, the crowding and the noise.

“Now that one I’ve heard before,” he jokes, adjusting himself so his arm rests on you, “I’ve been talking about myself too much, tell me more about you,”

You regail him with stories from the war, the nicer ones and deliberately leave out Billy. Instead focusing on how you met Frank, “you certainly know how to pick your friends,” Matt says when you've finish talking, 

"Yeh, they're great," you sigh a little close to Matt, your shoulders brushing, he seems to feel it too, his leg shuffling him a little closer, "speaking of friends. Have you seen Frankie around?"

"He said something about needing to sort something out and he'd be back," 

“Hmm..” you think your eyes scanning over the swaying crowd as the music seems quieter from here, you hadn't seen Billy in hours or Frank. The last time you saw him, was- who was that? The woman following him behind that closed door? No, you didn't need to be worrying about that. It wasn't your business. You’re on a date. You shouldn't be worrying about what Billy Russo is doing or who he's doing it with.

This was the perfect corner to hide away from sight, Billy thought. Dark and secluded, all eyes in the club staring at the dancers and the dancefloor. His eyes watch Frank, leave you alone with your so-called date, opting to sit at the other end of the bar and watch you. His attention drawn when he sees Vega approach you. He had known about Vegas' reputation for sweet talking and did not want him to get his hands on you.

Shock rattles him when you glare at the man with recognition, your date easily forgotten behind you. It must have been going well, he thought smugly. He knew, knew it in his bones, that when he got your attention, he had it all.

He's surprised you know Vega, sure the guy had mentioned his little bunny, but always assumed it was a sister in the way he spoke about her. Though he's not shocked, everyone seems to just see the strong, confident woman mask that you wore and not the quiet, cranky and vulnerable woman you had been the last few days.

Though Billy was glad to see someone get between you and that scheming lawyer. The hulking man, couldn't even manage to intimidate this guy. He see's the lawyer trying to get his hands on you the second Vega turned his back. The sight makes him want to puke, or stab him or both. How could Frank think this was a good idea? Surely he knew, how could he not? Maybe he was trying to help you out? Maybe he thought he was doing the right thing? But it wasn't, it was wrong. It should be him, his hands around your waist, his jokes that making you laugh like that, him that got to see that sweet smile of yours.

He's drawn from his watch when he sees Frank approaching. Two drinks in hand and the devil in his eyes. Fuck, this can't be good.

"You know Bill," Frank says, nudging his friend on the shoulder, "I ain't never seen you scared of nothing. War, easy. Running like an idiot into an ambush to save two civilians like it's nothing. But the way you look at her," he turns, making sure that Billy is looking at him, "it's like you think she's gunna set ya alight. Like the whole worlds gunna implode if you do anything,"

Billy says nothing, his eyes dart over Frank's shoulder, watching as the man next to you says something funny and you laugh with him.

"You're going to miss ya shot and the badass I know never misses."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Billy brushes him off, leaning to the side to get a better look at how this man was touching you and you're leaning into it. He pulls his gaze away, opting instead to look at Frank. 

"Course ya don't. You weren't there, you didn't see her."

"What?" He asks, confused. See her when? He'd always seen you, the strong and sometimes delicate flower that grew in a bed of thorns.

“After she pulled you out of that shitshow you ran into–” Frank stops himself, that was all Billy needed. The bait that would finally get him asking the right questions.

“She-” he pauses, his eyes set on your face, “I thought-”

“Look man, it’s not my place. You need to talk to her about it. Have you talked? Really talked? Ever?” Frank questions, and Billy thinks back. He had tried to block out those memories, the things he was certain were a drug induced dream.

Pain filled his whole being when he had awoken in that camp hospital bed. The harsh lights beaming into his eyes and needles piercing into his skin. His eyes blinked open when he heard a soft noise. A noise that he now knew was the sound of your quiet tears. But it was a dream, the fever dream of all the drugs they had pumped into him. It wasn’t even the most exciting of the dreams, his brain had conjured you into his life. His favourite was meeting you at a bar, in a pretty sundress and a coy smile on your face. A first meeting, normal, easy going and he had asked you on a date nearly straight away. Those dreams came so easily to him in this state.

His hand was warm, the tiny fingers laced through his, a mess of hair laying out across his stomach. He had thought it was the drugs, that he had imagined you crying over him. That there was no way you were really there. You were important, too important to be spending your nights hunched next to his hospital bed. The dreams laced through his conscious mind, a mess of hair across his chest, you under his arm as he snuggled into your warmth. Your body soft and comforting when you leant back into him, I love you’s whispered under the sheets and kisses shared in the mornings. It couldn’t have been real, none of it made sense as he zoned out. Trying to sort out what had been real, when he had dismissed it all as dreams all those years ago.

He recalls Frank reassuring him, pulling him into that van. He didn’t see you. Couldn’t recall you ever actually visiting him when he had finally awoken. It was weeks before he even spotted you in camp. Had you been avoiding him?

Then there was the after, when you finally reappeared. He caught you so many times watching him, but assumed it was out of concern. You guys were friends, but he-

Something clicked in Billy's mind when he saw you flinch away from that fucking lawyers hand around your middle, he had always just assumed that the scars on your torso were from missions that he wasn't there for. But what if? “She didn't even come to see me in the hospital,”

“You serious?” Frank says, with an incredulous look, “who do you think carried that idiot so she could cry at your fuckin bed side? A ghost?”

“I- I didn't know,” he says, his brain swirling with a million things at once. So it was you who pulled him out, he hadn't dreamt the hand holding his in the middle of the night. He- he's an idiot. 

“There ya go,” Frank says, slapping him on the back, “now what are you going to do?”

“First things first, I'm going to break that assholes arm for touching her,”

“There he is,” Frank chuckles, “nice to see you finally caught up Bill,” taking Billy's place in the corner so he can have a front row seat to the show he'd been waiting so long to see.

5

Sorry ive been slacking on the Taglist:

@profoundme444 @nycophiliia @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @misstimeless @restingbitchblog @hummelmi

[pilvimarja]

So. Season 4.

I haven't really had a chance to talk about my feelings about it after my chaotic liveblog thread, but I think it's pretty obvious that I really loved it and I just have to highlight some of my favorite things:

First things first: Daniel's hottest season confirmed! Some of those joggers leggings looked like they were painted on him! 👀

It was also Johnny's DILFiest season and the season of Dad Bod Billy! He looked extra big and beefy with a hint of squish and I feel so blessed for it 🥵

The Amanda & Tory storyline! In Rosa Macchio's immortal words: I LOVED. I was so happy that they took Amanda out of the dealership and gave her a connection with someone outside of her family unit.

Minimal scenes in LaRusso Auto!

Daniel barely wore a suit and tie this season and the handful of times when he was forced to change out of his slutty athleisure, the suits actually fit him.

The LaRusso vs Lawrence rematch. They're so dumb and emotionally regressed at that point, but damn if that fight wasn't a great bit of fan service. Though Daniel attempting to use the paralyzing move on Johnny had me going :((((((( I guess it just showed how off-balance and affected by Silver's return Daniel was.

All the parallels, callbacks and references! This show has always been great at them, but they felt extra well-done in this season. I was especially emotional about the surprising similarities between Johnny and Mr. Miyagi.

I've never been that invested in the teenage characters, but this season Eli, Tory, Robby, Sam and Miguel were among my favorite characters.

Johnny's step dad energy with Sam! I've wanted to see those two bond for so long and they did it beautifully. I'm especially emotional about the tournament.

I see myself more as a Daniel stan, but Johnny really had my heart this season ❤ I love one (1) emotionally stunted himbo.

Terry Silver and his slowburn descent into madness! It's no secret that I'm not that into TKK3 version of him, but Cobra Kai Terry? Absolutely fascinating to me. And a great performance from TIG.

Another slowburn I loved is the relationship between Johnny and Daniel. Yeah, it's absolutely frustrating at times, because they've been doing this song and dance for four seasons (though it's only been one year in the CK universe, right?) and I wanted to knock their stubborn heads together, but I also...wouldn't have it any other way? Sure, I want them to get therapy and stay in that beautiful domesticity of family dinners and hockey dates, but somehow this messy Ross and Rachel-esque back and forth still felt more like them (at this point in their lives), in my opinion.

Because season 4 really drove home that both Daniel and Johnny still have a lot of personal issues. I loved seeing Daniel spiral the moment Terry Silver walked back into his life. He frustrated me, sure, but the reasons behind his behavior are such good fic and meta fodder. And then you also have Johnny with his identity crisis (he's 100% all man, okay???), all the insecurities about Miguel, and him falling off the wagon again in the most painful scene this show has ever done 😭 Johnny's tear-stained face will haunt me forever.

This was also Johnny and Daniel's h0rniest season!!! Checking each other out, the Buttercup & Farm Boy vibes Daniel brought to his training of Johnny, the 80s p0rn vibes Johnny brought to his training of Daniel, the slice of domestic life, bickering like an old married couple (or like two preschoolers who maybe kind of like each other but would rather pull each other's pigtails), the "couple-on-the-brink-of-divorce-who-still-want-each-other" vibes. Yeah that was some good shit. And that reconciliation in the final episode? That goes straight to Romantic Gestures hall of fame. The Lawrusso fandom truly dined like royalty 👑

There's a lot more, but these were the true highlights for me. I could do a list of things that didn't work for me (because there were things I didn't like), but eh, I don't feel like it. Plus I have to go and break my back shoveling snow again, because this stupid weather just won't give us a break 😬

[memes-saved-me]

It was one of those moments they found themselves in quite often. Heated words that truly had no basis in reality but there they were, sharp and mean being thrown back and forth in some sort of attempt to stop whatever this was becoming. This being the late night meet ups, the long conversations under the stars and the feeling both of them got whenever the other was near.

