#camaro wheel you keep me up at night

[stringcage]

Genuinely one of the things I love most about the raven cycle is how the magic just exists and doesn't need to be explained away, we just let it be mysterious and arcane. How didn't Gwenllian age or die? Unclear. Let's take her to meet my aunts. Why are there people who can merge with trees and how did Glendower come to find them? We don't know, but let's use this magical revelation to spiritually facetime with my boyfriend. Don't even get me started on the Camaro wheel

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Graduation challenge.

What's A Little Grand Theft Auto Between Friends?

Prompt: Graduation | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Nudity for Comedy, Smoking, Brief Mention of Underage Drinking | Tags: Post S2, Class of '85 Graduation Party at the Quarry, Randomly Teaming Up, And Then Having Fun Together, Steve Gets an Alternate Introduction to Eddie's Hot-Wiring Skills, Steve Ain't Body Shy, He Spent Too Many Years in Locker Rooms, Pre-Steddie

Coming tonight was a mistake, he's realized, because Steve isn't comfortable with this crowd, not anymore. 

Decision made: He's leaving.

He places his plastic cup down on the open tailgate of a truck he's passing by.

"Thanks for the trash, Harrington," comes the snapping snarl, and Steve stops. He hadn't realized there was anyone sitting in the back of the truck. But there's Munson, in all black, blending into the night. The only thing visible, the cherry on the end of his lit cigarette.

"Sorry, man," Steve says, leaning up against the side of the pickup, "I didn't want to just, you know, throw it on the ground."

"How noble," Munson says, dripping with sarcasm.

Steve's too tired for another snotty showdown. Graduation party at the quarry sounded neutral enough, but he was wrong. He's done dealing with everyone, and everything, from Hawkins High.

Except Henderson and the kids. But they haven't started HHS yet, so they totally don't count, and tonight he can hate everything about the place.

Including the crown prince of shitty attitudes, Eddie "The Freak" Munson. 

Steve takes the few steps back, grabs the cup, slings the beer that was mostly untouched into the grass. Holding up the empty cup to show Munson he's corrected this horrible offense. 

"That's more like it," Munson says, cigarette dangling from his lip.

"Well, that's my cue," Steve says, and keeps walking.

"Wait! Wait a second," Munson asks, no demands, and Steve has no idea why he even thinks about going back, let alone does it.

But he does.

Backpedaling the few steps until he can almost see Munson again.

"What?" Steve asks. 

"You leaving already?" Munson questions, and Steve just bobbles his head, because yeah, obviously.

"Can I get a ride back to town?" Munson asks, and Steve arches an eyebrow.

"Is this not your truck?" Steve asks.

"Nope," Munson answers, and Steve's hand flies up to toss the empty cup right at Munson's forehead.

Munson bats it away, laughing, as it clatters around noisily in the truck bed.

"You're a dickhead," Steve says, but then just wheels his arm around, silently telling Munson to hurry up if he's coming. Munson grins, wide and wolfish, hopping over the side with ease, landing on both feet with a resounding thud.

Then he holds out his arm in a sweeping after you gesture. Steve shakes his head and starts walking back to his car, hoping like hell he's not blocked in.

He is. 

"Well, shit."

"I got this," Munson says, trying the doors of both cars boxing them in, nearly touching bumper. Billy and Tommy, of fucking course. 

The Camaro is locked, but Tommy's isn't, and Munson slides into the driver's seat. Curious, Steve sinks into the passenger seat. 

Munson pulls out a multi-tool of some kind, and before Steve has a chance to realize exactly what he's doing, Munson has the cables pulled out from under the dash.

"Holy shit," Steve says, leaning closer, "where'd you learn to do that?"

"Well, when the other dads were teaching their kids how to fish or play ball, my old man was teaching me how to hot-wire. Now, I swore I wouldn't wind up like he did, but they wanna be dickheads? We'll all be dickheads. What's a little grand theft auto between friends?"

Friends. They aren't friends, and Steve's aware of that fact, acutely. But he'd be lying if it didn't feel kinda nice to hear from someone, even as a lie.

So, Steve grins, "Not a thing. Friend."

Eddie backs up Tommy's car, then pulls the wires, killing the engine. Afterwards, he stuffs everything back up under the dash. 

"Won't that-" Steve starts.

"Yup," Eddie answers, "gonna be deader than shit and he's gonna have no idea why."

"My man," Steve says, holding up his fist, and Eddie eyes him, but eventually bumps it back. "Thanks. This is hilarious, and he'll never suspect me. Like, I can't do that, and Tommy knows it."

"That's why it's good to have shady characters on your side, Harrington."

"Guess so," Steve agrees, and once they're back in Steve's car, Steve backs up, pulling away, easily.

Eddie digs his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, "Can I?"

"Only if you light me one," Steve answers, watching as Eddie slides the cigarette along his own bottom lip, into his mouth, puffing as he lights it, then reaches over to place it between Steve's parted lips.

Steve feels funny about it, in a way he doesn't exactly understand, just for a second, before shaking it off.

"So, why was King Steve bailing so early tonight?" Eddie asks.

"Eh, I don't know. Guess I realized I'd graduated and had no interest in seeing any of those assholes again."

"Well, I didn't graduate, but same."

"You didn't graduate?" 

"Nah, maybe the third time will be the charm," Eddie answers. "Going from King Steve, to running as fast as you can. I'm proud of you, big boy."

It's so unexpected, Steve's sure he looks stupid, before he busts out laughing, "Well, that's a new one."

"Really? Are the rumors not true? I'll be so disappointed," Eddie asks, looking dramatic, feet now resting on Steve's dashboard. Steve doesn't have the energy to tell him no.

"What rumors?"

"About your big dick, man. Girls talk. I listen."

What? That's. What?

"Well, I gotta piss, so you can take a gander for yourself, I guess," Steve banters, parking and hopping out of the car along the dirt road. 

He knows Eddie doesn't actually wanna look, but two can play this game.

So, Steve doesn't go to the trunk, to the cover of darkness. No, he heads right up front, illuminated by headlights, and takes his dick into his hand. Lays it on his palm, like he's presenting it.

He looks through the windshield, but can't really see Eddie's reaction. Bummer.

But, then Eddie's hand pops out of the passenger window, giving him a big thumbs up.

And Steve tosses his head back, laughing.

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

If you want to see more of my entries into this challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

[edsbug]

Adrenalin

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader

summary: you and eddie are rivals in the street racing underworld. as you navigate the world of street racing, sparks fly not just on the track but between you both. (wc: 2466)

cw: 18+ NSFW, mdni! enemies to lovers, street racing, author knows nothing about cars, max makes a cameo, alcohol consumption, eddie smokes, reader gives eddie a handjob in his car, includes the ‘stare and drive’ scene from 2 fast 2 furious.

authors note: i binge watched every fast and furious film over the weekend and came up with this. english is not my first language. this is my first fic ever. pls be kind<3

The roar of engines fills the night air as you roll up to the street race, your car’s headlights slicing through the darkness. The scene ahead is a chaotic blend of neon lights, the murmur of excited voices, and the unmistakable smell of burning rubber. Cars of every make and model are lined up along the street, their drivers and crews preparing for the night’s events.

You slowly navigate through the crowd, your yellow Mustang drawing a few admiring glances and murmurs of recognition.

You pull up to the starting line, the engine purring beneath you. As you step out of your car, the crowd's eyes follow you. You’ve built a reputation here, known for your skill behind the wheel. This was your domain, the place where you felt the most alive. You stood by the hood of your car, giving the engine a final look over, when you heard the familiar sound of heavy metal blasting out of a cars stereo.

Eddie Munson, with his wild hair and even wilder reputation. He was known for his reckless driving and his ability to charm his way out of any trouble. You’d clashed more times than you could count, both on and off the track. To say there was bad blood between you was an understatement.

You glanced over at him now, his figure fully illuminated by the street lights. He was leaning against his jet black Camaro parked on the starting line, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses despite the nocturnal hour. His long wavy hair was dancing slightly in the cool wind and his black leather jacket hugged his figure just right. He pushed off the car and walked over, each step echoing with confidence.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let him distract you. But deep down, you can't deny the thrill of his attention, the way his gaze lingers on you.

"Well, well, well," Eddie drawls with a smirk, standing in front of you now. "Look who decided to show up."

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm not missing a chance to wipe that smirk off your face."

He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "You know, I almost admire your confidence sweetheart. Almost."

You cross your arms over your chest, standing your ground. "Keep talking, Eddie. We'll see who's laughing when I cross that finish line first."

Eddie steps closer, his voice dropping to a murmur only you can hear. "You know, there's something kinda hot about how determined you are. Maybe I should let you win, just this once."

You feel a flush rising to your cheeks, but you refuse to let him see you flustered. "Don't do me any favors, Eddie. I can win on my own."

His eyes sparkle with amusement. "Feisty. I like that."

For a moment, the noise of the crowd fades, and it's just the two of you, standing toe to toe. There's an intensity in Eddie's gaze that makes your breath catch, a challenge and something else — something softer, more vulnerable.

Before you had a chance to retort, the announcer's voice boomed over the crowd, calling for the racers to get in their cars. You shot Eddie a glare before climbing into your car.

A girl with fiery red hair, a familiar face at these events and known only as Max, steps forward with a bandana in hand. With a swift motion, she raises it high, signaling the impending start. “On my count!” she shouts, her voice slicing through the midnight air. The crowd presses closer, the tension almost unbearable.

“Three, two, one…”

You and Eddie exchange one last look, the tension between you almost electric. No matter what happens tonight, one thing is certain: this race is about to change everything.

“Go!”

The bandana fell, and you both launched forward, leaving the rest of the pack in your wake. Your tires screeched in protest against the asphalt, the scenery now a blur of neon lights, a kaleidoscope of urban chaos. The Mustang’s engine roared as you shifted gears, the car responding to your every command. The crowd's cheers became distant, lost in the sheer focus of the race.

Eddie’s Camaro was right beside you, keeping pace with ease. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, his focus unwavering, his hands steady on the wheel. The first corner came up fast, and you both drifted through it, your cars dancing dangerously close.

These streets were your racetrack, a twisting, turning maze of asphalt and danger. You both knew every shortcut, every hazard. You pushed your throttle, the engine growling as you accelerated out of a turn, trying to gain the upper hand.

Eddie was relentless, his Camaro a shadow that refused to be shaken. He edged closer, trying to force you into a mistake. You could feel the pressure, but you welcomed it, the challenge only fueling you.

Eddie took the turn wide, trying to use his Camaro’s power to overtake you on the straightaway. You saw your opportunity and floored the gas, your Mustang surging forward, the gap widening ever so slightly.

As you approached the final stretch, the finish line in sight, you felt a surge of exhilaration. You were going to win. But Eddie wasn’t done yet. He pulled up beside you, his Camaro matching your speed. The finish line was seconds away, and it was going to be close.

With one last burst of speed, you pushed your Mustang to its absolute limit, the engine roaring in protest. You crossed the finish line a split second before Eddie, the crowd erupting. You jumped out of your car, excitement coursing through you.

Eddie pulled up beside you, his expression a mix of frustration and something that looked suspiciously like respect. He got out of his car and walked over, his dark eyes behind his aviators meeting yours.

"Not bad," he said, his voice softer than before.

You raised an eyebrow. "That's it? 'Not bad'? I just beat you."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Yeah, you did. Fair and square."

For a moment, you stood there, the rivalry between you shifting, evolving into something else. The tension was still there, but now it was mingled with curiosity and an unexpected connection. As the crowd celebrated around you, you realized that this was just the beginning of a new race—one that had nothing to do with cars and everything to do with the two of you.

As days seamlessly turn into weeks, you find yourself at the races every night, pushing harder, racing faster. And there, like a shadow cast by the neon lights, is Eddie — ever present, a persistent thorn in your side.

One night, after a particularly grueling race that left your nerves frayed and your car in serious need of attention, Eddie finds you tinkering with the engine, frustration etched on your face. "Need a hand?" he offers, surprising you with his sincerity.

You glance up, ready to snap at him, but something in his expression makes you pause. There’s a softness to his brown eyes. Reluctantly, you nod. "Fine. Just don't expect me to thank you."

He chuckled, rolling up his sleeves revealing a canvas of tattoos. "Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart,” he replies, his smirk tinged with a hint of mischief, as if he relishes in the challenge of breaking through your walls.

He works on the engine, his hands moving with practiced ease as he explains the intricate mechanics. As you work side by side, a strange camaraderie develops. Eddies knowledge on cars is impressive, and against your better judgement, you find yourself drawn to his company. Beyond his tough façade as a racer lies an unexpected kindness that surfaces in fleeting moments.

One night, as you sit on the hood of your car, eyes on the distant city lights, Eddie joins you, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He hands you a beer. "You've got talent, you know," he says, voice slightly muffled around the cigarette. "Why do you race?"

You take a sip, contemplating how much to reveal. "I love the rush, the competition. It's where I feel alive."

Eddie takes a quick drag from the cigarette as his expression softens. "I get that”, he murmured. “There's this allure, you know? The rush, the risk. It's addictive."

You nod, a comfortable silence settling between you. The rivalry that once defined your relationship has matured into something more complex, delving into emotions not spoken yet keenly felt.

Suddenly Eddie turns to you, a mischievous look in his deep brown eyes. "How about we make a bet?"

You raise an eyebrow. "What kind of bet?"

"Next race. If you win, I take you out on a date. If I win, you take me out."

You can't help but laugh. "You're assuming I'd want to go on a date with you?”

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Oh, you'll want to. Trust me."

Against your better judgment, you find yourself nodding. "Deal."

Eddie stomps the cigarette butt out on the pavement, a smirk playing on his lips as he saunters off into the distance.

The next race is intense, the stakes higher than ever. You push your Mustang to its limits, determined to beat Eddie and win the bet. But as you cross the finish line, neck and neck with him, it's clear that it's a tie.

Eddie laughs, pulling up beside you. "Looks like we both win, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "Fine. One date."

Eddie's idea of a date is a late-night drive in his Camaro. He's cruising at a steady speed, the sound of the engine a low hum in the background. Eddie looks over at you in the passenger seat, almost admiring you.

You catch him staring. "You might want to keep your eyes on the road, playboy."

"You think we're gonna crash?" he asks, still staring.

You ponder, "I haven't decided yet".

Eddie upshifts to a higher gear and slams the throttle, the gravity pushing you both back in your seats. Eddie shifts his focus entirely to you, his eyes fixed on yours as he maintains the high speed. The road stretches ahead, but Eddie doesn’t lose eye contact with you, his expression confident and playful. Suddenly, Eddie expertly stops the car at a red light, never once looking away from you.

"Not bad. But you’re not gonna keep this up the whole way, are you?" you ask, playfully.

Eddie chuckles softly, a soft pink taking over his cheeks.

You arrive at a secluded overlook, where the city lights spread out below like a sea of stars. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the city, and the only sound is the gentle hum of the engine.

You steal a glance at Eddie, the streetlights casting shadows across his features, accentuating the rugged lines of his jaw and the intensity in his dark eyes. He's so close, his presence filling the small space between you, igniting a fire deep within you that you struggle to contain.

"This view...it's breathtaking", you say, softly.

"Yeah, it's not bad. But it's got nothing on the view in here," Eddie smirks, his gaze intensifying further.

And then your lips collide in a fierce, desperate kiss, a mix of passion and longing that leaves you breathless. Eddie's hands are everywhere, exploring every inch of your body with a feverish urgency that sends shivers down your spine.

As the kiss deepens, you straddle his lap. Your palm teasing him through the fabric of his jeans. Eddie groans into your mouth, his hands grabbing your hips.

You melt into him, your hands tangling in his long curly hair as you lose yourself in the moment, forgetting everything but the heat of his touch and the taste of his lips against yours. It's like nothing you've ever experienced before, a rush of adrenaline that threatens to consume you both.

And then, without warning, Eddie's hand slips beneath your shirt, his touch sending sparks flying across your skin. You gasp, your body arching into his as he trails kisses down your neck. You moan softly, the sound lost in the darkness as you give yourself over to him completely.

"God, you drive me crazy," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

With careful, deliberate movements, you begin to undo his belt and zipper. Your hand slips inside his jeans, fingers wrapping around him. "Good," you whisper, stroking him slowly. "Because you drive me crazy too."

Eddie lets out a low groan, his head falling back against the headrest. "That's it, baby," he rasps, his voice heavy with desire. "Just like that."

You respond with a seductive smile, your own need driving you to push him closer to the edge. "You like that, huh?" you tease, your voice a sultry whisper against his ear.

Eddie's grip on your hips tighten, his breath coming in ragged gasps as you continue to stroke him. "God, yes," he groans, his hips instinctively bucking against your hand.

You watch as his breathing becomes more erratic. His hand grabs your thigh, his fingers digging into the skin as he struggles to maintain control. The sight of him like this, completely at your mercy, sends a thrill through you.

"Eddie," you whisper, leaning in to press your lips against his neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his skin. "You look so good like this”.

He responds with a deep, guttural moan, his free hand coming up to cup your face.

"Don't stop," he pleads, his voice a strained whisper. "Please." His deep brown eyes stare into yours.

You increase the pace of your movements, your hand gliding up and down his length with more urgency. Eddie's breathing becomes more ragged, his body tensing as he gets closer to the edge. The way his body reacts to your touch only spurs you on.

Finally, with a shuddering gasp, Eddie reaches his climax, his release hot and overwhelming. He clings to you, his body trembling with the aftershocks. You hold him through it, your hand slowing its movements, offering comfort as much as pleasure.

“You're incredible,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder. “So are you.”

In the quiet aftermath, with the engine still purring softly, Eddie holds you, his breath warm against your ear. “I never saw this coming,” he admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability and a hint of awe.

You smile against his shoulder, your fingers tracing the curve of his neck. "Neither did I," you confess, feeling the undeniable pull of something more exhilarating than any race you've ever won.

taglist: @waywardrose, @brystiniercorner

divider credit: @strangergraphics

[sadhours]

Penance (Sequel to Bully) - 1/3

Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

A/n: something happened and this came out of me.

contents: 18+ minors dni, smut, Catholicism, religious kink, religious trauma, idolizing billy like he’s god, oral (f and m receiving), road head, choking, p in v, unprotected sex, swallowing heheh

word count: 3.9k

A cool night in late October, suns been down for hours. Rubber burns on the asphalt as that midnight blue Camaro rips down your street. You can hear it as soon as he turns down Chardonnay Way six blocks up. Rushing out into your front yard, Billy pulls up and leans against the center console so he can push the passenger door open for you. With an excited squeal, you jump inside and he peels away before you can even close the door.

“Angel,” he purrs, that devilish smirk you’ve fallen in lust with spreading across his lips and you feel that all too familiar heat rising up your thighs.

No matter the routine, you get insufferably excited at sneaking out with him. Being as now you don’t go to the same school and you’re absolutely forbidden from seeing him. St. Augusten is a good school and all, but it’s a little brutal being around only girls all the time. Not to mention, all you can think about is Billy. All day you fantasize about him. Which is totally sinful, if the sisters could read your mind you’re sure they’d expel you or worse, exorcize you. It’s really not your fault, since he took your virginity you’ve been insatiable.

“Hi,” you pant before placing your hand on his thigh and leaning over to kiss his jaw. “Been thinking about you all day.”

Billy hums intrigued, his breath hitched when he replies, “You little nymph.”

Smoothing your hand up his thigh, you place a handful of kisses against his jaw until your hand cups the particular piece of him you’ve been thinking about nonstop. You squeeze gently, groaning excitedly as you feel it start to get stiff. Billy exhales sharply, pressing on the gas a little harder. You observe as his hands tighten around the wheel as you push against his bulge some more. His hips roll just slightly, barely noticeable but you’re learning how to pick up on his tells. You’re actually a bit obsessive, analyzing your interactions once you’re back home in bed. Remembering every sound and move he makes, and what you do that has him making them.

“Can’t help myself,” you tease, squeezing his cock through his tight jeans and lick against his jaw, “You made me like this.”

“Fuck,” he groans, lips parting as his tongue comes out to swipe against his lower lip. “Keep talking.”

“You corrupted me,” you tell him with a whine, unbuttoning his jeans slowly, “You touched me and now all I can think about is all the nasty things I wanna do to you. All day, during school, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I need to have your cock in my mouth.”

He gasps, foot heavy on the accelerator as you unzip his jeans and pull his achingly hard cock out. You lick against his jaw again, squeezing the base of him.

“Today's lesson was Avoiding Evil and Doing Good,” you tell him matter of factly before lowering your voice, “And I had to keep squeezing my thighs together because I was thinking about you fucking my face.”

“Jesus Christ,” he tilts his head back just slightly as he rolls his hips again, keeping his eyes on the road. “Bet you’d let me bend you over your desk and fuck you in front of everyone.”

“I would,” you agree, beginning to pump him in your hand, “I’d let you fuck me anywhere.”

“Such a slut,” he groans, “Be a good girl and swallow down my cock.”

You bite your lip as you smile, leaning down between his legs and licking at his tip. Swirling your tongue around the pink tip and gathering all the precum bubbling out of his slit, you languidly stroke his shaft in your palm. The weight of him makes you giddy, makes your whole body tingle in anticipation. Wrapping your lips around him, you peek up to get a look at his face. He’s still got his eyes on the road but his mouth is open from the pleasure. So you swallow him down as far you can take him, smiling around his cock as he elicits a gravelly moan. Lowering a hand to his sack, you breathe through your nose and begin to bob up and down on him. Suddenly, you feel his hand knotting in your hair and you pray there’s no sharp turns coming up. Maybe you shouldn’t be praying to God with this man’s cock in your mouth, but you’ve decided it’s gonna be better to beg for forgiveness later. And well, God made Billy so he has to understand. Right?

Momma tells you Billy is from the devil, put here to tempt you into a salacious and satanic life. But really, in these moments, you feel closer to God than you ever have. Billy makes you feel like you’re floating up and up and up, close to heaven. Maybe it is a false prophet thing but you’re too far gone to really care. It feels too good.

You gag as his tip reaches the back of your throat and you pull back, making sure your hand circles around the base.

“So good,” you say, muffled around his cock, blinking up at him.

“Didn’t anyone teach you not to talk with your mouthful?” he grins, glancing down at you briefly.

“Sorry,” you apologize, mouth still stuffed with his cock and he gives you a tug of your hair. You quickly swallow him down some more to shut yourself up, closing your eyes tightly as you hollow out your cheeks. He pumps his hips up, holding you still with his hand and you can’t help but gag, squirming in your seat because this is exactly what you were thinking about while Sister Agnes droned on and on about what Evil’s to stay away from. She’d really dislike Billy, if she’d seen him, if she’d seen the things he did to you.

“Fuck,” Billy whines, “Gonna cum, angel.”

You double down, sucking hard as you take him as deep as you can. Hand on his thigh, squeezing it while you try not to choke. His hips lift off the seat, flooring the gas as he shoots down your throat. You swallow as much as you can before pulling off. He lets off the gas, chest heaving as he puts both hands back on the wheel. As you catch your breath, you help get his softening cock back in his pants and button them back up.

Billy drives to a familiar spot, parks in the meadow and pulls you onto his lap. He puts his seat back as far as it’ll go and grabs onto your face, dragging your lips to his. It’s filthy the way he licks into your mouth, makes your mind go numb as you grind against him, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. You’ve come a long way since your first kiss but he still manages to make you melt from a simple kiss. You swore you were gonna explode the first time and now, it just makes you antsy to get his mouth on other parts of you. His hands move down your back and then he grabs firmly on your hips, swirling his tongue against yours. It’s heady, impure and so sinful. Your momma would be furious, seeing the way you give into the demonic pleasures. You’re putty in Billy’s hands though, especially when they move to the globes of your ass and he squeezes, pulling you closer. Nipples poke through your school shirt, skirt pooled where you sit on Billy’s lap. He told you how much your uniform turned him on one day and now, you keep it on whenever you see him. The way he groped you when you wore it made it obvious enough but when he mumbled in your ear how sexy you looked while he was fucking you confirmed it.

“God, I love you in this uniform,” he mumbles against your open mouth and you laugh back in his.

“I was just thinking about that,” you tell him.

“Yeah,” he tilts his head while he beams up at you, “That why you wear it every time I see you?”

You nod, biting your lip and unbuttoning the top of your blouse to expose the rosary underneath. His fingers grab the beads and wrap them around his digits, using the leverage to pull you into another heated kiss. Billy growls into this one, using the hand still on your ass to ground you against him. He’s hard again, his strained erection rubbing against your pantie-clad heat and it makes you dizzy, grabbing his shoulders tighter while you try to keep up with the sloppy kiss. The way he reacts to you makes you feel like you're rising out of your body, astral projecting up and up. Perhaps what your mother says is true, because Billy has you under some kind of weird spell. You imagine this is what drugs feel like. At least, it aligns with all the things you hear about drugs and in the same vein, satanism. And Billy really kind of encapsulates that. The music, the fast car and the dangerous way he makes your clothes fall off.

“Need you,” you gasp against his tongue, pulling his shirt up by the collar.

He chuckles lowly, tugging on your rosary as he rolls his hips up, “All yours.”

“Mine,” you confirm as you pull his shirt over his head and connect your lips again immediately after, hands purchasing all over the golden contours of his muscled chest. His skin is hot to the touch, warms your entire body but very, very intensely between your thighs.

“How much repenting are you gonna have to do tonight?” he inquires against your desperate mouth.

You slide your fingers up into his mess of curls, tugging on them as you furrow your brows, “Not enough.”

“You love being my little sinner,” he snarks, wrapping the beads around his fist and pulls harder. The tightening of it chokes you just slightly and in the most delicious way, makes your head feel even more spacey as you grind down against him. “What would your parents say if they saw you right now? So desperate to have me ruin you…”

“Billy,” you whine, voice hoarse with the pressure of the beads against your throat, “They’d have me exorcized.”

“Yeah?” he mumbles, lips meeting the center of your throat. His breath is hot and his words vibrate against your neck, “You possessed by my cock?”

It’s so wrong but it’s cynically true. He’s got you wrapped around that entity in his pants. You’d beg for it, you’d commit any sinful, pathetic act to have it. No matter how wicked. Maybe you are possessed but you really don’t care. You need him, completely at will for this man. Billy could ask you to do the most nefarious things and you’re in deep, you have to. You’re addicted to him.

“Maybe,” you huff out, face contorting as you grind your clothed cunt against him, desperately trying to relieve the pressure building up between your legs. “Need it so bad it hurts.”

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tilting his head and frowning condescendingly, “Poor baby. You’d do anything for it.”

“Anything,” you confirm with a frantic nod.

“Stay still. Don’t move,” he instructs and your hips come to a stop, but your face must show your frustration because he tsks and says, “You said you’d do anything. Be a good girl for me.”

You nod, making sure to pout your lips. He laughs, low and guttural as he lets go of the rosary. He slowly unbuttons your blouse the rest of the way, displaying your tits to him. He purses his lips, “The good catholic girl didn’t wear a bra to school?”

You did, but you took it off before Billy picked you up. He doesn’t need to know that so you shake your head, trying to convey innocence as you stare at him wide eyed. His fingertips dance across our pert nipple, but he told uoi to stay still so you don’t arch your back like you really want to, you don’t moan out like you need to. You just blink at him. He smirks, circling his thumb against the stiff nub and tells you, “I can just imagine you, sitting at your desk, playing with your nipples over your shirt while you think about me. Impure thoughts, about me defiling you..”

You gasp as he pinches it, looking up at you with dark eyes, “What would Sister Agnes say if she saw me do this?”

He grabs your jaw, holds your mouth open and spits into your eager mouth. You hum as you close your lips and swallow, then dart your tongue out to lick up what didn’t land in your mouth. The filthy action has your cunt pulsing and you can’t help but rock your hips against him.

“And what would she say about how much you fucking like it?” He groans, moving his hand around to spank you. “God, you’re such a filthy little slut. I’ve done a good job, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, arching your back, “I’m your filthy slut.”

“Mhm,” he purrs, “all mine. Think you deserve to have my cock?”

“Please,” you beg, clenching around nothing as you pathetically bounce in his lap. “Need it so bad it hurts.”

Billy exhales, “Fuck, you drive me crazy. I need it too. Wanna taste you.”

You flush, cheeks swell with your flattered smile as you dip your head into the crook of his neck. He laughs, the sound sparking even more desire through your body as he rubs the small of your back.

“So shy,” he notes and turns to kiss your temple, “Let’s get into the back, yeah?”

You don’t hesitate, carefully lifting yourself from his lap before climbing back into the seat behind, laying on your back as you watch him eagerly follow. He settles between your legs, hand on the back of your thigh as he kisses you hungrily. You kiss back with fervor, though you want nothing more than his mouth between your thighs. Your clit aches with it, kissing him deep and messy. He grinds against you, jerking his hips as he growls against your mouth. He pulls back finally and kisses against your sore throat, grabbing your tit in his palm and squeezes as he licks your neck. He bites the skin and begins to suck and you let him for a beat before your better judgment clouds through.

“No marks where someone can see,” you remind him and he groans in frustration.

“Wanna mark you up so bad,” he complains, squeezing your tit again, “Want everyone to see what I do to you.”

You whine, rolling your hips up at him because fuck, you really want that too. Can’t help but imagine what the girls at school would say about you and what kind of trouble you’d get into but you’d be on severe lockdown and you cannot go long without seeing Billy so you pull on his hair and tell him, “I know… but I need you. I can’t deal with another month without seeing you. It’s too hard.”

“I know, baby,” he says against your skin, “Fucking went insane last time…”

You did too. It was so unbearable. And all you had was a Polaroid of Billy in a crop top. You’d been successful in coming to the photo but it was nothing like the real thing and you need his touch like you need air. “You can leave marks below the neck, anywhere no one will see.”

Billy pouts but his mouth descends, “Like here?”

His lips drag against your cleavage and you bite your lip, “Yeah…”

Teeth, pearly white ones, clasp around your nipple and you cry out, arching your back. He soothes the pain immediately, swirling his tongue around the stiff bud and you melt, the sensation shooting down to where you’re making a mess of your panties. And he’s got that quirk on his lips, smirk tugging the corners of them and Lord, forgive you, he’s the idol you admire most. At this point, you’re made in Billy’s image, not God’s. And you live to please him. He returns the favor better than the lord ever could.

