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staticscreenwriting · 4 years ago

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Skin deep - Chapter One || B.H.

Synopsis: Billy survived the battle of Starcourt but is left with a body full of scars. Scars that remind him of the pain he had to go trough and the horrible person he has become. In order to forget about all of that and move on, he wants to get them covered up. Good thing Hawkins has a brand new Tattoo studio and the girl who works there might just be the help Billy has been looking for.

A/N: I needed a TattooArtist!Reader x Billy story so I wrote one and you know me, I can’t keep it short and simple. There will be several parts to this. Don’t ask me about an updating schedule because I don’t have one. I try my best to be consistent but I make no promises. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Billy’s palms are clammy as he steps out of his car. His eyes wander towards the sign hanging above the door, welcoming him to “Little Bear Tattoos” as an American traditional bear face grins back at him.

This isn’t his first time getting a tattoo, by all means, he shouldn’t be as nervous as he is. But things are different now. Everything is different. Things change after you almost die because you sacrificed yourself to an otherworldly creature to save a little girl.

He had just turned 18 when he got that stupid little skull inked onto his arm. That’s now just a little over a year ago but it seems like a lifetime has passed since then. Sometimes, Billy thinks, sometimes It feels like that was another person altogether. That dumb little boy who thought he knew shit. The one that paraded his tattoo around like a complete and utter douchebag. He thought it made him look rough and cool and dangerous.

In retrospect, it just made it more obvious that he didn’t know shit about anything. Not life. Not death. And most definitely not about what it means to look rough and cool and dangerous. Sometimes he wishes he could go back to that moment and just relish in ignorant bliss. Most of the time he tries not to think of the past though because thinking of the past means thinking of all the things lost that night in July. Most of all himself.

Back then, getting a tattoo was easy. Now, it feels like the entire world is resting on his shoulders. It feels like he can barely keep it all from crashing down on him.

The bell above the door chimes as he steps inside the tattoo parlor. It’s a relatively small shop but it looks clean and the walls are covered in framed drawings of very intricate designs. If those have been drawn by this place’s artist, he’s in good hands.

A fluffy little brown dog is lazily resting on a pillow by the shop window and only raises his head as the sound of footsteps approaching fills the room.

“ Hi, welcome to little bear. “ a cheery voice calls out to him as a girl steps out from behind a curtain leading to some backroom. She has a big radiant smile on her face though it exudes a certain warmth that only genuine smiles do.

“ Hi uh — I was wondering if you have a free spot. “

“ Hmm… that depends. What are you wanting to get? “

To be quite honest, he hadn’t really thought much about it. All he wanted was something to cover up the ugly scars still streaking most of his body. When before, he felt a certain kind of pride whenever he passed a mirror, now it sends a sharp pain straight to his heart. Everything about him, from the perpetually tired look in his eyes to the scars, it’s al a reminder of the bad things he’s done. And the worst part is that he can never talk to anyone about it. Ever. No one will understand but the people who’ve been there, and though he and Max are getting along much better now, he still doesn’t fancy having long profound conversations with her about his demons.

“ I uh — I’m not sure but it needs to cover something.”

“ Old tattoo? “

Billy swallows audibly “scars.”

He’s not sure what reaction he’s expected from her but a casual “Okay, we can figure something out. “ is not it. Though he avoids wearing short sleeves these days, whenever someone manages to catch a glimpse of his damaged skin he got 1 of two reactions. Either people started regarding him with pity or disgust and he honestly wasn’t sure which was worse. At least those disgusted by him left him well enough alone and didn’t hold a million questions they expected him to answer in great detail.

“ Let’s sit down and we can talk about some things you like and see how we can incorporate those into a tattoo. Also, I would have to take a look at the area you want me to tattoo and see how bad the scarring is just so I can take that into consideration when designing the piece. Scar tissue is harder to tattoo but don’t worry, I promise I can do it. “

“ You’re gonna be tattooing me? “

It seems like a dumb question but honestly, Billy hasn’t met or seen that many female tattoo artists in his life and this girl seems to be about his age. That’s not something you see every day.

“ Yup. I’m (Y/N), this is my shop. Now, do you want something to drink while we discuss the piece? I got all kinds of sodas, I got water and I got non-alcoholic beer.

“ Dr. Pepper? “

“ Good choice. Coming right up. “

She walks behind the counter with the cash register and reaches into a small fridge taking out two cans of Dr. Pepper before leading him towards a little seating area by the window.

The fluffy little dog lifts his head once again regarding the two of them with only mild interest before plopping back down.

“ Oh, you okay with dogs? I can take him to another room if you’re uncomfortable. “

Billy shakes his head. Nah, he loves dogs. Always wanted one but Neil, being the miserable bastard he is, never allowed the kids to have any pets. Too much work, too much responsibility. What an asshole.

Though Billy is never going to admit it, the bedside drawer, that was once filled with issues of Penthouse magazine, now holds a bunch of self-help books and magazines dealing with topics of PTSD and trauma. A lot of them mention getting a support animal whether that be a specially trained dog or just a hamster to keep you company. It makes sense, it gives you someone who listens to you vent about all your problems and insecurities. If only his dad cared enough about his mental state to reconsider his stance on pets. Then again, when has Neil ever cared about him?

“Nah, it’s fine don’t worry. He’s cute.”

“Thanks. His name is Bear and he’s kind of the mascot of this store.”

There’s a twinkle of pride in her eyes while she talks about the shop and her dog. Something Billy is infinitely envious of. Everything he’s ever felt any hint of pride in is gone. His car. His looks. All of it.

“Okay so tell me a little about yourself. Is there anything you can think of that you’d like to get inked? Any interests, hobbies? Maybe you wanna tell me a little about yourself.”

Back before, when things were different, Billy would’ve packed as much ego enlarging words and compliments into it as possible. Would’ve mentioned his car and his most satisfactory performance skills in the bedroom. But now, he hardly knows who he is these days.

“ Um … my name is Billy. I’m 19, I’m from California. ‘Bout two years ago my dad packed us all up and had us move out here to the end of the world. Then … things happened.”

“You miss California?”

“Every day. The thought of going back one day is the only thing that keeps me fucking going. I miss the ocean. I miss surfing. I miss home. I miss all of it.”

She looks at him intensely for a moment, sizing him up, contemplating her next words. He can almost see the creative gears running in her head.

“Alright. I might have an idea. I’d have to see the area first though.”

He expects pity in her voice though there is none. Her words are comforting and warm and calm. Billy wonders how often she has to deal with clients like him. Those who come to her with painful and ugly reminders of their past.

His hands are shaking as he pulls off his denim jacket and reveals his left arm to her. The skin is streaked with scars. They’re the same paths that used to wind up and down his arm in inky black hues like poisonous vines. Now they’re a faded pink but that doesn’t mean he hates them any less.

Billy can feel his heart beating in a fast rhythm as anxiety floods his system. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe -

“Okay how big would you want to go,” (Y/N) asks, her voice gentle and soothing and her eyes switching from his arm to his eyes. She doesn’t ask him what happened and that’s a relief.

“As big as you can. I know you can’t make it disappear but I’d like as much of it covered as possible.”

“ I won’t be able to do an entire sleeve today but if that’s something you want we can start with a bigger piece on your upper arm today and then work our way to a full sleeve in the future?”

“Sounds good. I just want the scars gone. I need them covered.”

“Well my guy, you’ve come to the right place. It’s my specialty. You’re in luck too, I’m free all day so depending on your pain tolerance and the trauma of your skin, we might even be able to finish the first piece today.”

Pain tolerance, he wants to scoff at that. What he’s been through, the pain and the anguish and the emotional trauma, nothing will ever compare to that. Not even close. He’d get a 100 tattoos all at once and it still wouldn’t measure up.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

“Cool awesome! Imma go over to the drawing board and you can feel free to keep yourself entertained in the meantime. We have an arcade machine in the back. There’s records in the corner if you want to listen to some music. I’ll even let you choose.”

“Is that an honor?” Billy asks, a small smirk on his face. Every once in awhile a flicker of the person he used to be shines through. But then it’s gone and he’s left as this shadow of his former self.

“Oh you have no idea.”

As (Y/N) settles behind a big wooden table and starts scribbling away, Billy wanders over towards the corner of the studio. A bright red record player is resting on a sideboard surrounded by several boxes filled with vinyl records. They’re sorted by band name then chronologically. There’s all kinds of genres too. AC/DC and Judas Priest but also Stuff like The Mamas and the Papas and the Monkees.

“Anything, in particular, you wanna listen to? Kinda hard to make out your taste with this selection. There’s … everything.” Billy calls out to her, leaving through the records.

“What can I say? I like a bit of everything. Don’t like to limit myself.”

Old Billy would’ve raised his eyebrow and asked her if that extends to her love life as well. But old Billy is gone and so he keeps his mouth shut.

“I know it seems like just your kinda music, but maybe stay away from the hard rock. Maybe something a bit more mellow.”

He hasn’t really listened to a lot of music since … well since everything. He mostly sleeps or reads and sometimes when it’s a good day he even attempts to do a bit of writing. It’s nothing spectacular but it’s - something. An outlet really. The stories vary from an autobiographical retelling of the incident to silly tales of young boys going on space adventures. It's a way to get lost in the save parts of his mind. The ones that can create make-believe worlds and happy thoughts. Not the ones tainted with gruesome images of the past.

The opening notes the Monday Morning by Fleetwood Mac fill the air and Billy doesn’t miss the smile tugging on the corner of (Y/N)’s lips.

“Nice. Didn’t really think you were a Fleetwood Mac fan.”

Billy shrugs his shoulders casually “they’re a classic.”

He sits back down in the seat by the window, watches as the clouds pass the sky and the people go about their day. That’s until a furry little ball of fluff settles down in his lap and demands to be cuddled.

“Oh hey, you.”

“Sorry about that. Bear does not understand the concept of personal boundaries. He thinks everyone is only here to pet him. If he bothers you just set him down.”

But he doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, combing his fingers through the curly brown fur fills Billy with a sense of calm and it grounds him a little. He really needs to adopt a dog for himself.

“It’s fine. No bother.”

Time passes with Billy cuddling the dog and ever so often glancing over at (Y/N) while she’s working on the sketch. She’s drawing then erasing then redrawing. Copying then throwing it away then doing it all again. All the while she’s dancing along to the music. There’s a lightness about her that Billy wishes he could possess. Even before the Stacourt situation, he never had this unbothered lightness about him. That’s just not the person you turn into when you grow up in a house with Neil Hargrove.

A light drizzle falls outside and Stevie Nicks sings along to it and life feels … almost peaceful right then. Billy lives for these small moments of normality. These glimmers of what life used to be.

“Okay, I’m ready. Wanna have a look?”

There’s a bright smile on her face as she looks at him and waves the sketch around. “I think I nailed this one. I hope you’ll like it.“

Billy can see that she actually means it. It's not just a silly phrase she’s tagged onto her sentence. She’s genuinely nervous for him to see it.