That deep warm yet terrifying gut feeling you get, the same one that told them both to turn the other way and hope it went away. Yet, they never did avoid one another, the opposite actually.

So, there they were out in the middle of nowhere at well past midnight shouting into the dark of the night without any thought as to why they did this. Why Billy would start and argument after a nice comment or secret he had never talked about before had been shared. Why be needed to push Steve away but let him close at the same time.

Hurtful and personal information used as a weapon as they let out whatever had been kept in, a mutual relief of pain and pent up anger towards not specifically eachother but everything else. It all got brushed off in the end, usually anyway.

That night soon became unforgettable when Steve asked why he did this, why he called him to meet him outside of town only to start a fight. Which Billy spitefully replied,

"Because of this bullshit. Your bullshit that keeps bringing me back here every god damn time."

That word ringing in Steve's ears as he took a step back and waited for Billy to say something else but he didn't. Silence fell over them and neither of them knew what to do. Steve had told Billy about that word in confidence and he had thrown it back in his face.

"Well, at least I don't go home and barricade my door because I'm scared of a man I could easily take out with one punch."

Again silence. Too deep was the cut those words sliced into Billy and yet he found himself wanting to stay. Stay with Steve.

"Screw you."

"No. Screw you."

Billy got close, pushed his finger into Steve's chest and looked into his eyes with some intention of intimidation but instead he felt his chest tighten and his stomach drop.

"You don't get to say that and go home to your big house with your parents who maybe ignore you from time to time but don't beat you when you come home without your sister."

Steve took in a deep breath and stared back.

"You don't get to throw that word in my face after what I told you about it."

Silence. Long and heavy until Steve grabbed Billy. Well, pulled him close and pressed him against himself.

"What the hell. Get off!"

"No."

Billy tried to push off him, wriggle his way out of his hold.

"Get off....get off...just...get...off."

He fell into Steve. Face buried in his chest as he let out a sob and Steve held him close. Rocked him as his own tears fell, leaving marks on his jacket as Billy clung to the collar of it. The two of them stood exactly like that for long enough. Enough time to let it all out.

Except, this time the harsh words and unwarranted fights weren't needed. As when Billy finally pulled away and Steve let him he leaned up slightly to kiss him softly. It tasted of salt, tears and when he opened his eyes to see Steve's own watery ones looking back at him he smiled.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. I'm sorry too."

Neither needed to explain why they tried to push them away, why they were scared of what was just confirmed because they knew. They knew that was the last time they'd try and rid themselves of one another, even if it meant facing what the alternative to that could possibly mean.

[yournotsolocalcryptid]

Just Someone You Used to Know

part 1/? | from this ask

NEXT (Lost In Thought and Lost In Time)

Summary: Your childhood friend Billy (whom you thought was dead) turns up at a hospital and you get a call about it.

pairing(s): Billy/Four x Gender Neutral!Reader

Warnings/authors notes: the request was for Hurt/comfort and while there's not a ton of that in this chapter there will be elements of it and also a lot of other things. angst, fluff, a lot of emotions going on here. swearing. poor writing skills, barely proofread/edited. this will be a multi-part fic, tho I don't know how many yet.

word count: 2.3k

Your phone lit up with a call from an unknown number which you promptly ignored and continued with your day as you figured If it was important they’d leave a message, which they did. When you had a free moment you grabbed your phone clicked on the message.

“Hello, is this Y/N?” said a voice you didn't recognize “I’m a nurse and a man was just brought in having sustained some injuries. when we asked him if there was anyone we could call to be with him he said your first name and listed this number. He had no forms of identification but he said his name was Billy.”

This made you stop cold. The nurse continued but you weren’t quite hearing what she said. Your mind was reeling. Billy? Your Billy? Surely not, you must’ve misheard or maybe the nurse did, or maybe the nurse misspoke and had really said “willy” or the man just spouted random numbers in a delirium caused by his injuries that happened to make up your number. That must be it because Billy is dead. Your Billy died several years ago. You attended his funeral and had mourned him with your whole being every day since.

You relistened to the voicemail to clarify you hadn’t misunderstood and there it was clear as day Billy. You ran a hand over your face and tried to focus as the voice continued, stating the name and address of there they were as well as what floor and wing of the hospital which you wrote down. You stared at the address. The rational part of you said not to go. Not to get your hopes up because Billy will not be there. Billy is in the cemetery a few miles from where you were and yet... and yet everything else in you was screaming at you to go. You knew he wouldn’t be there and you’d be heartbroken all over again but there was a man, an injured man who may not be your Billy but who needed someone nonetheless. After staring at the address for what felt like an eternity you stood abruptly, put your shoes on, grabbed your things and swept out the door.

When you arrived at the hospital you went to the desk in the correct wing and on the correct floor (you triple-checked) you stated your name and explained how you got a call about a man named Billy. The woman at the desk checked a few things and clarified your name before directing you to the waiting room. You made your way to a chair and sat on the edge of it bouncing your leg and fiddling with your fingers. You were anxious, very anxious, and your mind was racing. After a few minutes, a nurse walked in and called your name, you stood and went to her. She leads you down a hallway and stopped outside a room.

She turned to you and said, “He has a fractured wrist, face lacerations, lots of bruising, and we had to take him to surgery to stop some internal bleeding. He’s probably still asleep from the procedure but he should be all right and should no complications arise he should be about to go home within the next few days” you nodded, your eyebrows knitted together “would you like me to come in with you?” she asked and you shook your head, no. she nodded briefly and said, “I’ll be at the nurse’s station we just passed should you need anything and please press the ‘call nurse’ button when he wakes up” then she smiled warmly and went on her way.

You turned to face the door and placed a shaking hand on the handle. You took a deep breath and opened the door.

The first thing you saw when you opened the door was the beautiful blond man you’d once known lying in the hospital bed, covered in cuts and bruises and unconscious. You went to his bedside unsure of what to feel. Your heart swelled a little when you saw him, but you were also scared and hurt and confused and angry. You reached out a hand and brushed some hair out of his face, almost as a way to confirm his existence, to confirm he was actually there and you hadn't lost your mind.

As your fingertips made contact, your eyes dropped shut and your lip quivered. You retracted your hand and collapsed onto the floor as sobs tore through your body, your mind swirling with questions. How was he alive? Why did he tell them to call you of all people? Where has he been this whole time? How could he have faked his death? How could he have put you through that? How was he back?

After a while, the sobbing and tears subsided and a certain numbness took over you as the questions faded to be replaced with memories. Memories of Billy danced through your mind as you sat on the floor, cheeks streaked with the tears you hadn’t bothered to wipe away. Billy was your best friend and your first… everything really. First kiss, first love, first sexual partner, first heartbreak, first death of a loved one- or so you’d thought anyway, the first person you’d ever mourned and now, the first person you’d ever known to somehow return from the dead. Billy and you had what seemed like a complicated history, friends to lovers back to friends but he had been your person in every way. He was the one you went to about everything and you were his. His “death” had crushed you. But now, he was just someone you used to know.

You were brought back to reality by shifting in the bed before you and the sound of a sharp intake of breath. You glanced up and saw Billy looking at you, his face twisted in pain and his casted hand holding his ribs. He had clearly tried to sit up on his own. You stood and pushed him back down. With one hand still on his chest, you reached for the button to call the nurse. As you did you felt his unharmed hand cover yours and you froze. You could feel him looking at you but you couldn't get yourself to look back. You heard the doorknob rattle and you pulled away from him, wiping your face on your sleeve and turned to see the same nurse as before entering the room. You gave her a quick, tight smile and sat in one of the chairs near the bed. Over the next several minutes as the nurse checked in with Billy you sat numbly. You saw Billy glance your way once or twice but you paid no attention. You just zoned out. When the nurse turned to leave you shot her another quick smile.

Once the door closed behind her, you saw Billy open his mouth to speak up you held up a hand to stop him. The two of you sat in silence for a long while as you wrestled with your emotions. Your heart telling you to go to him, be happy he’s back and love him, your mind telling you to scream, yell, chew him out because how very dare he hurt you like that? and your body was telling you to just break down again.

After a long while, choosing your words very carefully, you said, “did you have a good reason?”

Billy gulped, knowing exactly what you were referring to “yeah, love. but I-” you held up a hand again and he stopped again instantly

“I am so pissed at you right now. I can’t-” you took a deep breath “I accept that you had a reason but I lost my best friend, my-” you paused “I lost everything when I lost you and now you’re here. And I’m so fucking angry but also… you’re here. You’re actually fucking here and shit… I’m so mad at you. How fucking dare you”

Billy was silent, staring at his lap

You sat in silence again. Both unsure of what to say or do or feel. Both aching for each other, having missed the other dearly. As upset as you were, Billy was actually here. He was right there, just a few steps away and you just couldn’t help yourself. You stood and his head whipped toward you. You went to his bedside and gestured for him to scooch over, which he did with a puzzled look on his face, and you lay on your side next to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I missed you” you whispered as you gently played with his fingers on his non-injured hand.

Billy leaned over, placed a kiss on your forehead, and said “I missed you too, love”

Before long you had both dozed off and you slept more peacefully than you had in a long while. Since Billy’s death actually, but you couldn't bring yourself to remember that just yet.