His tongue broadly licks between your tits, down your stomach and he stops where your skirt rests on your waist. But he pulls it up, resting it on your tummy while his fingers hook into the waistband of your white panties. He bites onto the pale pink bow adorned at the center and starts peeling them down your thighs. You aide, pulling your legs up so he can get them off your ankles. He spreads your thighs and squeezes them in his grasp, eyes trained on your glistening cunt.

“So wet,” he purrs, dragging the pad of his fingertip through your slit, gathering the slick before sucking it into his mouth. He looks at you expectantly and the ritual begins.

Your fingers grasp your rosary and close your eyes as you whisper out the sacrament, “Lord, forgive me…”

Once the words leave your lips, his eager mouth meets your cunt and then you continue in a moan, “For I have sinned.”

He drags his tongues through your folds and you tug on your rosary, your own tongue heavy in your mouth. Billy’s mouth is sinful, so sinful as you continue, “my last confession was… four days ago…” a gasp, “for… premarital.. fuck—“

Billy laughs, breath tickling your folds but he keeps licking your pussy, fingers digging into your thighs.

“For premarital sex…” you whine, rolling your hips up against Billy’s face. “And I’m doing it again. I-I… god…”

His tongue lowers down to your entrance and he prods it so tenderly, makes your whole body shake as you confess, “I’m committing sin against my own body… again.”

Billy hums as he pulls back, rubbing his fingers against your whole as he begins his part, “God, the father of mercies, through the resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to Himself…” two digits slip into your eager hole, squelching with the motion as he keeps on, “and sent the Holy Spirit among us for forgiveness of sins…” Billy curls his fingers up, hitting that oh so tender spot deep inside, a moan spills from you. It’s loud, echos on your ears and makes your chest heave. Billy continues, “through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you,” he bends his head down and licks against your clit, pulling another moan from you. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Once he’s finished, he gets his mouth back on you completely, sucking and licking against your clit almost feverishly. You have to fulfill your rest of the sacrament, spill out a prayer and this feels so blasphemous but so fucking hot. And you know Billy was also raised catholic by his necklace he always wears but you’re still always impressed by his perfect recital… every time.

“Fucking… Billy!” you cry out, pulling on his hair and he looks at you with almost judgmental eyes.

“Are you repenting or what?” he asks, raising an eyebrow before getting back to work on your cunt, hot mouth on your sensitive pussy.

“Oh my god,” you moan, arching your back, “I am… heartily sorry! Fuck….”

“You’re gonna have to repeat this whole confession again, the way you’re talking,” Billy notes, slowing the thrust of his fingers, “Behave. I don’t need to remind you, you’re talking to God.”

“I’m heartily sorry for having…” you gasp as he curls his fingers up, brushing against that beautiful spongy bit inside of you. You have to start over, “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee…” he licks around your clit and you gasp out, “and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell.” Maybe hells not so bad if Billy’s down there with you. He feels like heaven on earth as it is. Yet, this feels like an actual confession, but better, “But, most of all, because they have offended Thee, my God, Who art all good, and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy Grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen.”

When you get through it, he pulls his fingers out and looks at you lustily, “Your penance is cumming on my cock.”

He sits upright and pushes his jeans down, exposing his throbbing cock to you. You nod, hands grabbing your own chest as you eagerly await your penance. He pressed his tip against your hole, plunging in quickly and grabbing onto your rosary in his fist. The beads press against your windpipe as he pounds his cock in and out of you in quick succession. It’s glorious. It’s heaven; right here in the crowded backseat of the Camoro and for a beat, you believe you’re getting fucked by God. At least, Billy’s just as pretty as you imagined him.

Even if his face looks extremely animalic, teeth exposed in a snarl as he snaps his hips roughly against you. The swollen head of his cock hits your g-spot every time and the lack of oxygen from how tightly he’s grabbing the rosary helps your orgasm culminate. Billy’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen in your life and you cannot fathom a life without this. Without him. He grunts, sounds as animalistic as he looks while he drills his cock into you with reckless abandon.

“Billy!” you cry out, body seizing from the overwhelming sensation. You’ve thought about how maybe the way your body reacts to him as similarly to demonic possession but you’ve seen people speaking in tongues, coming from God and you think that’s what billy’s doing to you.

“Come on, baby,” he seethes, tugging on the rosary, “Show God just how sorry you are.”

Billy rocks his body into yours, lowering his mouth to yours. He attacks your lips with his own, biting and sucking on your lips as he quickens his pace. The way he’s thrusting into you rocks your body, eyes rolling in the back of your head as he easily pulls your orgasm out of you. The pleasure is white hot, causing a scream to rip out of your throat while you thrash against him, coating his cock in the fruits of your pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, stroking his thumb against your cheek, “That’s a good girl, cum for me.”

You yelp, scratching down his back while the waves of pure, blissful pleasure rush through you. “Ah! Billy!!! Yes!!!”

He pumps his hips quickly, grabbing onto your hips tightly, no doubt leaving bruises in his wake as he fucks you brutally. There’s a sharp sensation deep in you, makes you spout ecstasy riddled cries as he drags out your orgasm. He waits until you relax, the tenseness disappears and he pulls his dick out, inches up your body and presses the tip of his cock against your lips. You wrap them around the head and suck as hard as you can, swallowing his load for the second time that night.

“Such a good little sinner,” he heaves, combing his fingers through your hair and it’s… amazing. His words make you feel so naughty in the best way. God loves sinners but Billy loves them more.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

The One I've Been Waiting For {Part 09 of 13}

Word count: 2.3 K

Summary: Billy Hargrove is just one of the many students you're supposed to help. The last thing you expect from your interaction is that he'll start flirtt with you... Much less that Billy would stir up feelings you'd rather keep hidden. Despite the mutual sentiments that soon enough start to grow, there are a lot of reasons for whatever it is to be left alone, and one of them is your age...

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

A/N: In this story, reader is 5 years older than Billy, who's 18.

•••

A Vision from Hell

 You couldn't drive for a while. When you got behind the wheel the next day, you couldn't do it. So, Billy, Tanya, and Liam took turns driving you through town until you got better. It took a few days, but they were patient with you.

 But the days passed by and you got yourself back together. But today, since you slept at Tanya's, she dropped you at the Hawkins Elementary School, where you tutored a kid. But now, after a small, routine meeting with the principal and some teachers, it's time to go. You're crossing the small parking lot when you see Max chatting with her friends.

 “I gotta go, I'm late.” She tells them, putting her skateboard on the ground and stepping on it. “Billy will be mad.”

 “No, he won't.” You speak up when you're close enough, making the whole party look at you. “I'm going there anyway. Wouldn't mind the company.”

 “Sure.” She shrugs, picking up the skate. “Guys, this is (Y/N). She's... Something of Billy's. Not quite sure yet.”

 “Hi, I'm Dustin.” One of them says, the one with curly hair, shaking your hand. “These other jerks are Lucas, Will. Mike and Eleven.”

 “Eleven? Like the number?”

 “El for short.” The girl nods with a small smile.

 “Alright, let's go.” Max tilts her head and after waving at the kids, you start following her.

 The day is warm, a little hot even, and you take off the light sweater you were wearing, tying it around your waist. You enjoy walking. Well, you enjoy walking here. The small town's slow pace is getting to you, and you like the simple streets and the many trees. Hawkins is a beautiful place, even though sometimes you feel like there isn't much to do.

 “So. You and Billy, huh?” Max asks after a while. “You two are together or what?”

 Blushing, you wonder if she knows Billy has been spending the nights with you. Almost every night, the only exception being when Neil is especially mad because you don't want him to explode at Billy. “We're... Seeing how things play out. Getting to know each other. Hanging out. Stuff like that.”

 “Stuff like that. AKA dating.” She teases, looking at you with a smile. “Whatever it is, it's good for him. He's less of an asshole ever since you came into the picture.”

 That's good to know. “Can I ask you something?” You continue when she nods. “You know I'm a little older than him, right?” Coming back to the same thought is tiring, you know it. But it's still something that hovers above your head. Not as much as before, but it's still there.

 “You're what? Nineteen?”

 “Twenty-three.”

 “You come out as being around his age. And even if you didn't I don't think that's a big deal.”

 “I just don't want it to be weird.” Max is part of Billy's life, and you want to be accepted by her. If she's ok with it, part of you feels relieved.

 “Look, stupid people will find it weird. Stupid people like Neil. But they don't get a say in it.” You reach the High School parking lot, walking around the few people still going home. “Those who really matter, friends and family, those are the ones who will support you, as long as you're happy.”

 “You're very mature for your age.” You tell her with a smile. “Thanks, Maxine.”

 “Call me Max.” She lightly elbows you, throwing the board on the ground and skating the short distance to Billy's Camaro. “Hey, shitface.”

 “You're late. Again.” You hear him saying as you walk around the hood, still out of his sight.

 “I had to walk instead of skating.”

 “Why? This thing is brand new, it can't be broken.”

 “I made her walk.” You say, smiling when Billy turns around to look at you.

 “Then it's you I should be mad at.”

 “I'm not scared of you.” You whisper, heat spreading through your cheeks.

 “Would the two lovebirds give it a break and drive me home before doing whatever you're doing?” Max complains as she gets inside the car.

 Billy's eye roll makes you giggle as you make your way to the passenger seat.

 Keeping the windows open, you feel the wind messing with your hair.

 “Jerkface, why are you driving so slow?” Max asks after a while, on the edge of her seat, leaning forward and holding on to both your and Billy's seat. “Did you wreck your car again?”

 “I'm under the speed limit.” He explains.

 “So you obey the laws now?”

 “I was in an accident I was a kid.” Turning your face to look at her, you gesture at the scar above your lip. “Got this after surgery to fix my wrecked lip. I lost my grandma and little brother that day.”

 “Oh, sorry.” She says, a sad expression on her face. “Drive safely,” Max tells her brother, slapping his arm.

 You wait for him to lash out at her, and by the look on her face, you know she's waiting for it too. But it doesn't come. Billy just rolls his eyes, hanging his arm out the window.

 “God, it's so hot.” The redhead complains as Billy enters their street. “Won't this heat wave go away?”

 “Not so soon. They're planning on opening the pool.” Billy adds.

 “Pool?”

 “Hawkins Community Pool. I worked there last summer as a lifeguard so they gave me a call.” Billy answers as he stops the car and steps out. You do the same but stand by the open passenger door. “They usually open in the Summer they're considering it because of this heatwave.” He gestures at the house. “Come. Neil isn't home, I'll show you the place.”

 “Alright.” Pushing the door close after taking your bag, you follow them through the sidewalk.

 “(Y/N), you're a tutor, right?” Max asks and you nod. “Could you help me? They'll only assign me to someone if I fail.”

 “Sure, I can help you off the records. What do you need help with?”

 “English. I suck and my teacher is definitely evil.” You enter the house as she speaks, looking around.

 “It's not the subject I'm tutoring but I can give you a hand. Just tell me when you're free so we can find a gap in my schedule.” Your eyes fall on the bench press in the middle of the living room, and it screams Billy Hargrove.

 “I'm free right now.” She exclaims.

 “Maxine, don't even think about it,” Billy warns.

 “Look, you're dating a decent, nice girl who is smart. Let me enjoy the benefits.” The girl snaps back, gesturing at the hall. “I'll get my stuff.”

 “Sure.” Smiling, you put your bag on the couch, but it falls and opens, spreading some papers around. “Shit.” You mumble as you kneel to catch them.

 Billy does the same, handing you a small pile of papers at the top of a notebook. “House of the Next Century?” He asks, and you look at the blue sheet of paper on the top of the pile.

 “It's an exposition from the Architecture School.” Putting everything back inside the bag, you stand up. “Liam's sister takes that course so she's involved and invited us.”

 “Sounds interesting.”

 “We can go if you want. But you know what else is interesting? Having a freaking bench press in the middle of the living room.”

 “Oh, you noticed.”

 “How could I miss it?” Walking over it, you check the weights. “Can you really lift those things? They're huge.” Holding the bar, you give a little push, but nothing moves.

 “I can make a show if you want.” Billy moves closer, but his eyes are on you.

 “You're so cocky, Billy.” Blushing, you look away, biting your lip.

 “When are you going to let me kiss you again?” He suddenly asks, taking you by surprise.

 You and Billy haven't kissed since that night, you're not sure why. “I don't know... On some special occasion, maybe.”

 “Special occasion, huh?” He says, a smirk taking over his lips. “I can work on that.”

 “You two can make out later, I need help,” Max speaks, making her way to the kitchen.

 “Duty calls.” Winking at Billy, you turn around and follow Maxine.

 The two of you get the kitchen table, and you have to read a couple of things to pick up what she needs help with. It's not that complicated, and you still remember some things from school, so it doesn't take much until you're explaining to her. Billy comes to the kitchen every once in a while, but as the night falls and after he makes the three of you a sandwich, he sticks around, listening.

 It gets to you that they're doing better. You don't think Billy hates his step-sister, they just annoy each other as all siblings do. And it even makes you laugh sometimes.

 “You could help me with History too,” Max says as she looks for chapter 7 of her book. “And Geography.”

 “I sure can.”

 “Maxine, stop stealing my girl's time.” Billy snaps, and you giggle.

 “I'm not your girl.” With both elbows on the take, a smirk comes to your lips.

 “Ouch!” The girl exclaims. “That must've hurt.”

 “Yet.” You decide to add soon after.

 “On your face, shitbird,” Billy answers, and you can't help but laugh.

 “The two of you are crazy.” You mumble in between laughs. “I really–” You're cut off not by the front door opening, and by the way Billy stands up abruptly, and Max's eyes go wide, you know who it is.

 “I told Anne we'd be joining them on Saturday.” A woman's voice speaks, and you wonder what you should do. Both Billy and Max seem nervous.

 “Alright then. She better make something good or else it'll be a waste of my damn time.” A man says, not sounding very excited about the woman's plans.

 “We have to-” Billy starts, but he stops talking the moment a man comes into the kitchen.

 Neil's eyes find you immediately, lingering for quite a while, flying then to Billy and Max. “Who is this girl in my house?” He inquires in a rude tone.

 “This is (Y/N). She's one of the tutors from the new campus and she's helping me study for the tests.” Max answers, and the woman, Susan, comes to the kitchen as well.

 Unlike Neil, she kindly smiles and walks over to you. “Hello, (Y/N). I'm Susan, Maxine's mother. Thanks for helping her.”

 “No need to thank me. I'm just doing my job.” You shyly say, shaking Susan's hand.

 “Come on, Neil. Let's leave them to do their thing.” Susan turns to face Neil.

 “What about you? What are you doing here?” He asks Billy.

 You can feel anger irradiating from him, and you just want to grab his hand and take him away. The atmosphere is heavy, almost tangible. You can tell Neil is trying not to let it show, but it's obvious. You can feel it. “Got hungry and made myself a sandwich.”

 “Then be a gentleman once in your life and make some for your sister and her teacher.”

 “He already did.” You speak up, way too abruptly, trying not to let your anger show. Under the table, you clench your fists.

 Neil nods exchanging a glance with his son. “Get back to your room then.”

 You shouldn't say anything. You should let it go and talk to Billy after. But you can't. “He's helping us.”

 “He is?”

 “Yes.” Max bursts out, looking at Neil. “He was making questions.”

 Neil doesn't believe it, but after glancing at Susan, he nods. “Alright then.”

 “She was leaving anyway,” Billy says.

 “(Y/N) could stay for dinner, right, honey?” Susan asks Niel with a smile. “To thank her for helping Max.”

 “That would be lovely, but I have somewhere to be.” With a forced smile, you stand up.

 “Me too. I can give her a ride home.”

 “Sure. Thanks, Billy.” Nodding, you walk around the table. “Max, let me know when you're free so we can continue, alright?”

 “Alright, (Y/N). Thank you.”

 “Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Hargrove.” You mutter, heading for the front door and stopping only to take your bag.

 Billy takes a minute to reach you on the sidewalk, and you wonder what Neil just told him. In silence, you both get into the car and you only relax when he drives away.

 “I'm sorry about that.” Billy apologies, eyes on the road. “I thought they'd be out until later.”

 “It wasn't your fault.” Reaching out your arm, you touch his shoulder. “I had a nice time with you and Maxine.”

 “Me too, (Y/N)...”

 There's pain in his voice, and it breaks your heart. “What's wrong?”

 “I don't want you near Neil. I don't want him looking at you as if-” He stops speaking, running a hand through his hair. “Neil has a taste for young girls. He cheats on Susan on a regular basis and I can't have him thinking about you that way.”

 You feel weird, remembering how he stared at you. “I'm sorry. But it doesn't matter now. Let's go home and order a pizza.” You only understand what you said when the words already left your mouth. And when you look at Billy, you see a smile he's trying to hide. So you can't take it back. You'll just let it be if it makes him happy. “I want pepperoni.”

 “Pepperoni it'll be then.”

 “Oh, and I have a request, Hawkins Community Pool lifeguard. Who do I have to pay to have that pool open? I wanna enjoy a free sample of Summer.”

 “I'll see what I can do for you, Princess.” He looks at you with a smile, the one that belongs to you alone.

•••

@aunicornmademedoit @alexa4040 @goth-cowgirl-03 @nyctophilic0vitnir @minispice-1

[littlewinter1917]

The Haunting

Part I - I See You In Everyone

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI 🔞 Don't reposed my work anywhere.

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: It’s been a few months ever since your boyfriend, Billy Hargrove, died in the battle of Starcourt Mall. You’re still struggling to come to terms with his death, when weird things start happening in your house - almost as if you’re being haunted. Against your better judgement, you get the growing feeling that it’s Billy, and that he’s trying to tell you something, but you cannot figure out what. And then the Vecna attacks start happening, and you and your friends are hurled back into an adventure that seems closely tied to the weird activities in your house, to Billy, and above all, the cursed town of Hawkins, Indiana.

Words: 20.6k (Yes, I know, a little excessive)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Chapter warnings: A lot of grief, angst and survivor’s guilt. Some hurt/comfort. Slightly spooky stuff. Some swearing. Talks about Billy’s death and the events of Starcourt Mall.

Please check out the more detailed series warnings here if you’re unsure about what this story might entail in future chapters.

A/N: I’m quite excited about finally being able to share the first chapter of this! I’m not sure if anyone wants to read a slightly spooky story in the middle of March, but I’m impatient incarnate, so, I simply cannot wait until October to publish this.

I really wanted to capture a certain eerie atmosphere in this story, and you can find some of the visual inspirations I’ve used for it here, as well as a playlist, which you can find on Spotify here.

I've also decided to start a taglist, and you can fill out this form here or let me know in a comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapter <3

“And now, another song that’s been requested: Survivor’s I can’t hold back! A great one, might I add; and even greater for this particular Friday night.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You quietly curse under your breath, as you try to turn off the radio quickly, because that’s the last song you need to hear right now.

Truly, the last song.

“Oh, come on! What is it with you this time?”

The annoyance in your voice is only amplified by the angry stare that you throw the car radio’s way, once you realize that the off button seems to have developed a mind of its own, as it stays unresponsive to your biddings. 

“No, no, no!” You whisper, panic rising up in your chest, as the opening notes of the song start to play, and the radio still doesn’t budge.

Pushing the button forcefully a few times more, just for good measure, and maybe as a way to air some of your current frustrations, you can’t help but curse that damn Camaro. 

“Fuck!”

Even though your steering wheel bears hardly any responsibility for your current misery, it finds itself on the receiving end of your angry outburst anyway, as you hit against it hard. 

This must be one of fate’s cruel jokes again, you think defeated, as the song continues to play on; and haven’t you had enough of those already? 

Truly.  

There’s no other way to stop the oncoming catastrophe either, because neither the switch to change channels, nor the one that regulates the volume, reliably work anymore. And with the on/off button now officially joining their ranks of the dead and unresponsive, there’s nothing left for you to do. 

No way for you to avoid the song that used to mean so much to you. 

To the both of you. 

To you and Billy. 

“And I feel the hand of fate ♪

reaching out to both of us.  

♪ I’ve been holding back the night.”  

Jimi Jamison sings, and your grip around the steering wheel tightens, as you try hard to keep it together. 

This used to be your song, but now it’s nothing more than a torture device that leaves a hole the size of the earth in your already desecrated heart. 

How it can still hurt so much, without there being anything left to destroy, is not something you have an answer to; only that you’ve run out of tears weeks ago, yet the ache in your heart never falters, never sleeps. 

You feel like this is going to haunt you forever, for a lifetime, at least. 

And that’s without having to listen to that stupid song!

You try to distract yourself by focusing on the road instead, but the darkness of the night and the cold silhouettes of the surrounding trees hardly offer a relief. 

Or a distraction. 

The headlights of your car seem to be the only guiding constant in this equation, as they illuminate fractures of the passing landscape before moving on to something further away in the distance, over and over again. 

It’s kind of unsettling, really, if you think about how much of your current surroundings you can’t see, can’t capture with the fleeting lights of your vehicle. How behind the first line of trees looms another, darker one, and then another, and another, and- 

“That’s a forest for you, sweetheart.” Billy would’ve probably teased with a smile, if you’d voiced that thought to him. 

If he was still around. 

He is not.

Instead, you get taunted by a fucking rock ballad, and the wave of painful memories that come with said tune. 

To your horror, it’s not even halfway done yet, and for a moment you actually consider stopping the car completely and turning off its ignition, just to escape it. 

Just to make it stop.

But, miraculously, your silent prayers seem to have been heard by someone with at least a little bit of agency in this universe, because suddenly, out of nowhere, that current curse of a song gets cut off by blaring sounds of static before a different melody breaks through the speakers. 

“ Operator … could you help me…” 

Jim Croce’s voice croaks through the buzzing noises, and a shiver runs down your spine at the memory of where exactly you know that song from.

But before you can dwell on that too much either, your radio simply decides to unceremoniously turn itself off. 

“Fucking finally,” you mumble relieved, while the long-awaited silence engulfs you and the surrounding space of your Camaro. 

Your Camaro?

Billy’s Camaro. 

No one’s Camaro.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you quickly come to the unpleasant realization that silence has its teeth and claws too, as it grows and takes shape right there beside you in the car, flashing you a sinister smile, threatening to swallow you whole. 

Getting haunted and tortured by music, or torn apart by nothing, is hardly a choice worth making. 

Especially not when you’re driving through a darkened forest, on the way home to a town you deeply resent, in a car that used to be your boyfriend’s before he got possessed and brutally killed by an inter-dimensional goo monster. 

And the scars of that story still litter your heart, and your thoughts, and your memories, in ways you can’t even begin to express, because the pain is simply too vast to fit into words, or phrases, or anything else that bears some form of communicational function.

Except scars would imply healing; and you feel anything but that. 

Healed.  

Nor do you think you’ll ever get there again.

Not in this lifetime, you won’t.

You speed up the car a little, until you see the first flickering lights of the town you call both, home, and hell; and the knot that builds in the pit of your stomach at the sight is not something you actively fight anymore. 

You wouldn’t know how to anyway these days. 

Once upon a time, there was the pleasant dream of Californian beaches, of the day where both you and Billy would speed off into the night together, and never, ever, come back again. 

Only for you to wake up in one big, cruel nightmare, with no means for you to escape it.

You wouldn’t know how to anyway these days.

Somehow, you make it through half of the town, despite feeling like you’re on fire, and each passing crossroad is only adding gasoline to the flickering flames eating away at your heart. There’s memories splattered all over this town, and the stains they leave won’t ever truly wash away. No amount of tears, or denial, or distraction will do that job. 

You’ve tried all three enough times to confidently stand by that verdict. 

There’s no escaping it. 

You would have to soak your heart in bleach and acid to get the remnants of Billy out; and even then you’re not sure it would work, because Billy has been the sole inhabitant of that place hidden deep within your chest for so long, that you don’t think it would still count as your heart, without Billy in it.

There’s nothing that can fill the bleeding gash he left in your life, and it’s not like you’d want to replace him either. 

You just want him back. 

You still wait and long for that moment, where you wake up and find out that all of this was just one, big, exceptionally cruel nightmare. 

Yet, that moment never comes, and as of late, you’ve started to lose faith that it ever will. 

Acceptance, or so they call it, but this is just one more of the many things you’d rather not think about. 

And by the time you reach the trailer park, you’ve succeeded in your mission, of blocking these thoughts out completely.

As usual, Max is already standing outside her trailer, waiting for you, and she’s quick to run up to the car as soon as she spots you and the blue Camaro.

You’ve barely come to a stop, when the door to the passenger side already swings wide open, and the little redhead plops down beside you. 

“You’re late.” Are the first few words she throws your way, and with a quick glance at the tiny time display inside your dashboard, you come to the realization that she’s right. 

You are almost 15 minutes late. 

Weird, you think with a frown, you could have sworn you left the newspaper’s office just in time – a rather rare occurrence these days. You’ve been doing a lot of overtime ever since Starcourt Mall. 

Anything, really, to keep yourself from going home or not being busy enough. With Fridays being the only exceptions, because, well, you and Max have shared plans on these evenings.

A ritual, so to speak.

“Sorry,” you mumble apologetically, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“It’s alright, can we just go now, please?” Max grumbles, one of her legs bouncing nervously in anticipation. 

“Right, right.” You state, before maneuvering the car out of the gravely grounds of the trailer park.

The silence that’s been haunting you is back inside the car, hovering over you and your dead boyfriend’s little sister from the comfort of the backseat now.

“So, uhm, how’s school?” You offer, as a way to keep its claws from gripping either one of you too tightly.

It’s a sorry excuse of a topic, and you almost cringe physically as the words leave your lips.

Still better than silence, though.

But Max just huffs as a response, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

“It’s fine.” She says in a way that leaves you to think that she’s said these exact words today about a million times before.

Like a script. 

Like something she’s practiced and recites automatically, without much heart or thought.

Like the way you do, too, whenever someone brings up your current emotional state or well-being.

Looking over at the little redhead, you quietly observe the way the passing lights of the street lamps illuminate her face, and let her drift into darkness again.

Illuminate her face, and let it drift into darkness again. 

Turning your gaze back towards the road, you can’t help but take the mental note that she looks exceptionally pale today. Paler than she did the last time you saw her, which would have to be exactly a week ago. 

Maybe, it’s just the harsh and unforgiving lights of the street lamps feeding that illusion, you tell yourself, but you know in your heart that’s not right. After all, these lights must have been the same ones last time around, too, and you don’t remember her looking so pale then, so what exactly changed now?

As usual, she has her headphones hanging loosely around her neck, and the baggy flannel she’s wearing is something you immediately identify as Billy’s.

There’s a lump the size of the earth stuck in your throat now.

You know she’s hurting. One could say you all are, but it’s safe to say that Billy’s sudden death hit Max and you the hardest.

Launching the two of you into the biggest and deepest spiral. 

You’ve lost the love of your life, and she lost her only brother.

Her big brother.

And though they shared a rather rocky sibling dynamic from the very start, things had been cooling down over the past year. They even started bonding a bit before the tragic events of Starcourt Mall.

Before both of your lives were turned completely upside down, and then never recovered.

Glancing once more over to the girl next to you, you’re overwhelmed by a massive wave of helplessness that washes over you mercilessly. 

Dunking your head underwater, filling your lungs and your chest with despair, rendering your body immobile.

Taking you over, and under, and then spitting you out. 

Soaking your heart till it drowns.

You feel like you should have some comfort, some guidance, something, anything, to say, that might make your young friend feel a little better, but you’re struggling just as much as she is. 

There are no words to relieve the steady ache in your chest, the silent longing, the pounding headaches from all the crying. 

So why should it be any different for her? 

Anything anyone says to you, about how time will heal and mend the cracks of your heart, how they understand, how they’re there to help; it all feels like a cruel joke.

Because no time can heal or mend your heart. There’s hardly anything left of it anyway.

And they don’t understand your loss because, how could they? 

They didn’t lose the love of their life. 

Hell, most of them didn’t even know Billy. 

At least not the real Billy. 

No, they didn’t know him the way you did.

They only knew him as the troublemaker, the hot lifeguard, the one with the speeding Camaro and the anger issues. 

The one who embodied recklessness down to his very bones. 

And don’t most men like that die a tragic and terribly young death? 

But you knew him as the sensitive and softhearted boy he really was underneath it all.

The one who would snuggle into your side even in his sleep, because he always needed you as near and as close as possible.

The one with a terribly odd sense of humor, that would make you laugh until your stomach hurt. 

The one who was so utterly protective and tender when it came to you; whose kisses could make the world stop spinning, whose touches felt like heaven on earth, making even the strongest of angels blush and bloat with envy. 

Billy, your Billy, was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of guy. 

Someone, who took over your heart and mind in an instant. 

And you knew even then, after the first few dates you two shared, that your life would never be the same again without him in it.

He did have his demons, too, of course. 

The angry voice of his father, like a taunting shadow in the back of his mind. 

The lack of love and trust, a jealous and hungry monster in his heart.

It took a while, until he truly opened up to you, but when he did, well, you got to experience an exceptionally vulnerable and strong-willed man, whose cards had always been stacked against him; but still he fought, still he survived, still he loved you with a heart so fragile, so scared; with an utter and blatant tenderness, that no one who’d hear the name Billy Hargrove would connect to the boy in question.

But to you they were one and the same, really. 

Yet you’ve lost all of that in an instant, in the blink of an eye. 

And you’ll never get it back either, never get to experience the future you and Billy dreamed so vividly about. 

Now his body is stuck in a town he hated, and you’re stuck right there with him.

So, no, when people say they know or understand your loss, they really don’t. Because it wasn’t their world that was ripped away and taken from them in the most cruel way; but yours was. 

And Billy’s. 

And you’ll never recover from it, you’re sure of that. 

There’s a crater where your heart once was. 

There’s only hurt where there once was love and happy memories. 

And the pain of that loss is so vast, so strong, it renders you almost physically immobile on some days.

The bad days. 

The really bad days.

You have a lot of those.

And the empty promises of, “I’m there if you need anything,”  or, “If I can help in any way, let me know,”  they hurt the most, like stabs and twists of an ugly knife, because where were these promises, when Billy needed them?

When he needed help, there was no one there. 

Not even you, because you’d been out of state. 

The biggest mistake of your life. 

But despite that, there had been so many other people in the cursed town of Hawkins, Indiana, and yet, no one noticed. No one cared. And the few people that did realize something was wrong, well, that apparently wasn’t enough. 