Bear follows Billy as he walks toward the counter, a smiley (Y/N) watching their every move. There’s something about how passionate she is about her work that makes Billy both happy and sad. There used to be things in life that he was passionate about. His car. His clothes. The music he loved. Now it’s all dull and trivial and he’s lost. So damn lost.

His eyes wander towards the sheet of paper. Delicate black lines run across the page, swirling and arching and creating a beautiful composition. It’s a lighthouse. A tall and sturdy one. It shines it’s light out into the distance to guide the ships safely around the sharp edges of the cliffs. It’s a beacon of safety and hope surrounded by the rough sea and crashing waves.

“I thought it was a nice symbol, you know. Light in the dark. Guiding ships to safety.” (Y/N) explains. She’s biting her lip nervously and Billy thinks it’s insanely adorable. This piece is perfect, to think she’s uncertain and nervous about his reaction …

“I tried to incorporate the ocean and the crashing waves. You know, as a reminder of your life in California.”

Billy is speechless for a moment. Everything he wanted. All the ideas swirling around in his head. She put it down on paper, made them visible. And he didn’t even have to voice them. They were all just mushy gray clouds in his head, non forming a coherent picture. Just a feeling. A feeling of peace and belonging. Of being strong when everything around you tries to push you down to your knees.

“Do you like it? I can change it if you —“

“I love it!”

Her mood immediately changes after hearing those words. As if a switch is suddenly flipped and sunshine floods her face. Her eyes light up and her smile widens.

“Okay perfect! Wanna get started?”

“Sure, let’s do it!”

The black leather chair is soft underneath him as (Y/N) puts the stencil onto his skin. She has a soft gentle touch which only matches the tone of her voice. Very calming. A complete opposite to the rest of Billy’s life.

“Okay, so it’s not gonna be pleasant since I have to tattoo over scar tissue. If you wanna tap out or take a break just let me know.”

He’s fairly sure that whatever pain he’ll have to endure, it will be nothing compared to what he’s already been through. Pain has a completely different meaning to him now.

“I’ll be fine.”

And he means it. Not just about the tattoo, about everything. It feels like this is the first step into a new life. One that won’t be determined by his past mistakes. By the trauma.

The buzzing sound of the tattoo gun fills the air and (Y/N) starts pulling the first few lines. Short strokes. As if to test his pain tolerance. Her eyes wander up to meet his, a silent question shining through them.

He grants her a nod. One of pure determination. One that says, without question: “I’ll be fine!”

For a while, they sit in comfortable silence. There’s just the humming of the machine and the raspy voice of Stevie Nicks to lull them into a soft tranquility.

“ I’m not gonna ask about the scars but can I ask about the skull on the other arm?”

Billy lets out a mix between a laugh and a scoff. “Sins of my youth really.”

“ Oh geez, that makes you sound so old. You’re what, 19?”

“ Almost 20.”

“ See. You’re still in the prime of your youth!”

Billy shrugs his shoulder as she dips the tattoo gun back into the ink. Truthfully, it doesn’t feel like he’s in the middle of his youth. He feels so damn tired. He never got to be a kid. Never got to be a teen. Always wandering in between it all, lost and disillusioned with no one there to guide or help him.

“ How old are you?”

“ Just turned 20 a few days ago.”

“And you already have your own shop. That’s impressive.”

“Yeah well, it’s all I ever wanted to be. Worked my ass off. Spent all my free time at my cousin's tattoo studio up in Carmel. He taught me everything I know. Worked after school and on the weekends and then when I graduated my cousin gave me a little loan and I had enough to open the shop. He believed in me when no one else did and it means everything to me. Hope I make him proud. I just always felt like this is what I'm meant to be. An artist. And this way my art gets immortalized on people’s skin and in some cases it can help them overcome difficult times in their lives. I hope I can make even the smallest change in people’s lives. “

It doesn’t get lost on him, that she doesn’t mention her parents. Something must be up there but it sure as hell isn’t his place to ask about it. Families, he knows quite well, can be a touchy subject.

“Well, you’re definitely making a change in mine.”

“Yeah?”

She looks almost bashful as the question tumble from her lips.

“Yup. I … I need to make those scars disappear. They — they remind me of the worst time in my life and of a version of myself I never want to be again. Having you cover them for me with this art piece that’s so fucking cool, it means everything.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

There’s a connection there, one he can neither grasp nor explain. It’s like she understands parts of him he doesn’t even put on display. And it’s both scary and exciting. And maybe, he understands parts of her she’s not aware she’s putting on display either.

“Okay. I’m done!”

There’s an infinite sense of pride exuding from her words. Billy wishes there was something in his life that he was good at. Something to let him be proud of himself.

“Wanna take a look?” (Y/N) asks with the most radiant smile playing on her face.

“Absolutely!”

His legs are stiff from sitting in the chair for so long but he can’t wait to see the finished piece. Slowly he walks towards the full-length mirror, (Y/N) hot on his heels.

His eyes fall onto the artwork now permanently inked into his skin. There are vibrant shades of blue and dark black lines. The sea is alive, it’s unforgiving and rough. But there’s the light from the lighthouse, the hope, the safety. It’s all there’s and it’s beautiful. Where there used to be ugly pink scars thick and burning, there’s now a beautiful painting. The scars are gone. The pain is gone. All that’s left is beauty and hope.

He doesn’t realize that tears are running down his cheek until she hands him a tissue. His first reaction is to wipe them away and pretend they weren’t there in the first place. A Hargrove man isn’t allowed to cry. Not in front of people anyway. Especially not in front of women. Hargrove men are bitter and numb. They’re stoic. Silent. Angry. Above all they’re sad.

But isn’t that the person he wants to leave behind?

So he lets himself feel it. Lets the tears fall as if it were nothing.

Maybe this can be the next step into becoming the person he wishes so desperately he can be.

“I take it you like it?”

“I love it.”

And he hugs her. Pulls her close and tight as if he’s known her forever. She reciprocates the hug in no time. Softly oats him on the shoulder.

She smells like flowery perfume and clean cotton. Soft. Sweet. Intoxicating

“I can not thank you enough.”

“Billy, trust me this means as much to me as it does to you.”

He doesn’t disagree with her but he’s sure that’s not true. It means everything to him.

They talk for a little longer then he pays her, way too little if you ask him. She deserves way more and he suspects that some kind of personal sympathy plays into the price. But he’s not one to argue. Not when he’s sure he’ll come back. There are more scars. More pain. He’s not fixed but he’s at least a work in progress now.

She takes a few Polaroids of his tattoo, to put on her wall. To show people she can cover scars. Can help them. Help fix them. Make them feel less broken.

“They’re burn scars.”

Billy finds himself sharing a piece of his story. One he’s kept so close to him, sometimes he almost wondered if it was true. But it is. And there are more reminders all over his body. It feels right to share it though. She helped him cover part of it, without judging. Without questions. She deserves to know.

“Huh?”

“My scars. They are burn scars. Not — not from the outside but from the inside. Like fire going through my veins. I uh don’t know how to explain but that’s what they are. You can tell that to your clients. That you covered burn scars. That you’re that talented. “

For a moment she just stares at him, a deep sense of affection shining from her eyes. It’s comforting and nerve-wracking all at once. But he lets himself feel it. He promises himself to let himself feel the good things even if they seem scary.

“That’s … hey, would you like to grab some dinner with me? I could really go for a burger at the diner round here. It’s real good. “

And with the way she smiles, how the hell is he supposed to say no to that.

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way!”

The sun hangs low above the horizon almost dips behind the line to vanish and make room for the moon but not quite yet. They step out into the dawn, Bear pattering alongside them his leash grabbed tightly in (Y/N) hand.

As hues of red and pink and orange surround them and dip the world into a golden haze, Billy feels like maybe this is the way. Maybe this is his path leading into a new future. With less pain. Fewer scars. More color and more smiles.

And maybe a beautiful and talented girl and a little dog by his side.

#billy hargrove x reader #Billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic

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maddestzoomer · 4 years ago

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honey and glass

chapter one - early morning thoughts

read on ao3

summary: The feelings Max has for Eleven both alarm and attract her. Now that the girl she likes has moved away, it's time Max comes to terms with her emotions.

warnings: swearing, violence, homophobia, neil hargrove being an asshole, grief, general angst

word count: 2.3k

a.n.

- i thought this would be a really cute concept, so i decided to turn it into a story :) if you end up with any thoughts, feelings, or helpful criticisms about this concept, feel free to share them by either messaging me or leaving them in the comments! <3

OCTOBER 21st, 1986

Who do you think of in the early mornings?

When the sun flirts with the treetops and your throat aches with dryness, who lingers in the back of your mind?

For Max, it's almost always Eleven. Sometimes it's Billy and sometimes it's even her dad, Sam, but more often than not, it's flashes of that lovely brunette.

Now, though, thoughts of El don't just happen in the early mornings when one's brain is foggy and grey. It happens when she reads a comic or when she skates past the destroyed remnants of Starcourt. It happens when she hangs out with Lucas or when she listening to sappy '80s love songs.

Oddly enough, thoughts of El almost always come whirl around Max's mind when she's around a girl named Robin.

The two had gotten to know one another rather awkwardly, both being sat down on a stretcher as firefighters and other EMS workers buzzed like busy bees around them. There's no better way to meet a new friend than through shared trauma, right?

Robin tried to comfort the shocked, crying Max through distracting stories, but the words got jumbled and the stories turned soupy. Enough so that Max ended up laughing a bit, though it was a sad laugh. It was a laugh that still held pained tears in her eyes- but it was better than nothing.

Over the months, the two had gotten closer; sort of becoming the female friendship equivalent of Steve and Dustin.

Their friendship is pleasant and comforting. Robin acts almost as though she were the big sibling Max never got to (and will never again get to) have. Plus, it was nice to have another girl around after Eleven left.

Max was pulled from her thoughts as she heard Neil walk down the hallway, all slow feet and heavy steps. She felt her chest grow tight and her stomach twist as she clenched her jaw.

Ever since Billy's death, Neil has been absolute hell to be around. An almost constant haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke follows him like a kicked dog, making him sour at his best and raging at his worst.

Max gripped her blanket tightly as Neil walked past her door, which was thankfully closed.

It's officially been a year since she moved from California, now being October in Hawkins. One full rotation around the Sun was enough to completely toss her world upon its head.

It was strange to think about how different her life was when she was back in California. All the people she didn't know, all the feelings she didn't have.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Sometimes she thought about what her life would have been if she'd stayed in California and lived with her dad- but she didn't like paying much mind to those thoughts given how little they changed anything.

Her feet were greeted with cold floors, earning a soft cringe from Max as she stood up. Walking to her dresser, she got out a pair of jeans and an old, sun-bleached t-shirt.

It was Saturday, and Max's plans for the day were relatively nonexistent, though she did know she'd like to stop by and visit with Robin for a little while.

She had a few questions she needed answering and she figured (hoped, mostly) Robin may have been able to help.

She got dressed, then brushed her hair and teeth before washing her face with cold water.