After a while, you weren’t sure exactly how long, you were woken up by Billy poking at your forehead and whispering your name. You batted his hand away and glared at him

“What?”

“I need to wee and you’re on me”

You sighed, swung your legs over the side of the small bed and sat up. You stretched and stood. Ben groaned behind you and you turned to find him struggling to sit up as he had before and once again you went to him but this time you helped him up. As he went about his business you decided to head to the nurses station for a stretch and to see if the nurse you’d spoken to before was still here. She was and for that, you were grateful as you had some questions.

You spoke to her about Billy and his injuries and care. She said he seemed to be doing well when she saw him earlier, that his injuries were not too extensive and the surgery for the internal bleeding was as minimally invasive as was possible and that while he would be good to leave the hospital very soon (tomorrow or the day after depending on her next check-in with him) he would need to be released into someone else’s care to keep an eye on his recovery and so on. Then she said,

“I assume that would be you”

“Me?”

“You”

You gulped and took a form she was holding out to you. Taking care of Billy... Living with Billy through his healing process… as much as you’d missed him and as much as your heart ached for him you were so afraid he’d leave again. What if he used your help then bailed? No, not Billy. You told yourself. Yes he left before but he’s not a user and he said he had a good reason for what he did, and because it was Billy, you believed him.

“You’ll both need to sign it agreeing that he is in your care for the hospital to feel good about letting him leave this early but of course we can’t make you guys sign it or technically make him stay”

You nodded “I’ll talk to him” and you started to drift off to his room still staring at the form

“I’ll be in shortly before the end of my shift and again tomorrow morning”

You nodded again even though you were nearly at his door already and it was unlikely she could see such a subtle movement of your head from there.

You stepped back into his room and found him back in bed.

“What’s that?” he asked pointing at the paper in your hand

“A form” you said still lost in thought and drifting toward his bed. When you got close enough he reached out and snatched it from your hands.

“Release form?” He questioned his eyebrows scrunching together “I, the undersigned, agree to be released into the care of..” he stopped reading and looked at you “what is this?”

“They think you’ll be all ready to leave the hospital possibly as soon as tomorrow providing you have someone to keep track of you, which they assume will be me”

“Well, yeah. why wouldn’t it be you?”

You opened your mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words to express everything going on in your head.

Billy set the form down and reach out to you with both hands. You took his hands in yours and he pulled a bit so you tipped onto the bed and he pulled you into a tight hug. “I’ll explain everything, where I was, what happened to me, why I-" he paused "everything. I promise. But not here, not now. I fucked up by not telling you about all this as it happened and I’ve regretted it every day since”

You pulled away from him and grabbed the - now slightly crumpled- form from where he’d placed it on his lap and left the room. Billy watched as you left, confused and scared but then you swept back into the room, with a pen in hand and you signed the form. You handed Billy the form and the pen and said, “I’ve gotta go home, see you tomorrow” and you left again leaving Billy in a bit of a daze.

When you got back to the small place you called home, you got nervous. Billy had been your best, well… everything for so many years, he’d seen you at your worst and your best and he’d seen your home in greater disarray than it was now and yet you were nervous about him seeing your life like this. So you cleaned and tidied until you couldn’t think of anything else to dust or move and when you finally went to bed that night you dreamt of Billy. A mix of fact and fiction intertwined in your brain as you slept fitfully. Happy turned to sad, sad turned to confusing and confusing turned to scary until you awoke with a jolt.

witing tag list: @transeliot @sarah0687

want to be added or removed from my writing tag list? just let me know :)

[writerwhowritesao3]

prompty prompt (if you're comfortable with it): bottom!Billy wanting to be topped/railed hard but being embarassed/ashamed about it (internalized homophobia + toxic masc from Neil,etc). Steve gets it and gives him what he needs.

Anon. Dearest anon. My sweet baby angel. 

Of course I’m comfortable writing this. 

Smut after the cut:

So Billy and Steve have been having sex for a few weeks now. And it’s great. Steve knows what he’s doing and so does Billy, so the sex is fan-fuckin-tastic. The only thing though, is that all of their sex has not included penetration. Which is fine! Sex doesn’t need to be penetrative. Steve and Billy have been getting each other off in a variety of ways: oral sex, hand jobs, frottage...it’s all good. It feels great. They love touching each other and giving each other orgasms. 

But Billy isn’t 100% satisfied. He knows what he wants: he wants Steve to fuck him in the ass. Billy’s bottomed before. For guys back in California, and only with random hookups so he wouldn’t have to face them ever again. When he had bottomed in the past, it had hurt, but the pain kind of morphed into this sick pleasure. Maybe it was because Billy knew he wasn’t supposed to like it. After all, only fags liked that stuff, right? But Billy can’t deny that that’s exactly what he wants: to be manhandled and railed so hard he cries. 

He can’t ask Steve to fuck him like that. He’s way too embarrassed to admit to Steve, who he’s so goddam attracted to and likes so goddamn much, what he’s been craving. What if Steve isn’t into it? What if Steve thinks he’s a freak for wanting that? What self-respecting man wants another man to penetrate him? 

...

They’re making out in Steve’s bedroom. Shirts and jeans are off. They’re lightly rutting against each other in their underwear. Billy is on top of Steve, straddling his lap. Steve cups his ass and Billy can’t help but let out a soft whine against Steve’s mouth. 

“Love your ass,” Steve says, his voice low and husky.

“Yeah?” Billy asks shakily. 

Steve hums in confirmation and slips his hands underneath the fabric of Billy’s briefs. His fingers lightly graze his crack. 

“God, want you to—” Billy stops himself just before he says it. 

“What?” Steve asks. 

Billy feels his face get hot. He hides his face behind his hands and shakes his head. Steve sits up. 

“Hey,” Steve says gently. “Baby, what is it?” He caresses Billy’s hair and kisses his temple. “What do you want me to do?”

Billy hesitates. 

“Want you to fuck me,” he mumbles behind his hands. 

“Mm, yeah?” Steve encourages, kissing him again. “How do you want me to fuck you?”

“Like...” Billy shrugged, still covering his face. He can’t bear to look at Steve. “Hard? Rough?”

“I can do that,” Steve murmurs, his voice deepening. “Want me to fuck that tight little hole? Hold you down and make you come on my cock?”

Billy shudders. He nods frantically. Steve gently pulls his hands away from his face. He kisses him sweetly on the lips. 

And then grabs him by the waist and flips him over on the bed so that Steve is hovering over him. Steve kisses him hungrily, teases his neck with his teeth. Holds Billy down by the wrists. 

He grabs lube and a condom from his nightstand drawer Wastes no time slicking up his fingers and sliding one into Billy’s hole. One becomes two, which then become three. Billy is gasping and whimpering beneath him, loving the stretch and feeling himself loosen bit by bit. He cries out as Steve’s fingers press down against his prostate. 

“Steve, please,” he begs, his face flushed. 

Steve pulls his fingers out. Billy whines at the loss, feeling too empty. Steve flips him over again, getting Billy on his hands and knees. Billy hears him put the condom on. 

Steve slides himself into Billy with one smooth motion, punching the air out of Billy’s lungs. Steve doesn’t wait for Billy to adjust; he just starts thrusting in and out, hard and fast. It aches and burns but God, Steve is nailing his spot with every snap of his hips, and it’s so sinfully good. Billy is moaning. Almost wailing into the pillow. His eyes are watering. Words flowing out of his mouth like “yes, God, please, oh fuck, Steve please, harder, don’t stop, please”

Billy’s close. He reaches a hand underneath him to touch himself. Steve stops for a second to grab both of his wrists and yank them behind his back. He hold Billy’s wrists in one hand and continues to fuck him rough and mercilessly. After a little while longer, Steve reaches around and barely touches Billy’s cock before he comes hard, crying out into the pillow. Steve continues to fuck him, harder, until he comes.

Afterwards, Steve takes such tender care of Billy. He cleans him up with a damp washcloth. Lightly runs his fingertips over his back and strokes his hair. Holds him close and kisses him softly and whispers “so good, baby, you did so good.” Patiently waits for Billy’s limbs to stop trembling. 

Whenever Billy had been railed like that in the past, he had gone home immediately after, tried his best to ignore the stabs of shame and sadness and loneliness the encounters always left. 

Right now, though, Billy feels none of that. For the first time, Billy feels safe and loved and cared for. 

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: ERICAAA!!! FRICKIN FINALLY!! Less important note, but when writing about Y/n, El and Max, I wrote "the three friends" and autocorrect literally changed "friends" to "fruits". Yelmax confirmed 💀

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"It is fascinating what twenty bucks will get you at the County Recorder's Office," Robin reports, unfurling what looked to be a familiar layout on the break room table. "Starcourt Mall. The complete blueprints."

"Not bad," Dustin smirks from her left.

"So this is us," she points to a familiar-looking room before gesturing across the map. "Scoops, and this is where we wanna get."

"Yeah, I don't really see a way in," Steve mumbles from his seat at the table.

"There's not. If,"

She rips away a layer of the blueprint, revealing a vastly complicated map of air ducts, pipelines, and detailing that made up Starcourt.

"you're talking exclusively about doors."

Dustin looks at her with excitement growing in his eyes. "Air ducts!"

"Exactly," she smirks, making her way to the whiteboard to retrieve the magic marker. "Turns out, this secret room needs air just like any old room and these air ducts lead all the way" she circles the secret room in question, drawing one, interrupted line right back to, "here."