And on some days you can’t help but think that maybe they simply didn’t try hard enough.

You know you’re not being fair in your judgment or resentment, but those feelings are hard to stop and rationalize. 

You wonder if Max feels a similar way. If that’s one of the reasons why she keeps such a distance from most of her friends these days. 

You know you kind of do. 

“Geez, is your radio broken, again?” Max curses, her finger still lingering over the on/off button, that apparently stayed unresponsive to her biddings, too.

Her words are what pulls you out of the hurricane in your head, and back into reality.

“Yeah, sorry, it started acting up again earlier.”

Max shakes her head slightly, before muttering, “That’s so weird that it keeps happening, right? Maybe you should let Eddie look over it once more.” 

“He already did, trice. I don’t want to bother him a fourth time with this.”

“I don’t think he’d be bothered. If anything, he would probably rejoice. Come to think of it, maybe it’s been his doing all along; manipulating the car to get you to talk to him, I wouldn’t put it beyond him.”

“Well, I would.”

There’s the hint of a hint of a smile playing on both of your lips. 

“It’s a shame that the Camaro doesn’t like tapes either, anymore.” Max slender fingers linger on the opening of the tape enclosure for a moment, and you watch her with careful eyes.

“Yeah, it’s-“

“It’s almost as if she knows.” Max interrupts, her blue eyes questioningly finding yours.

Despite the fact that she and Billy aren’t related by blood, her eyes look so much like his to you. 

“It’s like the Camaro knows that these aren’t Billy’s tapes, and so, she rejects them.”

“Max,” you chide gently, because now that’s ridiculous. 

“I’m sure the Camaro would reject Billy’s tapes as well; I just haven’t gotten around trying it out yet.”

And I don’t think I ever will, you think.

You can’t even bear the idea of listening to them without him by your side, laughing and singing along. It just feels wrong.

“After the crashes, not everything in this car could be fixed or replaced. She’s bound to have some quirks and flaws. The tape player not properly functioning is just one of those cases, you know.”

“I’m sure they said something similar about Christine.” The redhead mumbles dryly, and you can’t help but scoff with a laugh.

“Max, please.” you huff, trying to keep a straight face. 

“I’m just saying that Billy would have probably kicked me out of the car if I’d asked him to play Kate Bush, so it makes sense that his car would react the same.”

“Oh, hush, Billy wouldn’t have minded a little Kate Bush. In fact, I think he would have secretly liked it.” 

Now, it’s Max’s turn to scoff in disbelief, because of all the lies she’s been told today, this has to be the most blatant one yet.

“Yeah, right.” She states, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“I’m serious!” You insist, “but I guess that only means Billy’s never told you about that time when he and I got awfully drunk on my mom’s expensive port wine, and we were convinced that now was the best moment to try and learn the choreography to Wuthering Heights .” 

Max looks at you wide-eyed. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I’m really not.” 

There’s a short pause as you recall the memory, a small smile playing on the edge of your lips.

“You know, he was always surprisingly steady on his feet, even while drunk, and so of course he ended up being a whole lot better at executing that damn choreo than I was.”

You still remember that night vividly. The two of you had laughed so hard, your stomach still ached the very next day. And you’ll never forget the big, boyish smile taking over Billy’s face, when he managed to nail the Choreography part of the chorus without much fault. 

“I’ve got it!” He’d beamed, outshining all of the stars that night.

“Look, look! I've got it!” 

And as he twirled around he almost knocked your dad’s car magazines off the coffee table. But he still looked great doing it, and most importantly, he was having the time of his life, so, it was all okay. 

He looked so young that day, so full of life and hope. 

That memory, like all memories involving Billy, stings somewhere deep within your chest. But for a brief moment there’s also a small spark of happiness there, as a tiny smile etches itself on your lips. 

A very tiny smile, but a smile, nevertheless.

And Max, who’s lost in the idea of trying to imagine her older brother dancing to that particular song out of all the possible songs, well, there’s a tiny smile on her lips playing, too.

“That must have been quite a night to remember.” She mumbles, and you nod your head in agreement. 

“It was.” You admit softly. 

It really, really was. 

The silence that takes over the car now has nothing threatening, nothing sinister. Instead, there’s a calmness that you haven’t experienced in quite a while, and for a moment you feel like you can breathe again. 

Like you aren’t suffocating under the weight of Billy’s loss. 

Or your loss. 

The loss of the world.

“Alright, we’re almost here.” You state while setting the blinker as you take the last turn. It’s only a handful of minutes now, until you two will reach your destination. 

Billy’s final destination. 

Clenching your hands into fists around the steering wheel, you realize just how much that truth still angers and upsets something deep within you.

That thought, however, drifts into the background as the parking lot creeps into view, and just like every Friday evening, there’s not a single spot taken. 

Not a single car around. 

Except for the one you and Max are currently sitting in. 

The headlights of the Camaro illuminate a sparse line of trees in front of you, as you park the car, and you can vaguely make out the first few silhouettes of some lonely gravestones peeking out from behind them. 

For a brief moment, you stare at the sight ahead of you. Taking in the way the cold light of the car leaves an eerie glow on the dark tree barks, giving their trunks a haunting yet artificial look. The grass beneath, wet with dew, or remnants of the last rain, reflects the light softly, intensifying the surrounding glow. 

The only thing missing is some fog, you think. But with summer slipping into autumn, that kind of element is waiting just around the corner. Give it another week or two, and you and Max will have the perfect horror movie setting at your hands by then.

“I’ll go grab the flowers from the trunk.” Max pulls you out of your thoughts again, and you take that as your cue to shake the lingering residue of your last mentation off, before grabbing your backpack from the backseat, as well as the flashlight you keep in the gloves department, and then, finally, you decidedly turn the engine of. 

In the blink of an eye darkness encompasses the surrounding trees again, while the Camaro’s headlights go to sleep. 

As you close the car door with a heavy thump, Max echoes the sound shortly after with the booming noise of the trunk shutting, too.

“Ready?” You question, as you turn around to face her, and she gives you a brief nod. 

But when you move to lock the car, the headlights of the Camaro suddenly turn themselves back on again. It’s only brief, for a split second maybe, before the darkness of the night creeps back into its rightful place, like nothing happened, like nothing disturbed it at all. 

If you had been all on your own, you might have convinced yourself that you just imagined it, but with Max right there by your side, bearing witness, that’s hardly a possibility. 

Max, however, just shrugs her shoulders as she comes up next to you. 

“Eddie.” She simply states, and you’re not sure if she’s trying to state the name of the culprit or the solution. 

As the two of you step up the curb that gives way to the graveyard, marking the territory like a faint line between the home of the living and the dead, she softly bumps her shoulder into your side. 

“Or, Christine, if you know what I mean.” 

“Max,” You huff again with a small laugh.

She’s really trying to drive that point home, you think. 

“Aren’t you too young to watch horror movies like that anyway?” You tease.

Despite the deep darkness surrounding you two, you can tell that Max is throwing you the most utterly offended look, like you’ve just asked her if she still sleeps with a nightlight and a mobile, or something. 

“I think I should punch you for this.” She mumbles, but there’s no real malice behind her words, just a matter-of-fact kind of dryness that she most definitely picked up from her brother.

This time, it’s your turn to playfully bump your shoulder slightly into her side, as you continue to walk next to each other. 

You both know the way by heart. Eyes closed, eyes tied, in a dream – it doesn’t matter, either of you know the exact path to the grave that holds so much more than a brother, or a lover. 

You continue to walk a little longer in the lingering silence and darkness.

It’s not even that dark once your eyes have become accustomed to the lack of light sources. The flashlight you crammed into the side-pocket of your backpack only really exists for emergencies, like when your zippo won’t work to light the candle at the graveside. 

A few weeks ago, you and Max didn’t even need any additional light sources at all, because the sun wouldn’t set until you were back inside the car. 

But as of late, ever since the days have begun to get colder and shorter, and the sun started to stick around less and less, you found yourself needing some kind of extra illumination at the very least when the two of you are at the graveside. 

The choice to only go with a candle was easy enough. Both you and Max luckily shared the sentiment that anything’s better than the harsh and artificial glow of a flashlight. 

Besides, you’d been lighting candles next to Billy’s headstone even before the nights started to creep in earlier, and earlier, and stay for so much longer, too. 

It also seems more peaceful that way, walking to the grave in the natural darkness, trying not to disturb any of the surrounding sleeping souls buried on the haunting grounds of Hawkins, Indiana.

During your last few trips to visit Billy, the setting sun was at the very least still a loyal companion on your walks to the grave, but today might actually mark the first time that there isn’t even the faintest sliver of orange hovering at the edge of the horizon anymore.

Instead, there’s only a deep indigo blue, similar to the one of the Camaro you now get to call your own. 

“You know,” you break through the quiet song of the last remaining crickets and the low humming of the wind rustling through the trees, whispering sweet nothings to the blushing leaves before carrying them away. 

“When Billy and I initially started dating, one of the first things he told me about you was how much you loved horror movies. He tried not to sound too impressed, but I could tell he was quite proud of that, of you.” 

You feel Max’s wide-eyed gaze on you once more, two big oceans of blue and a wave of disbelief. 

“Really?” She mutters, trying hard not to sound too affected. 

“Yeah, really. Told me how often you’d want to rewatch Halloween. He tried his best to look annoyed, but you could tell he really wasn’t. Not even in the slightest. Max, I know you two used to share a complicated relationship, and he certainly wasn’t the type of guy who’d wear his heart on his sleeve, but he did care a whole lot about you.” 

“I know,” Max mumbles while kicking a few pebbles across the grass, one hand buried in the depth of her pocket, the other one still holding on to the small flower bouquet that you bought earlier during your lunch break. 

Silence takes shape between the two of you once more, safe for the sound of your steps on the mix of fallen leaves, dirt, and gravel. 

But you come to a stop soon after - at a grave whose sight still burns holes in the broken remnants of your heart. 

William Hargrove it states, etched into dark and cold stone, followed by two dates: One that means the whole world to you, and one that pulled the rug from under your feet in the cruelest of ways, leaving you to float in a state of disbelief, anger, and infinite sadness. 

And you still struggle to come down from that, to face the reality of it all, accepting it.   

Leaving you to question what’s the world without Billy in it. Not much, not really. Not when it comes to your world anyway. 

And then, underneath that, the grave’s finishing touches says: Gone, but not forgotten.  

Such an impersonal statement. 

Something that could also be said about the missing neighborhood cat for all you cared. 

But what did you expect from a father like Neil? 

A big ode devoted to how great of a son Billy was? Of course not. 

You almost got into a physical fight with him over Billy’s burial. You had wanted for Billy’s last resting place to be somewhere in California. The place he never stopped calling his home with so much fondness and longing, instead of the town he absolutely despised with every single bone in his body.

You had been willing to take care of it all, to drive him there yourself if you needed to, pay for anything, sell your soul if that’s what it took. But Neil had refused every single plea and offer from your side, and it took both Eddie and Steve to hold you back from, well, escalating that whole situation further. 

But all of this lays behind you now, even if the wound that Billy’s sudden death created continues to feel so tender and raw, like it just happened yesterday, and each time you visit his grave, there’s still a twinge of disbelieve bubbling up inside of you at the sight of the gravestone and everything that lies beneath. 

Billy.

Your Billy.  

“Are you going to-“ Max’s voice pulls you out of your head again. 

“Oh yeah, sorry!” 

You don’t know where your head is today. 

Your heart? No question, six feet under next to Billy. 

Your head? You must have left it somewhere during the car drive to the trailer park because you’re pretty sure you were still doing somewhat fine while working at the newspaper earlier.

Trying hard not to keep Max waiting any longer, you kneel down while getting the new candle from out of your backpack, but before you even get to lighting it, Max speaks up again. 

“How about I get the broom this time, while you finish up here?” She offers and though that idea surprises you, you nod your head. 

“Sure, why not.“ You state, offering her your flashlight, but she just brushes you off.

“It’s fine.“ She says with a little wave before walking in the direction of where some gardening materials are usually hidden underneath a small shelter. You’re not even sure if these things are actually intended for public use or not. But so far no one’s told either of you otherwise. 

The whole routine is based around a weird little habit you two established early on, after your first or second visit to the grave together.

Initially, it was a simple watering can that you would go get from that place at the other side of the graveyard, giving Max the possibility to have some time with her brother by herself. 

There were a few wildflowers blooming near Billy’s gravestone that you two would then water with the can together, before Max would bring it back to its rightful place again, leaving you to have a couple of minutes of alone time with Billy in return.

Now, with summer slipping into autumn, there’s no need for watering flowers anymore. Instead, Max incidentally found a small hand broom in between the other gardening tools a few weeks ago, and her eyes lit up immediately, as a new idea formed in her head.

There‘s a strong pine tree not too far off from Billy’s grave, and occasionally a few needles and debris find their way onto his gravestone. 

But not anymore, because nowadays Max makes a continuous effort to brush them away, with the help of the small broom she’s found, of course.

The first time she decided to do that, it caught you off guard completely, and the tenderness with which she‘d clean the gravestone certainly didn’t help your emotional tumult either; brushing the stone with a care like it could be Billy’s hair. 

“Now you’re all pretty again.” She would mumble to the cold stone once she was completely done, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek hard, to not let out a single sob or tear.

You’d get back in your rhythm after that, with you usually getting the broom, and Max bringing it back again. Occasionally you would switch up these roles, but for the most part they stayed the same, yet you are thankful to get a few minutes alone with Billy first, this time around, for a change.

You really, really need that right now.

“Hi,” you whisper softly, still on your knees while planting your hands securely on the ground, fingers trying to dig their way inside; inside the earth that holds Billy’s remains. 

You don’t notice you’re crying until the image of your hands gets blurry, and a small sob escapes your lips. 

You haven’t cried by his grave in a long time. 

Geez, what is it with you today? You mentally chide yourself, rubbing your eyes in a hurry. You don’t want to worry Max any more than you probably already do, so she really shouldn’t witness you like this.

Get yourself together! You scold underneath your breath, trying to focus on the flickering flames of the candle for a little bit, before turning back fully towards the grave.

To Billy.

“I miss you,” you whisper, like old times, like always. 

“They played our song today on the radio, but I c-couldn’t… It just hurts too much, Billy. It just all hurts too much.” 

Slumping down a little more, your fingers find their way back into wet earth. 

“Billy,” you whisper, “I don’t know how-“ 

The sound of careful steps in the distance makes you pause. 

Max.  

Talking a steading breath, you try to get back in a more dignified position, straightening your back and blinking hot tears away quickly.

By the time she comes to a stop next to you, you hope you look a little more pulled together. 

“Do you want to-“ Max holds the small broom out to you like a peace offering.

“No, no, it’s fine, Max, go ahead.” 

Your eyes cannot bear to witness her gravestone-cleaning-ritual tonight. So, instead, you toy with the zipper of your backpack for a little while before standing up, brushing lingering pieces of earth from your jeans in an effort to seem busy. 

And fine.

You’re absolutely fine. 

“I’ll just bring the old flowers over to the compost.” You state after a heartbeat of silence and nothing to do. “You can put the new ones in the vase if you’d like.” 

Max only nods her head at your words, too absorbed in her own little routine. 

Taking the withering flowers out of the small, sturdy vase you two planted next to the edge of his stone, you walk over to the compost with quick strides. It’s not too far off, and you’re glad you have something to do as a distraction. 

That’s another one of your shared rituals – bringing a fresh bouquet of flowers to Billy’s grave every Friday night, and getting rid of the old one by default, too. It’s the least you can do, in your mind. Because you have to do something for Billy. 

Anything.   

Even if it’s too late now. 

Once you’re back at the grave, Max has finished not only the cleaning of the gravestone, but  also managed to put the new flowers up, too.

They’re a lovely mix of blue and yellow, kind of like sunlight reflecting on the ocean’s surface – at least that’s what they looked like in broad daylight earlier, anyway. Now, their colors are more muted by the surrounding darkness, but you can still guess their shades roughly.

“Looks great, Max.” You quietly praise, and she gives you an appreciating smile. It’s only short and faint, and vanishes quickly, but it’s still a smile. 

You two stand there in silence for a little while longer, gazing at the graveside together.

The glow of the candle bathes its surroundings in a soft and tender golden hue, but it flickers every now and then, like an unsteady heartbeat. You try not to think of Billy at that realization, try not to let that memory of Starcourt Mall overtake your mind.

Max keeps fidgeting with the broom in her hand next to you, and you’re about to ask her if you should take it back to the shelter, when she suddenly speaks up again. 

“Does it ever make you angry?” She asks, and you can’t help but furrow your brows in slight confusion. 

“Does what make me angry, Max?” 

Turning the broom over in her hands once more, she’s quiet for a heartbeat longer, before whispering: “That you can’t tell anyone why he’s gone; why he left. That he died saving-“ 

Her voice breaks slightly, and there are tears back in your eyes. 

“I mean, instead, he’s just one more victim of some stupid fire. L-like he didn’t sacrifice everything. And I can’t even talk to the other’s about it because they don’t understand, not really, not when it comes to Billy. But honestly, I don’t care what it takes, I just want him back!“ 

Your gaze softens at Max’s admission, her outburst, because, hell, if you don’t feel the exact same way. 

“Max, hey,” you quickly soothe, once you realize that her eyes are darting restlessly over the vicinity, her jaw clenched, the hand around the broom tightening.

She’s doing the exact same thing Billy used to do, when he was fighting back tears, trying hard not to let them slip.

Trying hard not to cry.

“Oh, Max.” You whisper, before instinct takes over and you wrap her up into your arms.

It takes her only a split second before she melts into you, a little sob wrecking her body as she hides her face in the crook of your neck.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you mutter, “it’s alright, you can cry. It’s alright, I’ve got you.” 

You don’t immediately notice how much these words sound like the ones you’d usually mumble to Billy in an effort to ease his falls, his pains, his tears in the past. 

You stay like that for a little while, rubbing gentle circles on Max’s back, voice soft and calm, encouraging her to let it all out. 

“I just want him back!” She wails, and the desperate tone of her voice cuts you right through your heart, through your bones, through every fiber of your being. 

“I know,” You whisper, tears openly running down your face as well now. “I do too, I want him back just as much as you do. And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t sacrifice, to get that, but we both know this isn’t possible. There’s nothing any of us can do, to bring him back alive and well.” 

Blinking your tears away once more, you try to steady yourself and your voice, while you continue to hold Max. 

You wonder when the last time was that she let herself cry like that, be held like that. You know she’s been keeping a certain distance from her friends, know that she broke things off with Lucas shortly after the events of Starcourt Mall, know that her family life turned even more chaotic with Billy’s passing.

You know all of these things and yet you found yourself so occupied by your own hurt and grief that the struggles of the little redhead managed to drift out of sight for you, at least for a little while. 

But right now, in this moment, you’re once more reminded of just how much you two have in common when it comes to the loss of Billy, and the significance it carries for the both of you.

To a certain extent, you think you might even have it a little bit easier than her, because you don’t have to reconcile so many different versions of Billy, the way Max undoubtedly has to. 

The way you felt towards Billy has never been particularly divergent, never been exposed to much change, but Max on the other hand… There’s a more intricate relationship there. One with a rocky start and middle at the very least. 

So, reconciling Billy’s death in the context of their history carries a different weight for Max than it does for you. 

Additionally, something that you also slowly realize, as you sway Max gently in your arms, is that she kind of serves as a reflection of Billy for you in many ways. She’s adapted quite a few mannerisms from her older brother; things that make you see him in her, and there’s an odd comfort in that. 

But, you doubt that it’s the other way around as well. That she can see glimpses of Billy in the little things you do, too. 

“Max,” You whisper softly, “I miss your brother dearly, and I know you do, too. I know you’re hurting more than you let on. And I wish I could ease your pains. Wish I could take your hurt and mine and just bury it somewhere together with Billy, but I can’t. I can’t get him back, and I can’t make it better, and I’d be lying if I said I know how to move on, but we do have to try, somehow.

“I know me out of all people saying that you shouldn’t distance yourself from your friends too much, while I do the exact same thing would be hypocritical of me, so I’m not even gonna go there; but Max if you ever want to talk about Billy, not just the good things, but the bad things as well, I’m always here, always.”

“Fuck,” you huff with a quiet laugh, “I usually hate it when people tell me that, so feel free to hit me now, if you want to, but I still stand by these words. And for the record, I’m still incredibly angry at the whole mall-fire-lie. It hurts that even in his death there’s nothing but misconceptions about Billy, I don’t think he deserves that. 

“Max, I understand how much the loss of Billy must affect you, cause it affects me, too. You and I might be the only two people in this god forsaken town, who really knew Billy, so, if you ever want to talk about it, about him, his death, anything; even about how much of a fucking dickhead he could be, I’m always just a phone call away, alright? A phone call and a quick drive of the Camaro is all it takes, Max.“ 

By now, Max’s sobs have eased into quiet sniffles, and she looks up at you with her usual wide-eyed gaze.

“Yeah?” She questions.

“Yeah.” You promise with a reassuring smile. 

“You’re like a little sister to me, always have, always will be.”

Brushing a few loose strands of orange from her face, and wiping away the last remaining tears from her cheeks, you look at her with all the sincerity in your eyes that this world can hold, before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“Okay?” You question softly and Max nods her head in a slow manner.

“I will be.” She whispers. 

And that’s all you can wish for, for the both of you.

The moon has decided to show her face around, too, by now, peeking through a few translucent clouds, painting silver stripes on the ground and the cold graves.

“Do you want me to take the broom back while-“ You offer after a short pause, but Max is quick to interrupt you.

“No, it’s okay, we can do this together and then get back to the car, if that’s alright?”

“Sure thing.” There’s a gentle smile playing on your lips as you watch Max skip ahead a little bit before she’s turning back around towards you. 

“You can always talk to me about Billy, too, you know.” She offers quietly, and you hope that the moonlight doesn’t give away the tears shining in your eyes. 

“I know.” 

The rest if the walk back to the car turns out to be uneventful, but then again, it usually is. The detour to the shelter takes only a few minutes more, and by the time the two of you are back in the car, you feel a shallow tiredness start to slowly creep up on you. 

Luckily, the trailer park isn’t too far off, and Max also seems in a more chatty mood now, than during the previous ride, so, you have something more to focus on than just the empty road in front of you, and maybe the growing inabilities of your car radio.

“You know,” she suddenly says, “you really should talk to Eddie.” 

“Still convinced this car is Christine 2.0?”

“No. I just- listen, how about a deal?” 

“A deal?”

“Uh-huh. If you’ll talk to Eddie, I’ll talk to Lucas…no, wait! I’ll talk to Dustin; that would make more sense, right? Since Eddie is to you what Dustin is to me?”

“Max, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know.”

You do in fact kind of know. There’s a small inkling about what she’s trying to say, even if you don’t like where she’s getting at. 

“And why should I talk to Eddie?” 

“ Be-cause. Also, I think you two might need it, and maybe he’ll finally stop asking about you constantly. Besides, you did say I shouldn’t distance myself too much from my friends, and neither should you, so…”

“Max…”

“I’m just throwing ideas out there, alright. I mean, shouldn’t you as a big sister set a good example at least?”

“You’re seriously going to use all of my own words against me right now, huh?”

There’s no real malice in your voice, just a hint of surprise and dare you say, a little amusement. 

Max really is as sly as her big brother. 

“Fine,” you mumble, “but you better keep up your end of the bargain and talk to Dustin, too.”

“Deal.” Max promises, as she holds her hand out to you. Such a Dustin-move, you think, or maybe even Steve’s, but you probably do well not to mention it. 

“Deal.” You echo, before slapping Max’s outstretched hand and she smiles. 

And as you turn away to set the indicator, you notice that you’re smiling, too.

You two turn up at the trailer park shortly after, and by now, the night has truly settled in.

Some of the trailers are left completely in the dark, while others illuminate the glumly surroundings through their rectangular windows and makeshift porch lights. 

You don’t immediately notice Eddie sitting on the steps of his trailer at first. He, on the other hand, notices you straightaway. 

You’re hard to miss with the Camaro, though.

“Alright, here we are.” You mumble after turning off the ignition and Max leaps out of the car quickly.

You watch her walk up to Eddie, who in return is making his way over to you, and you quietly sigh. 

Please don’t make me regret this, Max, you think. 

Please don’t make me regret this.  

Once you step out of the car, you roughly hear Max say something about the state of your radio, and you watch the way Eddie nods his head deep in thought before his gaze shifts, and his eyes suddenly find yours. 

Oh, you’re going to regret this, you think.

But there’s no way out, and Max, that little shit, fakes an exaggerated yawn. 

“Huh? I’m really tired, I better get to bed now.” 

You can tell that she struggles to say these words with a straight face, trying her very best to cover the pleased smile that threatens to spill out. She even has the audacity to do an overzealous stretch, trying hard to drive her look-at-me-I’m-so-sleepy point home. 

Smug little shit, you think, as you watch her hop up the steps to her trailer, opening the door swiftly. 

She calls your name one last time, thanking you with a small, yet sincere smile, before calling out to the both of you: “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

By now, she has almost vanished behind the door, but not before giving you a little, hidden thumbs up. 

Pointing over to Eddie she mouths, “Be careful with the car!” or something of that sort. You’re too far away, to really be able to tell, so you wouldn’t bet your life on it. 

And then with a low rumble, the door falls shut behind her.

For a moment, you find yourself dumbfounded at the redhead’s behavior, but before you can dwell on it for too long, the sound of crunching steps pulls you out of your thoughts again.

Eddie.  

“Hey.” He sounds slightly out of breath, timid even, like he’s worried you might run off if he speaks too loudly. 

“Hey.” You echo, because you don’t know what else to say.

“Max told me that your radio is acting funny again.” 

You almost let a sigh of relief slip past your lips at the realization that Eddie decided to skip the whole how-are-you-doing-and-holding-up part of the conversation. 

Guess he still knows you better than you thought.

“Yeah,” you mumble, eyes darting over the ground like it might hold the world’s secrets, or maybe just an escape plan for you to get out of this conversation. 

Unfortunately, it features neither; nothing but dimly lit gravel, dirt, old cigarette buds, and dried, fallen leaves. 

There’s not even a hole that opens up to swallow you whole. 

Seems like you’re completely out of luck today, you think, resignation settling heavy in your heart. 

It’s just a conversation, you try to tell yourself. 

Just a simple conversation with an old friend.

But when you look back up at Eddie, his big brown eyes are immediately too kind, too understanding, too much for you to bear at once.

“Uhm, yeah, the radio has been acting off again, but, it’s fine, really, don’t worry about it.” 

Your words come out jumbled, like they all tried to leave the captivity of your mouth as fast as they could, tumbling over each other in the process. 

But Eddie just gives you a look that seems to say: It’s not the radio I’m worried about.  

And you can’t take it. 

You can take the pitiful glances from the unfamiliar and whispering women at Melvald’s. You can take the talking, the stares, the fingers pointing in your direction, when they think they’re being real smooth, but you cannot take it from your friends. 

The strangers? Yes. 

Your once-upon-a-time best friend? Not so much.

“Max said, you’ve been fucking with the car.”

You’re not sure what in god’s name possessed you to blur that out, but Eddie looks at you like his eyes might pop out of his skull.

“What?!” 

“Max said, she thinks you might have been fucking with the car.” You repeat, as if it’s the words that Eddie didn’t quite catch right the first time around. 

“I-I know, you didn’t, obviously, but she also said that you’ve been asking about me and-”

“Yeah, no shit, genius,” Eddie huffs, slight amusement illuminating his features, “how else am I supposed to find out about your well-being, when you’ve been dropping from the face of the earth.” 

You’re grateful for the things he doesn’t say. The accusations he very well could throw your way. Like how you haven’t returned any of his phone calls over the last few weeks for example. 

“And for the record, I didn’t fuck with the Camaro. Though, I do have to admit, I’m slightly baffled that Max would even consider me capable of that, I don’t know if I should feel flattered or concerned.” 

“Bit of both, maybe.” 

The small smiles you and Eddie exchange feel entirely foreign, yet at the same time oddly familiar.

This is wrong, a voice in your head proclaims, you have no right to be doing that. No reason to feel even a little bit cheery.

But now that Eddie managed to crack the surface of your aloof exterior, he’s going to seep into the protective walls of withdrawal and detachment you’ve built around yourself in the span of the last few months. Coaxing his way in, trying to pull you out.

You know it, and maybe, he knows it, too. 

There’s a tug and pull war inside your brain. A damsel in distress, wanting to be saved, and a dragon that spits angry flames at anyone that comes too near. And the way that Eddie is able to put you at ease is entirely too close. 

He’s going to get hurt, or you are, a voice inside of you warns. 

You’re not ready yet. You’re still mourning, still struggling, still walking around with half a beating heart, the other, better half, lifelessly buried somewhere in Hawkins. Gone, but not forgotten.  

You shouldn’t be happy yet. Shouldn’t exchange smiles with a friend you once held dear. 

You’re doing a disservice to Billy, an ugly voice chides, and you feel your smile slipping. 

You’re doing a disservice to Billy.  

The smile on your face is gone for good.

“Do you want me to look at the car radio?” Eddie offers after another heartbeat of silence, haunted by the sudden inability to read your face. 

The walls are up again, and there’s a strong defense sitting in the highest towers of your broken mind.

He can’t reach you anymore.

You can’t let him reach you anymore. 

“It’s fine, Eds.” 

The nickname slips past your lips like ice cream on a hot summer’s day. Like the earnest laughs you used to share. Natural, and warm, and- 

But that was at a moment in time when Billy was still around.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to do that, Eddie. You’ve already inspected it three times, I can’t ask you to do that again.”

“You don’t have to ask, I’m offering. I don’t mind checking it out once more.”

Maybe there’s simply nothing to check out, maybe the car just hates me, you think. 

Maybe Max’s Christine fever dream of an idea isn’t too far off at all. 

Maybe you’re just going a little crazy.

Maybe there’s nothing to fix. 

Broken beyond repair. 

Yet your friends keep trying anyway.

The unwelcomed silence has decided to crawl out of the car, taking heavy steps towards you, pushing itself between you and Eddie. Taking the words out of your mouth, your brain, and filling it with cotton. 

Until you can’t breathe. 