Today felt heavy, which was strange. Normally, once the sun greeted the sky, icky feelings were banished to a corner of Max's mind until the moon again rose. It was easier that way; to smile and laugh without worrying, even if it wasn't genuine.

Maybe the icky feeling had to do with the questions Max wanted to ask Robin, or maybe it had to do with the fact Max hardly got any sleep.

Whatever it was, though, Max didn't want to think about it much longer, and so she ignored it.

Max was fantastic at ignoring feelings. Some would call it compartmentalizing, but Max would call it self preservation.

She grabbed her jean jacket, shouldering it on before slipping on a pair of shoes, then picking her skateboard up. It was still early- 7:48 am to be more specific- so she figured the rest of the party would still be sleeping, but probably not Robin. The girl was the queen of rising early in the morning.

Slowly, she came from her room, already smelling early morning cigarette smoke and misplaced anger.

Her stomach twisted in knots as she heard some rummaging in the kitchen- a glass fall and then some mumbled curses.

Just then, she decided breakfast wouldn't be a priority today. Quietly, she closed her door again before heading to her window.

She opened the window, biting down on her bottom lip as it squeaked open.

Softly, she huffed as she tossed her skateboard from the window, then jumping down with an uncomfortable thud.

Fall whispers in the chilly early morning air, telling of the winter that's to come.

Max runs a hand through her thick hair, picking her board up before beginning to walk to the road where she could ride.

If she were being completely honest, Max seriously isn't a morning person- but she can appreciate how quiet the world becomes when the sun has just barely risen and how it can feel like the world is yours, even if only for a little while.

. . .

If there was one thing Max was usually thankful for, it's the fact Robin doesn't live all that far from her house- Only a fifteen-minute ride on skateboard.

Today, however, Max wasn't as thankful for her friend's close residence. Maybe this wasn't the right thing to do... but who else could she turn to? Who did she trust enough to tell her secret to?

Secrets are what define people, as opposed to what one decides to show the world. There's a type of safety that comes with secret-keeping- but there's also insecurity and doubt.

So... how would the world react to a girl loving another girl?

That single thought made Max chew on the flesh inside her cheek, beginning to feel her pulse quicken. What even was love, anyway? Max knew gay people existed- men who loved men and women who loved women. After all, she was raised near San Francisco.

Robin had already come out to Max.

Well- sort of.

Max had jokingly asked Robin if she was crushing on anyone, to which Robin grew quiet. Quiet enough for it to become worrisome.

Max became stressed when she saw Robin beginning to drift off, and so she immediately apologized for asking a seemingly invasive question, which only made Robin chuckle a little awkwardly

"I... uh," Robin let out a sharp breath, smiling faintly "You wouldn't know her."

Her?

Max didn't press Robin any further after that. She felt she didn't need to, and on top of that, she didn't want to make Robin any more uncomfortable than she already clearly was.

That was a couple of months ago, and the topic of sexuality hasn't come up since. That isn't to say Max hasn't thought about what Robin said.

Max thought of her interaction with Robin often. It was the reason Max hoped talking with Robin would help answer some of her questions... But at the same time, the questions she had made her feel uncomfortably queasy.

The very last thing Max wanted to do would be to damage her friendship between her and Robin, and there was a part of her that thought the questions she had would make the older girl want to sever their friendship.

Max swallowed down harshly as she realized she was nearing Robin's street.

Worst comes to worst- Max can decide not to ask the questions. She can just say something about her wanting to get out of the house- something about Neil being in a predictably bad mood- which really wouldn't be a lie... just, sort of double-speaking.

The feeling of unease only grew stronger as she skated closer to her friend's home. For a quick moment, she considered turning around.

Fuck- Was this even appropriate- to show up at your friend's house unannounced at nearly 8 in the morning with questions one fears the answers to?

Maybe it was.

Max stomped her foot on the ground a few times until she was at a stop, then bent over and grabbed her board. She already felt her chest growing tighter, and so she took a deep breath.

She stared at her friend's house for a few moments (studying it, thinking of the conversation ahead, contemplating what the actual fuck is next) before beginning to walk up the home's cement path and to the porch, where she felt her heart quicken slightly more with every step

Then, taking another deep breath, she raised her arm and gently knocked on the door.

Max knew Robin's mom wouldn't be home just yet considering she was a nurse who worked the night-shift, which made things ever-so-slightly easier.

Robin's mom, Lily, was a lovely woman, but it was better if it was only her and Robin- especially considering Max didn't know what her friend's reaction would be. And, on top of it, she didn't have much longer to think about those possibilities.

"Oh- Hey, Max!" A messy-haired Robin greeted with a smile as she opened the door. "What are you doing here?" Her tone wasn't at all angry or bothered, just genuinely curious.

"I just needed to get out of the house." Max said as Robin moved from the doorway, wordlessly welcoming the younger girl into her home.

"Fair enough." Robin said, closing the door. She knew what Max's home life was like.

"Want some french toast? I accidentally made extra." By 'accidentally made extra', Robin actually meant she was fine with sacrificing some of her food for Max.

"Uh, yes, please." Max replied softly, slipping her shoes off and setting her skateboard down at the doorway. Seeing Robin helped to extinguish some of that anxiety- but still, part of it remained, floating around in her brain.

Max found herself glancing around the home a few times to pictures of a baby Robin and to the occasional small, somewhat floral painting. The house's aesthetic was so completely opposite of Robin's- all peach walls and sea-foam carpets with an almost constant lingering smell of bleach.

"You have any plans for today?" Robin asked, glancing over her shoulder as she walked to the kitchen.

Max shook her head as she followed. "No. Not yet, anyway."

"Good, cause' I want you to hang out with me today." Robin turned away, grabbing a spatula so she could put two slices on a plate.

Max frowned a bit, smiling slightly. "And what does 'hanging out' entail?"

"I dunno," Robin said with a small chuckle, placing the plate down on the kitchen's counter. "I just wanna get out of the house for today. I hate being cooped up all the time."

Robin, unsurprisingly, hates staying in one place for too long. She likes going on walks and driving around- exploring and such. There's almost never enough to see and do, especially in a town as boring and conservative as Hawkins.

"Alright then."

Robin added another two pieces of french toast to a different plate, then went to a drawer to grab out two forks. The whole time she did this, Max watched her quietly. Even though Robin was always fun and interesting to spend time with, Max still simply couldn't stop thinking of what her reaction might be.

But Robin likes girls too, right? So what kind of homophobic hypocrite would one have to be to push away a young girl with questions of her sexuality?

"Want some coffee?" Robin asked, which earned a small smile and nod from Max. There weren't many people she knew who'd offer a 14-year-old coffee. She liked it, though. It made her feel more adult in some ways, even though it was only a beverage.

Silence again fell over the two as Robin prepared for the two to eat. The silence wasn't uncomfortable (at least not to Robin), but it did feel strange to Max.

Glancing to the clock on the wall, Max saw it was a little past 8 now. Fuck.

Getting the question out of the way now might be better, right? If Robin reacts badly, Max can just have the whole day to herself to process possibly losing a friend.

Max ran a hand through her hair, wishing she could simply pause her thoughts. Slowly, she trod over to the counter. Inside, her feelings felt brewed and blended- unable to make any one distinct emotion.

"What kind of creamer do you want? We have French Vanilla and Pumpkin Spice." Robin said, making her way over to the fridge.

Max didn't bother answering the question. Instead, she simply stared at the egg-shell white of the counter, contemplating what the everliving fuck she should do. Her back was turned to Robin, which was comforting in an offbeat way.

Her mind couldn't stop jumping from two opposites- from thinking Robin will in no way help and will think she's weird to thinking she will actually be able to help given she sort of implied she likes girls.

"Robin?" Max finally croaked out, her voice sounding unfamiliarly insecure. She harshly bit down on the inside of her bottom lip upon feeling Robin's eyes land on her. At that moment, she wished she could shrink down and disappear or simply, that she never spoke in the first place.

Robin frowned once she heard Max's tone, just how peculiar it sounded. Almost automatically, something felt off. "Umm... Yeah?"

Just say it.

It's not that hard.

It's not that fucking hard.

"How do you know you like girls?"

#eleven hopper #eleven #max mayfield #elmax #robin buckley #gays of stranger things #nico writes #honey and glass #stranger things #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #steve harrington #billy hargrove #will byers

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lightsupinthenorth · 5 years ago

Text

Read me like an open book part 1/2

Hey! :) Here is the first part of a two-part (at least I think ah ah) Harringrove fanfiction. It’s set a few years after the events of the third season (which Billy survived, obviously ^^). It starts on Steve’s birthday just because it’s my birthday today :p

I hope you’ll enjoy ;)

Read on AO3

“It’s presents time, bitches!” Robin said, getting up from the floor, where Steve was still sprawled with Billy half-laying on top of him.

They might have overdone it a little on the weed. Steve didn’t really care, though. He was relaxed and happy. So far, his twenty-first birthday had been the best birthday ever. Robin and Billy had organized a surprise gathering in their shared flat, inviting the kids, Nancy and Jonathan, as well as Joyce and Hopper. After everyone had left earlier in the evening, Robin had gone to her room and had come back with a bag of weed bought by Billy and her for the occasion, and they had gotten positively baked.

Billy and Robin had insisted to give him his present when it was just the three of them instead of doing it at the same time as the others. When Steve had seen the weed, he had understood why. So, he was confused when Robin mentioned presents.

“What presents?”

“Your birthday presents, dingus. I know you’re high right now, but I didn’t think you were high enough to forget your own birthday.” Robin cackled.

“Hey, I haven’t forgotten. I just kinda thought… wasn’t the weed the present?”

“Pfff, no.” Billy replied. “What kind of present would that be? As if we didn’t already smoke weed on the regular.”

He made them sound like potheads. They didn’t smoke that often… Then again, it did happen more frequently than their respective birthdays.

“Yo, Buckley, can you go to my room and fetch my present for Steve too, now that you’re at it. It’s in the drawer of my bedside table.” Billy yelled, a lot louder than was necessary considering Robin was just in the next room.

Steve whined. Billy’s voice was reverberating in his head.

“Sure, you lazy fuck.” She yelled back, just as loud.

They were so noisy!

“Open mine first!” Robin said as she sat down on the floor again, extending a rectangular package.

Steve had to detangle himself from Billy, ignoring his mumbled complaints, before he tore into the brightly colored wrapping paper. He uncovered a thick book with a beautiful cover representing a sky full of stars. It was titled Long live the King.

“I know you’ve taken to reading, these days, and this novel is amazing.” Robin assured.

“It’s really not that good.” Billy grumbled, with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, you read it too?” Steve asked.

“Uh… yeah, I did.”

Billy was staring at Robin when he said it. And he was frowning.

“Don’t listen to him, Steve, he’s being a buzzkill. You’re going to love it.”

“I’m sure I will. Thanks Rob.” Steve hugged her.

He hoped Billy would still agree to help him with the book, even if he didn’t like it much. Ever since he knew Steve had trouble with written words, Billy would read to him all the time. It had become their thing. Steve loved his voice. Well, Steve loved everything about him, but that was off topic.