Dustin and Steve finally tear their eyes away from the map and follow Robin's mischievous eye. All the way to the air duct tucked away in the far corner of the Scoops Ahoy break room.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

To their surprise, a screwdriver had been harder to find than a ladder but soon enough Steve had managed to reach the air vent and unscrew it from the wall. But as he stood here now, peering down into the vent he quickly realized they were now facing yet another obstacle.

"Flath'ligh'?" Steve asked, finally removing the screwdriver from his mouth and shaping it for the small torchlight Dustin had waiting. "Thank you,"

The flashlight turns on with a tiny click and a soft yellow light bounces down the narrow metal tunnel, enunciation the frown on Steve's face.

"Yeah, I don't know man, I don't know if you can fit in here, it's like... super tight."

"I'll fit," Dustin smirks. "Trust me. No collarbones, remember?"

"Uh, excuse me?" Robin asks.

Steve jumps down from the ladder, turning to Robin as Dustin begins the climb and gives her a nod.

"Oh, he's uh, he's got so disease," he frowns thoughtfully, racking his brain as he tries to recall the word. "It's chrydo... um... something, yeah I don't know. He's missing bones and stuff, he can bend like Gumbo."

"You mean... Gumby?"

"I'm pretty sure it's Gumbo," he snorts.

"Just shut up and push me!" Comes Dustin's muffled voice from the vents.

By now he had wormed himself halfway in, his bottom half sticking out of the wall and still propped up on the latter while they had been talking.

"Okay,"  Steve huffed, motioning knowingly to the kid's feet and turned away from Robin.

She watched with a tired, lazily bemused expression as Steve grabbed a less than sturdy hold of the kid's feet and attempted to push.

"Not my feet, dumbass, push my ass!"

"Uh, what?"

"TOUCH MY BUTT! I DON'T CARE!" Came Dustin's impatient scream from the walls.

With a heavy grimace, Steve hesitantly began pushing against Dustin's rear end and his muffled anger grew louder.

"I'm pushing!" Steve argued.

"PUSH HARDER!" Dustin shrieks as he attempts to inch further into the metal vents. "You're playing with my legs!"

"I'm not playing, I have terrible footing!"

"Come on!"

Steve finally makes it to the top of the latter, Dustin's legs bunched together over his shoulders and locked under his arm as their voice continued to shout over one another.

"I'm gonna just shove you, ready?"

"Just shove me?"

"One, two..."

"Shit!"

"That work?"

"One more time,"

Robin rolls her eyes, finally turning away when she hears the sudden rapid chimes of the customer bell out front and all too familiar patron.

"Ahoy, sailors! All hands on deck!"

Through the partition window, Robin meets eyes with none other than Erica Sinclair who flashes her an exaggerated salute and rings the bell knowingly.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Laughter and joyful screams filled the chlorine-soaked air, the smell of the pool lingering with sunblock was strong enough it wafted all the way to the parking lot where the majority of the Party now stood at the Hawkins pool. It looked quite different than it had the day before when Y/n, Max, and El had last been, but the tension weighing down the atmosphere seemed just as heavy and ever-present.

The storm had of course long since lifted, and the sun was now beating down heavily on their backs as they took shelter behind a Rust Red AMC Hornet, all eyes across the lot on the occupant in the lifeguard chair.

Billy.

He was squished underneath the bright red beach umbrella, hidden underneath a baseball cap, thick shades, a long-sleeved sweater, and a white beach towel draped over his legs where they poked out into the sun. He was completely covered.

"I don't know," Max begins, peering through the group's binoculars. "He looks pretty normal to me,"

"Normal?" Lucas scoffs. "How many times have you seen him with a shirt on?"

Y/n smiles weakly from where she stands in between him and Will. Max lowers the binoculars, conceding a wince.

"I mean, it's a little weird,"

"More than a little," Mike nods. "He was in a tub with ice. The Mind Flayer likes it cold. Plus everything El saw—"

"But he's lounging at the pool," Max argues, doubtfully. "Which is like, the least Mind Flayer thing ever,"

"Not necessarily," Will says, pulling everyone's attention. "The Mind Flayer likes to hide. He only used me when he needed me. It's like... like you're dormant. And then, when he needs you,"

All eyes return to Billy.

"...you're activated."

Y/n gulps, shifting on her feet from where she had previously stood rooted to the spot. Ever since that dreaded Halloween night the previous year, nothing seemed to have been the same. The Mind Flayer had set his sights on Will, and in turn, her. Slowly but surely, he had infected all of their lives as he had the town of Hawkins; spreading his rot and poison, and his hate. She could still feel it sometimes; the pain of Will's nails raking into her face and leaving behind the faded scar that had already long since disappeared.

Her eyes dart back through the fence at the suspicious-looking lifeguard and her insides twisted further into a sickening knot. The thought of the Mind Flayer's possible return was enough to drain the color from her face and leave a chill in the humid, sticky summer air. Her mind was running rapid with fear but the sound of Max's voice was enough to return her to earth.

"Okay, so we just..." she shrugs, looking back over towards her brother. "wait until he gets activated."

"No," Mike says with the shake of his head. "What if he hurts someone?"

"Or kills someone?" Will counters, and the Wheeler boy nods.

"We can't take that chance. We need to find out if he's the host,"

"Well, how do we do that?" Lucas asks.

The Party falls silent. The weight of the air growing heavier and heavier as it dawns on them. And one by one, each pair of eyes trickle over to the only present Henderson sibling in the Party. Her head is hung, propped-up against the hood and when she senses the eyes on her she straightens, breathing a sigh. But Will was already shaking his head.

"What? No, no way," he says to Mike and the others, Y/n already turning to him. "No, Y/n, I don't think it's a good idea,"

"I don't like it either," Y/n fretted. "but it's our best chance. The Mind Flayer hates me, and I can push his limits. It's the fastest way."

"And if, by some random chance, Billy isn't the host?" Will countered gently. "He'd find out about you,"

Y/n didn't have a reply for that. Truthfully, she didn't know whether to be relieved or angered he had cornered her. She just stood there, frowning at the concrete sidewalk biting her lip thoughtfully. She tried to think of a way to use her abilities subtly, but all her experience with heat came from seismic blasts or concentrated bursts from her hands. If she attempted that on Billy, he would surely know it.

"There's gotta be another way," Mike cuts in. "I mean, a safe way that doesn't risk you getting hurt or discovered."

Y/n and Will - even El - shoot him a funny look and he shifts under the sudden attention, guiltily.

"What about the sauna?" Lucas says, lighting up.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, it's perfect!" He grins, stepping out from around the car and motioning for Will and Mike. "Come on,"

Seemingly catching onto Lucas's idea, Mike wastes no time in following. And Will hesitantly steps away, sending Y/n and his friends an apologetic shrug.

"Where are you going?" El called after them, exasperated.

"Sorry! Boys only!" Mike throws over his shoulder.

Max scowls after them. "Seriously?!"

"Just trust us!" Lucas cries.

"We'll be back," Will shrugs again. "... I guess."

The three friends sigh, throwing less than impressed looks at the retreating boys. Privately, Y/n wondered if Mike stood any chance of harm just from her glaring at him in this moment. She hadn't shared these feelings with anyone, but since reuniting with Will something had been troubled Ling him and he wouldn't say what. She could spot it right away, the shift in demeanor but she knew it was something different from the return of the Mind Flayer somehow. And she believed it had something to do with Mike.

He was acting differently around him. He had been for some time now, as she had with Max and even El but this was different. Something had happened, and because Will was, well, Will, he was clearly trying to put aside for the sake of everyone's safety. Y/n couldn't really blame him there, but she wished he would open up to her. Tell her what was wrong.

And she wished more than anything she could fix whatever Mike had clearly broken.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"All we gotta do is wait until the pool closes and everyone leaves," Lucas begins, guiding his friends through the first layer of the men's locker rooms. "And then get him from here..."

He steps forward, quickly ripping open the secondary door. The three boys scurry inside, and Lucas's friends quickly seem to catch on to his plan and a small smile grows on Will's face.

"And get him into here," Lucas eagerly rips open the sauna door, expecting to see nothing but steam but his luck had run out.

Five sweaty adult men in towels sat packed in the sauna like sardines, scowls on their faces for the three party members who interrupted their steam. "Hey! Shut the door!"

-"Come on, kid!"

-"Shut it!"

Lucas finally broke from his stupor and slammed the door shut, shuddering.

"I think I just threw up in my mouth,"

Will nodded with a grimace, but shook it off when his eyes landed on the wall beside the door.

"The controls!"

Mike's still bulging, haunted eyes finally broke away from their zoning out and jumped to the wall where Will was pointing. His face lit up.

"We can control from the outside, it's perfect!"

"Do you think it'll get hot enough?" Will asks, feeling more and more relieved by the second. "Like, "Y/n" hot?"

His friends immediately stopped, looking to him with a deadpan expression. Will scoffed at them. "You know what I mean" he snarked, not in the mood though he was trying to ignore the hint of a blush creeping up on his skin.

"Nevermind that," Lucas says. "Look right, here, 220 degrees. That's definitely enough."

"Okay, so we just need to figure out how to get him into here," Will nods towards the sauna door.

"Precisely."

"Then we lock him in," Mike says.