You wonder if Eddie can feel its presence, too, as you watch him shuffle his feet uncomfortably. Trying to come up for words, like air, but the current of silence renders you both immobile before pulling you under again. 

You’re drowning at the offshore trailer park of Hawkins, Indiana, in a cobalt blue night, and a silence so heavy, the surrounding trees might start to buckle and break at any given moment under its weight.

“You know, I, uhm-“ Eddie starts, helpless. Like he’s putting one hand up as an imploring sign, before vanishing under the waves again. 

But you’re out in the open, too, incapable of throwing him any kind of lifeline.

“I, uh, I’ve made you the tape.”

“What?”

Is there water in your ears? Or cotton? You don’t think you’ve heard him right.

“The song that you talked about that night, I managed to get my hands on it, and I thought-“

Your mouth feels too dry, but now it’s for an entirely different reason. 

“Eddie-“

“I know, I know, I promised to never bring that night up again, but I thought, maybe you still crave that song and-“ 

You only now notice the small, rectangular object in Eddie’s hands that he keeps fiddling with. 

Turning it over, and under, and over again.

Like flotsam in a current.

“If you don’t want it, it’s fine. I just thought that maybe, I don’t know, it might help? Listen, I know it’s probably silly, and maybe you don’t want to hear that song at all anymore but-“

“No, I do!” 

Your hand reaches out towards Eddie before withdrawing again halfway.

“I do. I still miss that song.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You breathe. 

He still cares, you realize. 

He still cares, deeply. 

Why else would he remember the things you drunkenly told him during that one night, a few days after Billy’s funeral, when he’d found you out of your mind inebriated at the quarry. 

That was months ago. 

Months. 

You wonder if his attempts to reach out had been partially about this, all this time.

How long has he been trying to give this tape, and how long have you kept him, like everyone else, on more than a little arm's length? 

The remnants of your heart do an uncomfortable twist sparked by a wave of guilt.

“Eddie, I don’t know what to-“

“You don’t have to say anything. Just take it, and maybe it can help you a little; cheer you up a little.” 

With the uttermost tender care, you take the mixtape that your friend is holding out to you. 

Your fingers brush against each other, slightly, softly, yet it sparks a feeling that travels through you like lightning moving through a single tree. Cutting it open, setting it ablaze, painting its body in flames and ash down to its very roots. 

Maybe, you think, it’s not just Max that needs a good hug. 

If Eddie notices the turmoil taking place inside of you, he doesn’t show, doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t seem to be affected in the ways that you are. 

“So, about your car radio-” He starts, once you’ve securely stored the tape in the biggest pocket of your leather jacket. 

Billy’s leather jacket. 

You’re about to brush him off again, but Eddie just lifts his hand in a gesture to continue speaking. 

“Let me inspect it just once more. Maybe there’s something wrong with the wiring that I didn’t catch before, for some reason. I’ll look at it first thing in the morning, I promise, and in the meantime I can drive you home instead.” 

“Eddie, I appreciate your offer, but I don’t think this is going to work. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I-”

“Shit, that’s the day you usually join Chrissy in her visits to Heather in the hospital, right?” 

“Right.” You nod your head slowly, while Eddie lets out a pensive sigh. 

Silence takes over the space between the two of you again, and you shift your gaze towards the distant woods, watching the way the wind moves swiftly through the branches of a couple of trees, leaving their dark silhouettes shivering and shaking. 

Once your eyes dart back to Eddie, you expect him to look somewhat crestfallen, but instead there’s a tiny, mischievous smile playing on the edges of his lips.

“I have an idea,” He proposes, the small smile on his lips growing, “I would have to check in with the headquarters office of Eddie’s Mechanic Enterprise, but I’m pretty sure we offer an additional shuttle service for our very best customers.” 

"Shuttle service?" You question, lips tugging upwards as your friend’s smile proves itself to be of the contagious kind once again. 

“Yeah...” Eddie shifts his feet slightly, one hand coming up to rub a hidden spot on his neck, “I need to run some errands for my uncle tomorrow at Melvald’s, meaning I’d already be in your neighborhood at some point.” 

“So, you’re shuttling me and-” 

“A carton of eggs, yes.” 

“Well, in that case, that company seems hard to top.” 

“Is that a yes?” Eddie asks, trying hard to curb the excitement bubbling up inside of him. 

“If you and your eggs can make it to my place before 10 o’clock, say, a quarter to 10, maybe?” 

“A quarter to 10, confirmed and noted, ma’am.” Eddie states with a small salute, and this time you really cannot help the soft giggle from slipping out.

It’s a warm and gentle sound, one that Eddie hasn’t witnessed in quite a while, and it fills and nourishes a spot in his chest that has been starved for way too long. 

“I’ll try to have the Camaro looked over and finished by then, but I’m not entirely sure…” 

“Eds, it’s fine. I’m sure Chrissy can drop me off after the visit, and if not, I’ll be sure to call Eddie’s Mechanic Enterprise from one of the hospital pay phones. In any case, you can bring the Camaro over throughout the day, whenever.” 

“Okay,” Eddie sighs, clearly relieved, as you suppress the urge to reach out and give his shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“Listen, I’m pretty sure that car radio is beyond salvation, so don't stress about finding a cure too much. Besides, this is Hawkins we’re speaking of, so, the radio signals are kind of shit either way.” 

“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever had issues with my radio signals.” 

“Interesting, and how many times do you, Eddie Munson, listen to the radio again?” 

“Fair enough.” Your friend huffs with a quiet laugh, before taking a few steps back, stretching one of his arms out in a wide gesture.

“Your carriage awaits you, m’lady.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper, suddenly overwhelmed by Eddie’s determined kindness and effort to make you feel at ease. 

But Eddie just brushes you off with a quick movement of his hand, as if to say don’t mention it. 

As you two walk up to his van, you can’t help but turn around once more, glancing back at Max's trailer. For a brief moment, you think you see one of the curtains move swiftly, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Little red haired devil, you think. You’re still not sure what exactly she’s up to, but you’re certain you’ll find out eventually. 

By the time you turn around again, Eddie’s already waiting by his car, holding the passenger side open for you. 

This, you notice once more with a sudden shred of wariness, feels entirely too familiar.

Eddie’s van looks and feels the same way it always does. Slightly chaotic, a little dusty, and the smell of weed is, well, rather present to say the least. 

It’s a little odd being back in that space, but not entirely uncomfortable, and Eddie is quick to turn the radio on, filling the lingering silence with a more pleasant background noise.

For a brief moment, you wonder why on earth he’d do that voluntarily, especially considering that he has about a million metal tapes scattered around this place, before it hits you. 

He’s deliberately not playing his metal tapes because of Billy. Because if there’s one thing he and Billy used to have in common, apart from sharing a certain fondness for the devils lettuce, it’s their love for metal music. And while Billy steered more towards glam-metal and Eddie preferred the trashy kind, they still would rock out together to Metallica and W.A.S.P. and KIX. 

You all would.

And you can’t help but think that the only reason Eddie’s currently putting up with the seemingly endless horror that’s commercially popular and radio suitable music, is out of a deep consideration for you. 

Because he doesn’t want to trigger you. Doesn’t want to bring up any kind of painful memories of you and Billy and maybe Eddie in some way or another. 

There’s Eddie Rabbitt coming from his speakers now, for crying out loud. There’s no way he’d listen to that on his own accord, and yet, he’s putting up with it, for you.

Staring deliberately out of the window to your right, you wipe your eyes quickly, anxious that Eddie might see. You don’t know where all of these tears are coming from today, but they sure love showing up. 

The drive to your place continues for a little bit in silence before Eddie, your Eddie, not the singer currently proclaiming his love for rainy nights on the radio, decides to speak up.

“You know, I miss you, I mean, we all do, obviously, the campaigns aren’t the same without you, and-“

You watch Eddie take a steading breath, as his hands tighten around the steering wheel. 

“I know that losing Billy must be incredibly difficult for you, and I won’t even try to pretend to know what that’s like, but he was my friend too, you know. A-and I’m not saying this in an effort to downplay your pain in any way. I’m saying this as a reminder that you’re not alone in this. That you and Max aren’t the only ones missing him, and also because I.. I don’t want to lose you too, okay?” 

There’s another heartbeat of silence before Eddie whispers: “I’ve already lost one good friend, and I don’t want to lose another. I understand that you need your space, but please don’t be a stranger. Please, don’t turn into one.“

The ticking sound of the indicator and the low whispers of music are the only two things that fill the heavy silence that follows, and you have to wipe your eyes again. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, voice incredibly soft and timid, “I didn’t mean to lock you out, it’s just…” 

A sniffle breaks through your words, through the silence, through the entirety of Eddie’s heart. 

“I think when Billy died, something inside of me broke, something significant, and I don’t think I can fix it. I don’t know how to fix this, Eddie-“

This time, it’s a sob that cuts you off in your own speech, and you don’t even try to hide the tears running down your face anymore.

There’s no way you could, because there are way too many now.

“I’ve only ever imagined a future with Billy by my side, and now that he’s gone, I don’t know how to move forward.” You admit quietly.

“It feels like his death created a chasm between me and the rest of the world. And I can still see it somewhere in the distance, see everyone else moving on, right there on the other side, but I can’t find a way to join them for the life of me.” 

It takes everything in Eddie not to stop the car, not to unbuckle your seatbelt and engulf you in his arms, in the biggest hug of the universe.

But he’s not sure you’d appreciate that; not sure if he’s crossing ten lines in one breath by doing so. 

So, instead, he slows the car on the otherwise empty road down a bit, before leaning over to you slightly, taking your hand securely in his. 

“But I’m right here, sweetheart,” He whispers, big brown eyes finding yours, “there’s not a chasm between us right now, is there?

"I understand that it might feel this way, especially when you’re all on your own, but I’m right here, and so is everyone else, too. Nobody expects you to continue on with your life like nothing happened, but you’ve been so hard to reach lately, I’m worried that one day you’ll slip away completely, and I don’t want to lose you, too.” 

There are tears swimming in Eddie’s eyes, mirroring yours. 

There’s a heavy understanding in his heart, mirroring yours. 

Maybe, you think, you really aren’t quite as alone in this.

“I just,” you try to think of a way to phrase this, unsure of where to start, and where to stop. 

“I just miss him so much.”

“I know.”

“And I thought, I think, I don’t know, I guess I’m just not that easy to be around these days.” 

“You don’t need to be, sweetheart.” 

“You don’t understand, Eddie. I’m hardly fun anymore. I start crying out of nowhere at the most random times, and I still feel so much anger, so much hurt, that on some days I think that’s all that I’m made of, a-and I feel like I’m doing a disservice to Billy by-“

“By letting yourself be happy? By putting yourself in situations you know you might enjoy, even if it’s just a tiny little bit? By starving yourself of the company of your friends, because you fear you might be too much of a bummer, a burden, or you could find yourself enjoying something despite Billy’s absence?”

Eddie questions carefully, and though you hate to admit it, he’s hitting the nail right on the head, finishing the sentence forming in your heart perfectly.

Putting words around an otherwise almost unexplainable thing. A fear. A worry. A dark shape in the back of your mind, with a murky voice to match its exteriors.

He’s describing exactly what you’re worried about.

“Yeah,” you whisper, voice stunned and eyes wide, “yeah, that’s, that’s it.” 

And Eddie’s eyes are nothing but gentle and understanding when he glances back over at you, but this time around, they don’t feel too kind, they just feel earnest.

“Well, in that case, let me tell you that I’d rather spend time with you, even when you’re in some dark mood, than not having your presence around me at all. You can show up in any state that you find yourself in, I promise, I can take it.

“When I said, I’m here to help, I really, truly, meant it. Taking care of one another is a fundamental part of friendships, and you're one of my closest ones, so please, let me at least try to help. Don’t push me out completely.” 

You sniffle again, searching your pockets for a tissue or something to wipe your nose with, but you come up completely empty. 

“The glove department.” Eddie suggests out of nowhere, and you can’t help but let out a tiny, timid laugh. 

There’s a small pack of kleenex hidden inside of it, and you gratefully take one.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and you hope that Eddie knows you’re not just talking about the paper tissue clenched in your hand.

“You’re very welcome.” Eddie answers with a small smile, and when your eyes meet, you know he understood the implications of your words, too.

“I’m sorry about distancing myself so much, and-“

“You don’t need to apologize for grieving, just let me at least try to catch up with you sometimes? Maybe don’t lock the door completely?”

“I’ll try.” You whisper. 

You promise. 

“And about Billy.” Eddie starts carefully, because there’s something that needs to be said, even if you don’t want to hear it.

“Do you really think Billy wants you to suffer for the rest of your life without him? I know you feel a lot of guilt about his death, but you’re punishing yourself in the cruelest of ways, by-“

“It’s not that I don’t want to be happy, Eddie.” You interrupt him quietly.

“It’s that I don’t deserve it. Not after everything that happened. Not after the way I’ve let him down. I have to make it up to him somehow-“

“And you think you’re making it up to him by, what, stop trying to live a happy life?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, because, truly, you don’t. “But it feels wrong to… to just move on without him.”

Eddie knows there isn’t anything he can say to convince you otherwise, and if he’s really honest, he kind of gets it. If he imagines losing you in such a way, he would struggle with an endless amount of guilt and an inability to move on from that, too. 

But what happened still isn’t your fault, yet you’ve put such a heavy burden on yourself, one that no human soul can possibly bear or carry. To his despair, Eddie doesn’t know how to make you take that off. How to find a space big and strong enough for you to put that, lay it down to rest.

“If it was Billy who survived,” Eddie tries, since he knows there’s no other way to reach you, “would you want him to suffer, too?”

“Of course not,” you huff, “but it wasn’t Billy who survived, now was it?”

There’s a bitterness in your voice as you cross your arms defensively over your chest, and Eddie feels you slipping away from him again, away, and into the steady silence and darkness of the car. 

He’s almost by your house now, and he feels the dire need to turn this around somehow.

“I get it,” he finally whispers, “If it was the person I loved, I would feel like this, too. But that doesn’t make it right, doesn’t make that narrative true. What happened wasn’t your fault, and punishing yourself like it is, isn’t going to add anything other than additional suffering on yourself. It’s not going to bring Billy back, and I very much doubt that he’d want that for you either.”

“But it’s not about what he wants, or you want, or I want!” You say, voice desperate and rising in volume.

“It’s about the fact that I don’t deserve to move on without him; besides, there’s nowhere to move on to anymore. There’s no way I should be happy when the better half of my heart is lying six feet underground in some cheap ass casket with a ribbon on it. 

“And I still wake up every night reaching for him, only to find his side of the bed empty and cold. And every time the world comes back crashing down on me again, every. single. fucking. night. And I take it, because, maybe, that's simply what I deserve! He’s been through so much, and it’s all my fault!

“I keep seeing him in everything I do, yet it’s completely pointless because he isn’t there by my side anymore. And he never will be. I will never be able to hear his voice again, never be able to hear his laugh. Never feel the comfort of his presence ever again, because he died!

“He died saving a town he hated and yet nobody cares. And I can’t even leave this shithole of a place because I made a promise to him months before his death, that if anything ever happens to him, I would look out for his little sister! So I’m stuck here just like his fucking body is! 

“And how am I even supposed to move on, when all of my dreams, all of the plans I had for the future involved Billy in some way. He was the one constant in my life, the only constant in my life that truly mattered more than anything else in this world. Just for it now to feel like the light of my life, the sun I’ve been revolving everything around has gone out, and I’m left all alone, spinning out helplessly on a cold and dying planet. 

“It’s fucking hard to move on, when there’s nowhere to move on to, because I simply cannot imagine a future without Billy in it. And there’s no way to soothe the hurt, or to fill the emptiness that his absence has created, since there’s no way for me to get him back ever again!“

You’re full on crying now, and after having sobbed so much throughout the latter part of your admission, you didn’t even notice that Eddie already parked the car and unbuckled your seatbelt.

You only notice it once you’re done, all the words having left your mouth, energy completely drained, when suddenly two arms wrap themselves around you, lifting you up, over the center console - and into Eddie’s lap. 

You slump against him immediately, heavy sobs still wrecking your body, while your best friend, the one you shared your very first kiss in middle school with, the one who has seen you cry a thousand times before, quietly whispers soothing words to you. 

“Shh, just let it out. Let it all out, it’s okay, I’ve got you. You can let it all out, love.”

His touch, much like his words, feels incredibly comforting. His arms are wrapped securely around you, keeping you close, one hand brushing that tender spot at the back of your neck in soothing strokes.

He stays true to his words, takes all the vulnerability and hurt that flows out of you in cries and tears, witnesses you breaking down completely, yet he never falters in his mission to gently guide you through it all. 

Like a storm that you’re both trapped in. But his comfort, his presence, soothes the severity of the rain pouring down, lessens the strength of the howling wind, until the hurricane quiets down, and your cries, like clouds, start getting smaller. 

Letting go like this, crying unrestrained in his arms, feels not as hopeless and heavy as it usually does when you’re doing it all alone in the darkness and isolation of your bedroom. And suddenly, you feel compelled to admit something you’ve never told anybody.

“It’s my fault, Eddie. It’s all my fault.” You whisper, but Eddie brushes you off gently.

“Shh, no it isn’t, sweetheart. The only one responsible is the mindflayer, remember?” 

“No, Eddie, you don’t understand, I could have saved him, I could have-” 

Eddie furrows his brows in confusion. He doesn’t know the events that happened at Starcourt Mall that night to a T, since he wasn’t there during them, but he’s pretty sure that there’s hardly anything you could have done to save Billy. 

From the things he’s been told, you arrived there when it was already too late. When Billy already decided to stand up to that monster all by himself. 

You had just come back from the airport, fresh out of California, confused and incredibly concerned because Billy hadn’t responded to any of your calls while you were away. 

When you finally made it back to Hawkins, you found yourself rushing to the Mall, just to watch the love of your life fight a monster with his bare hands, trying his hardest to hold it back, to stop it, but to no avail.

And despite the fact that you ran up to him immediately, you still had to watch him get impaled and killed by that interdimensional monster. 

And by the time you made it to Billy’s side, the only thing you could do was to hold his dying body close in your arms, while he took his last, uneven breaths, and you whispered your final I love you’s.  

Weeks later, when Steve came over to pick up a few things to help ease his own nightmares, he told Eddie in secret that he doesn’t remember much from that night, but one of the things that had etched itself into his brain were your fierce cries.

He said he heard you scream Billy’s name that night so loudly, so full of utter desperation and horror, he was sure your cries could be heard all over the town of Hawkins.

But your horrors didn’t just end there that godless night at the mall. Because when help finally arrived, you refused to acknowledge the first aid responders, as they told you that Billy was dead and gone or good.

You refused to budge, refused to let Billy go, refused to watch him be put into some cold, plastic body bag. 

They needed four grown men in order to get you off and away from Billy’s body, and no matter how much they tried to calm you down, you still wouldn’t stop fighting back, not until someone finally infused you with some tranquilizer, but even while drifting into unconsciousness, you continued to whimper Billy’s name in quiet pleas.

That night, under a starless sky in the town of Hawkins, Indiana, you lost the love of your life, and you knew, you would never be the same again. 

There’s no such thing as recovery when you lose the most vital part, your heart, in such a gruesome way. 

But there’s another reason for the immense guilt you feel. 

The knowledge that you could have prevented it. 

And it’s time for you to share that part. 

You talk one last steading breath, hoping that your voice won’t sound as shaky as you feel.

“Before I went to Cali, to meet with that administrator from UCLA, we had initially decided that I would fly out there all by myself, but two days before my departure, Billy told me that he wanted to join in on the trip and come with me instead.” 

Eddie feels your frame trembling slightly, your hands digging into his shirt in an effort to hold on to something. 

“But I told him no.” You wail, sobs rumbling through you like thunder. Tears streaming down like hail. Each and every single one punching holes in Eddie's heart.

“I told him no; That that was silly, that I’d be fine on my own, and that I would be gone for hardly a week anyway. I told him that booking a flight so last minute would be way too expensive, and that we could use that money a lot more for our first rent payment, because, you know, we wanted to move into that small apartment right by the sea once uni starts-“ 

Eddie is stunned. He’s frozen. He doesn’t know what to do, because he had no idea.

Sure, he knew about yours and Billy’s plan to move to California once the summer break came to an end. But you have never, ever told him that story, and he doubts that you’ve shared it with anyone else either, judging by how hard it is for you to recall any of these details.

“Even when he dropped me off at the airport, he still joked about sneaking in and getting his own ticket at the desk. He said that there was still time, that I only had to say the words and we’d board that stupid plane together… but I didn’t.

"I just laughed and kissed him goodbye, and told him to stop being such a sap; that I would be back in no time, and in only a couple of weeks we would both soak in the Californian sun till the end of our days, and never have to hear the word Hawkins again.

"But if I had listened to him; if I’d taken him with me, he would still be around!”

Your voice, now utterly hoarse from crying, might haunt Eddie for a lifetime or two.

He’s at a loss of words, because what really is there to say? 

Of course, what happened isn’t your fault, you didn’t know. You couldn’t have predicted that this moment with Billy at the airport would end up being the last time you sincerely saw him smile, and yet, Eddie understands now, why Billy��s death feels even more like a burden on the tender shoulders of your soul. 

How you didn’t just lose the love of your life, but feel utterly responsible for it, too. 

“I could have saved him, I could have prevented his death, if I only had let him buy his stupid plane ticket.” 

The regret in your voice is almost palatable, dripping from your slumped frame like the tears from your eyes. 

“If I hadn’t said: No, Billy. Money’s tight, Billy. Being away from me for a few days won’t kill you, Billy... If it wasn’t for me, he’d still be here. ” 

Well, shit, Eddie thinks, hindsight really is one brutal tool. 

Are there any words, in this universe, that could take some of the burden off your shoulders? Something to ease your guilt and the blame you clearly feel? Eddie doesn’t think that there are.

All the words he thinks about saying just sound hollow and dull. 

He can repeat the phrase, this isn’t your fault, a million times; he’s sure you still wouldn’t believe him. 

But at the very least, he has to try. 

“I didn’t know,” Eddie whispers, wiping a few stray tears from your cheeks, “I didn’t know that that happened.” 

You sniffle, eyes darting everywhere, but the face of your close friend. 

“I’ve never-” 

You can’t even finish the sentence, and Eddie feels his heart do an incredibly uncomfortable twist, as he hears his assumption be called true.

You’ve been dragging that secret around like a dead horse; and that’s on top of all the other shit that’s been thrown your way. 

“Please don’t tell the others,” you whisper, and the desperation and worry in your voice is hard to miss. Like you almost expect Eddie to start blaming you, too.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell, I promise.” He pledges, “but what happened still isn’t your fault. I know, it’s probably impossible to change your mind right now, but it really wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. If you did, things might have gone differently, that’s true, but you didn’t know.

"You didn’t know that in your absence, Billy would find himself getting possessed and taken over by the Mind Flayer. You didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself for something you had no clue would happen.” 

Your sniffles have now quieted down to something that doesn’t feel like bullets through Eddie’s heart, but the way you curl up into him still tugs on something tender deep inside of him. 

It’s like you’ve turned shy all of a sudden, worried about what Eddie might think of you, now that you’ve shared that heavy secret. But Eddie doesn’t see you in a different light, and he’s determined to reassure you that, too.

“I really mean it, when I say that what happened to Billy isn’t your fault. Looking back at the past with the knowledge you have now, is always going to leave you wondering why you picked one choice rather than another.

"And you’ll drive yourself mad, if you judge all of your life’s choices that way. You didn’t know. And punishing yourself for a decision you made in nothing but good faith, wondering what could have happened if you didn’t, sweetheart, that’s just no way to live.”

Tentatively moving your face out of your hiding spot that’s Eddie’s neck, you look up at him with careful eyes.

“You think so?”

Eddie just nods his head with a deep hum.

“If you had taken Billy with you, you don’t know what could have happened. He could have died there, too, you know? And then you’d wish that you’d left him in Hawkins instead. It’s a vicious cycle of what was and what could have been,but, ultimately, we don’t know, and we never will. 

"All you did in that moment at the airport was make a sensible decision based on all of the information you had at that time. Judging it by anything else is doing a disservice to you and your intentions. You just tried to do good, to look out for you and Billy, with your shared future in mind.” 

“So, you don’t think I’m -“

Despicable, a murderer, a horrible person, responsible for Billy’s death, the voice in your head finishes.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person at all, sweetheart.” Eddie whispers, knowing what you’re thinking without saying it, while wiping the last few tears from the apples of your cheeks. 

“And you’re not just telling me this because you are my friend?” You sniffle, voice and mind still a little unsure.

“I’m telling you this because it is true.” 

The sincerity and earnestness of Eddie’s words are hard to miss, hard to ignore, hard not to let seep into your heart at least a little bit. 

You stay intertwined like that for a while, until your breaths have evened out, and the last tears on your skin have dried down. 

They’re back in your eyes for a moment, when you notice the dark mascara stains you’ve left on Eddie’s Hellfire t-shirt, and something inside of you starts to panic, but your best friend is quick to shush you again, calming you down with gentle words. 

“It’s just a shirt, sweetheart. Just tears and mascara stains on a shirt, don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?” You mumble, and Eddie nods his head enthusiastically. 

“Nothing a washing machine can’t fix.” 

Still not completely convinced, you try to rub some of it away, but only with little success.

Letting out a defeated sigh, you decide to curl up into your friend a bit more, enjoying a closeness you haven’t experienced in a while. 

And Eddie lets you, not just because you clearly need it, but because he does, too.

He missed this, missed you, and despite your promise to try and be around more, he’s worried that by tomorrow, you will have receded back into your reclusive ways. 

Time moves through the space of the van in the form of the quiet music coming from the radio. Currently it’s some cheesy 70s ballad that neither of you pay too much attention to.

You’re both deep in thought, only grounded by the touch of the other. 

Eddie has a few more words sitting heavy on the tip of tongue, waiting for him to open his mouth and finally tumble out.

There’s no such thing as the right moment in a space like this, he thinks, and so, after another beat of slow moving music, flowing like syrup all around him, he whispers: “Do you trust me?”

If his words confuse you, or catch you by surprise, you don’t show. Instead, you just look up at him with honest eyes.

“Yes.” You whisper, and there’s not an ounce of a question stained in your voice, or written on your face. 

“Of course, I do.”

“Then please trust me when I say that there’s a future for you, even if you can’t quite see it yet. And you’re allowed to move towards it, even if it still seems gloomy, or unattainable right now. The things that happened that night at Starcourt Mall should have never happened, but none of it was your fault. None of it, okay?”

He’s holding your face in both of his hands now, cradling it gently, silently hoping, begging, crying to the gods above, that at least a fraction of what he’s said will take root in your heart. 

“Okay.” You whisper, overwhelmed by the deep sincerity in each and every single fragment of Eddie. His eyes, his voice, the gentle brush of his fingertips.

“Good.” 

He leans in, leaving a lingering kiss on your forehead, but before either of you can dwell on the meaning of that too much, a sudden noise of static cuts right through the moment, making the both of you jump. 

Catching you off guard and slightly startled. 

“What the-” Eddie mumbles while leaning forward to change the station, but the frown on his face only deepens when the radio won’t budge at all. 

“So much for a perfect radio reception, huh?” You can’t help the tiny dig, and Eddie scoffs, though there’s a small smile growing on his face. 

“I swear, this has never happened before.” 

“Uh-huh, and you don’t think that this might be explained by the fact that you usually never listen to the radio?” 

“You know, I might be inclined to believe your theory, if it was just the radio signal that’s going off, but the whole thing is acting strange. I can’t even-” 

In an attempt to demonstrate to you that he isn’t even able to change stations, Eddie forcefully turns the button- only for it to work perfectly this time.

But for some odd reason, all the other channels seem to consist of nothing but pure static, too. 

“Okay, that’s weird.” You whisper, trying to ignore the small chill that’s started to run down your back, as you realize how familiar this situation feels. 

You’re about to tell Eddie to just turn the radio completely off, when he finally finds a channel that is not just static upon static noise.

“Hah!” He exclaims, quite pleased with himself, though that sentiment turns out to be rather short-lived. 

“Still weird.” You mumble, while Eddie continues to toy with the volume button this time, and it makes you listen to the song more intently. 

It’s Take my breath away , of all things. Not quite the song you’d pick for a Friday night, sitting in your best friend's van, still perched upon his lap. 

“Through the hourglass, I saw you. 

In time, you slipped away.” 

Terri Nunn sings, and you’re about to ask Eddie if he can just turn this whole thing off, when the song, completely out of nowhere, starts to change its pitch. 

“Take my breath away,” rattles through the speakers, only now it resonates both slower and lower, kind of like a vinyl record being played at the wrong speed, giving the singer a much deeper voice.

The song suddenly sounds a lot more sinister and a lot less romantic, and though you don’t mind the latter, the way the song is now being played hardly counts as an improvement in your books.

“Uhm, Eddie, what exactly are you doing?” You question, as you watch your friend continue to tinker with the electronic device. 

“I don’t know.” He mumbles, voice slightly muffled because he’s bent over quite a bit, and you take shelter on his left knee in an effort to get out of the way a little more.

“Watching every motion in this foolish lover’s game. 

Haunted by the notion somewhere there’s a love in flames.” 

The distorted voice coming from the speakers promises, and you feel yourself grow rather uneasy, as the odd voice manages to sound more and more threatening. 

“Eddie, please turn this off.” 

“I’m trying, but the power button won’t work.” 

“Eddie, don’t fuck with me right now.” 

“I’m not, alright. I promise, I’m not.”

To prove his point, your best friend purposely pushes the on/off button a couple of times, but it simply continues to stay unresponsive. 

“See?” 

To your own horrors, you not only see the radio’s inability to shut itself off, you hear it, too. 

“Uh-huh, kind of hard not to notice, Eddie. This sounds like music straight from hell.”

“I honestly don’t think the music down there would be that bad.”

That comment deserves your friend a small punch in his side, which he retaliates in turn with a poke of his own, and for a moment the weird music is almost forgotten, until suddenly it turns itself completely off again.

“Fuck, about time.” Eddie exclaims, relief evident in his voice.

“Seems like even the broadcast from hell struggles with transmission difficulties sometimes.” You state dryly, although, you’d be lying if you said that whatever this just was, didn’t unnerve you, too.