“Now, here’s Hargrove gift.”

Robin basically dropped the gift in Steve’s lap. The wrapping paper had multi-colored stars on it. Steve unraveled it carefully and found a set of pencils and a beautiful sketchbook. Billy and Robin’s gifts kind of coordinated aesthetically speaking, which was nice. Indeed, on the cover of the notebook was a drawing of the night sky, with the sea represented underneath. “My sea of stars”, was written on the front.

Steve used to doodle distractingly during class. He’d been doing it since primary school. After he had graduated, his doodling habit had spread to his daily life. He would draw lines absentmindedly while he was on the phone or trace random shapes on discarded pieces of paper when he was watching TV but was too fidgety to focus. He hadn’t been seriously committed to drawing, though. He had only started making it into a real hobby after Starcourt. Billy had been the one to suggest it, in fact. After he’d literally come back to life, Steve and he had become good friends, and Billy had noticed his little habit and had bought him a sketch pad. Drawing helped Steve a lot. Gave him something to do when he was feeling restless, which was the case more often than not after the whole ‘Upside-Down and co’ experience.

Steve was frustrated by his lack of technique, at first, and had almost given up on several occasions. But Billy had always been there to cheer him up and keep him going. He was certain Billy hadn’t even realized his compliments and encouragements had prevented Steve from calling it quits at least a dozen times. They spent hours together in their living room, on the couch, Steve drawing while Billy wrote in his huge notebook, with his feet on Steve’s lap. Steve was eager to spend many more hours that exact same way, drawing on the new sketchbook Billy had offered him.

“It’s… it’s really nice, Billy. I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Pretty boy.”

They hugged, and Billy didn’t let him go, half-climbing on him again as they laid back down.

“Ugh, guys, seriously, get a room.” Robin complained, which led to Steve blushing and Billy flipping her the bird.

Steve would have attributed Billy’s behavior to the weed, but they had gotten more and more tactile since the beginning of their friendship about two years prior, so the weed didn’t have much to do with it. Except that maybe Billy would have waited for Robin to go to bed before attaching himself to Steve like a koala, if he hadn’t been high.

Either way, Steve was far from complaining: the more Billy touched him, the better.

Before he went to bed that night, Steve took his secret sketchpad – the one in which he drew his best friend page after page (like an obsessed creep) – from under his mattress, and drew the version of Billy he had seen earlier: high Billy, with his lax body and hazy eyes.

A few minutes after putting his paper shrine back in its usual hiding spot, Steve fell asleep with a smile on his face, and the smell of Billy’s cologne on his own skin. He hoped all his birthdays to come would be similar to this one.

When Steve got up the next morning, Billy and Robin were eating breakfast in the kitchen.

He heard Billy say:

“Stop it, Robin. I can’t tell him, I just can’t.”

It made no sense to him, since he had missed the beginning of the conversation, but his interest was picked.

“You can’t tell who, what?” He asked as he went to the cupboard to get his favorite cereals. No way he would eat oatmeal like Robin and Billy. What a depressing way to start the day.

“I, uh…” Billy started. Robin interrupted him, though:

“He can’t tell his coworker that his new haircut looks stupid.”

“Yeah… ‘Cause it would be mean, you know.” Billy added, before putting a huge spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth.

“Uh… well, it’s true. It wouldn’t be a very nice thing to say, Rob.” Steve agreed.

He put his box of cereals on the table and sat down next to Robin, in front of Billy, who was looking intently at his bowl.

“Why do you think Billy should tell the poor guy his hair looks weird?”

If anyone said that to Steve, he’d be devastated. That was for sure.

“So he can let his hair grow back and have it cut in a more flattering way.” Robin explained. “It would be doing him a favor, in my opinion.”

Steve hummed. “Makes sense”, he said. He was more focused on his fruit loops, though. It wasn’t like he cared about the guy anyway. He hadn’t even met him.

Robin hadn’t either, so Steve didn’t know why she was so pressed on Billy giving him hair advice. Whatever floats her boat, he thought.

His roommates were weird, sometimes. Nothing could be done about it.

The next weekend, Steve and Billy were both off from their respective work, and Steve really wanted to start reading the book Robin had gotten him for his birthday.

Billy was occupied with a novel of his own next to him, and Steve didn’t want to be a burden, so he started reading on his own. After a few pages, he was already hooked, but he got tired quickly, as he always did. Frustrated, he fidgeted a bit on the couch and brought the book closer to his face, as if it would help the words stop swimming in front of his eyes.

Billy sighed.

“What’s up, Pretty boy?” He asked, only then looking up from his own reading.

“I just… would it be okay… would you read to me? Please.”

Billy sighed again, a bit louder. Steve’s face fell. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but Steve always looked forward to Billy reading out loud to him.

“Sorry… I know you don’t like this book… I’ll ask Robin to read it to me when she gets home.”

“No! I… I’ll do it, I’ll read for you. I really don’t mind.” Billy exclaimed.

Steve was agreeably surprised by the amount of enthusiasm Billy displayed and he smiled at him when he handed him the book, letting their hands brush.

“Thank you!”

Steve kissed Billy’s cheek and laid his head on his shoulder.

“Don’t mention it, Pretty boy.”

“Sure, I’ll mention it. It means a lot, you know.”

Billy cleared his throat. “Right… if you say so.”

Steve could feel the heat of Billy’s blush.

He always downplayed the nice things he did, but Steve wouldn’t have it. He would keep showing Billy he was grateful for every little (and not so little) attention. Declaring his undying love to him would be a very effective way to make Billy realize how much Steve really appreciated him, but that would also do a lot more harm than good. Steve had to focus on the big picture, here.

Billy began to read where Steve had stopped, and if Steve didn’t already know Billy disliked the book, he wouldn’t have been able to tell at all. He put his heart into it as he always did. Not only that, but Steve felt like Billy’s voice held even more emotion than it usually did.

Steve fell into a sort of trance. The story was told in first person, from the point of view of a magician in a fantasy land, and Steve imagined himself as the narrator. In his mind, he could see everything Billy was describing: the village, the fields, the magnificent castle surrounded by a dark forest in which creatures lurked, the King who lived in the castle and whom the enchanter was secretly in love with.

Hours passed before Billy stopped reading. Still, Steve had to refrain himself from begging for one more chapter. He couldn’t be greedy; he didn’t want Billy to tire of him.

“Here you go, Stevie.”

“That was great. You’re the best.”

“It’s just reading, Pretty boy. I didn’t hang the moon.” Billy mumbled.

Steve nearly said “You might as well have”, but said: “It’s far better than ‘just reading’”, instead. That was a close call.

They went to the kitchen to make dinner, and Robin came home from work right before the oven beeped.

Steve ate his meal slowly, without really tasting it, and he didn’t say much, letting Robin and Billy do most of the talking. He was still somewhere far away, in a fantasy land ruled by a beautiful king. And, if the king was a carbon copy of Billy, it was nobody’s business but Steve’s.

On Thursday, Billy went to Indianapolis, and Steve went with him. Apparently, Billy had been asked by his boss to go check and fix a few collection cars over there, and Billy had invited Steve to come with him. Said it would be fun. They’d spend the morning together and Billy would go to his work appointment after lunch.

“Not that I’m not glad to have the opportunity of going on a fun little trip or anything, but couldn’t that guy find a garage in Indianapolis to take care of his cars? There must be more than a few.” Steve asked Billy, who had just started the car.

“That’s because I’m the best in fucking Indiana, baby.” He said with a cocky grin.

Steve rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his fond smile.

“Right. Forget I asked.”

“To answer more seriously, I don’t really know. But who gives a fuck? The guy paid extra… I mean like, a big wad of cash. So, fine by me.”

Billy shrugged.

Steve found it quite weird, but it was fine by him too. It wasn’t any of his business, anyway: he was just tagging along.

He turned the radio on, and then Billy and he bickered for ages about what station to choose. That was somewhat of a tradition every time they were in a car together.

“I’m driving, so I choose. It’s driver’s privilege, Pretty boy. Suck it up.”

“But that’s not fair!” Steve whined. “You insisted to drive, it’s not like I had a choice.”

“Too bad. You lose anyway.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, making Billy laugh. The cold bastard.

When they arrived in Indianapolis, Billy parked, and they chose a direction at random to go wander. Steve got caught up in some window-shopping, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk to stare at the newest Adidas sneakers behind the glass.

Steve used to be given everything he wanted. Well, everything he wanted that could be bought with money. Now that he didn’t speak to his parents anymore and was financially independent, however, he couldn’t afford many unnecessary expenses. These shoes sadly fell into the “unnecessary” category.

Billy had not immediately noticed Steve had stopped walking, so he had to go back on his tracks a little.

“Hey, Stevie, give a guy a warning, would you? I turned to talk to you and you were not there anymore.”

“Sorry, sorry. I was just… I wanted to take a look at these.” Steve pointed at the shoes. “I don’t know why I did, anyway… it’s not like I’m gonna buy them.”

“Right… it’s fine. Let’s go get lunch, Pretty boy.” Billy said, steering him away from the shop, but not without giving the shoes a good look himself.

They ate burgers and fries in a greasy joint they had stumbled upon. The food was pretty good. As a testament to that, Billy kept trying to steal fries off Steve’s basket. At first, Steve batted his hand away, but he gave up after a while. When Billy gave him a wide smile after finally succeeding, Steve couldn’t even be mad at him. He’d gave up all the fries in the world if it meant seeing Billy smile like that. Steve smiled back at him.

In the afternoon, while Billy was at work, Steve went to a coffee shop and bought a cappuccino for himself, and a giant raisin oatmeal cookie to go for Billy. He grimaced a little as he ordered the latter. Billy really had weird tastes, sometimes.

He sat down at a table and put the cookie in his backpack, before taking out his book. He progressed slowly, really slowly, only managing to read a chapter before he had to meet Billy back at the car. Yes, Steve had trouble with reading to begin with, but the fact that this book was making him emotional was not helping him read it any faster.

He related to the narrator a lot. He, too, was in love with someone close to him yet unreachable. He, too, had to admire them in silence. And the object of his love was as beautiful and as brave as the King was described to be. The only difference was that the King was said to have brown hair and eyes.

What the characters were going through also reminded him of what had happened because of the Upside-Down, in some way. Life in Hawkins was (or at least had been) so strange that it looked like something out of a fantasy novel. How wild was that? Steve mused, as he was waiting for Billy near his car.

When Billy made it to the car, he was carrying a thick brown envelope in his right hand and a paper bag in the left.

“Want some help with all that?” Steve asked.

“Uh… No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Billy assured, transferring the envelope in his left hand so he was carrying everything on the same side and could fetch the car keys from his pocket with his newly free hand. He opened the trunk and dropped everything in it.

Steve didn’t bother asking what was in the envelope, or in the bag. If Billy had wanted to share the information, he already would have. Steve definitely wondered, though.

“I have an oatmeal raisin cookie for you, if you’d like.” He said once they were in their seats, as he rummaged through his backpack in search of it.

“Oh yeah thanks! that sounds perfect.”