Lucas nods. "-heat him up,"

And Will manages another somewhat relieved smile. "-and no matter what happens, we'll know for sure."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Erica descends from the latter, the flashlight in her hands flicking off with a loud click as she strides up to the break room table where her recruits stood waiting. The group had taken a calculated risk I confiding in the young girl, but she was smart and demanded the information and why they needed to know if she could fit into the air duct in the back room. So here they stood, waiting with anxious breath for her verdict.

"Yeah, I don't know," she says, propping herself up on the edge of the table rather unimpressed.

"You don't know if you can fit?" Dustin asks.

"Oh, I can fit. I just don't know if I want to,"

"Are you claustrophobic?" Robin tries.

Amused, Erica gives the young woman a pitiful laugh. "I don't have phobias."

"Okay, well," Steve begins with a shrug. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is I still haven't heard what's in this for Erica,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Steve slides another banana boat ice cream float across the table, joining the already plentiful dairy banquet laid out for the Sinclair girl. She merely gave it a single, disinterested glance and slid it back.

"More fudge please,"

Nobody said anything. And Steve just stared back at the table with tired, glazed-over eyes before Erica sent him a dismissive wave.

"Go on,"

He gave a sigh, and left the booth with the Banana boat in hand, and retreated to the counter. Robin took that as her cue and pulled out the marked-up blueprints she had at her side.

"Alright, you see this?" She points from the circle marked Scoops Ahoy and trail connecting over the flipped map. "This is the route you're gonna take. Then we just wait until the last delivery goes out tonight then you knock out the grate. Jump down. Open the door."

"Then you find out what's in those boxes?" She asks.

"Exactly,"

"And you say this guard is armed?"

"Yes," Dustin quickly nods. "But he won't be there,"

"And booby traps?"

"Booby traps?" Robin echoed.

"Lazers, spikes in the wall,"

Robin couldn't help but give a small laugh, but Erica was all too serious. She turned to the two with a serious look.

"You know what this half-baked plan of yours sounds like to me? Child endangerment."

"We'll be in radio contact with you the whole time-"

"Uh! Uh! Uh!" Erica stops her. "Child. Endangerment."

Robin sighs, ignoring the knot wanting to twist in her stomach. She knew she was right, and Robin supposed she just didn't want to admit to herself what they were asking not only of themselves but the young girl.

"Erica?" Dustin began. "Hi, uh... We think these Russians want to do harm to our country. Great harm. Don't you love your country?"

"You can't spell America without Erica," she shrugs, taking a long and loud sip from her complimentary Scoops Shake.

Dustin just blinks at her response and concedes with a nod. "Uh... yeah. Oddly, that's uh... weirdly true, so... so! Don't do this for us! Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man. Do this for America, Erica."

Erica, who had been slurping her drink through her straw throughout his entire speech, finally finished it off and shivered, sending him a smirk. "Ooh! I just got the chills."

Dustin smiled proudly.

"Oh, yeah," she quickly corrects, her smile falling. "From this float. Not your speech."

His smile falls right off his face.

"You know what I love most about this country?" Erica began. "Capitalism. Do you know what capitalism is?"

Both Robin and Dustin mumble a 'yeah'.

"It means this is a free market system, which means people get paid for their services depending on how valuable their contributions are. And this seems to me that my ability to fit into that little vent is very, very valuable to you all. So-"

Robin and Dustin share a worried look.

"-you want my help? This U.S.S. Butterscotch better be the first of many. And I'm talking free ice cream for life,"

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[instasiswetrust]

Bloodshot

Brown eyes stare into the void.

And the void stares right back.

Pitch-black and dark.

Dark, darker, and yet darker.

Vaguely, he registers liquid inside his mouth. His lungs. His chest. A part of his brain that's still working whispers that he's choking. Weird. He thought it would hurt more than this. Thought there would be more panic and flailing. Desperation to breathe.

Instead, all he feels is calm.

There's a sense of peace that instills in his body. Fills every crevice, nook, and cranny inside his flesh. Inside his bones.

Yes, he's dying, but he's accepted this as an immutable fact.

What use is there for panic when the croon of Miss Death is already so sweet in his ear? Why should he flail and claw to a life filled with heartache and pain, when instead he could stay in this calm embrace forever?

He's dying, and he's fine with this.

At first, he thinks he might be at the quarry. It would make sense. Maybe he was too drunk, tripped, and slipped off the ledge. Those kinds of things tend to happen to lonely people like him. Maybe others will think he jumped, instead. That's fine too.

But the liquid in his mouth tastes salty and coppery. A little too thick to be water.

Oh. Right.

Blood. He was choking on his own blood.

Things are coming back to him in slow increments. Flashes of scenes. He understands now where he is.

Or was.

Time is confusing when you're dying.

They had been in the tunnels. The demodogs had been close at their heels and the entrance just a few feet away. He had been so scared, utterly terrified, but not for himself. Never for himself. He needed to get the kids out first, all of them.

And he had.

Too bad it had been just a second too late for him.

Just as he was about to reach for the rope, a strong body had crashed into him and he had fallen on his back. Pain had jolted through his nerves as claws dug themselves into the skin of his chest. He remembers being vaguely concerned about the wetness spreading in his chest before that maw had bloomed into the most horrifying of flowers, and the petals wrapped themselves around his neck.

He thinks Dustin might've screamed. Steve felt bad that the kid had to see him like that.

But now the pain was no more and he was suspended in the void. Calm. Serene. Accepting.

Death was peaceful.

Until it wasn't.

---

The thing that crawled out of the earth, a whole week after the gate was closed, was not Steve Harrington.

At least not anymore.

Not in a way that mattered.

He still looked the same. Sounded the same. Moved the same. Felt the same.

He could think, and like, and long for things the same way he could when he had been alive.

But his mind was never quiet these days.

Hunt. Feed. Claw. Rip.

Blood.

A never-ending loop of words strung together until they sounded unrecognizable until they no longer made sense. And yet the feelings that came with the words would never go away.

Not when he started cooking his meat less and less to the point he resorted to just shoveling spoonfuls of raw hamburger meat into his mouth.

Not when he passed by the rotting corpse of a deer in the woods and had to take a moment to wipe the drool off his chin because for some reason the scent was appetizing.

Not when he gave in and hooked up with Nina Collins, and she let him bite her neck until he drew blood.

They never went away. Neither did the gnawing hunger inside of him.

And Steve could only be so dumb. He knew perfectly well what it was the voice in his head wanted. Could recognize it in the way his dreams had been filled with spiked bats hitting skin, breaking bones, and hands burying themselves in a mess of blood and guts.

He only wondered for how much longer he could hold himself back.

The answer came to him less than a week later.

---

First thing he notices when he wakes up, is that the hunger is blessedly gone.

For a single moment, he's glad. Happy and relieved. Until realization settles in and horror fills his chest.

Second thing he notices is that he's naked, sitting in a puddle of blood. The scent is strong.

And appetizing.

It makes him curl up onto his side and retch, but thankfully nothing comes up.

Quiet breathing is what clues him on the third thing. It also freezes him in place.

Somebody is looking at him. Saw what he did. Who he is. What he is.

Fuck.

Then they speak.

Double fuck.

"I knew you were fucked up, Harrington. Didn't think you were this fucked up though."

It's not the words that make him turn, eyes open wide. It's the voice. Because he knows that voice. Because it's Billy Hargrove's voice.

Ain't that just nice?

With the hunger and the voices gone, at least for the time being, it's much easier to try and recall the events of the night before. Steve almost wishes he couldn't though, because what he experiences -- not sees because those creatures don't have eyes -- is so repulsive that he can feel nausea clawing up his throat again.

"I killed your dad."

It's a fact, not a question. He doesn't need confirmation, his memories of the event are clear albeit fuzzy.

"And ate him. Yeah."

The fact that Hargrove doesn't sound horrified, or scared in the slightest, confuses Steve. He forces himself to ignore the panic, the nausea, and the embarrassment warring for his immediate attention and instead focuses on Hargrove's face.

Hargrove meets his gaze unflinchingly.

There's not a single ounce of remorse in those blue eyes but then again, why would there be?

After all, the bruises and cuts that litter his face and naked chest, speak enough about the type of man Neil Hargrove was.

"I did not... hurt you, right?"

Steve doesn't remember having approached Hargrove. The demodog hadn't wanted to hurt Hargrove, like at all. Still, he has to make sure. Just to put his mind at ease, of course. Not because he's worried about Hargrove or anything.

Hargrove shakes his head, frowning. The bruises must hurt pretty bad though because he winces. "You don't remember?"

"The memories are... fuzzy." Steve grimaces, pushing down another bout of nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. "It's not- I'm not- I know what it looks like but I'm not that thing, okay? The dog- That's not me."

"And yet I watched that thing morph back into you. You are still lying in a pool of blood, you know?" He sounds unimpressed. Slightly annoyed too. "You just said you have memories of it. I'd say that counts as you being that thing, Harrington."

Yeah, okay. Steve can't really counter that logic. Doesn't help lessen the knot of guilt that sits heavy at the pit of his stomach, though.

"Fine. Okay. Yes. I just-" But the words die on his tongue because he's not sure how to even finish that sentence. He's just what? Horrified? Guilty? Considering taking a dive off the quarry or meet the bad end of Nancy's shotgun?

Hargrove must have read the indecisiveness on his expression because he huffs, crossing his arms. He winces again and Steve’s almost tempted to demand he take it easy.

"Here's what we are going to do, Harrington." His voice has an unexpected strength to it that commands all of Steve’s attention. “You're going to take a shower, borrow some clothes, then I'm going to clean off all this blood before Max and Susan get back, and then we're going to talk about Neil’s sudden disappearance. Understood?”