“This seriously never happened before.” Eddie mumbles, eying his radio with two watchful eyes, like he doesn’t quite trust the silence yet. 

“Guess I can’t say the same thing.” You state with a small shrug, and when Eddie gives you a slightly confused look, you elaborate: “This is kind of exactly like the stuff plaguing the Camaro.”

“Your music gets that distorted?”  

“No, but anything except that seems quite familiar; the static, the unresponsiveness of the buttons, the radio just turning itself off like that.” 

“Geez.” Eddie summarizes, and you don’t think you could put it any better either.

“Well, in any case, I know now that the problem can’t just be the radio signal, but probably something a lot more technical. Maybe an issue with the speakers, too, if the sound comes out that weirdly.”

“Yeah, for a minute I thought we were in some kind of horror movie.�� You joke with a timid laugh, and it’s only now as you begin to relax again that you notice how incredibly tightly you’ve been holding on to Eddie’s shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt and the soft cushion of his flesh. 

After letting go quickly, your hand repeatedly strokes over that spot inconspicuously, like you’re trying to brush out a wrinkle you caused in a tablecloth without getting caught.

Like Eddie can’t still feel the cresent moons of your fingernails pushing into his skin.

“Quite honestly, a minute more of that racket, and I would have gone insane.” 

“Would have?”  You tease, and Eddie’s quick fingers are back at your sides. 

“Stop, stop!” You plead in between soft giggles, and Eddie thinks he would endure hell’s music for eternity, if it means he can listen to your earnest laughter one more time. 

Eddie’s fingers come to a rest soon after, and you lean into his frame once more, slightly out of breath from the tickle-induced laughing. 

“You’re not playing fair.” You huff, as soon as you have enough of your breath back to properly talk again, and Eddie just gives you a big grin. 

“Never said I was.” 

You roll your eyes, but it’s a half-hearted act, one that leaves you dodging Eddie’s fingers again.

“Well, I think I should get going now.” You state, after the ceasefire between tickling hands has reigned for a little bit longer, and it slowly dawns on you that you’ve spent a whole lot more time with Eddie than you’d initially planned. 

“Right, sure!” Eddie quickly fumbles with the door, trying to get it to open for you, without dropping you in the process. 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow then.” He states, as you reluctantly detach yourself from him, before hopping out of his car and catching your footing on the curb in front of your house.

“Yeah, a quarter to 10,” you remind him, “and don’t stress about the Camaro too much, especially now that you have two patients to look after, instead of just one.” 

Your eyes fixate on his car radio. 

“Guess whatever is going on is contagious now.” 

You initially meant it as a joke, but now that the words have left your mouth, you can’t help but feel like there’s a bitter aftertaste to them. 

“Eddie, whatever you do, please be careful, okay?” 

“Don’t worry, I usually know what I’m doing.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing, I just know you, is all.”

This time, it’s Eddie’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Oh, and Eddie,” you quickly interject, suddenly feeling a little more shy, “thank you.” 

Your friend’s gaze immediately softens.

“Anytime.” 

“I… uh, I think I really needed this, so thank you for not giving up on me.” 

“I would never!” Eddie looks almost offended at the implication that you could even think such a thing.

“I know now, I guess. And, uh, thank you for the tape, too.” 

Waving the small item for emphasis, you hope Eddie truly catches how much the events of tonight matter to you. 

And you’d like to think, as your eyes meet his in parting, that he does. 

That he does understand how much all of this means to you. How much his efforts are appreciated. 

“Drive slowly!” You exclaim in a last farewell, “and I can’t wait to meet your carton of eggs tomorrow.” 

Eddie’s laugh echoes through the space of the night like warm rays of sunshine. 

“I’ll let them know how eagerly you’ve been waiting for an introduction.” 

“Please do. Good night, Eddie.” 

“Night, sweetheart.” 

One last wave and a shared smile later, and the van’s door closes with a dull thud. 

You watch Eddie drive off into the night, his taillights vanishing in the distance until they’re only a mere memory of two red eyes glowing in the empty space of your street. 

Turning around to walk the few steps through your yard and up the stairs to your entrance, you can’t help but notice that the many memories buried deep within your chest feel a little lighter, or maybe just a little less heavy. 

And by the time you make it through your front door, the profound dread you normally feel upon walking into your family home does not overcome you the way it usually does.

Once inside, you make your way into the kitchen immediately, getting some cold beverage before settling down in your bedroom. 

Like every night, you turn the TV on, letting it play as a background noise mindlessly, without paying much attention to it.

It’s another rerun of the movie Rumble Fish, and you honestly couldn’t care less about it, you just need some kind of distraction, some kind of stimuli, because anything is better than the haunting silence, especially in the portent hours between midnight and the rise of dawn. 

It’s not quite that late yet, but it most likely will be, by the time you feel exhausted enough to get at least some resemblance of sleep. 

Putting down Eddie’s tape on your bedside table, you decide to look for your cassette player, while the movie continues on lowly in the background. 

The TV also functions as your only light source, and its flickering lights illuminate the space of your bedroom before turning darker and then back into brightness again.

It’s an endless charade of light and dark against your bedroom walls.

As usual, the television alone isn’t enough of a distraction, and with a sigh, you decide to put on a record as well, to reallydrive the last remnants of your spinning thoughts out of your brain. 

Tonight, that honor falls in the hands of Patti Smith, and her powerful voice joins the hushed ones coming from the television. 

Moving through the space of your bedroom restlessly, you still try to find your walkman, but to no avail. 

You know you haven’t used it in a while, yet that doesn’t explain its apparent disappearance, and you feel angry tears start to fill your eyes. 

You just want to listen to that goddamn tape, and forget about the rest of the world for a little bit. 

After going through the items in your bookshelf one more time, you come to the realization that this current search-mission is a rather fruitless endeavor, and you might find yourself having more luck in the morning.

Defeated, and admittedly in a worse mood than you were before entering your bedroom, you flop down on your bed again, picking up Eddie’s tape and opening it up carefully. 

He’s written you a little note on the inside of the cover, underneath the, admittedly, rather small tracklist. 

I See You In Everyone  by Survivor  

x 5 times on Side A  

x 5 times on Side B  

Knock yourself out with this.  

 -  Eddie  

The tiny smile creeping up on your lips is impossible to call a halt to, and you really wish you could listen to the cassette now; if only you knew where your tape player currently resides. 

The song, that Eddie put on a tape as many times as it could possibly fit, is from the same album as the love song you and Billy used to call your own. And despite owning it as a vinyl in your rather extensive record collection, you don’t have the heart, or the strength, to listen to the complete album anymore. 

When Billy was still around, you used to listen to it all the time, obviously. 

But with I can’t hold back as the opening track on it, every song that followed would usually fade into the background quickly.

Especially with the amount of times you've made out with each other to said record, and by the time it was time to flip the vinyl over, you two were already in a completely different world, music and your surroundings completely forgotten. 

With that in mind, you never really listened that much to the B-side of the album. 

Until Billy’s death. 

Until in a desperate attempt to feel closer to him, a few days after his funeral, you decided to listen to it, the whole way through. 

A great mistake, as it turned out, because the onslaught of memories that came with everything in that moment; picking the record out, pulling it out of its covers, putting it on, and above all listening to it, felt like stabs straight through your heart, through yourself, through every fiber of your being, until you felt like a puddle of pure misery, tears, and despair, staining the soft carpet of your bedroom floor. 

But still, you pulled through, flipped the record over and listened to everything that that album had to offer.

And you cried the whole time, completely overcome by sadness and anger, until the very last song. 

I See You In Everyone.  

You don’t think you’ve ever listened to it before, or maybe you did, but you don’t remember. Either way, that afternoon, something about that tune struck a vital cord deep inside of you. 

And you wanted to listen to it again, over, and over, and over, until the vinyl would be completely worn out, or your record player broke, or the world got up in flames. 

The outside world, of course. 

Your world already did.

But unfortunately, you could hardly bear looking at that record, could hardly stomach touching it, or pulling it out of its designated space on your sideboard; let alone repeatedly engage in the whole process of actually putting it on and listening to it. 

You had to banish that vinyl from the space of your bedroom completely, each time you merely saw the cover of Vital Signs your heart would drop ten million feet below, shattering at the bottom of the earth and piercing every part of your soul.

That night, after having listened to the record completely, maybe for the first time ever, you got out of your mind drunk, kicking stones into the abyss of the quarry, until Eddie found you and- 

Well, the exact details hardly matter now, and it’s not like you remember much from it anyway. That night, like most of the nights following the first few weeks after Billy’s death, are nothing but a blur to you. 

But you do recall telling Eddie how there’s this song on your favorite Survivor record. That one record that’s cursed as your least favorite now, because it sparks nothing but painful memories, like lightning in the sky. 

Except for that one song, that one song.

That one song you want to listen to until your world doesn’t feel like it’s burning anymore. 

Until your heart stops hurting, until you wake up one morning without feeling like there’s a massive hole in the middle of your chest.

And Eddie, attentive as ever, somehow remembered. 

And now, here you are, with the song you’ve been craving for a whole long while, right there at the tips of your fingers, but with no real way to listen to it. 

You know that crying over something like this is a bit silly, but you’ve cried over smaller things before, and this right now feels rather big on your side of the universe. 

“Goddamn it!” You whisper, irritated by both, the tears in your eyes, and your inability to find that walkman. 

You stare at your ceiling for a little bit, almost ready to call it a night, when suddenly, out of your peripheral vision, you see something light up.

It’s only brief, only for a short moment of time, and you brush it off as a trick of the light coming from the TV at first, before it happens again. 

And again. 

And again once more. 

And by the fourth time, you finally lift your head. 

It’s the small night light on your dresser that’s lighting up, and then goes off again, lights up and then goes off again. 

“What the fuck?” You whisper confused, especially since you’re beyond certain that you didn’t even turn it on in the first place. 

You simply stare at it for a little while, watching the slow rhythm of the light flickering on and then off again. 

On and then off. 

After having seen enough of this odd routine, you decidedly get up, making your way over to the weirdly behaving culprit. 

The night light is a simple lamp in the shape of a small, plastic surfboard that lights up from within, giving its surroundings a warm, orange glow. 

It used to be a gift from Billy, something he’s gotten you without any special occasion, just because he thought it might look cute in your room, and maybe, as a small thing to remember him by. 

“So, when you wake up in the middle of the night without me by your side, you can still think of me, and remember that I’m always yours, even when we’re miles apart.”  He had told you with an uncharacteristically shy gaze, and your heart beamed with the luminosity of a thousand suns. 

You had wanted to get him a night light, too, initially. Thinking there was something deeply romantic about the small gesture of sharing matching night lights with each other while being apart.

Separated physically, but united in spirit, thinking of the other in your dark bedrooms, the small night lights a whisper of the other’s name.

In practice, that turned out to be a whole lot more difficult, mostly thanks to Billy’s dad. 

There simply was no way that such a thing would survive even a single night in Billy’s room without harm, and it wasn’t really worth the risk either, to be honest.

You didn’t want to give Neil any more reasons to mistreat and discipline his son, than he already had. 

So instead, you got Billy a little figurine that looked a lot like his Camaro. It wasn’t completely right, but still close enough, and you even took the time to paint two little faces on the windows of each side. 

A small iteration of Billy on the driver’s side, and you on the passenger seat. 

In reality, it looked a lot like two stick figures with bad hairstyles, and Billy started crying with laughter upon seeing them. His hearty hyena laugh echoing through your room for what felt like hours before he would calm down.

“I love it,” he said, voice rough from his unrestrained glee, wiping a few tears away. 

“You look like something out of an alien movie, trying to disguise itself as human, and I look like a possessed doll, but at least you got my angles right.”

And Billy threw his head back laughing again, curls flying everywhere as he shook his head in nothing but pure joy. 

“No, no, wait, I’ve got it! I’ve got it! I look like if Robert Plant and the smiley face from the goodwill logo had a baby!”

And then he was back to laughing his ass off again, amusement in every heaving breath leaving his lips, and you couldn’t help but join in on his laughter, too. 

“I’m never painting you something again.” You huffed, once you’d both calmed down enough, and though you tried hard to sound annoyed, you failed miserably. 

“Oh, no, Baby, please do! Please paint me things all the time now!” Billy exclaimed with a twinkle in his eyes. 

“I didn’t know about your talents! Tell me, who was your teacher? A five year old?”

“Asshole!” You'd grumbled, but you couldn’t keep a smile from spreading on your face. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry.” Billy immediately backtracked, not having seen your amused facial expression yet, and thinking you were earnestly hurt by his jab. 

He quickly rolled over on the bed to see you properly, caging you in between himself and the mattress, before cupping your face gently.

“I love it, okay? It’s a great gift! It kind of looks like Picasso threw up all over it, but I love it and-“

“Oh, shut up!” 

His comments had you laughing again, and you slapped his shoulder playfully while Billy gave you an earnest smile. 

“I really love it, it’s perfect.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“This is going to be us one day,” you whispered, “just us, leaving this shithole town and never looking back.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And where are we going?” Billy murmured, face inching closer to yours, until the very tips of your noses touched.

“Wherever you want to go,” you whispered, “wherever you want to go, Billy, I’ll follow.” 

“You promise?”

Billy’s voice suddenly sounded more vulnerable, like it was thick with emotions, or tears, or disbelief, or maybe a jumbled mix of it all.

“Cross my heart.” You murmured, fingers tracing a X upon your chest. 

“I’ll always be by your side, Billy, and that little car is supposed to be a reminder for you.”

There had been tears swimming in Billy’s eyes when you pulled him close for a deep kiss, and by the time your lips met, there were tears in your eyes, too. 

From that day on, Billy left that toylike figurine sitting on his bedside table, at a spot where it would always be illuminated by the soft glow from one of the street lamps outside at night.

It almost looked like it was glowing a little itself, and each time Billy woke up from a nightmarish dream, his eyes would find the small object, and he knew that he was going to get out of all of this, one day.

One day, you and him would leave everything behind and start over some place else.

And his heart longed for that moment, where he could walk out of his father’s house and never ever come back again.

So, that’s how you and Billy gifted each other a tiny copy of the Camaro, and a glowing, plastic surfboard.  

A surfboard that’s now flickering away on your dresser, and you can feel your heart sink a little at the sight.

“Oh, please don’t die on me, too.” You whisper, worried that the present that reminds you so much of your boyfriend decided to fritz out at the worst possible time.

It only takes you a couple of steps from where you’re currently sitting on the bed to get to the item in question, a deep frown settling upon your face. 

And that expression only deepens, once you notice that the lamp’s switch is still securely placed in its off position. 

“What-” you mumble quietly, as unease begins to settle in your stomach more and more, “how’s that even possible?” 

The flickering of the light increases its speed.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. 

“Okay, t-that’s enough.” Your voice comes out with a little tremor, but how could it not? 

There have been weird things happening in your bedroom before; sometimes, lights will flicker. Sometimes, your TV will suddenly turn to static, seemingly out of nowhere; but none of that ever bothers you too much, because it can all be explained away with the easy excuse of old wiring, or the growing age of your devices. 

Take your record player for example. A loyal thing gifted to you by your mother on your 14th birthday, but only a few weeks ago it started to act up, skipping and looping perfectly good vinyls for no apparent reason with increased frequency. It has to be its growing age, you’re sure of that. 

Maybe, it’s simply getting a bit too old and tired of spinning records all the time. And you can’t really blame it. You’ve been planning to take it to RadioShack for a while, to get it checked out and hopefully fixed, but it’s not something that concerns you too much, either.

So, when your night light starts to flicker in your room, it’s not like you’ve never seen such a thing before, but usually, the device is at the very least turned on.  

This, however, cannot be said for the little surfboard right now. It’s definitely switched off, and yet, every two seconds, it lights up the space of your dresser in a bright, orange hue. 

Your first attempt to make it stop is to simply turn the lamp on and then off again. Unfortunately, it doesn’t budge in the slightest, and the memory of your and Eddie’s car radios doing something oddly familiar creeps its way into your mind. 

You feel your heartbeat quickening, as a  growing anxiety rushes through you, this should not be possible, you think, and yet, here you are bearing witness to it. 

With trembling fingers, you try switching it off one last time, but after being unsuccessful again, you can’t help but take a few shaky steps back. 

“Okay,” you whisper, trying hard not to freak out completely, “okay, okay, okay, okay.” 

There’s one more thing that you could try.

One more chance to make it stop.  

Whatever it even is. 

You quickly approach the dresser again, this time kneeling down next to its side, hand stretching out in an effort to reach into the space behind it.

There’s cobwebs, and dust, and hardly any room, and your fingers keep touching things you’d rather not think about, before you feel the outline of your outlet merging together with the plug. 

It’s a tight fit, the space between your furniture and wall being rather narrow, and trying to pull the plug from its socket without scratching up your hands is not an easy task, but somehow, after some rounds of trial and error, you manage to finally set it free. 

There’s a small clicking sound, and then, unceremoniously, the lamp turns completely off. 

“Jesus Christ,” you exhale, resting your head gently against your wooden dresser, trying to take a few steading breaths. 

“That was…” You don’t even know how to finish that sentence. 

Spooky? Unexpected? Quite something?  

Retreading your hand from the space between turns out to go a lot quicker and smoother than getting it there, and you shake it a few times with slight disgust, convinced that you can still feel faint traces of cobwebs haunting it.

With a heavy sigh, you take a look through your room, but everything else seems just the same.

Like nothing weird happened at all.

Your TV keeps playing in the background, and your Patti Smith record is still spinning.

And your pulse is slowly coming down to healthy level again.

You’re about to get up and back into bed, hoping to forget whatever just happened, when something small and rectangular lying underneath your dresser catches your eye. 

Your breath hitches once you realize what you’re looking at, and your heart might actually be doing a tiny flip.

There, behind one leg of your wooden dresser, hides your missing walkman. 

“No way,” you mumble, confused and slightly stunned. 

“How the hell did you get here?” You question, though you don’t expect the inanimate object to actually answer that.

You don’t remember any event that might explain why your tape player currently resides in such an odd place, but you also don’t really have the energy, or brain power, to question the whole thing, either. 

You just want to cuddle up in bed and forget a good portion of this night. Block out the weird behavior of your lamp and its meaning; at the very least for a few hours.

You’re still trying to convince yourself that this was probably just a faulty cable, or maybe, a defect wiring connected to the switch, or something.

You can overthink these details in the morning, though, because right now, your fingers really itch to finally, finally listen to that tape.

To have its melody soothe a part of your soul that you otherwise can’t touch, can’t reach. 

Putting your headphones on securely, and pushing the play button with still slightly shaky fingers, you feel yourself exhale slowly as the opening notes of the song begin. 

You stare at the ceiling for a bit, as you let the music wash over you.

The glow from the TV draws flickering shapes on some parts of the space surrounding you, before withdrawing again, like waves.

It’s a hypnotizing spectacle, and you watch it for a while, trying not to think of the many Californian beaches you’ll have to visit all on your own.

By now, the moon has traveled enough across the horizon, to finally find its way in front of your bedroom window, painting your desk and the edge of your bed in a milky hue. 

“Listening for your footsteps in every hallway 

Watching for your headlights around the bend 

I can see you standing in every doorway. 

Out in the street, in every glance  

I see your reflection, I fall in a trance  

Can't you see what I've become  

It's making me crazy  

I see you in everyone!” 

The song continues, as you long for Billy in ways that can’t be put into words. 

For a moment, you decide to sit up again, turning around to face the window, looking up at the midnight blue canvas high above, hoping to find some comfort in it.

The waxing moon, a lonely companion in a cloudless sky, seems to glance down on you with a benevolent gaze, as you wipe a stray tear away. 

“I miss you, Billy.” You whisper into the endless sea of midnight sky. 

“I miss you so much. There’s not a single day where I don’t wish you near, where I don’t long for you to come back and hug me close.” 

You continue to stare up at the moon with teary eyes while your favorite part of the song begins, and a small sob leaves your lips. 

“Day by day, I watch the memories slip away  

And traces of reality come back to me  

Then I see your face, somewhere in a distant place  

The fantasy has gone too far -  

I close my eyes and there you are. 

I can see you standing in every doorway 

I can feel your heartbeat -- I hear your voice 

And hiding in my shadow you're with me always. ”

“I just wish you would come back.” You whisper, “I just really wish you would come back somehow.”

With your eyes still transfixed on the moon, and the volume of your walkman turned up to its maximum, you don’t notice the sudden picture of static flickering over the TV screen behind you, disturbing the current scene of Rumble Fish, before turning back to its normal broadcast again. 

Only this time in the movie, when Rusty James begs his brother to engage with him, to pay attention to him, his voice comes out distorted.

“Look at me, I just want you to see me, man.” The young man on the TV screen urges, voice slipping into something different, “I’m right here. I'm right here. I want you to see me-” 

The screen flickers again, as the scene loops back to its beginning. 

“Look at me… I’m right here, I’m right here.”  A different voice says. 

Billy’s voice. 

Ahhh! And that’s it for the first chapter! If you’ve made it this far, thank you!! I know this part was quite Eddie/Reader heavy, but I promise Billy will start to make a lot more appearances (one way or another), too, and Eddie will have to take a backseat then.

I’m not sure when I’ll have the next part for this finished. Considering that I have a few more series and works in the drafts, it will probably take a little bit.

Like I’ve already said, I’ve decided to start a taglist so if you want to be tagged in the next chapter just let me know or fill out this form here <3

Also, before anyone decides to come for me because of my inaccurate music choices. I know that 'Take My Breath Away' was initially released in ’86 rather than ’85, but with a little suspense of belief I hope we can all overlook that tiny flaw. Thank you!

[reyesstrand]

first lines tag game

thank u for the tag @iboatedhere <3

rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

wait in the fire

Rain pelts down on TK's shoulders as he rounds the front of the car and slips in behind the wheel. It's completely unrelenting, the kind of downpour that makes him think of Manhattan: of stormy walks home, the water of grey puddles sloshing around his shoes and the cold working its way deep into his bones, a welcome bolt of awareness to his foggy brain.

like water in your hands

After the news eventually spreads, nobody questions it as TK starts offering to do extra chores. He's been completely exhausted these past few days, in part due to the calls they're still getting after the frog-rain-heat-wave, and partly due to the fact that he just can't sleep.

dream this night away

For all they've gone through to get here, the wedding thankfully goes off without a hitch. TK was certain something would happen, as the universe has never really been interested in steering clear of them when it comes to inflicting disaster, but it feels like he can finally breathe again when they realize everything is going to plan.

 (not afraid of) living on a fault line

Marry me.

It's been on his mind for a while now—imagining how the syllables might feel in his mouth, imagining how freeing it might be to just let his feelings out when it's always been so easy to run from them in the past—but TK never thought it'd happen like this.

not a victory march

There's nothing he knows more intimately than this: the time-slowing, numbing sensation of grief. It feels like something heavy; something with claws and teeth that hides in the shadows, lulling him into a false sense of security until he's taken by surprise and bled like an animal.

to be reborn

Twenty-two hours after TK is admitted to the hospital—after a doctor tells Carlos, point-blank and in so many words, that the best they can do is keep him sedated and comfortable; after he cries his eyes out in the last stall of the men's bathroom in an ICU he'd rather never step foot in again; after he nearly bursts apart at the seams when his mother comes in, carding her fingers through his hair and kissing his cheek and caressing her rosary beads, joining him in his silent vigil for someone who isn't even his, anymore, not really—the skies open up and light shines down on them once more.

some and now none of you

Because he doesn't know if he can handle anything else, Carlos pays attention to the small things as they wait. The old pipes creaking from the sudden cold. The little hole on the inside of his jacket pocket that widens as he toys with the loose threads. The squeak of wet shoes against the linoleum floors of the ICU hallway, people coming and going and coming and going.

our bodies, possessed by light

The first thing TK registers when he steps outside is the cold. It's that nose-burning, take-your-breath-away kind of cold, where it settles quickly and bites at your exposed skin, and it's been like this since the temperature dipped into the freezing range the first night of Hannukah.

safe like springtime

Despite the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the crooning voice of Bob Dylan spilling out of the speakers, all TK can focus on is the anxious tap tap tap of his own foot against the floor of the Camaro. TK gnaws at his thumb, going after a stubborn cuticle, his foot tapping growing stronger by the second. He tries to focus his attention on the endless stretch of farmland bordering the long road they've been driving down for nearly twenty minutes, momentarily staring at the horizon and praying for a sudden and fierce range of storm clouds to appear.

got real love maybe

The weight of a long shift—filled with the monotony of paperwork and inventory, a part of the compromise he'd settled on with both his father and Tommy when he'd insisted that three days was enough time for him to recover from his mild concussion and they approved him only for light-duty—slowly eases from his shoulders as TK drives the familiar route, finding it second nature, now, to turn down the second street on the left and immediately pull down the visor to block the setting sun from his eyes.

no pressure tagging @strandnreyes @carlos-in-glasses @lovesgalores @sunshinestrand @tailoredshirt @maxbegone @safeashousespdf @reyescarlos @morganaspendragonss

[surrealinkrpstories]

FuckinSurreal

Vane:/Thunder cracked above, the tires eating up the rain slicked road with light patches of hydroplaning here and there as I hit deeper potholes and waterholes along the broken asphalt. Nothing too dangerous for me to handle, even in my inebriated state. That didn’t stop my knuckles as they still gripped the steering wheel tight as fuck just in case. Fuck sakes. Driving drunk probably wasn’t the best decision I’d made.

I keep my heavy lidded blazing blues eyes on the road. The windshield wipers squeaked nosily and streaked left to right across my hazy line of sight. The rain streaking over the glass shield didn’t help my blurred vision. I’d been moving along through the night. Gaining ground on whatever had held me in it’s grasps back in that alley in Austin. Some strange sixth sense guided me to…what? Or away-from what? Away from the city? Away from @InkedTrickster and the bizarre world his venom had revealed to me?

The sky opened up more and poured down over the hood and black matte metal roof of my Camaro. I could feel the violent storm winds pushing past my car with sheer force. Enough force that I’d swerved into the next lane. The night still deep pitch dark. Morning would break soon. I hoped at least.

I began to weave, the howling wind and rain along with my head nodding from drowsiness to blame, as the white broken lines on the road began to fade. The rain soaked road I’d been traveling on is no longer in front of me. I could have been falling off the edge of the earth and never know it.

Sleep’s bony grip claimed me as my tires ran over the shoulder rumble strips when I veer off the road. Images replayed from earlier, Dave’s face in my field of vision, same scared shitless expression as before, but the scenario ended much differently. Blood stains covered each of my knuckles, hands tainted a reddish pink hue. A thick satisfied grin broke across my firm lips as Dave’s bones break and shatter beneath my onslaught of punches. The entire scene tinges to black, the tendrils of ink along my forearms lashed out to meet Dave’s slumped form crumbled on the gravel.

Suddenly a flash flood warning blared over to my right where my cell had wound up in the passenger seat after I’d raced out of the city. I’m ripped out of the dream state I had involuntarily begun to fall into. My body ran cold in realization. I reacted as quickly as my sudden alertness allowed and reached over to shut off the fucking cell warning. Fingertips breezed over the hardcover of my cell just as my tires hit a patch of water, spinning my car out of control. My front end jerked to the right. I yank the wheel but can’t avoid going off the road and making impact with a metal light pole. The crunch of metal on metal ached my molars as I ground my jaw. Knuckles white in a death grip around the steering wheel as the car tips before settling back on all four tires. I scrubbed harshly over my weary features at the razor close call. Whiskers rough over my brawny palms as flashes of my life spun through my mind. What a waste I’ve spent with it. Everything good was gone and here I was risking it all in search of something I couldn’t even begin to understand./

Fuck. I almost fuckin killed myself!

/I turned my head, neck sore and telegraphing a ‘Fuck you’ to my brain. Steam hissed out from my popped hood, the passenger door crushed in like tin./Motherfucker!/I couldn’t help the slur of curses spewing from my lips in anger. 'What the fuck was I doing?’ I pounded my fists into the steering wheel, jerked upright when a sudden banging came over the fogged and rain spotted driver’s window. A dark haired, completely soaked from head to toe, woman came through the haze of alcohol and screwed up visions. I’m not sure where she came from but there was a familiarity to her. That strange sense rose within me when she’d helped me out of the wreckage my Camaro was currently in. What was she doing out here. And where in the fuck was /HERE/?/ 

[fanficimagery]

Miscommunication

You practically throw yourself at your best friend, only to be rejected.

Or were you?

Words: 4.1K Author’s Note: I, uh, I have nothing. I wrote this while having covid. It was the only thing my brain let me complete.

Walking down the side of the empty road, you hug your jacket a little tighter to your body and pray no wild animal leaps from the surrounding woods to attack you in such a vulnerable state. Normally you'd get a ride from your best friend, but you'd just made an absolute fool of yourself and the last thing you want is to see him right now. Or for the rest of the week for that matter.

Tripping and stumbling over gravel and twigs, you curse your lowered inhibitions and wonder how you're going to move on from this. As you're walking, you see lights appear on the road from behind you. They get bright and brighter, and your heart beats faster and faster.

Grimacing, you quickly wipe away your tears. "Please don't be-" An all too familiar blue Camaro slows to a stop next to you and you heave a sigh of relief before grimacing for a whole different reason. "Hargrove, out for a late-night drive?"

Leaning over his seats, Billy glances through the passenger window. "YN YLN? What the hell are you doing out here?"

"Oh, you know, just thought I'd go out for a stroll."

"In the middle of fuckin' nowhere?" He scoffs. He then reaches for the handle and opens the door. "Get in."

"It's fine. I can walk."

"Get in the goddamn car, YN."

You briefly weigh your options before deciding that you don't actually want to walk home in the dark. So, bending at the waist, you peer in through the opened door. "No funny business?"

"Believe it or not, princess, I know that no means no. And to not take advantage of a girl when she's clearly been crying." You wince and then quickly drop into his passenger seat, shutting the door right after. Billy throws his car into drive and takes off, raising the volume to the radio to keep the atmosphere of the car from becoming too uncomfortable. After a couple of minutes, he asks, "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really," you mumble.

"Can't be that bad."

You scoff and keep your gaze straight ahead. "It's.. more embarrassing than anything."

"Well now you gotta tell me."

You sniffle some more and gulp down the forming lump in your throat. "Why? We're not exactly friends." You wince as you hear the words leave your mouth and see Billy's hands clench around the steering wheel. "Sorry, that sounded more bitchy out loud than it did in my head."