Billy took the paper bag from Steve’s hand as he unparked the car. Steve would have scolded him for eating while driving instead of focusing solely on the road, but that would have been slightly hypocritical of him.

“Well, that’s a relief, because no way I’d have eaten that if you didn’t want it.” Steve made a face again.

“That’s ‘cause you have bad tastes, Pretty boy.” Billy said, taking a big bite of the cookie and putting crumbs everywhere.

Steve laughed. If only Billy knew how much Steve loved him, he would certainly backtrack on what he had just said.

“It’s delicious, you don’t know what you’re missing.” Billy said in between bites.

Steve was watching him with a sad smile, glad that Billy’s eyes were on the road and not on him. It took him a few seconds to reply.

“Oh I know, believe me. I know.”

The next morning, when he woke up, Steve found the brown paper bag Billy had come back with at the foot of his bed. What the…?

The idea of Billy sneaking into his room during the night to put it there made something tighten in his chest, but Steve was mostly preoccupied with finding out what was inside the bag.

He basically jumped out of bed, which was very unusual of him (he was the exact opposite of a morning person), and reached for the bag. There was a box labelled Adidas in it… no way! Steve opened it with shaky hands and his jaw dropped.

What… how… why? Steve was confused. Billy had gotten him the sneakers he’d been looking at in the shop window. How had he paid for them? Why would he spend so much money on Steve? Especially so soon after his birthday… This was far too much.

Steve exited his room quicker than he would have if it had been on fire.

“Billy!” Steve might have called his name slightly louder than he meant to.

Billy, who was sitting at the breakfast table with his back to Steve, jumped and put a hand over his heart.

“Damn, Pretty boy, calm down. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“What the fuck?”

Robin darted her eyes between the two of them and announced: “I’ll leave you to it”, before retreating to her room with her bowl of disgustingly bland oatmeal.

“What gives, Stevie?”

“You know what, Billy. The shoes. What the fuck? Why did you buy them?”

“Isn’t that obvious? You wanted them, and I wanted you to have them. It’s not that big a deal.” Billy was not looking at him as he spoke.

Steve’s heart nearly melted. Because that was so fucking sweet of Billy to do what he did, and then say something like that. He couldn’t possibly accept the gift, though.

“Not that big a deal? They’re so expensive, Billy… I can’t … I can’t just take them… it wouldn’t be right.”

“Look, Steve… As I told you, my client from yesterday paid really well, and it’s my money, so I get to decide how to spend it, and I wanted to spend it on these shoes, for you. So please, keep them. They’re your size and not refundable, anyway. Either you keep them or they’ll just rot in the cupboard. That’s up to you.”

Steve was almost certain Billy was bullshitting him on the “not refundable” part, but he didn’t argue. It would be no use: Billy always won.

So, he just hugged him tightly instead. Billy froze for a second, but quickly let go of the spoon he was still holding to hug Steve back.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I did to deserve that.”

“You don’t need to do anything in particular, Pretty boy. Being yourself is more than enough.”

Steve was not a crier, but his eyes were undeniably misty. Billy couldn’t keep being so sweet and expect Steve to reign his feelings in. They were on the verge of overflowing already.

After finally letting go of Billy (not before leaving a kiss on top of his head, though), Steve put the sneakers on.

“Steve, seriously… you’re still wearing your pajamas.”

Steve’s pajamas consisted in frayed basketball shorts and a old Hawkins High t-shirt, so it was fine to wear the sneakers with them in Steve’s book. And he wouldn’t take these off until he absolutely had to.

“So what?” Steve asked.

Billy rolled his eyes, but his ears were red.

About a week later, Steve’s nightmares paid him a visit. They had left him alone for a while, but Steve knew they’d be back eventually. He saw Billy die again, which was simultaneously his worst and most common nightmare.

“Hey, Steve. Stevie. Wake up, please.”

He was shaken awake.

Thankfully, Billy was the one to wake him up from his dream, so Steve instantly knew he was alive and well. Steve threw his arms around him, buried his face in his neck, and inhaled his scent to calm himself down.

Billy held him close and rubbed his back, whispering reassuring words in his ear:

“You’re okay, Pretty boy. You’re fine. It was just a dream.”

Yes, Steve was alright. But the most important thing was that Billy was. That had been the object of Steve’s concern.

“I’m sorry… did I wake you?”

Billy sighed.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t mind, Steve?”

“As many times as I have to tell you the same thing.”

Billy’s room was right next to Steve’s. It wasn’t the first time he woke Billy up with his nightmare-induced screams. And Billy’s night terrors had woken Steve up a few times too.

“Touché.” Billy said. “Do you think you’ll be able to go back to sleep?” He added after a pause.

“I don’t know… Could you read to me again?”

“Sure, if it helps.” Billy agreed.

Steve snatched the book from his bedside table and handed it to Billy, who opened it where the bookmark indicated Steve had stopped.

“You read all this by yourself?” There was awe in Billy’s voice.

Steve was blushing, but in the low light of his bedside lamp, it was probably not very noticeable. At least, he could always hope.

“Yeah… uh… I was really into it.”

He had read about seven chapters on his own, which, added to the ones Billy had read to him the other day, only left three before they reached the end.

“Steve, you did really good!”

Steve blushed even harder. His face was burning at that point. Billy sounded so proud of him.

“It’s not like it’s a great achievement, or anything… but yeah, I guess it’s progress.”

“Hey, of course it’s progress. It’s a lot, Steve. Don’t diminish your accomplishments.” Billy said in a firm tone.

“Okay, okay. I won’t.”

“Good.” Billy sprawled on the bed and leaned against the headboard. He then tugged on Steve’s arm. “Now settle down.”

Steve did as he was told and settled right next to him, resting his head on Billy’s chest and putting an arm over his waist. Steve loved the feeling of Billy’s naked skin against his. When they had first moved in together, Billy wore long-sleeved t-shirts almost constantly, self-conscious as his scars made him. Now, he slept in nothing but shorts. Steve wasn’t the only one who had been making progress.

Billy was barely three sentences into the third to last chapter when his voice broke. He cleared his throat and resumed the reading as if nothing had happened. His voice was now breathy, though.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure? We can stop.”

“I’m sure, Pretty boy. Now shut up and let me read.”

Steve effectively shut up and Billy got back to the task at hand.

In the last three chapters, the King lost his kingdom, the magician finally confessed their love and found out it was in fact reciprocated. Then, the narrator described their first kiss with the King, a kiss that made Steve’s chest constrict with longing. The fact that it was Billy’s voice describing it only made the longing ten time worse.

As Billy read the last words: “He was not ruling the kingdom anymore, but to me he would always be king. My king, my light, my love, my everything”, Steve was on the verge of tears.

He regularly went through terrifying nightmares and found himself unable to spill a single tear, but this book might do the trick. And okay, it might have been a bit mushy, but Steve was really digging it, alright?

He opened his eyes and saw a tear stain on the last page. For a second, he thought he had already started crying without noticing, but his cheeks were dry. It then occurred to him that the tear had come from Billy.

Steve put the book away from him and had to straddle him so they could be face to face. He then wiped Billy’s tears, but they kept coming.

“What’s the matter, Billy?”

Unlike Steve, Billy was a crier. Steve had seen him cry a bunch of times, when he’d been particularly tired, or sad, or frustrated. However, there was something he was not getting: why had Billy pretended he didn’t like the book in the first place? It had to be the book. What other reason did Billy have to cry right now?

“I… I’m sorry.” Billy just said before he started properly bawling and hid his face in his hands.

Steve was even more confused… and slightly panicked.

“Hey… hey… please, tell me what’s wrong. I… I don’t know what to do.”

Steve circled Billy’s wrists to ground him, but he didn’t try to pull his hands away from his face for fear it might make him retreat further into himself.

“I just… this book hits me really hard.” His voice was muffled, but Steve could still make out the words.

“But… you said it wasn’t very good.”

Billy lowered his hands. His eyes were red and puffy.

“I meant it… It still makes me sad, though.”

Steve frowned. He didn’t think a book could elicit such reaction in someone who didn’t like it all that much.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve wouldn’t have judged Billy, he would have understood. He never wanted Billy to feel so bad, and even less if it happened because of something Steve had asked of him.

“I should have… I should have said something. I’m sorry.” Billy’s breathing was uneven, and Steve could see his tears threatening to come back.

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry. You don’t have to apologize. Just tell me next time, okay?”

Billy nodded and Steve smiled at him tentatively.

“Let’s go to bed.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Billy mumbled.

Steve turned the lights off before moving from Billy’s lap to lay down. As Billy snuggled up with him, Steve couldn’t help but think about his recent behavior. Billy was acting a tad strange these days. He had gotten a lot better at expressing his feelings verbally in the last couple of years, and Steve was positive that the Billy he knew would have told him the book would upset him instead of pretending he would be fine.

Steve would have to talk to him when he was more clear-headed. The last thing he wanted was for Billy to close himself off again.

Thank you for reading :D

#Harringrove #Steve Harrington #Billy Hargrove #fluffl #a lot of fluff with a side of plot #Robin Buckley #Harringrove fanfiction #Stranger Things #part 1 #part 1 of 2

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imaginesrus · 5 years ago

Text

A Knock In The Night

Here it is my first Steve Harrington imagine, this has been a lot of fun to write and fun to get to try out a new style.

I have a few ideas for some other imagines but if you would like to send in a request to give a new writer in the fandom a go that would be awesome.

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None, just pure fluffy goodness

Word Count: 1910

Summary: Your younger brother Dustin has managed to convince your parents to go for a road trip to Utah leaving you home alone without the usual gang hanging around. As you settle for a quiet night in, a knock at the door brings an unexpected and not necessarily unwelcome surprise.

The house was empty.

Blissfully empty and quiet.

After the last few weeks of Summer Break, the fire at Starcourt Mall, Dustin’s gang visiting most days having the house to yourself was a luxury you were going to enjoy full heartedly. A final chance to relax before you headed off for your first year of college.

Your parents had taken Dustin to Salt Lake City for the week and you were almost certain Dustin’s eagerness to travel with them was due to proximity that he would be to Suzie. You had seen him looking at maps while packing, no doubt plotting some elaborate rendezvous at a secret location, by the moonlight of course.

Ah, young love.

You opened the cupboard, smiling to yourself that they were all still there, carefully selecting your snacks for an evening of uninterrupted reading and quite possibly passing out mid chapter in the lounge room. Since the Starcourt Mall incident your house had been full with Dustin and his friends, occupying the lounge watching scary movies on the new VHS player your dad had excitedly purchased last week.

You grabbed a packet of Twizzlers from the cupboard, poured yourself a Coke and made your way back to the empty lounge, breathing in a deep sigh at the sheer peacefulness of it all. You collapsed on the sofa pulling out your book from behind your cushion and placed your drink and snack on the small table next to you.

Opening your book to your marked chapter as your eyes began to flick across the words, losing yourself in the story of resurrected pets and Indian graveyards.

A knock at the door, made you jump, the drink in your hand sloshing and splashing onto your top.