“Uh...”

Hargrove was... helping him. He was helping him cover up a murder. The murder of his own father. Hargrove watched as the demodog fucking ate his dad, morphed back into Steve, and now he was helping him.

Steve wasn't sure how he was feeling about this but grateful and confused came pretty close to explaining it.

“I asked if you understood, Harrington.”

“Yeah I uh, yeah. I understand.”

So that's how he found himself in Hargrove's kitchen half an hour later, clad in grey sweatpants and an AC/DC shirt that had seen better days. Hargrove sat in front of him, idly eating from a bowl of Lucky charms, his gaze not straying far from Steve.

The clank of the spoon as it fell back into the empty bowl was jarringly loud in the awkward silence.

"You really don't remember what happened last night, then?"

His gut reaction was to say no. He didn't remember anything. That the memories were fuzzy and the thing wasn't him. But that would be lying, wouldn't it?

And he had to admit that being able to share this secret with somebody else, even if it was Billy Hargrove of all people, felt like a much-needed reprieve of all the bullshit life had been throwing at him lately.

"I do but as I said, it's fuzzy. Fragmented, I guess?" He looks down at the table, drumming his fingers on the worn tabletop. "This thing, it doesn't see things as we do. Doesn't have eyes."

Hargrove hums, and Steve can see the way he leans back on the chair. Feels those eyes on him, not moving. It should set him on edge but instead, it makes him feel grounded. Like this is the first time, since he crawled out of the earth that somebody bothers to truly look at him.

It makes him want to look up and meet that gaze.

So that's exactly what he does.

"It was you that I- that the demodog was hunting, not your dad." Steve is glad he doesn't look away because it allows him to see the shadow of regret that crosses those blue eyes. "But then I- it jumped through the window. Saw what was happening. So the prey changed."

"And you have lived with this thing for how long?"

"Technically speaking, I'm not alive. Haven't been since that night in November, a little after the whole thing at the Byers."

Hargrove blinks, taken aback by what must surely sound like nonsense considering Steve was sitting across from him, breathing and talking. He's not sure how to explain it either but he knows with unwavering certainty that he's not alive anymore.

Not like he should be.

Not completely.

Liminal spaces. Whatever. Fuck.

"One of those things bit me. Dustin saw it happen too. Or at least saw the blood. And I remember dying." He shrugs, drums his fingers again just to have something to do. Restlessness eats at him but he's still under Hargrove's gaze and the itch to run has settled for now. "A week later I apparently dug my way out of the earth and Hopper found me at the junkyard. I can't remember it at all."

The marred skin of his throat is evidence enough. These days he does his best to cover it up with makeup or turtlenecks, not wishing to deal with the unwanted questions that would undoubtedly come. Not to mention that Dustin can't see it without tearing up. Kid still has nightmares about Steve covered in blood with his throat ripped out.

"Shit, Harrington." Hargrove tangles a hand in his blond curls, pulling lightly on the strands. As if the pinpricks of pain could reassure him about all this being real. "This is what you and those snot-nosed brats were up to that night? Fighting these things? Are you insane?"

"Only a little." The self-deprecating grin that accompanied it really sold it.

Steve watched as Hargrove's hands formed into fists, a dangerous sort of fire lighting up in his eyes. It lasted for a second or two before the fight left his body in a rush, body slumping slightly into the chair. It was a little impressive.

"What even are these things?"

The thing is, Steve's not even sure what those creatures are. He says as much and spends the next fifteen minutes explaining what he knows -- and what he's theorized -- about Will Byers, the Upside Down, the Mindflayer, and Hawkins Lab. Surprisingly enough, Hargrove listens through it all without commentary.

"Nobody understood how I was alive but I didn't want to question it too much. Guess I already knew something was wrong with me but I didn't want to see it."

Hargrove's eyes have drifted down to his empty cereal bowl but it doesn't seem like he's really looking at it. After a moment, he nods. "Okay so what now, Harrington?"

Steve's taken aback by the question, not understanding what Hargrove is getting at. "What do you mean what now?"

If looks could kill, he's sure that he would be dead again. Hargrove heaves an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before facing Steve.

"Harrington, I knew you were an idiot but this is too much even for you." Steve makes a sound of protest but Hargrove throws him a look and he goes quiet again. "The demodog needs to eat people to live, meaning you need to eat people to live. So tell me, what are you going to do about that?"

"Oh."

Well fuck.

[catharrington]

Strawberry Seeds and Love Potions. (T, 2.4K words)

@harringroveweekoflove day 2: LOVE POTION && MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURES. Also including: witch Robin, post season 3 recovering Billy, flustered but giving it his best Steve, and cat boys. Or cat men? No, cat boys.

***

The coffee mug clicked onto the table with an otherworldly menace. Steve’s brown eyes darted to it, then back up to Robin. He furrowed his brows in a question. But before he could open his mouth, she held up her hand.

“It’s not poison,” she explained.

“Could have fooled me, Robs,” Steve hissed.

“It’s called a potion, dingus. It’s going to help!” She pushed the cup farther down the bar. The diner around them was mostly closed, and Robin was the only waitress in the place. Her peach colored apron brought out the green of her wide, devious eyes.

“Potion... poison... that’s like one letter different,” Steve leaned back in his stool away from the mug.

“Wow, so you know how to spell. What other skills will you showcase, The Amazing Harrington?” Robin’s lips curled up in an evil grin, leaning her body over the bar to dig the insult farther.

Steve just scoffed. Putting his elbow up on the bar and shielding himself as he tried to get back to the open College text book he was supposed to be reading. All the words were rushing together in swirls of black and white. He pushed his thumb into his curved bottom lip to try and force himself to focus, chewed on the pad of it, but he could swear the mug was mocking him.

Could swear he could smell that strawberry pink liquid Robin had poured for him when he ordered a simple black coffee.

“Drink it,” Robin snapped.

��No,” Steve growled.

“Are you going to grow a backbone and actually confess then?” She quirked one brow up.

Her face was so condescending. So smug. Steve hated how much he knew that look, how it made him sort of fond for her.

“I mean,” he sighed. His walls crumbling in defeat. His fingers coming up to join in worrying his bottom lip. “I mean I might?”

“It’s been a year Steve. A year of following him around like a little stray kitten! A year of ‘Oh Billy, I’ll give you a ride!’ ‘Oh Billy, how was physical therapy?’ ‘Oh Billy, pay attention to me!’—“

“I get it, I get it!” Steve turned towards her again to motion with his hand to keep it down. Waving his wide palm around until Robin’s pursed face cracked into a giggle. “Just keep it down, would you?”

And he turns over his shoulder to survey the empty diner before he’s got enough courage to look at her again.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve got a fat, stupid crush on Billy. And I know that I’m the most embarrassing and dumb guy you know. But...,” he trails off. Eyes wandering back down to the coffee cup. “It’s not the same as Nancy Wheeler or even Tammy Thompson. So much can— no, so much has gone wrong. If I... confessed right now, It would just make everything too much for him.”

His fingers nervously tick across the mint green bar. Wishing like hell he could cross them in front of his chest and make a barrier.

Robin takes a step forward. Her own fingers an inch away from his. She twitches like she can’t make up her mind if she wants to grab them. Like someone worrying their bottom lip if they are going to pick the last slice of pie in the diner’s glass container. But she does, reaching out to lay her skinny fingers and their chipping black nail polish over his own.

“Dingus,” she starts lovingly, “you don’t know any of that.”

Steve scoffs, rolls his eyes like he’s going to turn away, but Robin holds his hand tightly.

“You don’t know if it’s too much for him, or what he wants. And you don’t,” Robin took a second before continuing, her breath hitching, “you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

Hawkins, Indiana is the poster town for unknown tomorrow’s. Steve knows way too well about that. The tunnels crawling with slime and vines that play host to the monsters of the world.

But Billy, he surely knows better than anyone. It’s been a whole year but noone’s going to ever forget what he did. What happened to him under the control of a creature called The Mind Flayer. How Billy used himself like a human shield and died to try to make up for it. Just to come back with an electric jolt to his tattered heart.

They had to stitch new lungs inside his chest. He called himself Zombie Boy now. Called the patchwork scars heavy metal.

Steve just smiled. Nodded his head as he watched Billy climb out the crumbled wreckage of his shell. Climb out a new man, a man Steve caught himself falling head over heels for.

“You’re right, Robs,” Steve exhales.

“Oh, what was that?” Robin giggled, leaning in to hear better.

Steve pushed her away by their joint hands. Wiggling his fingers afterwards as if cursed.

His breath quipped and held tight in his chest as he turned back to the coffee mug. It sat waiting for him. The light red liquid swimming with foam and black seeds at the top. As if no matter how long it sat, it was always freshly prepared.

Steve gripped the handle of the white mug hard. Thought about how quick Billy’s body hit the ground when he died. How quick it all felt to Steve who had to helplessly stand back and watch it all.

He lifted the mug to his lips and drank in desperate, greedy gulps.

And as he finished it and slammed the ceramic back down on the bar, he didn’t immediately feel different. His mouth felt strange, the red juice had a powdery after-taste and much more seeds than his gag reflex was expecting. But as he screwed up his face from the flavor, he didn’t feel changed. Or empowered. Or whatever Robin was trying out with this magic spell.

“I don’t—,” Steve started, but his voice stopped just as it started. His head pounded like a drum was beating right next to his ears.