"Had this been any other day, you'd be right." He shrugs and then, "So come on. For one night only you can spill all the nitty gritty secrets and I'll never bring it up again."

"Yeah. Right."

He slowly smirks. "Fine. I won't use it as blackmail. I'll probably tease you with it, but not when others can hear."

You turn your head to look at him, slowly smiling and then chuckling. You hide your face behind your hands, groaning. "I know I'm gonna fuckin' regret this, but I need to say it out loud and talk about just how stupid I was."

"Come on, princess, lay it on me."

You groan again. "I, uh, I might have threw myself at my best friend."

Billy's quiet for a moment too long and you peek at him through your fingers. "That.. doesn't sound so bad."

"He rejected me."

He scoffs then. "I still don't see how you're the stupid one here. If it were me, I'd have been all over that."

You wrinkle your nose at his brief leer. "Yeah, well, Eddie's not like that. He said I was drunk and that I'd regret it."

"Eddie?" Billy frowns. You can see him wracking his brain for a face to pin to the name. You can practically see the lightbulb go off over his head when his eyes widen and his head whips in your direction. "Eddie Munson?!"

"You don't have to say his name like that." You pout and Billy cackles.

"Holy shit. Holy shit, princess! You threw yourself at Eddie fuckin' Munson and that freak rejected you?!"

"Don't call him that," you whine. "He's my best friend and-"

Billy laughs some more. "Is he getting into his own stash or something? Why the hell would he-"

"Because I'm not his type! I made an ass out of myself and now I've ruined everything with my best friend, and I can't even look at him anymore and.." You trail off, crying. "I just- I just wanna go home and crawl into bed and not resurface for the foreseeable future. So, if you can stop laughing at me, that'd be awesome."

Billy continues to chuckle as he drives. "Look, I'm sure it's not as bad as you're making it out to be." You scoff and wipe the tears from your face. "You said that he said you were drunk, and he thought you'd regret it?" You frown, hesitantly nodding. "Well then there you go. I'm not a fan of the guy, but he obviously did the right thing not taking advantage of you in this state."

"But I'm not that drunk!"

"Aren't you?" He muses, smirking as he glances at you yet again. "If you were sober or even a bit buzzed, would you be spilling all this girly shit to me? Me who's attempted to take you out multiple times only to be shot down?" You pout at him and sink further into the seat. "That's what I thought. Now pull it together and tell me where you live."

As you glance out the window to take in your surroundings, you say, "Keep driving until you hit Lawrence Street. I'm like the third house down on the right." Billy hums his acknowledgment and then all too soon he's turning down your street. But as you squint your eyes in the darkness, your eyes widen and you throw yourself down onto the floorboard. "Don't stop! Keep driving!"

"What the hell are you doing? Get off the floor."

"No, no, no. That's Eddie's van in front of my house. I don't want to see him."

"What the hell do you want me to do then?"

You watch as Billy glances out his window, smirking at something. "Just.. drop me off around the corner or something. I'll jump fences if I have to until I get to my backyard." Billy goes quiet and you watch as he turns, and then makes another turn. Slowly, you climb back into your seat. "Uh, where are you going?"

"My place."

"Hargrove," you groan.

"I'm still being a decent person," he muses. "Dad took his wife on a little getaway, so it's just me and Maxine. You're good."

"You promise?"

Billy glances at you then, his expression softening just a fraction as he takes in just how small you look in his passenger seat. "Sure, Princess. I promise."

The drive to Billy's house is a few minutes longer and then he's pulling into his driveway. You get out of his car on shaky legs, hugging your jacket tight around you once again. Following him inside, you wince as he shouts for his stepsister, only to get no response in return.

"Guess she's gonna be out for the night."

"Mhmm." Billy surprises you with a change of clothes- a crop top of his that fits you almost like a normal shirt and a pair of sleep pants. He tries to offer sharing his bed, but you wrinkle your nose at him. "Nope. The floor is fine. I'm not sleeping in jizz central."

He laughs, but shrugs. He wasn't going to manhandle you into his bed if you didn't want to be there. Instead, he grabs up all the spare blankets and pillows he can find and lets you make a nest on his floor. He disappears for a brief moment before coming back with tylenol and a glass of water. You eagerly drink it all down, setting the glass on his bedside table and then crawling underneath one of the blankets.

As soon as the lights are out, your eyes start to take longer and longer to reopen.

"Hey Billy?" You sleepily mumble.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. This was actually pretty decent of you."

He huffs. "Go to sleep, YN."

"M'kay."

The following afternoon you're sitting at Hargrove's breakfast table, elbows on the tabletop and head resting in your hands. Your stomach's rolling, your head is pounding, and the embarrassment still lingers.

You remember everything from watching Eddie be his rambunctious self at Steve's impromptu party, to having a couple drinks for liquid courage and being talked up by Robin, to finally just grabbing your best friend by the back of his neck and kissing him. For a moment he seemed to be into it, but then he pushed away and your heart plummeted.

Tears of embarrassment had stung your eyes as Eddie explained that you were drunk and didn't know what you wanted. But you did- you knew exactly who and what you wanted, but he merely flashed you a sad smile and refused to believe you. So when he told you to stay put while he went to grab his jacket so he could drive you home, you disappeared out Steve's backyard gate even as Robin tried to call you back.

The front door to the house opens and your head shoots up, eyes wide with panic. The door shuts and then the person who'd just entered comes into view.

Max freezes, staring at you before she looks you up and down. Her shock quickly turns into disgust. "Please tell me you didn't."

"I-I didn't!" You quickly stand, clutching at the waistband of the sleep pants to keep them in place. "I slept on the floor."

She scoffs. "Yeah. Right." Her eyes roll and your chest aches with hurt. "I know Billy, and you weren't exactly sober last night, YN."

"I was sober enough to know exactly what I was doing, Max."

"Were you?" Her eyebrow arches at you. "Is that why you threw yourself at Munson and then Billy? I guess the second time was the charm, huh."

Her words sting and immediately you feel your eyes prickle with tears of frustration. Her expression softens as she realizes what she's just said, but you shake your head at her when she opens her mouth again. "Fuck this."

Turning around, you march back to Billy's room and strip out of his sleep pants in order to pull your jeans back on. As you're debating whether or not you want to slip back into your own shirt, you see Max lean into the doorway to peer into the room.

Keeping Billy's crop top, you pull on your leather jacket. The bathroom door opens, Max scrambles to the other side of the door, and then..

"What's going on?"

You glance up at Billy standing there in a pair of basketball shorts and towel draped around his neck as water droplets dribble down his bare chest. Max rolls her eyes at him and you hardly bat an eye at him as you scoop up your shirt and shoes. "I, uh, I'm gonna go. Thanks for the ride and place to crash. You're not a total neanderthal like I thought you were, Hargrove."

He scoffs. "Why are you crying?"

"I-"

"I just remembered what an idiot I made of myself last night," you say, cutting off Max when she suddenly turns guilty looking. You meet her gaze and subtly shake your head before looking at Billy once more. "Thanks again. I'll, uh, I'll see you around."

You squeeze between the step-siblings, ignoring both their calls of your name as you flee their home. Outside, the tears come faster. With your shoes dangling from one hand and your shirt clutched in the other, you hurry in the direction of your home so you can hide away.

The weekend comes and goes, and you're grateful that your parents were off on a business trip so you could mope in peace. The doors remained locked, the curtains remained pulled tight, and you ignored every knock on the door or phone call that had your friends pleading on the answering machine to pick up.

But Monday comes around far too quickly for your liking and you find yourself dragging your feet into work at Family Video. Steve perks up from behind the front counter, but you merely let your gaze drag over him before heading straight to the staff room to clock in.

When you take your place behind the front counter, you immediately get to work sorting the returned tapes and sit on the floor where the small TV and VCR are hidden so you can mark down who didn't rewind their tapes.

"Well you're alive and well. That's nice to know."

"Mhm. Haven't kicked the bucket quite yet, Harrington, now get back to work."

"Fine. But we're talking about whatever the hell happened Friday night on break."

"Hmm. I would rather not."

"YN.."

"Steve." You sigh and look up over your shoulder at him. "Can you not do this? We're at work and I'd rather forget the most embarrassing night of my life. Thanks."

"Embarrassing because you threw yourself at Munson or embarrassing because you slept with Hargrove?"

Your eyes widen and then anger blazes across your features. "Fuck you." You get up from your place on the floor and march back towards the staff room.

"Shit. Shit, YN, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." Steve chases after you. "Max feels really bad about that misunderstanding, by the way."

"If she felt bad about it then why did she tell all of you? Clearly nothing happened," you spit at him in anger, "but you've all made up your mind already, haven't you?"

Steve watches you grab your timecard from the wall, followed by a pen. "W-What are you doing?"

You scribble two words on the timecard before tossing the pen aside, strip out of your Family Video vest, and then walk over to Steve while slapping the card against his chest. "I quit."

Steve gapes as you walk out the staff door, marching through the store as you exit out the front entrance.

When you get home, you kick off your shoes on your way upstairs and crawl into bed. The moment you're under the covers and your head hits the pillows, the tears come. You cry over the fact that two of your friends, maybe more, think you slept with Billy Hargrove and cry because you're now out of a job.

You cry and cry, not knowing when you fell asleep.

You don't know how long you've been asleep when you feel your mattress dip and you peel open your eyes with a quiet groan. When your gaze focuses, you see Robin sheepishly sitting on the edge of your bed.

"Hey." She faintly smiles at you. "Steve called a code red." At the mention of his name, your bottom lip wobbles and your eyes fill with tears yet again. "Aw crap. Please don't cry. I don't do good with crying people."

It takes you a few moments to get yourself under a semblance of control. "Does everyone else *sniffle* think I'm a slut too?" You cry.

"No one thinks you're a slut, YN."

"Steve and Max do," you say over a hiccup. "They think I slept with Billy, but Robin.. I wouldn't. You know I've been in love with Eddie since I was sixteen."

There's a sharp inhale of breath behind you, Robin's eyes widen before they dart in that direction and your heart lodges itself in your throat.

"You've been in love with me since we were sixteen?"

"I'm, uh, I'm gonna go," Robin blurts. She offers you a tight smile before quickly standing. "Have fun. Figure your shit out and be safe!"

As Robin flees your bedroom, you turn on your side and curl in on yourself. You can hear the jingle of the chain hanging from Eddie's belt loops and you turn your head so your face is hidden in the plushness of your pillow.

"Hey. Come on now. It's just me, sweetheart." Your mattress jostles and your breath hitches. "Will you please look at me?"

"I don't wanna."

"YN."

A whine gets stuck at the back of your throat and you slowly turn your head so you can see Eddie. He smiles big from where he's crouched on the side of your bed. "There you are."

"I wasn't drunk," you mumble.

"What?"

"I wasn't drunk," you say again. "Friday night," you then clarify. "I knew what I was doing when I kissed you and I'm really sorry I made you uncomfortable."

Eddie's smile falters. "What makes you think I was uncomfortable?"

"You rejected me, Eds! I'm pretty sure that-"

"Baby," he suddenly coos and your heart fuckin' aches at the term of endearment. He crosses his arms atop your bed, setting his chin atop them as he angles his head to get a better look at you. "I was nowhere near uncomfortable. I thought you were wasted and that you'd regret the kiss come morning," he clarifies for you. "I couldn't bear the thought of finally getting the girl of my dreams only to lose her when she realized what a mistake she'd made while under the influence."

His words hang in the air for a moment and it takes your brain a minute longer to process it all. Then when the silence is borderline awkward, you say, "I could never regret anything involving you. You're my best friend and I-"

"Have been in love with me since you were sixteen?" He lightly teases. Your heart beats faster and faster, and he smirks. "Will it make you feel any better if I admit I've been in love with you just as long?"

"W-What?"

"S'true. Ask Wayne," he says. "He's called me a dumbass for years for not telling you." You giggle and Eddie practically beams. "So what do you say to a redo? Because I haven't stopped thinking about Friday night and I-"

You lurch forward, holding your weight on one elbow as you press your lips against Eddie's. He chuckles against your mouth before getting with the program, cupping the side of your head with one hand and molding his lips against yours.

For a first kiss it's very chaste, but absolutely perfect. Though you've been in love with Eddie for years, there's absolutely no rush whatsoever and you want to savor every milestone with him.

Eddie pecks your lips once and then twice as he slowly pulls back, resting his forehead against yours while swiping his thumb along your cheekbone. "I've been wanting to do that for years."

"Mhm. Same." You lean in and kiss his lips one last time. "And I'm all for exploring each other and all that to catch up on lost time, but all this stupid crying has exhausted me. So either get in bed or go beat up Steve for me for making me have to look for another job."

Eddie chuckles as he stands, slipping out of his leather jacket and jean vest, then slipping off his sneakers. "Nah. Don't worry about it, sweetheart. Steve covered for you at work and got you a new time card. You still have a job at Family Video."

"Oh. Okay then."

As he climbs into bed, under your covers, you wait until he's mostly settled before moving his arm so you could cuddle up to him. With your head resting in the crook of his arm where his arm meets his shoulder, you lay your arm across his abdomen and hike your knee over his thigh. Eddie chuckles. "Comfortable?"

"Getting there." You move around a bit more and then once you're finally settled, you exhale a little too loudly. Eddie squeezes you tighter against him, one arm around your back while your other hand rests on your knee. "Is this real?" You ask. "Like you're not just doing this because you're afraid to hurt my feelings?"

"I am one hundred and ten percent here for this, sweetheart," Eddie says. "Now that I know I can have this and more? Pft. You're never getting rid of me." You laugh softly and feel his lips against your forehead. "Now get some rest. We can pick up the fun stuff later."

You fall asleep with a smile on your lips and Eddie brushing his fingers along the skin of your arm.

As it turns out, dating Eddie is a lot like just being friends with Eddie. The only difference now is that he's less careful with his touches and has no problem staking his claim out in public. You were never a fan of pda, but with Eddie? You like it. You like it a lot.

Especially if it grosses out Steve who you'd yet to fully forgive for his sleeping with Billy comment. Max you could forgive because she was used to seeing Billy sleeping with a new girl every weekend and she realized her mistake when she saw all the bedding on the floor where you had actually slept. But Steve? Steve heard the story and still had the audacity to throw it out there that you'd slept with his arch nemesis and that really hurt.

But it's already been a week so you figure you'll let up and put Harrington out of his misery within the next couple of days.

Walking out of the festival Hawkins had put on for the weekend, Eddie's arm is draped around your shoulders while you're laughing and trying to eat the rest of your cotton candy without him leaning down to bite it off the cone in your hands.

"Well isn't this a precious sight."

You've yet to run into anyone brave enough to speak out about you and Eddie, so the words catch you off guard with the tone they're used with. But when you see who had spoken, you relax with a soft exhale. "Hey Hargrove." You nod at him and his date for the evening- his date who's frowning as she glances between you and Billy. You roll your eyes, feeling a little catty. "Are you actually showing this one off to the public before adding another notch to the bedpost?"

The girl gasps, but Billy merely smirks at you. "Nice to know you're still a bitch even when you're getting laid on the regular." Eddie tenses at your side, but you merely laugh at the mean words. Your laughter makes Billy chuckle and you smile genuinely when you see the shift in his demeanor. He glances at Eddie, smirk dimming. "You ever make her cry again, Munson, and I'll knock your teeth in. Got it?"

Eddie isn't given a chance to respond as Billy takes his date's hand and practically drags her towards the festival. As you and Eddie turn to watch them walk off, he looks down at you and shakes his head. "Jesus Christ, sweetheart. One night with Hargrove and he's turned into a guard dog."

You grin sheepishly. "Look at this way. If I ever run into trouble, you got a real hardass in your corner to help you kick some ass."

"I thought that's what Steve was for?"

You snort. "Have you seen Steve's fight record? Steve's not the fighting type, babe."

"Eh. True." Eddie's arm ends up around your shoulders yet again and the two of you head off towards his van. "Where to now, sweetheart? My place or yours?"

"I don't care. As long as there's a shower and some comfortable clothes for me, I could go to either place. I'm in the mood for some cuddles."

"Mmm. I like the way you think." Eddie opens the passenger door for you, waiting until you've hopped in to press in closer and pull you down into a kiss. He hums against your mouth, tongue licking up the sugar from your lips. "I think we'll go back to mine. Your parents are home and they always ruin our fun."

Giggling, you agree and then pull the door closed as Eddie jogs around the front of his van.

As you watch him go, your heart swells with even more affection for the boy who'd stolen your heart long ago. And as he smiles at you through the windshield window, eyes crinkled at the corners, you have a feeling that this will be one person who will never intentionally make you cry.

And if he does, well you can always take Hargrove up on his offer to punch his teeth in.

But until that day, you're gonna spend your days catching up on lost time with the guy of your dreams.

[hawkins-losers]

an idea : could you write abt billy fucking you on the hood of his camaro. i cant think of a situation but i imagine it at night after some sort of jealousy simulated argument outside his car and he says ‘don’t think i won’t just fuck u dumb in the backseat of my fuckin car rn’ and then ‘fuck it id bend u over on the hood right here if you don’t…’ thanks :D

A/N: When I think of a car hood, I think of Lana Del Rey in Born to Die music video. Sorry I didn’t follow everything, but this is my first try at Billy

-

You and Billy left the house party with slamming doors and screeching tires, all the while screaming at each other. 

‘’I saw you! You were flirting with Louise,’’ you said, seething. 

Cigarette between his lips, Billy took a left to pull out of the neighborhood. ‘’Louise? Who the fuck is Louise?’’

‘’The blonde you were about to shove your tongue in her mouth right before I walked in. Does that ring a bell?’’ 

‘’Oh! That cow?’’ Billy shook his head, laughing. ‘’I never intended to put my tongue anywhere near her. I flirted with her just to rile you up, to make you jealous. You know how you get when you’re jealous, the sex is so much better.’’ 

So he had plotted this to have better sex? You didn’t know if you should be impressed, laugh or keep being angry. 

‘’You’re infuriating.’’ 

‘’You really thought I would fuck her?’’ He scoffed, then swiped his tongues over his lips, his blue eyes looking right at you. ‘’All I've been thinking about since you showed up in that dress is fucking you dumb in the backseat of my fucking car.’’ 

Billy’s hand traveled up your thigh, slipping under the hem of your short dress. He pressed down on the gas, your eyes flicking to the speedometer and watching the number get higher and higher on the dashboard. You should be scared of the speed, but you liked it. You loved it.

You parted your legs a bit, just to tease him, but the car hit a pothole, making you bounce in your seat and causing Billy’s hand to slip further down, his fingertips touching your underwear. 

A surprised squeal came out of your mouth. 

‘’Already wet for me? Damn, babygirl.’’  Billy smiled smugly, knowing the rumble of his Camaro gets you wet. 

The trees were flying fast outside your window, but all you could focus on was Billy’s hand between your legs, stroking you over your panties while driving. You thought of parting your legs further, of allowing him to finger you, but you got another idea. 

You removed Billy’s hand, making him tear his eyes off the road. He was about to protest or tell you off for doing that, but you slipped your hand under your dress, shuffled on your seat until you got a grip of what you wanted, and peeled off your panties, dragging them down your legs and off. You threw them in the backseat, making Billy groan. The thought of you in his passenger seat, legs slightly spread without anything under made his pants grow very very tight. 

You smiled devilishly. Billy liked his girls insane - unhinged.

The window on the driver side was slightly down to let the cigarette smoke out, creating a small breeze in the car. Pushing your teasing to the max, you parted your legs again, allowing the chill air to hit your bare pussy.

A sweet little moan escaped your lips, and Billy's hand clenched on the steering wheel. You were probably dripping on his seat, but he couldn't care less. If he weren't driving, he'd lick it up.

‘’Fuck, I'm gonna stop the car and bend you over on the hood right here if you don’t stop that shit-’’

‘’Do it.’’

-

Taglist: @broadway-or-noway @violetsleftfist @thelaststraw3  @cursedandromedablack  @Slashersimpfor  @savagejane1   @wh0reforbucknasty   @eddiemunson-slut   @slvdsjjk  @hehehehannahthings  @dreamdancers-world  @grace-loux  @iamharrystyleslover  @matildavol6  @Original_babababoo  @eddiemunsonbby  @notbeforelong  @lexi-2004 @violetrainbow412-blog  @tatespillows  @alwayslexii  @lilygreennn   @milkiane  @imahomeslice  @bunnygrl16 @cwritesforfun

[roadkillxd]

18+ trans male reader :)

could you write one where the reader (possibly trans male) has a rough day at school (like he’s a senior) and billy and steve comfort him and help relieve some stress with a lot of praises yk

i absolutely adore your writing and i hope you have a good day/night depending on when you’re reading this 🫶🫶

Thank you for requesting this!! It was so nice to write. I tried to keep away from using any feminine terms to describe the reader's genitals. Also featuring a single instance of Steve's daddy kink because we love and cherish him. And thank you for the sweet compliments! I'm glad you like my writing ♡

↪ 2115 words — 18+ / SMUT — tw for crying, minor daddy kink, use of condom(s), referenced/implied transphobia, un-transitioned trans!male reader, and mild overstimulation.

Content tags — trans male submissive reader / cis male dominant Steve / cis male dominant Billy / cunnilingus, blowjobs, fingering, penetrative sex, vaginal sex.

You wipe the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your oversized hoodie as the phone rings. You huddle into the corner of the phone booth, shivering in the cold, relieved when Billy’s voice floods the line after the seventh ring.

“Who’s this?” His raspy, tired tone calms your nerves just the slightest bit.

“Can you come get me?” You breathe out, tears welling up in your eyes again at how small and pathetic your voice sounds. 

You hear something clatter to the ground on the other side, followed by some shuffling before Billy responds.

“Yeah, yeah. You just got outta school right? Are you by the payphone there?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, I’ll be there in five,” the line goes dead with a click. You put the phone back on the hook and sink down to the floor of the booth. Billy and Steve’s apartment is ten minutes away.

He makes it in eight, Camaro roaring over the hill before he’s pulling up to the phone booth with the angry squealing of tires. He reaches over to push the passenger side door open for you and you give a weak smile in response to his shining grin as you slip into the seat.

“Had a cop on my ass the whole time,” he says, in way of an apology.

“S’fine,” you murmur.

You close the door and he wastes no time tearing off, pulling a sharp u-turn to head back towards home. You huddle into yourself, hoodie purposely oversized to hide your chest. You can see Billy glancing over at you out of the corner of your eye. The radio isn’t blaring, which means he plans to talk. You sigh.

“What happened to your bike?” He asks gruffly, though he probably already knows the answer.

“They slashed my tires,” you respond, voice bland. You’re tired. You just want to go home, get wrapped up in Steve and Billy’s arms, and go to sleep.

“Who?” He grits out.

You shrug, averting your eyes to look out the window. It’s late September. The sky is blotted with dark gray clouds, and it’s begun to sprinkle. The ambiance is comforting and coincidental. 

When you look back over, Billy’s white-knuckling the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. You can see his jaw clenching and unclenching, that little vein in his forehead throbbing with the movement. 

“You should find out who, alright?” He finally says. “If you can. The school might have security footage. You can ask someone in the office. They can’t keep getting away with this shit.”

“You’d just hurt them,” you whisper.

“They deserve it,” he replies, voice sharp and final. You fall quiet, listening to the purr of the engine as he drives.

You pass through the doorway into their apartment, kicking your shoes off and slinging your back onto the floor next to the mud mat. You head straight for the bedroom, the sound of Billy setting his keys and wallet down, the shuffling of his coat being hung up fading down the hallway. 

Steve’s sitting on the edge of the bed, facing toward the door, scribbling something down in a notebook. He’s shirtless, just in a pair of sweatpants. He looks up when you enter and gives a soft smile, leaning down the length of the bed to throw the notebook and pen onto the nightstand before sitting back up, patting his thigh in invitation.

“Bad day?” He asks. 

You nod, taking your spot on his lap and burying your face into the crook of his neck. He strokes his big hands up and down your back, pressing gentle kisses to the side of your head. You sniffle and sigh, breathing in his scent. Something cinnamon and maple-like. 

Billy pads into the room and throws himself onto the bed, shifting over to the right side and spreading out. 

“Assholes broke his bike,” he grumbles. You whimper and tug Steve a little closer to you. Steve sighs against your ear, turning just enough to look over at the blond.

“Billy,” he chides.

“What?” 

Steve levels him with a look. A practiced expression Billy’s come to understand as shut the fuck up. He rolls his eyes, arms crossing as he lays back and pouts, glaring up at the ceiling. 

“Stevie?” You whisper, pulling back just enough to look Steve in the eyes. He hums in response, giving you a small smile. “Can… could you… touch me?” You add, voice small. 

“‘Course, baby boy,” he grins. You flush at the endearment, letting your eyes flutter shut as he trails his hands down your torso, to your waist, and further back to grope and massage your ass. 

He gently presses his lips to yours, kissing you slow and chaste. He urges you to grind against him, feeling him slowly begin to chub up beneath you. You let out a shaky breath, hands tangling in his long hair as he moves to suck and lick at your neck, making a point of marking you.

You wrap your legs tight around his waist, allowing him to move and shuffle onto his knees, plopping you onto the bed. He sneaks his hands underneath your hoodie, slowly pushing it up to reveal your chest. You roll your head back, trying not to look as he begins to suck and bite at your nipples. 

You meet Billy’s eyes, his pupils already blown wide with lust. He must’ve kicked off his pants at some point, his palm grinding against the bulge in his boxers as he watches. He gives a genuine smile as your gazes lock before shuffling forward, reaching with his free hand to grab the back of your head and kiss you, licking into your mouth.

You moan, brain fuzzy at the dual sensation of Billy’s mouth on yours and Steve’s tongue lapping over your nipple, massaging your other pec, his thumb rubbing over your pink bud before he switches sides, giving the same attention to the other. 

Billy pulls away slightly, pressing a kiss to your chin, the tip of your nose, before resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re so hot, babe,” he murmurs, his voice a near growl with how deeply he speaks. “Sexiest guy I’ve ever seen.”

You whine, hips shifting as Steve starts to work at your belt, unbuckling it with the clink of metal before sliding the loose denim down your legs. You moan as he licks at you through your boxers, letting saliva leak past his lips to further dampen the fabric, digging his tongue between your folds. 

Billy shuffles onto his knees beside your head, shoving his briefs down to let his cock spring free. You keen at the sight, thick and red, the head dribbling precum. He rubs the head of it over your lips, making your lips glossy. You try to suck it into your mouth but he hooks his thumb into the corner of your mouth, pulling you away.

“Just lick it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. You stare back up at him with wide, wet eyes before refocusing on your task, lolling your tongue out to begin lapping at the hard flesh.

He groans as you lick at him, sliding your lips along his length and coating it in your spit. You gasp when Steve shifts your boxers down before mouthing at your cocklet, breathing heavily as he licks between your folds. He narrows his tongue, shoving it into your hole, forcing a whine from your lips.

He circles his tongue within your walls for a few moments before pulling back, panting.

“S-so good,” he breathes out, glancing up at you before letting his eyes flutter shut as he gives a few rough licks to your cocklet. “So good for daddy.”

You whine at his words, hips bucking up against his mouth as he returns to eating you out. Billy groans as well, holding your head in place with a gentle grip in your hair as he slowly slides his cock back and forth along your lips and lolling tongue. 

“Our baby boy…” Billy adds, his tone surprisingly endearing—a tone you know is only reserved for you and Steve. You feel tears welling up in your eyes, overwhelmed by how loving they are of you, how lucky you are to have caught their attention, to have been accepted into a relationship with the both of them and just as easily accepted for who you are. 

Steve preps you for his cock slow and gentle, two fingers sliding into your clutch easily. Your hips rock as he thrusts them into you, his free hand fumbling with the bedside drawer to grab a tube of lube and a condom. He squirts some onto your mound, making you gasp at the cold before he's slipping a third finger in. 

Billy reaches down to play with your chest, squeezing one of them in his big hand before pinching and tugging roughly at your nipples. Your back arches into the touch, attempting to relieve the sting as you whine. 

Steve spreads his fingers as wide as he can inside of you, stretching your walls as he suckles at your cocklet. He pulls his fingers free and gives you one last lick before shuffling forward onto his knees. 

He pushes his sweats down below his hips, hard cock bobbing as it’s freed. It’s longer than Billy’s, but not quite as thick. Flushed pink and leaking precum like a faucet. You stare down at him, eyes half-lidded and mouth still agape as he slips the condom on and lines himself up. He leans down, pressing kisses to your chest as he begins to push in, your hole giving surprisingly easy to his cock.

The both of you moan low and long as he breaches you, the tight rings of muscles of your clutch squeezing down around him. Billy takes to stroking the rest of his length as Steve begins to slowly rock into you, carefully increasing his pace as you adjust. 

You continue to mouth sloppily at Billy’s cockhead, ministrations becoming messier and messier as Steve’s pace picks up until he’s slamming into you, punching little “ah, ah, ah”’s out past your lips as his cock fucks into your hole. 

“So handsome,” Steve moans, watching your face, scrunched up from pleasure, with hazy eyes. “Feel so good around me, baby boy. Always feels so good.”

You whine, desperately circling your hips downwards in an attempt to meet his brutal thrusts. His cock grinds over your prostate, your hole sore and twitching as his own cock pulses and kicks within your walls. Billy breathes open-mouthed above you, close to his own release, the head of his dick beginning to spurt out more pre.

Billy comes first, careful to position himself as he does so, shooting his load upon your flexing tongue and into your mouth. He lets out a bellowing, growling moan as he finishes, stroking his cock a few more times for good measure before the overstimulation becomes too much and he has to pull away, leaving his quickly softening cock to rest against your cheek.

Steve moans at the sight, feeling his orgasm quickly building. He reaches down to thumb at your cocklet, the rough callouses of his fingertips making you squirm and cry out, hips bucking up into the touch. You clench down tight around him, a gush of slick coating his cock as you come with a keening cry.  

He gasps at the sudden vice grip of your hole, sheathing himself fully within you one last time before he comes with a shuddering groan, hips twitching as your thighs shake around his waist. You absently notice Billy’s moved away from you as you lay spent, trying to catch your breath as Steve’s cock begins to soften and he slips out of you, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash beside the bed.