‘Shit, shit,” you ran to the kitchen, blotting your top with the kitchen towel, while another, more urgent knock, sounded through the house again. Holding the towel to your chest, you moved cautiously to the front door.

Maybe reading Pet Cemetery while alone in your house was not quite your best idea yet.

You looked around briefly for a weapon of some kind, your imagination in complete overdrive at this point. Deciding on an umbrella disused in the walkway, left over from winter long passed.

You moved slowly to the window, moving the curtain just enough to be able to look at the front doorstep. Your heart stopping for an entirely different reason.

Steve Harrington.

‘Fuck,’ you muttered under your breath as you dropped the umbrella to the side of the wall and opened the door, Steve’s hand raised again, poised for another knock.

“Y/N,” he says, clearly surprised not to see his usual accomplice and instead his older sister. Surprise is quickly changed to concern as he notes the towel clutched to your chest “Are you okay?”

“What?”

He gestures to the front of your top, “Yeah, I spilled some Coke.” You hadn’t yet quite met his eyes, flitting to the side instead.

You weren’t sure exactly how this ‘friendship’ between your younger brother and Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington developed, but over the course of a weekend it seemed that they had become friends and this resulted in Steve being in your home not the uncommon event you would have thought it would be.

And yet you still felt uncomfortable every time you are near him.

“Is Dusty home?” he asks casually leaning against the door frame, craning his neck to look further into the home.

“He’s gone with mom and dad, somehow he convinced them to a road trip to Utah.”

“Suzie,” Steve says with a smile. Almost like a proud parent.

“Suzie,” you confirm. Still standing in the doorway, nervously shifting under his gaze.

“I was hoping that maybe he would want to watch this with me?” Steve held up a copy of a VHS from the video store where he worked. You had visited the video store on numerous occasions usually dropping off Dustin and his friends to pick up a new movie. And there he would be again. It had seemed that for most of this summer you hadn’t been able to escape him and here he was again.

You examined the video in his hand, “Cujo?”

“Yeah, I mean I was going to watch with him of course, parental supervision and all.” Steve quickly explains as you raise an eyebrow at his choice of movie.

“Well, Dustin’s not here so-”

“Right,” Steve gives a nod and you see the disappointment written all over his face. As much as you may hate to admit it your brother and Steve had developed a friendship that had you questioning some of the long formed opinions you had about Steve Harrington.

You give a shrug of your shoulders, an attempt at cool and casual, “I’m just reading, if you wanted to watch it here. I wouldn’t mind.”

Which was a lie, because you very much would mind. The sensible decision would be to send Steve back to his car and on his merry way, but you opened the door wider allowing him to enter.

“You know where the player is,” you said closing the door behind him, “I’m just going to change,” you pointed to your shirt and made your way to your room.

You closed the bedroom door behind you, pulling off your shirt and digging around your drawer for another. Deliberating between two before reaching a decision. You were all alone in your house with Steve Harrington. You stared at yourself in the mirror, pushing your hair behind your ears before taking a deep. You were just two people watching a movie in the same house, that was all it was. You wouldn’t even been watching the movie. You felt sorry for him, that was all this was.

You had started sitting at the furthest corner of the couch, intent on focusing on your book, but eventually found yourself distracted by the TV and placing the book back to it’s safe spot under your cushion. Gradually edging closer to the middle of the couch, closer to Steve who was engrossed.

Your gaze drifted from the movie, to the way the light moved across his face, highlighting his lips, and of course that hair.

You considered the pack of Twizzlers on your lap, moving closer still and holding the pack between the two of you, a peace offering of sorts. As Steve was focused on the screen in front you tapped the packet gently on his arm, managing to gain his attention.

He moved to take one, a small smile, before focusing on the screen again. You moved closer as you kept the packet between you, chewing on the Twizzler as you focused on the screen. The two of you engrossed, as you passed the packet between you. Neither one speaking, despite the occasional gasp, or ooh in response to the movie.

His hand brushed against yours as you handed the packet back and you paused your movements, holding your breath as he did the same. A tension settling over both of you as your eyes focused intently on the screen. Not game enough to see his reaction.

“Popcorn,” you shouted unexpectedly, earning a jump from Steve. “I’m going to make some.” You quickly got up and moved to the kitchen, muttering to yourself about how exactly you had gotten yourself into this situation.

You placed the popcorn on the stove, trying to focus on the steps instead of the boy leaning casually against your kitchen bench, watching as you fiddled with the gas.

“I was an asshole in high school,” he says breaking the silence. Memories of yourself with him in a closet with at Shellie Marino’s 16th birthday party during a game of seven minutes in heaven come flooding back, followed by the teasing, the jibes, cruel words from her peers that he didn’t dispute.

“No argument here,” you mutter under your breath.

“But I’m not the same person, things have happened that made me realise that the things I thought were important in high school weren’t. Being popular, being cool, even the hair,” he added with a chuckle.

“Blasphemy,” you added.

“I can see why you would be worried about the guy that I was in high school hanging out with your kid brother, I get it. But Dustin is a really cool kid, and for his age kind of wise.”

“Well don’t you go telling him that. Since that Camp Know Where he has a big enough head as it is.”

“So-”

“Truce,” Steve said holding out his hand towards you.

“Truce,” you agree taking his hand in your own and giving it a firm shake. The sound of the first pop of popcorn had you shrieking, tightening your grip automatically as he does the same, before both dissolving into giggles as he helped you to finish popping the corn before he returned to the couch and you grabbed another treat from the cupboard.

Taking a seat on the couch next to him, closer than before you leaned over and poured the full box of Milk Duds over the popcorn in the large bowl resting on his lap.

“Oh God, not you too.” Steve groaned.

“It’s good,” you protest, grabbing a handful and eating them, the mixture of sweet, salty, butter and chocolate covering your tongue in the most wonderful of combinations.

Steve does the same, his cheeks puffing out slightly as he quite clearly has overestimated just how much food his mouth can hold.

He almost chokes, before he manages to chew and swallow, while you try to suppress a fit of laughter behind you hand.

After several minutes, and a large gulp, Steve manages a muffled, “It’s good.”

“Right? You owe Dustin an apology.” You say as you press play on the remote, settling back into the couch as the movie starts up again.

A silence takes over the room again as the movie plays. You try not to pay attention to the way your hands keep brushing against each others, as you both reach for the popcorn between you.

The intensity of the film grows and you find yourself leaning closer and closer, your shoulders touching, the bowl empty of the coffee table. And then on the screen the dog crashes through the window.

“Oh my god!,” you shriek, as Steve’s hand wraps around your own, and on instinct you are turning into his chest, hiding from the imaginary monster on the screen. You shield your eyes from the screen, your hand gripping Steve’s shirt as the final scene plays and you can finally relax. Your breathing returns to normal and as the credits role you notice his arm around your shoulder, holding you steady.

You look up at him.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says softly, “okay?” The concern in his eyes takes you by surprise there is no alterior motive behind the question, just a genuineness that you didn’t expect.

“It was just a little intense.” The movie is over, the imaginary threat is gone and really you should be unwrapping his arms from around you and wishing him a good night, but instead you find yourself wanting him to stay.

“I know this sounds ridiculous, cause it’s just a movie, but-,” you can’t even meet his eyes as you ask, “could you stay?”

He gives you a smile, a genuine one, “I’ll take the couch.”

Turns out maybe Steve Harrington isn’t quite so bad after all.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x henderson!reader #stranger things imagines #fluff

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clericbyers · 5 years ago

Note

I JUST CONNECTED A DOT okay so i was thinking about it and?? remember that news program at the end of s3?? where they’re talking about like demonic powers at work in hawkins or w/e and zoom in on the dnd book?? when i first watched i was like “haha funny they think it’s caused by dnd” bUT WHAT IF IT IS BC MINDFLAYER IS HOMOPHOBIA AND UPSIDEDOWN STUFF IS GETTING HARDER AND HARDER TO FIND AND DND IS BYLER AND THEY’RE COMING TO TERMS WITH THEIR FEELINGS AND SGDJGKBGNGNFNDJFKFK -7s

OH??? OH....ohhhh...I think you connected some dots here! Let’s get into it, yeah?

So, this is the shot in the TV special broadcast about Hawkins where D&D is mentioned.

The narrator says, “Some believe a rise in Satanism is to blame.” Blame for what? Blame for the mysterious happenings in the heartland / Hawkins in particular.

Now, as you said it’s funny that the focus is on D&D here when it comes to “rise in Satanism”. The 80s was full of “Satanic Panic” (like rock and roll and punk and horror films and all that) as much as it was about the Soviet Union and the Cold War. It was sometimes tied hand in hand. D&D was considered “Satan’s game” back in the day, much how I guess it’s seen in today’s time that video games with gun violence encourage people kids to use guns. D&D was thought to be the game occults, Satanists, and witches used to recruit kids into their cults. The obsession with these role-played characters was often mislinked to the role players’ deaths, in particular, the story of James Dallas Egbert III in 1979. Long story short, Egbert was a 16-year-old super genius, but he had a lot of stress from school and his parents as part of the prodigy circuit, he wasn’t very popular, and he coped by diving into drugs and D&D. When he disappeared, D&D was to blame, but there was also information about his drug use and his struggle with coming to terms with and hiding his homosexuality. Yup, Dallas was gay.

Talk about Egbert’s drug use and sexuality didn’t float for his parents so the detective, William Dear, (he later wrote a book about it all) turned media attention toward D&D (for the sake of privacy) but the media ran with that blamed Egbert’s disappearance on delusion thanks to LARPing via D&D. Egbert was then thought to have been sacrificed in a Satanic ritual as D&D has in the DM guide (paraphrasing a bit here but you get the point) and basically, D&D was hailed as the evil Satanic game in the media. There’s more to the story of course but I’ll stop there for the sake of keeping to what dots we want to connect here about D&D, Satanism, the UD/MF, and Byler. (Which is such an odd sentence but anyway, let’s move on.)

You know what else is deemed satanic, especially in the 80s? Homosexuality. And if the Upside Down / Mind Flayer represents homosexuality and/or at least internalized homophobia, and the Upside Down is the Satanic presence in Hawkins that is to blame for the conspiracies and evil in the town, then the connection of bringing up D&D, thought to be a game for Satanists, when referencing what is to blame for the evil in Hawkins makes sense. But we know that D&D is also the metaphor used for Mike and Will’s relationship. A gay relationship that would have been seen as satanic just as much as D&D was in their time. So Satanism is to blame, Satanism tied to D&D, D&D being tied to Mike and Will’s shifting relationship, a relationship that, if it was only friendship, would not be considered evil.

“Some believe a rise in Satanism is to blame,” can then be turned into, “Some believe a rise in D&D is to blame.” Knowing that the events of the UD/MF are based off the campaign the Party is playing, we can then substitute D&D for the MF as so: “Some believe a rise in the Mind Flayer’s presence is to blame.” Also knowing that D&D is the show’s metaphor for Mike and Will’s relationship gives you, “Some believe a rise in homosexuality is to blame.” Homosexuality is akin to Satanism for many at this time, especially in the heartland of America, so it’s an apt substitution even without referencing the Mind Flayer. Thing is, what is a “rise in homosexuality” anyway? And that brings me back to your point about Mike and Will coming to terms with their feelings.