Doubling over in his stool, he gripped at the sides of his head in a panic. His whole skull felt like it was vibrating. Shifting around even, his scalp moving at the top of his head as if something were to burst out.

Steve grabbed two fist fulls of his hair and groaned through the wave of pain. Burying his chin in his chest to try and stop the noises before they came. It was so painful, but somehow only lasted a second.

As sudden as it came, he felt fine again.

Steve jerked his head up to scream at Robin , when he noticed her eyes wandering to the top of his head.

He followed them with hesitant fingers, slowly running up his now messy head of quaffed brown locks under his fingertips brushed something new.

Giving an undignified yelp, he drew his hand backwards as if burnt. His eyes were wide and pleading with Robin. But she watched him right back with the same face. As if she didn’t make this, as if it wasn’t her poison potion that created this.

Steve timidly touched the new addition to his head again. This time he didn’t finch as his fingertips sank into hair that felt soft as fur. Following it up to a point, and then feeling as it curved inwards to softer peach fuzz.

He could feel something, as his fingers moved, he could feel them as easily as if he were touching the lobes of his ears.

Because he was touching his ears.

A quick glance to a dingy mirror hanging at the back of the bar confirmed it for him. There was a pretty pair of brown cat ears sprung from the top of his head.

“Robin,” he breathed. Unable to fully grasp how he felt. “What was that drink exactly?”

She blinked at him, gathering her thoughts before she cleared her throat. “It’s um, it’s supposed to be a charm. An aid, like-like an enhancer. It said it would bring out the traits that the person you craft the potion for desires the most.”

Then she stopped to laugh, her red lips caught between gaping open or turning up on the corners in a mocking laugh. “I didn’t— wow! I thought worst case scenario would be you’ll turn into an asshole like you were in high school. B-But this?”

Steve looked from her back to the mirror. Wrapping one hand around the pointed triangle of his ear. Pushing it down just to watch it perk back up again.

“I’m... I’m a cat boy?” Steve stutters out a gasping breath.

“Well, more like a cat man, really,” Robin tries to help. “Come on, you’re almost old enough to buy beer.”

“Really helpful, Robs, thanks so much for the curse and now the insults!” He shouts.

Holding up her hands in defense, her smile doesn’t drop. Even in her shoulders Steve can see she’s quivering with laugher.

He feels along the base of his new ears. How the fur is the same color and melts almost perfectly into his own silky hair. How it feels good, actually, to scratch his blunt nails there just like how a house cat would enjoy it.

“This isn’t some trait. Or some, something that Billy would find attractive in me.” Steve groans. “This is some freaky kink!”

Robin finally clasps her hand over her mouth to dam up the waterfall of laugher. It hits against her palm in a muffled, annoying, cruel noise. She shakes her head as if she wanted to argue but couldn’t get past how funny she found it.

“You must have mixed up the wrong stuff, Robin! Put the wrong magical thing in the mixture!” Steve tried to shake his head out to unstick his thoughts.

He runs his hands through his hair as he does when he gets flustered, and now his cat ears bend with the motion so they don’t get tugged on. Folding neatly onto his head before bouncing back up to attention.

It felt so weird, but somehow it didn’t feel very different at all. They acted as if they’ve always been there.

“Yeah, okay, that’s it,” Steve nodded to himself. “You gave me the wrong potion. It’s okay, it happens! Just whip up a new one that’s for reversing cat ears. That’s in your witch book right?”

Robin kept her hand over her mouth and kept shaking her head. She wasn’t replying to anything Steve said. And it was honestly making him more mad than the new ears on top of his head.

“Hey, is it really funny enough for all that?” he mused.

Then Steve looked back up at the mirror. He turned his head side to side to admire the way his ears moved with him. How they were his hair color on the outside then a flushed pink in the very middle. How there were strands of lighter brown between that and those reminded him of how highlighted his hair gets in the summer sun.

“I don’t know. I think they... I think they sort of suit me?” He shrugged.

Robin dropped her hands and her laugher was louder without it, but she managed to catch her breath to finally reply. “Oh, they suit you alright. You’re a natural at this stuff, Garfield.”

Steve furrowed his eye brows. Cat ears folding down on his head in defense. “I’m not orange,” he hissed back.

Robin opened her mouth with likely more insults and no actual help from the aspiring witch who caused all this mess, when she was interrupted. The bell above the entrance letting out a loud ding.

The front door, painted in matching mint green like the bar, swung open. And like he was summoned, like his ears were simply ringing so much from being talked about he hunted down the source, in walked Billy.

He was wearing a grey hoodie. One of many that he collected once he got discharged out of his hospital. This one Steve was familiar with, because it was his. Handed down with a coat and a couple other winter items as Steve feigned indifference over concern about Billy’s California blood staying warm. An old Hawkins High baseball league logo sitting right in the middle. It’s fading green and orange design still bright enough to make Steve’s breath catch in his throat.

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy greeted. He lifted his big, scarred hand to wipe the hood down from his head. Letting loose the wild mess of short curls that are regrowing on his head.

“Hey, Billy,” Steve croaked out. His voice was awkward. His face, he knew, must be blushing bright red.

He turned to seek help from Robin, but the swinging door that lead into the kitchen was rocking back and forth on its hinges. She must have run away as soon as Billy came in. And Steve was too busy watching his entrance to even notice.

Cursing under his breath, Steve racked his brain with an excuse. Some logical way to explain why he had sprouted two new fluffy ears off his head.

He felt like he was playing a pinball machine in his head. Flashing lights and jingling noises were going off. But nothing was coming to him. He couldn’t find any words to offer at all to Billy.

So he whipped his head to the side, watched as Billy stopped glancing around the empty diner to finally settle on Steve.

And he watches as Billy’s gorgeous, totally unfair pretty blue eyes lift to see the cat ears on his head.

“Woah, Harrington,” Billy exhales like he’s blowing a mouth full of cigarette smoke. “That’s really—,”

“I know, Billy, okay! It’s um, um?” Steve waves his hands around as if that can turn the wheels of his thinking some more. But he can’t think. Not well anyway, when Billy’s standing here looking so handsome, so warm, and so alive right in front of him.

“Yeah, okay, I can totally explain this—,”

Billy cuts him off with a soft chuckle. Just under his breath. Steve closes his mouth quick enough to make his teeth click.

“I don’t know, Steve. Ya don’t have to explain it. It’s kinda cute, actually,” Billy drawls out his words low and soft. And then smiles at him.

A second ticks by. Billy’s boots skid on the tile as he steps even closer. All the way until he’s right next to Steve. Grabbing the back of a stool right next to him.

And Billy hasn’t taken his eyes off Steve’s ears once. And he’s got a little sparkle in them like the first time Billy got a point over him during basket ball practice back in high school. And oh, oh.

“Cute?” Steve parrots back.

“Yeah, super cute,” Billy confesses.

[bird-in-a-cage]

Frenulum

Apparently, according to Suzie Carmichel, Billy Hargrove had a dick piercing.

Steve had overheard it at a party, when he was busy in the kitchen making up a drink concoction that was mostly hard liquor and very little mixer. Usually he just ignored gossip, especially at parties where everyone is in a constant state of being somewhat drunk and because he had been the subject of a lot of gossip himself in the past, but that one. That one small line, half slurred over the kitchen sink and a now empty bottle of malibu, made Steve’s ears burn. Made his mind run a million miles an hour, self control long gone a few cups ago with whatever drink Tommy had given him when he’d first arrived. 

Tommy’s jungle juice was lethal but it got the job done. Fast.

With his own strange mixture Steve wandered through the party, brushing past bodies in different stages of sweat and sobriety, all bumping to the music that was loud enough to rattle the family photos on the walls, until he found the man in question outside in the yard. Sucking on a cigarette and nodding his head from side to side at the echo of the music. He had his own cup filled with god knows what, the leather jacket he came in long lost somewhere inside. Someone else was probably wearing it like a trophy.

Lucky them. 

Steve stood on the back porch, a little higher up from where Billy was stood in the grass nearby by himself, and pointed a finger with the hand that was holding his cup at the back of that dirty blonde mullet.

“You! I’ve heard a rumor about you.”

Billy just turned his head, eyebrow cocked, eyes glassy like blue marbles. They were both as gone as each other. Maybe Tommy had given them the same warm welcome even though it wasn’t his party. At least Steve didn’t think it was. He’d lost track of who’s house this was and on what street about an hour ago. Billy hummed around the cigarette between his lips as Steve made his way down so they were standing shoulder to shoulder.

“Suzie Carmichel knows your secret...”

Billy blinked heavily and stared at Steve. A curious expressional mix of confusion and I don’t care crossed his face at the same time.

“Who the fuck is Suzie Carmichel?” he spoke around a nearly burnt filter.

“You know. Suzie Carmichel. Big hair. Has that bag. Horses.” Steve explained with his hands, mimicking her blown out perm she always had. It was huge. Like a blonde cloud made of hairspray and hope. He couldn’t believe Billy didn’t know who she was. Everyone knew who Suzie Carmichel was. It was Suzie Carmichel. Billy just continued to stare blankly, took a swig of his drink in the silence before Steve waved his hands again to move onto the next subject, the more important one in his mind. “Did it hurt?”

“Wha’? This conversation? Yeah it’s pretty painful, pretty boy,” Billy grinned, flicking the spent filter towards a covered up trampoline pushed up next to the flowerbed. Probably to stop drunk party guests trying to bounce on it and hurting themselves.