He plops down on his side next to you, throwing an arm over your middle and nuzzling against the side of your head.

“I’m sorry today sucked,” he murmurs. 

“S’okay,” you reply with a weak smile, turning your head to look him in the eyes, faces so close the both of you almost go cross-eyed as your gazes meet. “I’ve got you two to help, y’know?”

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.”

You feel the bed shift as Billy returns and look down, watching him kneel between your spread legs before lowering onto his belly. He grabs your thighs and throws them over his shoulders, quickly delving to lick between your folds.

“Billy!” You gasp.

He looks up at you with a vicious grin, giving a teasing lick to your sensitive cocklet before he speaks.

“My turn.”

[slut4buckysarm]

Warnings: ANGRY SMUT (degradation kink, Masturbation), Angst.

ALL mistakes are my own.

Do NOT copy, repost, translate or rewrite my fics!!.

I admire every single comment, reblog, follow, and like to a great extent :).

ALSO: feel free to send asks about anything and don’t be shy. i’m so fkn bored. I have nothing to do lol.

I'm dancing with a stranger from the bar and then feel two hands grab my waist. I roll my eyes knowing who it is.

"I'm busy Chris," I say.

"Come on. It's time to go," he utters pulling me out of the bar.

I sit in the passenger seat to Chris' Camaro and he closes the door behind me. As he's getting into his seat I turn on the radio, not wanting to engage in conversation.

"Party pooper," I mumble as he drives out of the parking lot.

"I'm not the one whoreing out because of one little fight," he mumbles back.

Speeding down an abandoned road, I feel a cool breeze between my thighs.

If he can ruin a perfectly good night, I can do this.

Spreading open my legs, I move my lace panties to the side and collect my wetness. I spread it over the bundle of nerves and start to rub circles around my clit.

"What are you doing?" Chris asks.

I grab his hand off the steering wheel and pull two of his fingers under my skirt. I rub his fingers into circles and he pulls his hand away.

"I'm driving," he tells me, putting his hand back onto the steering wheel, my wetness glistening on the leather.

I put my hand under my skirt once again and insert two fingers into myself.

"God- alright, don't make a mess. I just washed this car".

I pump my fingers in and out of my cunt and feel the beat of the music inside of my chest.

"Fuck. Chris, please. Right there" I moan his name like a prayer, throwing my head on the seat behind me.

Feeling a knot in my stomach, I start to pump faster.

"Yes, fuck yes. M' so close".

I reach my climax and release, screaming Chris' name.

As I open my eyes, I notice that the windows are covered in my juices and my cum covers the seat beneath me. I open my mouth to apologize but Chris swerves the wheel and pulls his car over. He unbuckles his seatbelt, opens the door, and makes his way to my side of the car.

"Chris I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" I'm interrupted by Chris grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the car.

He throws me onto the hood and takes off his blazer.

"You wanna act like a fucking brat, I'll treat you like one," he mutters pulling my skirt off of my hips and dropping it onto the gravel.

"Chris I swear I didn't mean to".

He ignores me and pulls my damp panties off next.

"Open," he demands and I do as told.

He stuffs my underwear into my mouth and rolls up the sleeves to his white dress shirt. He starts unbuckling his pants and his bulge springs out once free, tip covered in a white liquid. He spreads his pre-cum onto the rest of his dick and lines himself up with my entrance.

Chris moves the tip of his cock up and down my slick and looks up at me, waiting for an answer. I nod my head, desperate to feel him inside of me, and gasp when he does so. I'm crying out in a mixture of pain and pleasure and all he does is keep fucking the absolute dog shit out of me.

I can feel him continuously moving over my g-spot and I hold on to the car for dear life.

"Fuck Chris. Yes!" my moans are muffled but alive.

"This is fuck what you needed, huh darlin'?" he speaks, half to himself.

I can feel his hands dig deeper into my hips. He moves his right one to my mouth and removes the cloth. Chris then trails his hand down to my right boob and starts playing with my nipple. He twists, turns, and squeezes the bud, and I throw my head back in pleasure.

"You fucking slut. Is fuck this what you needed to feel better?".

I nod my head, running my hand down his chest.

"Yes. Please, fuck yes!" I scream.

I can feel the vein that runs down his cock against my velvet walls. The knot in my stomach gets tighter and I know that I'm close.

"Chris m' close. Don't stop. Fuck please don't stop!" I speak into his ear.

He groans feeling himself closer to his orgasm and that's all that it takes.

"Fuck Chris!" I release onto him and he follows, doing the same.

Chris' body falls onto mines, but he catches himself with his forearms. He pulls himself out of me and a mixture of our juices run down my leg.

He then pulls up his pants and helps me off of his car.

"You get it all out?" he jokingly asks

"We should fight more often," I reply still panting.

please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed.

[memes-saved-me]

I want single dad Steve in his late 20s opening the door to find Max standing there with Dustin and a very hesitant Billy leaning against a red Camaro with shorter hair and a pair of shades on looking down at his lighter.

Him inviting them all inside completely unknowning of why they've turned up without calling first. They all sit down, Billy hovering in the doorway as Steve offers them drinks and tells them not to be too loud because Emily is having a nap.

Its been a year or so since he's seen them, all of them except Billy visiting when he sent pictures of new baby girl as soon as he had accepted he was now a dad and a had to raise her alone because her mother left her at the hospital with no signs of coming back to get her.

"We need you help," Dustin tells him and he pauses while pouring water into his glass. "We need the whole party. Including you."

"I can't," Steve replies.

"I told you," Billy says to Max. "He's got priorities. A kid. He's not gonna risk his life."

"But we need you," Max turns to Steve. "Its nothing compared to Starcourt."

Billy squirms at the mention of it, subconsciously rubs his chest. "Not even close," he adds. "Robin is off in Europe, Erica is at college. You're the only other person who was down in that base."

"Wait, is this about the Russians?"

"Yeah," Dustin answers. "We think they have El."

"Shit," Steve breathes. "Have you idiots even got a plan?"

"Murray is working on it," Billy replies and they make eye contact briefly. "But these two wanted you to come help as well."

"Bullshit. You asked if we should come get him," Dustin says and Billy gives him a look that honestly should have vaporised him right there on Steve's sofa.

"Let me call Rachel and see if she'll watch Emily for the weekend but that's it. Sunday morning I'm back here no matter what."

They all nod but of course that doesn't happen. Steve ends up staying much longer than that and Emily ends up at his parents, his excuse being there's a serious problem at work and he will be gone longer.

Except, Billy of all people keeps telling him to go home but in a genuine sincere sense. Keeps reminding him he can't get killed because of his daughter and that is when Steve realises Billy is very different to the last time he saw him. Which was being wheeled out of the hospital by Max with scars covering his torso and a look of guilt plaguing his face.

I don't know what happens next so feel free to continue it but I know for sure Billy saves Steve at some point and they have a moment where it clicks. Maybe they save the day once again but when Billy drops Steve off he stays for a bit, maybe for the night and meets Emily. Who knows...maybe he ends up staying there a lot longer.

[fletchphoenix]

Midnight Drive

lol I lied here it is. its a raven boys au I have no intention of finishing but here you go - the infamous drive scene from The Dream Thieves which set my standards for romance. Enjoy.

------------

Varian had had just about enough of everyone around him. He knew it was late, the sun in the distance painting the sky in an ombre of red and orange and yellow in the west, and the inky darkness of the east beginning to take over the sky, but he just needed to get out. It didn’t help that having Rapunzel, Cass, Eugene, Red, Lance and Catalina in the house made it feel as claustrophobic as ever. With a frown, he snuck downstairs, to the shared phone the house used and dialled the one number he never thought he would for a getaway.

“Goggles?” Hugo replied after a little yawn. Varian felt his breath catch in his throat, something in his chest tightening at the sound. Shit.

“Take me out?” He asked softly.

—------------------------

It only took Hugo ten minutes to get to Varian’s house, the other lacing up some boots and sneaking out the front door to slide into the passenger seat of Hugo’s 1968 Camaro, the car’s usual obnoxious green was subdued to a softer shade. Varian didn’t want to admit it out loud, but he loved the car. He loved the smell of the leather, the radio that only worked if you punched the dash three times, the air conditioning that weakly spluttered a lukewarm burst of air at your face every few minutes. Everything about the car was just so…Hugo. It made his heart slightly fuzzy to think about, a flush rising up his face. But if Hugo noticed, he didn’t say anything, simply keeping his eyes on the road and driving through the forest, up a winding hill to a better spot.

“So, any reason you lured me from my slumber to take you on a drive?” Hugo asked, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the steering wheel in tune to the music. It was some 80’s band - Hugo had told him before he ‘liked to keep his stuff vintage’, but Varian thought it added to the charm of the Camaro either way. “I mean, I was having a good sleep, but I don’t mind taking you out.” 

“It was too crowded at home. I just needed time to think. And besides, my…he found out. About the kiss thing.” Varian kept his voice soft, trying to ignore the pity that clouded Hugo’s expression after he spoke. The whole situation was stressing him out - first of all, Rowan wasn’t technically his boyfriend. The two had barely spent enough time alone together to count as friends, let alone be romantically involved with each other. Secondly, Rowan was acting like a real asshole lately, so much so that Varian was 98% sure that there was no way Rowan could be his true love. Hence, the prophecy of “if you kiss your true love, he will die” not being any risk to Rowan. Didn’t stop him from getting frustrated, punching a hole through the wall before storming out of the house. So what if Varian didn’t want to kiss someone who would punch walls? So what if he preferred someone who would take him out on a late night drive in a 1968 Camaro and show him the most beautiful views in the world? So what if he wanted someone with a stupid grin and some big, obnoxious glasses framing his face but the most beautiful emerald eyes he’d ever seen?

Shit. He was in love with Hugo, of all people. Yet all he could think was Why couldn’t it be Rowan?

“Ah. Well, that's a problem.” Hugo simply said, keeping his voice soft, that fucking accent ringing into his voice that made Varian want to punch him and kiss him all at the same time. “So i’ll take it he didn’t take the news too well and now you want to be away from him?”

“Pretty much-Hey. Stop the car-” Varian said softly, Hugo obliging and bringing the car to a stop. After putting the handbrake on, his eyes followed Varian’s to gaze out at their hometown. And god, it was a sight. All that was visible from down below were a few flickering yellow and white lights from street lamps, illuminating roads, with the sky above a deep blue, stars dotted all over it like little freckles. From up here, on the side of a mountain, they felt like gods. Across to the east, more mountains cast an inky, dark shadow onto the earth below. Varian heard Hugo’s breath catch in his throat as he trained his eyes on the view. And for once, Varian saw Hugo as he was. Not some son of a rich woman, trained in etiquette and eloquence, someone constantly withholding a persona - he was just Hugo. Soft, gentle, kind Hugo. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as focused on Hugo’s expression, it looking almost…lost. “What are you thinking about?” He asked, keeping his voice low to not ruin the moment.

Hugo didn’t look back at him, taking a moment to gather his words, yet keeping his eyes on the view. “I’ve seen so many things. Been so many places, and yet…nowhere has felt quite like home. This place…it feels like I belong here. I crave to stay here and don’t want to leave when high school is over. I never want to leave. I just-I want to know why everything feels so right yet-”

“-Hurts so much.” Varian finished his sentence. Hugo’s head turned and Varian could swear his heart fluttered ever so slightly at the brightness, the glint in his eyes, though he put it up to the car’s light or the stars in the sky. “If you find out, will you tell me?”

“If you find out first, will you tell me?”

“Of course.”

“Fuck, V. In this light you…” Hugo began, clearing his throat. “You look…Jesus. This isn’t-fuck, I need to get my head straight. Now.” he declared, opening his door with a sudden shove, causing Varian to jump back in his seat, before slamming it behind him and leaving Varian alone in the Camaro.

After a few minutes of unbearable silence, Varian got out of the car to stand beside Hugo, leaning back against the Camaro’s back and closing his eyes. The two stood in silence - yet it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that you wanted to prolong for good, to let it last, because all you felt was appreciated and loved. He glanced over at Hugo, taking in the sight of his face - the shadow of his jawline from the car’s rear headlights, the little furrow of his brow and frown on his face. God, he looked too handsome. This was going to hurt him so much.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself as he raised his hand to rest against Hugo’s neck, his thumb trailing just below where the shave of the undercut began, and he could swear he felt Hugo’s pulse quicken ever so slightly under his touch. It wasn’t like this with Rowan. With Rowan, it was awkward and fumbling, with Hugo…this was natural. This was free and gentle and soft. He knew what to do with himself.

Hugo leant into his touch ever so slightly, letting Varian’s palm lay flat on the back of his neck, a sigh leaving his lips as a small gasp left Varian’s lips. Varian could swear his heart hammered against his chest as Hugo lifted his hand to his mouth, his heart skipping a beat. All he could think was don’t. Please don’t kiss me. Don’t let the prophecy happen-

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Hugo whispered against Varian’s palm, lowering his hand and gazing at the other with those stupidly pretty eyes. “Oh Varian..” he muttered and looked at the other. “I wish you could be kissed, Goggles,” he said softly, his eyes trained on Varian. “Because I would beg for just one off you. Under all this. And then we could never say anything about it again and just…live.” He finished, waving a hand towards the stars before glancing at Varian.

Varian swallowed and looked at the other after his confession, stepping closer. He knew he shouldn’t. Hugo would die soon - he knew that. But he wanted. He craved for something more. Something significant. “We can pretend. Once. And never say anything about it.” He replied, watching as Hugo turned his head and smiled at him. God, he was an ever transforming person, each expression showing a different person - a different side of him that Varian wanted to document in a leather notebook and keep for himself.

Varian’s arms found their way around Hugo’s neck, the blond’s resting on the small of his back to bring him closer. He pressed their cheeks together, Varian’s face flushing a dark red as he felt Hugo’s breath, hot against his cheek, and his lips so so close, yet too far. He could feel the small amount of stubble Hugo had, his eyes closing. This was it. This was it-

Suddenly, Hugo pulled away, his hands moving to his sides. “And now, we never speak of that again.” He said hastily, heading back to the driver’s seat of the Camaro. Varian stood for a few moments in the moonlight, still processing in his mind what happened before joining the other in silence for the drive back.

[assortedfruitsnacks212]

Worship The Flame - Ch 1 - Welcoming Party

Pairing | Billy Hargrove x El Hopper

Series summary | It's May 1989. After three years in California, Billy returns to Hawkins for Max's high school graduation. He thinks he'll find everything—and everyone—as he left them. Turns out time has moved on in Hawkins, too, and a certain "little girl" isn't so little anymore. Now that he's back, she's desperate to prove it to him. Too bad he swore he'll never fall for her. And if he does, there's no way her police chief father won't find out.

What to expect | angst, fluff, smut, romance, supernatural sci-fi weirdness, bouncing between past and present storylines, Mike/El vs Billy/El love triangle, El and Max friendship, Max playing matchmaker, El finally finding her own voice, Billy and Max covering the entire gamut of sibling interactions, Billy flipping between being soft and being an asshole as he tries to keep his shit together, Hopper playing the role of “father with shotgun,” Hopper-Byers and Hargrove-Mayfield family drama (but without Neil! yay!), the sensation of watching a car wreck in slow motion

Series warnings | angry fathers, explicit content (18+)

Chapter word count | 5k

Chapter summary | In May 1989, Billy shows up in Hawkins to find two special girls waiting for him.

Chapter warnings | none

Author’s notes | Intended as a sequel to my old draft of "Lost Boy."

When I had the idea for this fic in February 2020, I dropped EVERYTHING to write it. Couldn't help myself. Now the idea has grown into a full-fledged trilogy starting with "Lost Boy," and I'm rewriting the whole thing from scratch to reflect that.

It'll take years to finish. I'm treating the trilogy as a continuation of the show, with just one tweak: Billy survives Starcourt. Canon storylines continue around him; relationships grow, change, and break up; the Upside Down evolves, the Mind Flayer keeps trying to take over the world... It's a lot.

In the meantime, I thought I'd post my old draft of what is now the third story. I wrote it before I decided to bring in the Upside Down, etc., so it's basically a romance with a supernatural bent. Future drafts will be dramatically different.

Hope you enjoy!

P.S., if you're here to tell me what a “problematic ship” this is... don't :) El is eighteen, and to quote Max, "She doesn't need your protection."

Comments and reblogs are welcomed with open arms!

Tuesday, May 23, 1989

He thought he'd feel something more when he returned to Hawkins. A whole lot of anger, maybe. Hell, even tears. Stuff happened here that made him cry for the first time in eight years. If he was ever gonna cry again, this would be the place to do it.

Instead, he feels a whole lot of nothing. He cruises past the old turnoff to the high school without blinking. He doesn't even flinch at the sight of the road he used to take to get to Hopper's cabin. He just… doesn't feel anything. He's not sure if he should be proud, relieved, or concerned.

Blowing smoke out the window, Billy hooks his hand over the wheel. The sweet strains of Skid Row pour out of his stereo, streaming out the window along with the smoke. When he slams on the brakes for a left turn, the tires of the Camaro screech. Trees careen past him, and he can just imagine their mouths falling open as they murmur to each other.

That boy again? I thought we'd seen the last of him! Look at him still driving like a maniac.

Yep, he thinks, chewing on his cigarette. Billy Hargrove never changes.

Thankfully, Max is damn good at giving directions. Though she and Susan have lived in this house for three years now, he's only seen the place once, and that was at night. It's broad daylight now, golden and May-bright, and nothing looks the same.

When he makes the last left turn, pulling onto a sleepy neighborhood street, he slows down till the engine of the Camaro drops to a purr. Suddenly his stereo’s unbearably loud. He turns it down, scanning the cul-de-sac ahead.

Goddamn, he hates cul-de-sacs. Who the fuck ever thought they were a good idea.

He catches sight of their house on the right. It’s a modest affair, single-story, with an equally modest front lawn. He remembers the countless times he pulled up to the house here in Hawkins, the place where that man lived. Biting down hard on his cigarette, he grips the wheel.

No, he’s not gonna think about that now. Neil Hargrove is gone. Fucking gone.

As he drives up to the house, he sees Max sitting comfortably on the front lawn, leaning back on her hands. Her hair is down, glinting copper in the May sun, and she’s wearing jeans and a bright yellow shirt. Next to her, looking far less comfortable, is another girl with long brown hair.

Billy scowls. The fuck is that? Did Max really bring a stranger to meet him on his first day in Hawkins?

He pulls up to the curb and stops. Max gets up from the lawn, grinning. The other girl gets up too, and as she stands to her full height, hair tumbling past her shoulders, Billy’s heart hits his ribcage with a thud. He plucks his cigarette out of his mouth.

Holy fuck. No way. No fuckin’ way.

He stares for a second before he realizes he’s staring. Tearing his eyes away, he throws the car in park and switches off the engine. Its rumble disappears along with his music, leaving him in silence. He takes a deep breath.

It’s fine, he tells himself. It’s fine.

He unbuckles his seat belt and steps out of the car. Slamming the door behind him, he flicks his cigarette onto the pavement. With another breath—more shaky this time—he turns to meet the girls.

They’re already bounding toward him. Well, Max is. She’s approaching too, but more calmly, almost shyly.

Max squeals, flinging her arms open. “Billy!”

He forces a smile. “Hey!”

She throws her arms around him. Shutting his eyes, he wraps her in a hug and makes himself forget the other girl. This moment belongs to Max. She fought so hard to get him to come back, and he’s not gonna let anyone ruin that. Not even her.

Max squeezes him tightly. Soon she pulls away and swipes at a tear in her eye.

“It’s so good to see you, Billy. So good.”

Before he can respond, the other girl walks up. She’s smiling with soft red lips and looking at him with brown doe eyes. Her hands are clasped in front of her, tugging at the material of her light pink sweater, which exposes her right shoulder. As he notes the way her collarbone curves flirtatiously out of sight, Billy cringes.

Ah, fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“El,” he huffs, hoping he doesn’t sound as choked as he feels. “Jesus. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

And for good reason. With each passing second, he sees something else that’s changed about her. The long hair, with the top half pulled back, was just the most obvious thing. Aside from that, she’s gotten taller; her figure has filled out in a way that tugs at his gaze; large hoop earrings are dangling from her earlobes, and she’s wearing makeup. Makeup. Sure, it’s subtle, doing little more than highlighting her dark eyes. But boy, does it fucking highlight them. Her eyelashes are thick and black, and he could swear she’s wearing eyeliner.

She smiles shyly, but it doesn’t suggest fear. It seems more knowing, more deliberate, like she’s holding something back.

“Hi, Billy,” she says. Fuck, even her voice is different. Deeper.

His mouth goes bone dry. Her eyes are smoldering, and for the first time he notices they’re not plain brown. They’re golden too, catching and refracting the sunlight.

All at once, he realizes why she’s here. In the old days, he would’ve suspected a more fun motive like oh yay, Billy's coming to town, I want to see him. But with the way she’s looking at him—the way she said his name—he knows she’s here for another reason entirely.

She didn’t just want to see him. She wanted him to see her.

A jolt shoots through him, waking up his skin, making it tingle. He swallows, blinking rapidly.

Move the fuck on, Hargrove.

Flashing her a hesitant smile, he turns to Max, the nearest person who can get him out of this mess.

Because this is definitely a mess. He can feel it already. Two trains are speeding toward each other on the tracks, and he’s standing right in the fucking middle.

--

Seeing him get out of his Camaro was like witnessing the return of a young god. If El hadn't been sitting in the grass already, she would've fallen on her knees. He was just so golden, exactly the way she remembered him. And when he looked at her, it felt like a lightning bolt falling from the sky.

Now she’s standing in front of him, and she can scarcely breathe. How do you breathe in the presence of a god when his very energy sucks you in and crushes you into dust? You don’t. You just claw at your throat and beg for mercy with your eyes.

Upon closer look, she sees his appearance has changed in some ways. His scruff is darker. His hair falls a little differently, and something in his face seems harder, sadder. But other than that, he looks just the same. He’s wearing jeans and a grey tank top, the same kind of thing he wore three years ago. His hair is still long and curly. He’s still wearing an earring and his Virgin Mary necklace, and he still has those black brows and lashes she came to love.

The earring draws her attention the most. It’s a small hoop, the same one he wore in ‘85-86—or, at least, it’s similar enough that it might as well be.

Suddenly she’s fifteen years old again, and red hot terror streaks through her body. Her hand aches to grab Max’s and squeeze as hard as she can.

Please tell me I didn’t make a mistake coming here!

She can’t say that, obviously. But Max seems to hear her anyway. She glances between them, then turns to Billy and smiles brilliantly.

“Hey. How about we go inside? Mom wants to see you too.”

“She’s here?” Billy frowns. “Doesn’t she work till five or something?”

“Yeah, but she got off early today.”

“Huh.”

Watching Billy’s face, El holds back a frown of her own. Is it really so surprising that people want to see him? It shouldn’t be.

He notices. He glances at her, blue eyes bright under black eyelashes, and it’s too much. Breath hitching, she looks away, then trails behind Max and Billy as they go up the sidewalk to the house. She tries to keep her gaze down, tries not to watch the swell of his shoulders under his grey tank top. But she watches anyway, tensing like she’s about to be struck down.

I shouldn’t be here. The thought echoes with every step.

--

He can feel her behind him as they walk into the house. She radiates energy like a heat lamp in an Indiana winter, and it drives him to distraction, keeps his eyes unfocused. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, hoping the pain will shock him to attention, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps until he steps through the door.

The front door opens into a central living area with the kitchen on their left. In the kitchen, Susan’s pulling a covered platter out of the fridge. She looks up as they walk in.

“Billy, hi,” she says, smiling.

It throws him for a second. Her smile doesn’t seem too forced. Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he’d actually think she’s happy to see him.

“Hey, Susan,” he answers, strolling forward slowly.

This is always the worst part: figuring out if the person you’re greeting is a hugger. He and Susan never hugged in the old days. Not that she wasn’t interested in physical affection. She probably would’ve hugged him a lot if their relationship had been different. If he hadn’t been so fucking, murderously angry with her.

Now? He has no idea what to expect. Yeah, their relationship is at a high point, but given where they started, that’s not saying much. And yeah, he’s been gone three years, but they rarely spoke in those three years. The longest conversation they ever had was, “Hey, is Max home?” “I don’t know, let me check. No, she must be at Lucas’s.” “Okay, I’ll call back later.”

So do you hug this person? Billy can’t say. And for a moment, it looks like she can’t either. She just stands there, platter in hand, staring at him with wide eyes.

Then her posture relaxes. Setting the platter on the counter, she steps forward with an embarrassed smile, opening her arms.

Something growls inside Billy, the last remnant of the teenager who hated her guts. He shoves it down and steps forward to meet her. When she wraps her arms around him—gingerly, like she’d break him if she wasn’t careful—he makes himself wrap his arms around her too.

The hug lasts for two seconds at most. As soon as it’s over, she goes back to the platter, grabbing it like a shield, while he steps away toward Max.

Of course, his eyes have to land on the girl with long brown hair. And just like that, he remembers his problems extend far beyond Susan.

“How was the drive over?” Susan asks, tugging the plastic wrap off the platter.

“Oh, you know… boring,” Billy says. He moseys around the kitchen counter toward the dining table, away from Susan. Away from her.

“Well, that’s good. You never want a road trip to be too exciting.”

Aw, cute. Susan made a joke. Max and El laugh politely. Billy doesn’t.

“Um…” Susan slides the platter toward him. “I know you must be hungry, so help yourself. Just don’t eat too much, we’re having chicken for dinner.”

Billy checks the platter, which turns out to be a spread of meat and cheese. It looks damn good actually, but he’s not in the mood to eat. He can’t imagine trying to chew with a mouth this dry.

When he doesn’t say anything, Max jumps in. “How about I show you where you’re sleeping? And we can help you bring in your stuff?”

He wants to scowl at her. How much stuff do you think I brought? But he literally just got here, and he shouldn’t kick off his visit by antagonizing his sister.

“Sure.”

She turns to lead the way. As Billy follows, he crosses paths with El. They pull up short, and for the space of a single heartbeat he registers the pinkness of her cheeks, the way she gazes at him from under those thick eyelashes.

Then he steals a breath and strides forward, catching up to Max. His chest hammers like he barely avoided a head-on collision.

Max leads them to a door at the end of the hall. With a flourish, she pushes it open to reveal her room, much more decorated than it was the last time Billy saw it.

“You’re sleeping here,” she says, smirking. “Which means I get to sleep with Mom all week. So you better be thankful, dickweed.”

He walks in, not so much to see the space as to get away from the heat lamp at his back. As he looks around, he has to admit it’s a nice room—for a girl, anyway. The walls are yellow, of course, and decked out with posters. Her queen-sized bed is centered on the wall ahead of him, its headboard a stylish white wicker. To its left is a nightstand, and to its right is her dresser from the old house. On the wall to his left, he sees her old bookshelf with all her books and paraphernalia. In the center of that wall, white lace curtains waft in a breeze from the only window.

Not bad, he thinks. He’ll be comfortable here. The room even lifts his mood a little—until he remembers who else is with him. A thought stabs through his brain.

She'll know where I’m sleeping.

His gut twists in a mighty knot, sending a pulse of heat down his limbs. He sucks his teeth and keeps his back to the door, all too aware of the tension creeping into his shoulders. Can they see the muscles tightening as clearly as he feels it? God, he hopes not.

He turns to face them. Max has stepped into the room behind him. She hasn’t. She’s standing in the doorway, hand resting on the frame, and she’s watching him with the most scrumptious look in her brown doe eyes. Another pulse of heat swirls down his limbs, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous. He can’t help but think it. El’s gotten fucking gorgeous over the past three years. He doesn’t know how, he doesn’t know why, but it happened, and now he has to deal with the consequences.

“Is something wrong, Billy?”

He blinks and looks at Max. She’s staring at him with a frown and very, very perceptive eyes.

“Ah… no,” he says. “It’s fine. It’s a… it’s a good room.”

She raises her eyebrows, alerting him to just how dumb he sounded.

Shit. He has to pull himself together right fucking now. He takes a breath, glancing around the room one more time.

“I’ll, uh, get my stuff. It’s just a suitcase, so… don’t bother helping.”

With that dumbass announcement, he heads for the door. He expects El to scurry out of the way; that’s what people usually do when Billy Hargrove is barreling toward them. But she doesn’t. She just puts her back to the doorframe, angling her body enough to let him through, but no more than that.

He sees instantly that he’ll have to slide right past her. It almost makes him stop in his tracks. But Billy Hargrove doesn’t stop for anyone, and that means there’s only one option.

Angling his body to mirror hers, he braces for impact.

--

After her panic on the front lawn, El spent the next couple minutes mentally checked out. She barely even heard the things Billy and Mrs. Mayfield said to each other. She was too busy talking herself down, rehearsing all of the lessons she’d learned over the past year.

I belong here. I deserve this. I can have what I want.

To her surprise, it worked. When she and Billy nearly collided at the counter, she had the strength to look him right in the eye. Amazingly, he was the one to buckle. Visibly catching his breath, he rushed forward before she could even blink.

She warmed with pride. That’s right, he should be the one to run. She belongs here in Hawkins, meaning he’s the one entering her territory.

As he wandered into Max’s room, followed closely by Max herself, El stepped forward to the doorway, resting her hand on the frame. The wood seemed to pulsate under her touch, pushing its life and strength into her. She drew it in gladly, taking a slow, deep breath, as if inhaling the scent of a flower.

I deserve this.

Eventually, Billy said something about getting his stuff and started for the door. Years ago, she would’ve fallen back into the hallway.

Not today. Today she stayed in the doorway, staring right at him. He hesitated for an instant, but then he kept coming, turning his body to squeeze past her.

Now they’re so close they’re practically touching, and she holds still, letting it happen. He radiates body heat and the smell of cigarette smoke. His elbow brushes her sweater, and she thinks she sees him glance at her bare shoulder.

It makes her stomach flip. As he escapes through the doorway, retreating down the hall, she nearly grins.

He saw her. He actually saw her.

When she turns toward the bedroom, Max is smiling wickedly. Walking forward, Max winds an arm through hers.

“What did I tell you?” she whispers.

El can’t hold back her grin anymore. Face heating, she ducks her head.

Max giggles and jostles her playfully. Her delight is contagious, and El finds herself giggling too. After years of crying, it feels really good.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Max continues. “Don’t change a thing. I swear to God, I have never seen him stutter like that.”