The part of the Mind Flayer that was in Will still exists in this dimension and that is what they fight off in ST3. If the Mind Flayer represents puberty and growing up, that also includes coming to grips with one’s sexuality and facing both internalized homophobia and homosexuality itself. I’ll note that Will knows the Mind Flayer is back after he’s just finished destroying his childhood safe space and has to come to grips with liking Mike and Mike (in his mind) not liking him back. He knows the terrors of being gay and the internalized hatred of it is back, he has that connection to it because it is his darkness, the part of the Mind Flayer in him that stayed, the part of his thoughts filled with love for Mike and self-hatred for feeling that way, has come to terrorize Hawkins again.

The Mind Flayer is defeated by happy memories, by comfort, by love: the opposite of the darkness that it is. The opposite of hatred is love after all! That being said, it also means that the Party as a whole has bonded again through love themselves (as we see when they finally reunite just in time for the final battle). Mike and Will though have a schism that is tied to the Mind Flayer as much as they bonded through love against the Mind Flayer in ST2. In those three months after Starcourt, we learn that this split is no longer (the Mind Flayer is defeated after all), Mike and Will have made up, and D&D is a focus between them again. Not to be cheesy but..love wins, my dudes. Anyway, we have here D&D the Satanist game, the game that got popular media attention because a closeted gay teenage prodigy from Ohio played it (might I add that the book Dear wrote about that whole case came out in 1984), the game that is a marker of Will and Mike’s relationship. You can see where this is going.

Back to “rise in homosexuality.” It’s not so much a rise in homosexuality (though on the surface people still think of it as a fad) as much as it is a rise in acknowledging it, in coming to terms with homosexuality and defeating the self hatred, ie. the Mind Flayer.

Now real quickly, the Mind Flayer is an enemy monster in D&D, it’s not unique to Stranger Things. It’s also called an Illithid and these are psionic creatures that feast on their enemies’ brains. A lot of what the Mind Flayer does in ST3 is similar to this thing called ceremorphosis (basically what the MF did when it took over the Flayed in ST3, as in taking over their brains and their mannerisms like a parasite does to a host body). In ST, we see that played out in a more literal sense of being flayed with the Meat Flayer (as I call it on occasion). Now the thing about the Mind Flayer is that it’s a physical monster but it is also a representation of the spread of ideas (it’s a parasite in the brain and that’s essentially what ideas are, or as Dawkins puts it, a meme). The idea in this case is homophobia, the self hatred in Will that spread to an outward hatred that then comes after the Party and in particular El. Why El? We could say it’s because she is the one in the way of Will’s affections but also, she is the one that Mike (who has been proven able to pull Will out from the Mind Flayer’s influence, out of the internalized self hatred) has been using to avoid coming to terms with his own sexuality.

El is a barrier for Mike. El, who has powers and the ability to destroy the monsters, is a shield for more than just defeating the physical terrors of the Upside Down, she also shields Mike from facing his truth, the metaphysical terrors of the Upside Down. When her powers are taken away by the monster itself, by the spread of this idea, Mike’s shield is gone. El survives, she still manages to turn Billy for him to make the sacrifice play because she has the happy memories and the love, but the shield is broken. It’s broken the entire time the Party confronts the Mind Flayer. Also noting that Mike is the one who tore off the giant piece of the Meat Flayer that was still on El’s leg back in the cabin before they made it to the supermarket. He is the one who tries to save the shield from the bite / infection of the idea and tries to salvage their relationship too in the supermarket, but El still has the Meat/Mind Flayer in her and taking that out in Starcourt destroys the shield (her powers and in a way, Mike’s attraction to her--I mean, she was like a real life Will the Wise if we get down to it). Mike then is face to face with his biggest fear: growing up in full--not what he thinks it should be as he parroted to Will in that argument, but what it is for him--which means accepting his sexuality. By three months in, it seems he’s done that, or is at least open to the prospect if standing in front of an open closet door while not responding to a kiss from his supposed female love interest shortly after flirting with his male best friend is anything to go off of.

tl;dr D&D is a metaphor for Will and Mike’s relationship, but D&D was also seen as a Satanic game and homosexuality was considered a disease from Satan. The Mind Flayer represents homosexuality/internalized homophobia and is a native monster to D&D, tying the Satanic references even closer. The final piece is that D&D is used throughout ST to represent/reference Mike and Will’s relationship. D&D which is being referenced as satanic in that TV spot, something Mike and Will’s relationship would be seen as if it wasn’t just friendship, meaning it’s romantic or at least something they want to be romantic.

even shorter tl;dr Mike and Will are gay and the world is scared of their love for each other as much as they are scared of their love, too.

#byler #byeler #meta #st meta #wow i kinda went in on this #but you had my ideas RUNNING ANON #my god thank u for bringing it up #7s anon #anon #yams answers

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heylookafanfic · 5 years ago

Photo

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The reader is college aged, so about 19-26 years old :). I’m also going to try my best with making all my imagines gender neutral! I might accidentally forget in the future so, please don’t hesitate to remind me via inbox! Enjoy!

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Reader, Robin x Reader

brief summary: You and Hopper are dating but after a conversation with Robin at work, you start to feel a bit insecure bc of the slight age gap in your relationship.

word count: 1,911 words requested: no, this one came to mind warnings: age gap, mention of abuse, mention of anxiety, mention of depression (drinking and smoking as a coping mechanism), but mainly fluff!

You worked at Scoops Ahoy with Steve and Robin as a summer gig. College is expensive and textbooks aren’t going to pay for themselves. You actually enjoyed working in there because it was in the mall which meant after you got off for the night, you got to grab a large piece of gooey pizza from the food court. The absolute highlight of your day.

12:45pm - Lunch time.

Steve offered to stay out front and sell ice cream while you and Robin ate lunch in the food court. You sat down and began eating a bagged lunch that Hop packed you.

“What’s that say? Robin asked

There was a Post-It note taped to the side of your lunch

She pulled it off and mockingly read: "Have a great day pumpkin!”

“Pumpkin???” she chuckled

“What? Your mom doesn’t call you little pet names?” you defensively joked

The note was obviously from Hop but you quickly played it off like your mom wrote it.

“My mom and I are on a first name basis - the only thing she calls me is Robin” she chuckled

“You should call her Batman so you guys will be Batman and Robin” you laughed

“Yeah, never happen– woah”

Robin looked past you which made you turn around

“What?” you asked

“Tammy Thompson. Floral romper. Next to Taco Bell”

“I see her but, what about her?”

“ ‘Grade school crush’ Tammy Thompson”

“OH” you said as you caught on

“Dude, she got hot! Like, she was always cute in grade school but she’s gorgeous”

“Is she still your type?

"I don’t know. I don’t really have a type Y/N”

“I find that hard to believe. You think Phoebe Cates is– and I quote, ’outrageously hot’ ” you joke

“SHE IS!” Robin laughs

“What about you Y/N? You got a type?”

“Not really. If the right person comes along, then whatever happens, happens” you shrugged

“You liar, I see you hangin’ around that sheriff dude all the time. You can’t tell me you don’t have the hots for him”

“What?! No! Never in a million years. Hopper’s a family friend and only a family friend”

“Are you sure about that because, every time he stops by the shop, I see the way you make googly eyes at him” she said

“Googly eyes? Maybe that’s you making googly eyes at him Robin!” you laughed

“I like girls, remember?” she laughed

“Well, that’s good news because I was about to say, he looks quite a bit older than you” she continued

You continued eating your lunch but still listened to what Robin was saying

“Like, imagine dating some dude old enough to be your dad. Like, he’d hold your hand while you cross the street and he’d read a bedtime story before bed and you gotta get permission to leave the house and think about what it be like having– christ, I’m gonna vomit!” she laughed

You were secretly hurt by what Robin said because little did she know, she was right about you and Hopper except it’s not a crush– you and Jim are going on 8 months in a serious relationship. It all started after fighting off the demidogs with the kids, Jonathan, Nancy, Steve, and Hopper. Jim offered you to stay with him and El until things died down but you declined because you still had college courses to take care of. Although lab experiments are pretty much running rampid through Hawkins, school wasn’t going to close down for a snow day, let alone Demidogs. College was 2 hours away from Hawkins but that never stopped Hop from driving the distance to “check in” on you. Flat tire? Hop was on the way. Need a space heater for your dorm? Hop wouldn’t let you spend a dime on buying one, he’d be on his way with one in the back of the truck and maybe a little homemade meal prepped by yours truly. Basically, he found any excuse to come and see you. After a heart-to-heart one day after ranting about being a bit homesick, he asked you to move in with him and El.

*Flashback*

“You’ll be in Hawkins and even if it means waking up at the crack of dawn to drive you to class, it’ll be worth it.” he said

“Hop, I don’t want to inconvenience you at all. I mean, it’s a 2 hour drive there and back, that’s a lot of gas, you still have to go to work and is El really going to be okay by herself for a few hours?” you questioned

“Gas isn’t a problem, the truck uses it regardless of where I’m going, and yes, El will be perfectly fine. The kid survived this whole time without me and did you forget she has–”

“telekinesis” you both said

After saying your good byes to your dorm mate and packing your things, you were officially a resident of casa de Hopper. He was thrilled that he’d get to see you everyday. Nothing was official yet but he had a hunch that maybe things would move a long a bit. He apologized for not having a room for you but you didn’t mind the little area of the cabin he prepared for you. You had feelings for him from the jump but after seeing him out of uniform and being an amazing dad to El, you were absolutely sold. Being able to see Hop put this whole 'tough guy’ persona away behind closed doors and being vulnerable at times, had you wishing he’d actually ask you out.

One night, you were sitting on the porch, letting the sounds of the surrounding woods serenade you, when he sat beside you. He brought you a coffee and just sat in silence. The way you looked as you admired the stars– you literally had a twinkle in your eye. Taking a deep breath, he went for it. The man just full on let his heart out to you before quickly regretting it. You looked at him and chuckled. In that moment, he was sure he ruined your friendship, you’d want to move out and never speak to him again. You told him that you have the same feelings for him but never had the courage to say anything. He let out a sigh of relief and cracked the biggest smile. Things went quiet again until he asked if he could kiss you (consent first!). You nodded and you two lovebirds did a passionate but sweet kiss.That smile quickly went away. He pulled back and took a breath. You asked him what was wrong and he simply said

“It’s not right”

“What?”

“Us”

“Huh?”

“Me and you Y/N. I feel like I took advantage of you”

“What?! No, of course not. In what way?” you asked

“You’re in your 20’s, I’m in my 40’s. There’s an age gap”

“Okay– I don’t see how that’s a problem though”

“When everyone sees us, they’re going to think I’m only using you for sex. Come on, you know if a guy my age is with someone your age, there’s obviously something going on there. The younger person is never the 'secretary’ or 'assistant’.” he said

“Hop, are we or are we not 2 consenting adults?”