“No! It. Did IT hurt?” Steve didn’t imagine it was a pleasant thing to get done. In the half hour it had taken to find Billy in kind of a small house it was pretty much all he could think about the entire time. A whole barrage of questions. What did it look like? Did it hurt? Why?  

Billy blinked again and sighed, glanced a look down at his cup as he rolled the dark liquid around inside, clearly contemplating a top up. “One last chance amigo and I’m headin’ back inside...”

Steve sighed frustrated. He didn’t want to actually have to say it in case it wasn’t true and then he looked insane, thinking about Billy Hargrove’s dick. Not that it would be the first time he’d thought about it but still, Steve didn’t need to admit it out loud if he didn’t need too. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the drink warm in his veins talk for him.

“Did it hurt getting your dick pierced?”

Billy’s grin was wild and hot when Steve opened his eyes again. The same look he got during a particularly rough basketball game, where everyone else playing was just prey waiting to be caught. It made Steve’s blood feel impossibly tropical, especially when Billy leaned closer, muttered into the shell of his ear deep and sultry. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Yes. Steve would like to know, that was the point in asking. But Billy was gone before Steve could follow up, disappeared back inside the house alive with the whole senior year. Steve felt abandoned in the backyard, answerless and alone. That had neither been a confirmation or denial and it just made the thoughts in Steve’s head worse and harder to hold onto. Especially in his inebriated state. No. He was finding out the real answer to this tonight even if it killed him.

Which if he was wrong, probably would.

The music changed from one synth track to another. Eurythmics making themselves known. Making the walls shake. Making bodies bump and grind. Making it harder for Steve to get through. A riptide of hormones. But Billy was nowhere to be found. Wasn’t downstairs anywhere either in the kitchen, or the makeshift dance floor of the living room that had spilled over into the dining room adjacent. Wasn’t in the basement getting high with whatever terrible weed was getting passed around the few stoner kids. And as far as Steve knew he wasn’t upstairs occupying one of the few bedrooms that seemed to be permanently engaged. Someone probably would have bragged by now. He tended to hear that type of gossip now he wasn’t in the highest levels of Hawinks hierarchy anymore. There may as well have been a ticket system in the hall with couples waiting to find one to use, so he might have at least seen. 

Whomever's house this was had better air the place out in the morning.

Steve didn’t want to seem desperate. But he was. He was also several cups of whatever was going deep and needed to piss pretty badly.

In his own defence, the bathroom door wasn’t locked when he pushed it open and saw Billy standing over the bowl finishing up, shaking out the last few drops. Steve would have been pretty mortified usually but Billy just glanced back and laughed before looking down at himself again.

“Didn’t realise you wanted to know that bad Harrin’ton,” he chuckled. “Should’a been clearer in askin'.”

“I’m not,” Steve lied. He couldn’t help but stare a little at Billy holding himself. Holding the answer to a million new questions. “You didn’t lock the door.”

“Maybe that was on purpose...” Billy rolled his head on his shoulder and smirked something wicked. Steve felt warmth pool in his gut that had nothing to do with the alcohol but had everything to do with those lips and darkening eyes. “You wanna see then? Since ya’ found me.”

Steve made sure to lock the door behind him when Billy cocked his head, beaconing him over. He leant back against the smooth tiled wall, still holding his cock and okay it was bigger somehow than Steve remembered. He’d only seen it in the showers though. And he wasn’t really looking. More a haphazard glance in the wrong direction than anything else when temporarily blinded by shampoo. Steve stepped closer in the small bathroom, eyes dragged down as Billy just lifted his cock up like it was no big deal to show off like this. To show off a three rung ladder of small black balls, clearly attached to bars, living either side of his shaft just under the head.

Seeing it made all common sense leave Steve’s head immediately. He’d never seen anything like it before. At least Suzie Carmichel wasn’t lying.

“Did-did it…?” Steve couldn’t get the end of his sentence out, just mesmerized by what was in front of him. Unable to take his eyes off it. Maybe sober it would have been a lot more awkward but here, in the cramped bathroom, there was nowhere else Steve wanted to be. Even if it did smell like piss and too much cologne and some weird floral perfume from coming from somewhere.

“Hurt? Yeah,” Billy chuckled, moving his hand so his thick fingers caught a little on the piercings, rolling them with his knuckles. It was impossible to ignore the way his cock twitched in his hand. It was impossible to ignore how Steve felt his mouth water. He blinked, trying to shake that thought away somehow but impulse was in control, no longer burdened by sense and a public filter. “Worth it though. Feels good.”

“Yeah?”

Billy nodded in that self satisfied way, just stroking himself now in a drunken haze. And Steve couldn’t stop watching as he got hard, somehow got thicker. It was nice to know Hargrove didn’t suffer from whiskey dick. Steve set his half empty cup on the edge of the sink and let curiosity take over, reaching across the short gap to brush his knuckles over one set of metal. They felt cool against his skin. Billy muttered out a shit at the small touch, so Steve did it again with his fingertips this time, rolling the smooth metal and brushing against the hot velvet of Billy’s cock, now completely hard as he let go and let Steve take over. He wrapped his hand around and gave a few tentative strokes, noting how the piercings felt against his palm, how he could feel the connecting bars if he squeezed a little, being careful not to drag or twist too hard. Whatever Steve was doing was clearly working, Billy’s eyes were hooded and heavy, his head rolled back against the white tile of the wall.

"Knew you had pretty hands for a reason," he muttered breathless, filled with lust, starting to rock his hips into Steve’s fist.

Steve couldn't help but chuckle a little, changing his grip again to roll his palm over the head that was quickly getting slick, spreading it back down to Billy’s thick base to make everything go easier. He made a point to really press his thumb between where the balls were connected to each other, rolling over the bars that lived under his skin. That had Billy practically purring, gripping Steve's shoulder with one strong hand, moans echoing throughout the room.

"You been starin' at my hands Hargrove?" Steve spoke with a grin. It felt good to have both the upper hand and to have the other boy so pliant for once. All bark and bite completely dissolved. Like he had found a secret ‘off’ switch in those tight jeans. In return Steve’s own jeans had become incredibly tight, his hard dick pressing up painfully against his button fly, almost threatening to pop the buttons free.

"Fuck-ah-h-hard not too. You talk with 'em a lot."

Billy practically melted when Steve swept his thumb through the weeping slit, gripping the opposite shoulder harder so there would be a bruise under Steve’s shirt in the morning without a doubt, letting out a noise that would surely be heard through the door by someone. Not that Steve cared anymore. Or really cared to begin with. He'd never admit it, but he thought about this a lot. Not just having Billy in his hand and falling apart so easily, but being able to shut that smart mouth up for once. But now with the piercing discovery he had something new to add to the little fantasy, well, memory now. They were hard not to play with every stroke up or down. Just there to apply pressure too, to see what new noise he could get out of Billy’s pink mouth. 

But there was still one question left, bubbling up in Steve's mind and popping out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Anyone ever blow you with 'em?"

Billy chuckled around a moan, both noises getting confused in this throat, but it sounded amazing. Made Steve’s dick kick harder. "You wanna try suga’?"

Not an answer. But Steve would take this one. Even as drunk as he was, he doubted any of this would leave the bathroom. The same way things never left the locker room. His knees hit the floor with a heavy thud as he settled between Billy's legs. Another set of bruises for the morning. He rolled the tip of his tongue around the little metal balls first, to see how they would taste. Musty. Like Billy’s smell. But not unpleasant. Like licking over a ring. A fist was heavy and tight in his hair in an instant. Not pushing or pulling. More bracing. Holding something that wasn't smooth so could be held.

Hargrove was a tight fit. Or Steve was out of practice since Carol came along and took up all Tommy’s time. Probably both really in all honesty. Steve's lips stretched something obscene taking down as much as he could, using plenty of spit cause Billy looked like he was into anything but clean and neat, pressing his tongue wide and flat over the piercings, rolling them with a little swallow that had Billy barely able to stand. Steve could taste his tongue getting more and more coated.

Billy didn't taste half bad, surprisingly. Not good, but not bad.

Duran Duran started coming through the floor. Hungry Like the Wolf. It seemed appropriate. Steve pushed Billy's hips back flat against the wall to stop him from moving, he was rolling on the balls of his feet within his boots and it was threatening to become an issue.

Not that he would mind Billy's thick monster destroying his throat, but breathing was still important. Maybe another time. If that would ever be a possibility.

It was less than a minute before Billy's fist got tighter, pushed Steve back so just the head of his cock throbbed on the taller boy's tongue as he came in ropes. Painted the inside of Steve’s mouth, threatening to bite through his own lip to contain some of the guttural noise that erupted from his throat just watching it happen with laser focus. Steve swallowed most of it, but there was a lot, some dripped down his chin and into the collar of his polo, leaving a strange stain. He nearly popped being used in such a way. His briefs felt damp.

It had been a while.

Billy panted as Steve got back to his feet, took a swig of his drink to wash the bitter taste out of his mouth, getting his hand batted away when he reached out to keep playing with the piercings like he was magnetized. 

"God, give a guy five would ya?" Billy tucked himself away, zipped up his jeans loudly, but didn't sound annoyed. It sounded more like a proposal.

Steve shrugged with a grin, biting the rim of his plastic cup and leaning up on the sink. He still needed to piss after all, just now it would be a lot harder. Billy patted his shoulder and went to leave, just unlocking the door before saying something over his shoulder that was definitely a proposal.

"If you’re still hard in twenty you can find out how they feel gettin' fucked."