--

Fuck, it was the best. It was the worst. She was so close he could feel her actual body heat. He caught a whiff of a scent too—something floral. As he slid past, his elbow brushed the soft material of her sweater above her belly. His gaze skimmed the flesh between her bare shoulder and her neck, and he imagined swooping in and nipping it with his teeth, just to hear what sound she’d make.

He didn't look straight at her, though. Hell no. That would've been fucking dangerous, like lightning striking dry grass.

By the time he stumbles out the door, his mind is reeling like it got sucker punched. The shock throbs through his body as he cuts across the lawn, stirring up old memories.

When he gets to the trunk of his car, he unlatches it and flings it up. He reaches in, grabs the handle of his suitcase, and stops. Head drooping, he shuts his eyes. Panic bubbles up inside, and with it, a hot wellspring of shame.

Fuck. He brings up a hand to cover his face. Fuck.

This is El. El. Four years ago, whenever she smiled, her canines poked out the way they do when the adult teeth have just grown in.

He takes a moment to breathe. Gradually, a cold resolve fills him, turning his body to stone. Opening his eyes, he yanks out his suitcase, then slams the trunk shut with a clang.

--

Three and a Half Years Ago November 1985

“No, El. No. The word ‘uneasy’ describes ‘dreams.’ You follow me? So it branches off of ‘dreams,’ like this.”

Snatching the pencil from her hand, Billy draws a slash under the line saying dreams, then scribbles the word uneasy. He looks up, gesturing at the page, only to see El staring down at it helplessly. Leaning back in her chair, she covers her face with both hands.

A knot of frustration twists in his gut. Gritting his teeth, he leans back too, propping his wrists on his head.

He glances out the kitchen window of the cabin. Hopper’s out there somewhere, busying himself with yardwork that doesn’t need to be done. Billy rolls his eyes.

Dammit, Hop. Has it really been that long since you diagrammed sentences?

They sit at the table in silence. El’s close to tears, he can tell. And he doesn’t blame her. Teachers always said he could ace this shit if he tried. But it’s still dumb and complicated. And this poor kid went years without real schooling.

He looks at her. She still has her face in her hands, and she’s breathing slowly as she fights for control. Taking his wrists off his head, he leans forward.

“Hey. Let’s take a break or something. Go get a drink of water. I’ll go out for a smoke. Just…”

He sighs. He drops his voice to a softer tone.

“Just don’t let it get to you so much, okay? It’s just homework. Screw it.”

“You don’t understand,” she mumbles through her hands.

“What?”

“I said you don’t understand,” she says, flinging her hands down. He sees she’s been crying. Her eyes are red, and her cheeks shine with tears.

“I’ll never get it,” she cries. “I’m too behind, Billy. I always will be.”

Aw, shit, El. Apparently they’re gonna have a heart to heart over the kitchen table.

He raises his eyebrows, studying her with a look he hopes is compassionate but firm. “That’s not true.”

She meets his gaze, sniffling, then looks down at the table. He folds his arms and sits back, rolling his tongue in his mouth.

He’s about to deliver some brutal honesty. Well... brutal for him.

“El. You’re a smart kid. Wicked smart. And the fact that you’ve gotten so far so fast… it’s amazing. I mean, look at this. You’re diagramming a sentence from–”

Wait, who is this guy? He checks the page.

“–f-from fuckin’ Kafka,” he stutters. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

“No,” she murmurs.

“It means you’re in the big leagues. Alright? This isn’t you swinging at a tee ball. You’re in a real game, and you’re fuckin’ playing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She frowns. “What’s a tee ball?”

Christ. He keeps forgetting she doesn’t know things. He sighs and shifts in his chair.

“Look. All I’m saying is you should stop being so hard on yourself. Alright? You’re doing good work. Someday—someday, El—you’re going to catch up. And when you do, you’re gonna be brilliant. You hear me?”

She seems skeptical at first. She stares at him with a flat expression, her hands lifeless in her lap. But as they keep staring at each other, her expression melts until she's smiling. He smiles back, a weird warmth spreading through his chest.

"Okay." Clearing his throat, he stands up. "Um… get some water. I'll be back in a minute."

He passes her before she can get out of her seat. Pushing through the front door, he strides out onto the porch, where he lights a cigarette and glances around the yard. When he sees no sign of Hopper, a thought occurs to him, and he looks at the driveway.

Hopper's truck is gone too. Smirking, Billy shakes his head.

Idiot. He'll barrel straight into the mouth of hell for his daughter, but he won't stick around for English homework.

--

Present Day

Billy tucks into the meat and cheese platter after that. And even though he stuffs his face, blatantly disregarding Susan’s warning, he’s still starving once dinner comes around. As he sits down at the table next to Max—across from her—his mouth is watering like he never ate at all.

Dinner is roast chicken with sides of seasoned veggies. It’s a damn good spread, the kind he never gets around to making at home. He tackles it with so much gusto he barely talks. To his right, Susan looks at him as she eats, her face glowing.

Yeah, okay. You’re a good cook. Don’t let it go to your head.

Susan and Max carry on a conversation around him. El interjects every once in a while, but for the most part she doesn’t talk either. She just picks at her food and watches him eat.

He tries to ignore her. He looks at his plate, at Max, at Susan. Never at her. His efforts accomplish fuck-all. She won’t stop watching him with those brown doe eyes, and her bare shoulder—the one he imagined nipping with his teeth—seems to stare at him in accusation.

His body grows more and more tense. Finally he looks up, eyes hard, and meets her gaze. He takes a vicious bite of his drumstick, glaring at her as he chews.

Her eyes widen. Looking down at her plate, she stabs a string bean with her fork. He glares at her a beat longer before turning back to his food.

That’s right. Message fucking received.

Things get better immediately. She quits watching him so much, and when he finishes eating he’s able to start laughing and talking. It feels like a monkey fell off his shoulders and scampered away, and it’s a relief. A goddamn relief.

After dinner, they move to the living room for dessert and coffee, and they talk more. It’s actually kind of fun. He would never have expected that, not with Susan around. But… well. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Before long, he’s totally relaxed on the couch, legs spread open, wrists propped on his head.

El barely speaks. She’s sitting in the chair across from him, the physical outlier of the group. She’s resting her cheek on her hand, and she’s always chewing her lip, looking hazily at the floor. Occasionally she glances up at him, and their eyes meet. He gives her a cool stare each time.

Move the fuck on, Eleven Hopper. Do you hear me?

She seems to, as clearly as if he’d screamed it. As the evening passes, she wilts like a flower. Part of him writhes in discomfort over it, but it’s a small part. The rest of him stares at her as coolly as ever.

This is necessary. It’s for her own good.

Not long after sunset, Susan drifts out of the room. Her exit seems to stir El from her dark thoughts. She takes her head off her hand and rises slowly from her chair.

“I need to go home.”

“Aw.” Max stands up, going to El for a hug. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m tired.”

“Okay. You want me to drive you?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Feeling a prick of concern, Billy frowns. “You’re walking home in the dark?”

El pulls out of Max’s hug, giving him a surprised look. I always do, it says. Max turns to him with a far more impatient one.

“Uh, yeah. El has superpowers, remember?”

Oh, right. Good point. Still, as he shifts his gaze back to El—or rather, the dark-haired beauty that’s taken her place—an offer takes shape on his tongue. Let me drive you. It just feels like a good idea. After all, why tempt fate?

Then his breath catches, and he bites the words back. Jesus. In what reality would that be a good idea?

She’ll be fine. Like Max said: superpowers.

“Come on,” Max says. “I’ll walk you out.”

As they leave the living room, El glances back. “Bye, Billy,” she rasps.

“Bye,” he answers. Saying it feels wrong, and he has to swallow a knot in his throat.

They slip out the door. Exhaling heavily, Billy slumps into the couch, then digs in his pocket for his cigarettes.

Susan never liked it when he smoked indoors. Well, he didn’t give a fuck then, and he sure doesn’t give a fuck now.

--

Between El and Max, El’s the first one to walk out on the porch. Her eyes are stinging, her nostrils burning. When she hears the door close behind them, she turns, letting the porch light show her face.

Max takes one look and sighs.

“Oh, El.” She steps forward, drawing El into a hug. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just the first night. And we knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“I know.”

El pulls back. Her first instinct is to wipe her eyes. She’s surprised to find her lashes are dry, and her cheeks too.

Max rests a hand on El’s arm. “Here’s what you’re going to do, okay? You’re going to go home. You’re going to get some sleep tonight. Then you’re gonna get up tomorrow morning and try again. No matter what, you keep. Trying. Understand?”

El nods. Max squeezes her arm, then puts her hands on her hips.

“In the meantime, I–” she waggles her eyebrows “–will work on him. I’m telling you, there’s something here, El. He just needs a little help. And I am such a helpful sister.”

Like before, her mood is contagious. El smiles, matching the impish glint in Max’s eyes with one of her own. She has to admit, scheming with Max is a lot of fun. It always has been.

“Now, you head home,” Max says. “And we’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”

“Okay.”

They hug again. This time it’s warm and lingering, and it gives El the strength she needs to back away from the porch.

“Bye,” she murmurs. Turning toward the darkness, she heads for the line of distant trees.

–

A/N | It only gets worse from here.

Please let me know you enjoyed this by commenting or reblogging!

–

Index

Chapter 2 >

[blahkugo]

Manual

Terushima Yūji x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 4.5k

TW: dub/noncon (noncon filming & voyeurism), manipulation, drugs (weed and alcohol), implied virginity, degradation, exhibitionism, daddy kink

A night of danger and debauchery with the city’s infamous drug dealer. 

It was a simple enough text that started it, but you’re not even sure how he got a hold of your number. A few days ago, a plain ‘hey’ had flashed across your screen and before you knew it, you were agreeing to go for a ride in his speedy car. ‘How fast is it?’ you had asked as an attempt to stall the conversation. But it was his reply that settled it for you: ‘As fast as you want it.’ 

It’s stupid how easily swayed you were, but the words left a knot in your stomach that you had never encountered before. Like a ship setting its anchor on the seafloor, though not one of anxiety nor tension caused by any of the usual stressors of your life—something entirely alien. The real issue wasn’t its unfamiliarity, but how much you took pleasure in it. And as ships do, the feeling set sail as quickly as it appeared, and you were left wistful and aching for its return. 

Never had you been like your classmates at the private school, who used familial wealth to excuse week-long benders and avoid lengthy jail sentences, because never had you felt that depravity necessary. But as you make your way down the block, you envision daddy waking up to find his little girl simply vanished, and you can’t help the wicked smile that spreads across your face.

When you arrive at the grimy, red sports car— music blasting through the open windows despite the dead quiet of the block— that ball of thrill settles in your gut yet again. As long as you’re in the company of Terushima Yūji, you’re well aware that the feeling isn’t going to go away.   

The car is low. So low, in fact, that you have to balance a hand on the roof and slide in legs first. How does he even drive around in this metal death trap without scraping the asphalt? Your leather skirt bunches and slips further up your thighs no matter how hard you tug it lower. 

“Alright?” It’s the only form of greeting he calls out to you over the ear-splitting music. Terushima eyes your lustrous, bare legs resting in the passenger seat of his beat-up Camaro, but doesn’t bother turning down the tune. He’s not very polite, but you didn’t exactly accept his offer to be drowned in refinement, did you? 

“I’m okay,” you shout, struggling to be heard over the booming voice rapping about ‘drugs and bitches.’ Typical. “How are you?” You’re not sure if it’ll break the ice, not even sure he wants to speak at all, but anything’s better than fidgeting awkwardly in your chair with nothing but the god awful music to drown out your anxiety.

He mumbles back a simple reply, fixing his gaze on your breasts straining against the tight, low cut tank. You fished the two-piece outfit out of the depths of your wardrobe, a revealing number borrowed from a friend that you never even bothered trying on before tonight. His stare has you itching to cross your arms over your chest, but you hold out. You can’t have him thinking you’re a prude, even if it is the truth. 

His hand grips the stick shift lazily and before you know it, the engine is rumbling and you’re peeling away from the curb. Terushima’s driving is every bit as reckless as you assumed, stop signs appearing to be soft suggestions rather than mandatory decrees. The residential roads are practically deserted, but the lack of caution has your heart racing wildly all the same, fingers clutching at your seat. As the adrenaline rushes through your veins, your stomach sinks further into the frayed leather seat. 

When the music is shut off abruptly, you believe he must finally want to speak to you, perhaps even exchange pleasantries— but the next words out of his mouth are a sly, 

“Do me a favor, yeah?” You nod, before realizing his eyes are still fixed on the road ahead. It’s not like it matters anyways, because he continues on as if you had answered him. “Grab the bottle under your seat for me, princess.” Princess. It’s uttered so nonchalantly, but there’s a certain edge to his tone— the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt. You don’t like it, but logical as your brain may be, your stomach still swirls with butterflies. 

Swiping at the floor, you search until your fingers make contact with glass. Low and behold, you pull out a bottle of– 

“Smirnoff,” your eyes scan the label intently, attempting to place the emblem among the liquors you’ve seen at the country club. While you weren’t exactly expecting a water bottle— that’d be much too off brand for Terushima— you aren’t too keen on the idea of reckless and intoxicated driving. He glances towards you once, but doesn’t make a move towards the drink at all. 

Only a few seconds later, he shoots you another look, single brow raised in quiet anticipation. The long-forgotten burdens of high school peer pressure washes over you again, fingers quivering as you unscrew the cap. 

You’ve never had vodka straight out of the bottle, never had vodka in general except for when it’s mixed into your cocktails. But his expectation weighs heavy in the confined space. So, fuck it. What did you come out with him for if not to live a little? 

Nail polish remover, children’s cough syrup, and liquid fire. That’s all you taste as the lukewarm fluid glides down your throat. The burn is unbearable, but a pool of warmth oozes through your chest and your hand relaxes a bit on the edge of your seat. You don’t even realize that you’re coughing.

“First time drinking?” He offers you a lazy smirk, tone edged in ridicule. 

“What?” Holding your breath, you silently beg the itch in your throat to disappear. “No, I- I have wine with dinner.” 

The laugh that rumbles through his throat is deep and hoarse, much too loud to be laughing at your comment— and thus, is only perceivable as taunting. Even so, you can’t deny the seduction threaded into his smoky vocals, or the wire deep within your core, pulled taut and ready to snap at any moment. 

“Wine,” he snickers again. “You’re funny, you know that?” He swipes the booze out of your hands and chugs. If there’s ever a proper time to start worrying, it’d be now. But at least he stops for lights? 

Besides, you can’t say you’re not enjoying the view. Terushima’s defined jaw ruts outward with every swill, his lips puckered towards the bottle as if his life depends on it. As cautious as you should be, he’s too pretty to keep your eyes focused anywhere else; your mouth surely knows it, practically salivating at his Adam's apple, bobbing as he gulps. If you reach your hand out just a few inches, you can run your fingertips against it and–

“Gross,” he pushes the bottle back towards you. 

“Black cherry,” you counter, as if it’s an explanation for the disgusting taste. 

“Is that the flavor I nicked? Damn, wasn’t paying enough attention,” he shrugs. 

“Nicked?” Mouth agape, you stare intently at the side of his face and hope for a valid answer. 

“Bottle looked lonely, so I swiped it,” he brushes a finger at the alcohol trickling down his lip; one of your own digits twitches in envy. “Is that too criminal for you, princess?” 

So he is mocking you. The vodka must be melting your brain, because all your body comes up with in response is a wind chime of a soft laugh— an entirely foreign noise to your ears. It must be a mistake, or the music playing tricks on your hearing, because you don’t giggle. 

Still, according to Terushima’s awful pet name, you have something to prove. Not sure how else to shut him up, you opt for the easiest way out. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” The bottle meets your lips and liquid fire waltzes through you again. Seconds pass as you chug, the haziness of your last sip urging you to down just a teensy bit more. Just enough to get you tipsy, just enough to prove him wrong, just enough to drown out the voice in your head claiming this is a terrible idea. 

This time, you don’t cough. 

“‘Atta girl.” 

Then, you’re drinking, and he’s drinking, and the two of you are having the grandest of times. Never mind the fact that he’s consumed far less alcohol than you have, or that lines are blurring and you’re no longer able to see straight. Gone is the anxiety you were plagued with upon meeting him and the worries that shadow you day and night in your regular life. And that’s all that really matters. 

He blasts the music once again. Maybe it isn’t as terrible as you originally thought. A deep, pumping bass resonates through every bone in your body and Terushima seems to be pressing the pedals harder with every beat. 

Up you go, higher, higher— higher?

Your eyes have been scouring the mischievous man next to you so intently that you never bothered to ask where you were going. But can you blame yourself? Even now, as you round up the side of a cliff, every thought passing through your murky brain pertains to him. 

His lazy half smile that won’t drop, as if he’s keyed in on a secret that’s all his own, lidded eyes that make him look entirely apathetic and alluring all at once. Hell, even his fingers are beautiful. Slender and graceful, one hand is placed leisurely at the wheel and the other is shifting the gear stick with meticulous precision. Terushima Yūji has always struck you as raw and vulgar, but now you see there’s a sense of finesse to him as well— and of course, you’d need to be halfway into a drunken stupor to truly notice it. 

You’re shaken from your thoughts once he cracks the windows, hair whipping around violently. If you only knew the lyrics to any of these songs, you’d be singing along. Instead, you settle for kicking your legs out the window and tapping your fingers to the beat. Who cares that your fingers are moving too slowly to match the rhythm? 

Terushima says nothing at your erratic behavior, only smirks when your head leans against his shoulder and you stare idly up at him. Relief. It’s the only identifiable emotion you’re able to place in the midst of this haze. Yes, the world is foggy and black spots take over half your vision. But you hold onto that feeling— the breeze, the weightlessness. All the while, the anchor in your gut makes its home further into the sand. 

“We’re here,” he chuckles, pointing at your windswept hair when you turn to him. It’s the first time his laugh sounds genuine, bubbling up naturally instead of forced and vicious. And he’s finally looking at you; not in stolen glances, with eyes glazed over in mockery or lust, but truly looking at you. You break out of the murkiness clouding your brain to catch what ‘here’ is, only to gasp at the sight in front of you. 

He’s brought you to the very top of a cliff, overlooking the city. Cars and buildings seem nothing more than blips on a map, insects to your God-like view. 

As beautiful as they are, the dazzling lights of the world below you pale in comparison to the deity seated inches away. It’s difficult to believe that you had never once taken notice of him, though your younger self filed him away as a troublemaker—an invaluable waste of space— based on gossiped knowledge and without a second glance. 

“Y’know what I never noticed?” You’re well aware the words tumble out a whine, drawn out and a bit slurred, but proper diction is the last thing on your mind. “You’re really pretty.” As soon as you’ve said it, your face is set ablaze. Control yourself. 

“Pretty? Haven’t heard that one before,” he throws his head back and you’re struck with that gruff, raspy laugh once again.

“But you are,” you’re unable to contain yourself at all now, all proper thoughts replaced by the cut of his cheekbones, the messy bleached hair tumbling over his sleek undercut— and best yet, the tiny piece of metal prodding through his tongue and now balanced between his teeth. “A pretty bad boy, with pretty teeth, and a pretty piercing, and you texted me why?” With the hurried words, another wave of heat spikes your body. 

Perhaps his eyes brighten at your little confession, or perhaps his face gives away nothing. You can’t really tell much of anything.

“You really wanna know?” You nod hungrily at his whisper, his hushed tone teeming with temptation. Terushima creeps closer, so much so that you feel his breath fanning your face. Underneath the overwhelming scents of cigarettes and booze, he smells a bit like tea leaves. Strange, but pleasant. “Are you sure?” He’s smirking now, obviously finding your curiosity entertaining. 

At the same time, one of his hands inches towards you— cautiously, deliberately, like a predator creeping towards its skittish prey. You tremble in your seat, unsure why the proximity has your heart beating out of its chest. 

All at once, his hand shoots past you and towards the glove compartment. Terushima lets out a snicker, flashes you a brilliant set of teeth, and proudly offers you nothing: “Sorry, not tellin’ you.” 

Your slurred gripes do nothing to sway the tease, who’s now engrossed by the itty bitty ziploc baggie he pulled from the glovebox. Though your head is spinning, you yourself can’t help but feel enthralled by his movements— staring shamelessly as he sprinkles the weed onto paper. His fingers prove precise yet again as he rolls the greens into pretty little cylinders. 

Almond eyes meet yours only when he brings the wrap to his lips, gazing directly at you while his tongue slides across the paper. A chill prickles across your skin, but there’s only heat within the parked car. 

Before you know it, he’s extending a large hand towards you, silently willing you to take the first hit. Somewhere far away, you hear your own voice mumbling, ‘I don’t know how to.’ As hard as you try to put up a front, to exude sex and confidence in front of this well-versed man, you’re not quite sure you can pretend your way through this one. 

A wispy laugh, a sly comment and a wink later, two of his fingers have the joint pressed between your lips. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he promises, instructing you on precisely how to breathe. You barely register the palm fastened at your chest. Is he being a creep? Maybe he’s just trying to help. Either way, you don’t pay it much mind. 

And then, smoke fills your lungs, fills your head, fills the already-depleting air of his tiny car. You’re coughing again, but he warned you of the burn this time, and ‘besides, it’ll get you higher.’ 

You were hoping to see chalky hues of pinks and blues, but the drug does nothing but provide you with lidded eyes and a tingle that runs from head to toe. A single stroke of your finger against the leathered seat sends waves of shivers throughout your arm. Your palm splayed against your own thigh feels unfamiliar and ticklish. 

The buzz is only truly worth it when you finally turn to look at the wicked man next to you; Terushima has a slick smile dancing across his face, eyes heavy and probing you for any sort of reaction. The bleached blonde hair at the top of his head pales under the moonlight, suddenly seeming impossible to resist. When you reach out to grasp a strand, he moves quicker, gripping your fingers tightly between his. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His low drawl is lazy, more amused than genuinely angry. But your fingers twitch beneath his grasp all the same, completely embarrassed and still itching to touch his locks. “Princess doesn't know how to ask for things politely?” You don’t have to look into his eyes to feel the smugness radiating off of him. 

“No, I-” There’s no saving face now, and he knows it as well as you do. 

“Or are you just so used to getting what you want?” Even as he taunts you, his digits thread through yours, pulling you towards him so that your hands hover over his lips. “Is this what you wanted?” 

You shake your head, but the thought of grazing his pillowy lips— of your trembling fingers exploring that tiny metal ball in his mouth— is now etched into your clouded brain. 

“No? What about here?” He trails your digits down his crisp t-shirt, stopping only when you’ve reached his midriff. You should stop, should adhere to the yellow tape bound around this entire encounter; instead, you stare at the blonde with wide eyes, tongue poking out of your mouth as you debate your answer. He breathes an airy laugh, “use your words.” 

But before you can, his lips are meshing into yours. And here are the hues of the pinks and blues you so desperately wished to see, hidden in his caress all this time. There’s heat, and heat, and more heat— and a quiet hum traveling from the very tip of your mouth to your toes, as you melt together. 

When he releases your hands, they fly towards his hair, finally tugging at the soft pieces. A simple clasp of your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, a warm welcome for his tongue to slide in. Embers spread through the tiny space, setting your lungs ablaze far quicker than any drug could. His cool, metal piercing tickles the roof of your mouth; if you were coherent enough, you may wonder what it would feel like skimming other stretches of skin. 

But your thoughts are cotton candy melting at his touch and allowing one, singular thought: him, him, him. 

Your sugar-spun mind loses track of the time he spends pressed into you. Seconds, minutes, hours later, he finally pulls away, the long string of saliva between you the only remnant of your lip-locked endeavors. 

“It’s getting late,” his words are a whisper, a break in the heavy silence of heaving chests and spinning minds. You’d have thought the infamous heartbreaker would urge for more, and a part of you wishes that he would. But instead, he drives you back down the cliffside in silence, his hand on your thigh rooted in place, keeping you longing for another taste. 

Only when you’re coming down from the high, still a bit tipsy, do you realize you’re almost home. Terushima’s fingers still play at the hem of your skirt, stroking at the fire deep in your gut. With all his teasing, you figure you may as well make your move now. 

“You can pull over here,” you instruct, happy to have found your usual domineering voice. Perhaps it was buried under the weight of weed and wandering lips. 

“Your house is another block away,” he refutes with a grumble, but heeds your demand anyways. When he turns to you, you’re caught in that bewitching gaze, finding yourself at a loss for words yet again. “Anything else you need?” The words are laced with possibility, a dangerous challenge. But any gall you felt coursing through your veins has vanished without a trace. 

“No- I- I should get home,” your eyes drop, staring at a loose thread on his pants— and all at once, moving to leave the car. “Daddy’ll be mad if he catches me out.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s chuckling, repeating them.

“Daddy will be mad? You still call your father daddy?” And there’s the Yūji Terushima you thought you knew, mockery and taunts always at the tip of his tongue. You throw a weak punch against his chest, huffing in confusion. 

“What’s so wrong with that?” 

“Nothing,” He exclaims a bit too smugly, climbing out himself.

Next thing you know, you’re caught between his body and the hood of the car, sturdy arms trapping you in place. Chilled air nips at your bones; a single skim of his knee against your thigh and that cold is forgotten. You really should be at home. 

“Terushima.” It’s funny how a single word— a person’s name— can contain a thousand different meanings. You’re not even sure how you say it, questioning the inflections of your cracked voice and wide eyes. He whispers your name right back, the gleam in his eyes magnifying tenfold. 

You’re well aware he has you right where he wants you, a little bird caught in a cage, though you’re more than happy to be singing any song he asks. 

But there’s only silence as you stare at each other beneath the flickering street light. So much so, you can hear your hearts pump blood, can hear the engine of a car rumbling by, can even hear your neighbor’s pesky dog barking a block away. 

“Do you need something, or do you just like saying my na–”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. 

It feels different now. Perhaps your nerves aren’t frenzied, and you don’t attain euphoria with every graze. But you feel him. You can taste the smoke on his tongue as it knocks against your teeth. Black cherry floods your brain, the same flavor that drifted you up that cliffside to begin with. 

Terushima’s hands grab at your waist before you’re hoisted up and placed on the hood of the car. Gone are the lazy kisses of two heads in the clouds. His movements are quick and decisive, aggressive even. A hand roams your body, trailing under your tank and across your breasts. The other shoves aside your panties, nimble fingers circling your bud. 

A low whimper leaves you when he runs a digit across your slit. 

“Careful,” hot breath fans your lips as he chuckles, “too loud and he’ll hear us.” 

But you can’t stop your wanton mewls. Not when he dips into you, curling his fingertips to hit a spot that has you seeing stars. Not when his teeth nip at your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear— leaving soft marks behind. And most certainly not when you can feel his cock straining against your thigh. 

“Fuck, Teru I–”  Within minutes, your entire body trembles, hands clutching at soft hair as you chase your high. 

“Tell daddy what you want,” his eyes pierce into yours, completely unashamed of his perversion of the pure term. You try to shake your head no, to refuse his order— but he simply flicks his wrist quicker, pumps into you faster. You’re so fucking close, too near the edge to care, so you simply allow the words to tumble out, 

“Daddy p-please, I want to cum.” 

A few circles on your clit, and you’re putty in his hands. The high hits you with a loud, leg-shaking cry— far more dizzying than any of the debaucheries of hours past. 

You’re flipped over without a moment to breathe, breasts rammed into the frigid car hood. Terushima pulls your skirt up with one hand, the other nudging your cheek firmly against the metal. 

Never would you have thought you’d be one for such public indecency, but the elation of your last orgasm still hasn't even completely resided. For the third time tonight, you find yourself drunk off the ambrosia of this wayward god.  

“Beg for it,” he slides his cock up your slit, coating his thick member in your slick. 

“Please Teru,” you whine helplessly. A loud slap echoes through the empty street as his hand meets the globe of your ass, the pain more shocking than painful. 

It reminds you that anyone could walk out of their homes to see you being railed against a beat up car— and the thought of one of your neighbors waking up to that sight wracks your body with a twisted pleasure. 

“What was that?” The bastard actually laughs, gruff and hearty, as you writhe against him. 

“Daddy, I need you.” And then he’s thrusting into you, pushing into the tight ring of muscle. Though he prepped you, you claw at the car, searching for any sort of relief from the overwhelming pain. 

A few snaps of his hips later, you relax as the stretch becomes bearable. He takes his time rutting into you, spreading your legs further, making sure you feel every inch of him deep inside you. 

Only when you begin bouncing back to meet his drives does he quicken his pace, a single hand gripping your waist— five finger-shaped bruises you’re sure will be evidence for days to come. You barely recognize your own voice; high-pitched wails spill from your lips, curses and pleas and cries of ‘daddy’ like a broken record on replay. 

“Look at the little slut, creaming all over me,” a particularly hard thrust sends you reeling, tears flowing freely down your face as you blabber mindlessly. “Who’d have thought the city’s very own ‘prude princess’ would be blacking out over some dick?” 

You should be ridiculed, would be utterly offended by the insult, if not for the fact that his cock has you teetering the delicate line of consciousness. Those words are precisely what send you over the edge for the second time tonight. 

“Fuck, stay right there,” a low, gravelly groan as Terushima continues pounding into you. Then, a few more prods and he’s following suit, pulling out to spill his seed all over your backside. 

Vision still spotty, you finally turn to look at the beautiful man, hoping for rosy cheeks and that soft smile you believe is a secret saved just for you. Instead you’re met with a dull frown and a look of pure apathy. 

He won’t even meet your eyes. 

“Can you walk the block or should I drive you?” Though he poses the question, the lack of his typical liveliness tells you everything you need to know about his preference: he doesn’t have one. 

Somewhere far away, you hear yourself tell him you’ll walk. Your head’s still caught on cloud nine, or perhaps it was only ever the ninth circle of hell—twisted and contorted by black cherry and rotten greens.

“Are you sure? You look a little shaken,” he laughs, that same hoarse tone you once thought charming now seeming gnarled and vicious. The taunts once endearing, now simply malicious. 

From the corner of your eye you spot his phone, unlocked and teeming with messages. A flash of a familiar black leather skirt bunching, a flip of your hair, pieces of your purity plastered across his screen for the world to see. 

You walk back home in silence.