“Yeah”

“Do we both have honest mutual feelings for each other?”

He nodded his head

“So, what does it matter what everyone else thinks? We’re both happy. I haven’t been truly happy in a while but when you’re around, the world isn’t so bad” you said

He cracked a smile again.

“Listen, if it makes you feel better we don’t have to tell anyone about us. We can tell them when we’re ready. Deal?” you continued

He put his pinky finger out.

“Oh, so we’re pinky promising now?” you chuckled

“I guess you can say we’re getting pretty serious” he laughed

*End of flashback*

7:00pm– Closing Time

Hop pulled up to the front of the mall and waited for you.

7:00 was his favorite time of the day because that meant he got to see his whole world walk out of the doors of the Starcourt Mall every day. He was blasting “You Make My Dreams” by Hall & Oats with the windows rolled up. It was the song to your realationship but, he’d rather be caught dead than be caught listening to Hall & Oats.

You walked through the doors, yanking off your “AHOY” hat when you hear

“Y/N!”

Getting in the car, you plop down in the passenger side and put your seatbelt on.

Usually “You Make My Dreams” would have you dancing in your seat but you were offaly quiet.

“You okay?” he asked as he turn the music down

“Yeah”

“Now, when you say 'yeah’ ,you’re obviously lying. Seriously, is everything okay?”

You sighed

“Remember when we 1st got together, and we talked about our age?”

“Mhm”

“Robin and I were talking and she mentioned how dating a 'guy old enough to be your dad’ is gross.”

“Did you tell her about us?!” he panicked

“No, of course not. She brought age gaps up when we were talking about crushes and I have anxiety over it now. Are we–”

Hop put his finger up to his lip and shh’d you. He knew you overthink too much and that lead to your anxiety triggering. He took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over yours.

“Y/N, the minute I laid my eyes on you–”

He paused before choking up a bit

“–I felt the same feeling I felt when I first met Diane. After Sarah passed, we divorced and I never thought I’d be happy again. I turned to cigs and alcohol for help but I dug myself deeper in this hole. Meeting Joyce gave me hope, but I saw how happy she was with Bob and– I wanted what she had. Coming home to someone who gives a damn about you every day. All the stress from fighting the demagorgon and being a dad again, I was ready to throw in the towel. Then, I met you. You were so laidback and carefree and had this aura I can’t describe. You always knew how to light up a room. When I got to know you better and you told me about the hell your dad put you and your mom through, I saw how strong you were and I needed that in my life. I needed someone who can keep me grounded when life becomes too much. That was you. You went back to college and I felt my life falling apart again. That’s why I came to see you so much. When you said you wanted to move in, I drove home that night on top of the world. I told El and we drank hot chocolate the whole night as a celebration. You wanna know the best part, that night we started dating was the absolute best night I had in years. I felt like kid again. Like, my playground crush just said yes to swinging together. Y/N, you are the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Like you said, 'what does it matter what everyone else thinks? We’re both happy’. ”

He kissed you and that kiss had to be at least a minute long.

“You feel better?” he chuckled

“No” you said

“Seriously?”

“I’m kidding, yes I feel better” you chuckled

“Good, now let’s go home” he said with a side smile

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biscoopstroop · 5 years ago

Text

A TRUTH AND A LIE ⁠— S. HARRINGTON X READER

summary: in a world where soulmates feel each other’s pain, (f/n) meets her soulmate after a slut-shaming incident and decides that if he was her soulmate she wanted nothing to do with him. although, after two years people do seem to change.

pairing: steve harrington x reader

writer: ashley

set: the monster (s1e6) and the mall rats (s3e2)

a/n: ok so this has light light light hopper!reader. so light that i didn’t even add it to the reader above because there are no scenes with them together. and i hope you guys like this! this is the first one i’ve posted onto this blog.

‘Starring Nancy ‘the Slut’ Wheeler’ was spray-painted bright red on the Hawk’s marquee when (F/N) strolled up, her hands balled into the pockets of her jacket and a delicate shade of pink snapped from the bubblegum she was chewing. Turning on her heel from the theater, she moved to the alley. The idiot continued to shake the evidence, the ball clinking against the metal can.

When (F/N) reached the alley, she found not just one asshole, but a whole gaggle of them as three of them stood and watched the fourth continue to vandalize the town. If (F/N) was in town more often, she would probably know each of them by name and an extensive reputation, but with her mom living in Indianapolis, she only spent weekends and holidays in Hawkins with her dad.

Now, she stood close to the group, but far enough that they hadn’t registered her standing there. They were taking their sweet time to notice her as she dragged one neatly manicured hand out of its blue jean pocket and checked the time on her watch.

The spray can stopped rounding out the ‘b’ in bitch, and the gaggle of assholes turned to stare at the girl who seemed to just appear. (F/N) raised one arched eyebrow at them, popped another bubble and returned her hand to her pocket.

“Wanna tell me why you’re slut-shaming people?” (F/N) asked cooly, her words smooth like the October breeze, infesting their skin with goosebumps as she spoke. “Or have the fumes already gotten to your head?”

(F/N)’s words were slightly condescending, but her tone stayed crisp as she cocked her head to the side, waiting. It seemed that the fumes had gotten to them as they were slow to respond, and once they did, they all collectively turned to each other before one of them stepped up.

He had dark brown eyes and hair larger than life that didn’t move a strand from where he stood with his gaggle of assholes to squaring his shoulders in front of her. (F/N) couldn’t help but notice the one curl that dipped down perfectly and kissed his forehead. She wondered if it took a lot of effort to get that Superman curl just right.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” the boy asked with a laugh, his cool facade radiating from him. A cool he wanted but was quickly broken when challenged by others. Especially with the queen of cool herself in his presence.

“No,” she assured him, furrowing her brow. “I’m just a local who would rather bust your chops then go see a movie. It’s not cool to be an asshole, lesson number one, Hairspray.”

Hairspray stared at (F/N) his hackles tense and his eyes turning from a collected annoyance to full-blown irritation by her.

(F/N) spat her gum out, her gaze leaving Hairspray’s without hesitation and she pulled a cigarette from her pocket. “I’m trying to quit,” she explained, lighting the bud and steadying her gaze back on him.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Hairspray told her, trying to make himself big and intimidating as he pushed her back slightly.

“Oh!” the red-haired girl cooed. “Hey there, princess!”

(F/N) looked back to the thin girl storming her way towards them. Her fists were clenched, and her eyes were narrowed in an attempt to keep herself from crying as her eyes focused on Hairspray.

“I’m gonna guess this concerns her,” (F/N) stated, whipping herself around to look back at Hairspray. “So, yes, this does concern me because people who are assholes being assholes need to shut up and listen for once,” she concluded with an unamused laugh.

Nancy Wheeler had her sights set on one thing, and one thing only, and that was Hairspray. (F/N) stepped out of her way as she pushed through like a bull and before any words were exchanged, Nancy had slapped him across the cheek. The teens on the sidelines crowed in amusement at Nancy’s sudden action.

“What is wrong with you, Steve?” Nancy asked Hairspray.

(F/N) noticed the odd tingling in her cheek, the buzzing sensation keeping her back from allowing herself into the argument between the couple.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? I was worried about you,” Steve turned back on her, his tone condescending and seemed like he was trying too hard to be emotionless. “I can’t believe I was actually worried about you,” he laughed, trying to distance himself but something in the way he was doing it showed his heart on his sleeve.

“What are you talking about?” Nancy asked, her spine straightening out as she glared at Steve.

(F/N) turned to the entrance as another boy walked in after Nancy, lanky and timid as he stood behind Nancy but didn’t say a word as the gaggle of assholes goaded the two of them. From the goading, (F/N) was able to get one side of the story, Steve’s story, as he had caught her with the timid boy in her bedroom while she was dating Steve.

Now, Steve slut-shaming Nancy without even talking to her was bullshit, and he should’ve known it. He even tried to pry out why Nancy had the timid boy in her room in the first place surrounded by his friends. She was silent, feeling their judgemental eyes on her and was silenced by them.

“Come on, Nancy. Let’s just leave,” the timid boy told her, taking her arm and tried to lead her out of the alley before tempers flared and stupid mistakes haunted them for years to come.

Steve strutted after them bent the wrong way by the timid boy, or who he called Byers. He had the same last name of Joyce Byers, the one her father had told her had gone downhill since her youngest son went missing. (F/N) couldn’t blame her, but for her oldest son, it must’ve been hard with his brother going missing, his mother going a little bit insane and every asshole within Hawkins bullying him on these accounts.

“Hey, Steve, stop it,” (F/N) told Steve sternly, pushing back on his chest as he had done to her earlier. He kept on moving though, pushing (F/N) backward with him, his eyes trained on Byers trying to spark a reaction out of him.

“You know what, Byers, I’m kind of impressed. I always took you for a queer—“

“Stop it, man,” (F/N) said again, able to push him two steps back but he was already pushing three steps forward. It was like all he could see was Jonathan and red as he picked and prodded at every sore wound the timid boy had.

“A screw up like your father. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. I mean, there’s a ton of screw-ups in your family. Your mom. I’m not even surprised with what happened to your brother.”

“Steve!”

“I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this, but the Byers’ their entire family is a disgrace—“

She could feel it, the crack in her jaw without getting hit as Jonathan swung around her and hit Steve right in the cheek without a second thought. Steve was on one side of the alley while Jonathan backed himself over to the other side, his chest pumping with adrenaline.

(F/N) sat on the ground, holding her cheek as she watched the two fight through blurred vision. The fight gaining more intensity as the gaggle chanted excitedly and Nancy was trying to get Jonathan to stop without getting too close. (F/N) wanted to throw up as their shouting made her head split and her ears ring and the familiar sound of getting caught came from around the corner.

Callahan had tried to pull Jonathan off Steve before getting knocked in the face, then Powell was able to take him into custody. Steve and his cool guy gang sped off while Callahan hustled after them. Powell had Jonathan against one of the cars and had him handcuffed. Nancy stood off to the side of the alley where (F/N) rested her gaze as she watched Nancy panic.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Callahan said quickly as he squatted and got into (F/N)’s headspace, his big head and dorky mustache swimming into her view as he took his flashlight and flung it between dilating pupils. “You okay? Did you get hit?”

(F/N) shook her head slowly, lifting her hand to her face to feel the only wound she had gotten was a thin ribbon of blood streaming from her nose.

“No,” she muttered, even as she sat there on the ground with her head leaning against the brick of the Hawk, her legs sprawled out in front of her and a cigarette edging closer to falling off her lip, (F/N) still appeared cool. “I think I just met my soulmate, and he’s an asshole.”

⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ

It had been three years since Steve met (F/N). Between her hopping between Indianapolis and Hawkins, the two never spoke more than snarky remarks to the other. (F/N) had never told Steve what she had come to conclude from the mere belief that through Steve’s high school years, he didn’t deserve to have her as a soulmate. His cocky, pretentious, fake cool guy attitude was bullshit and (F/N) wasn’t about to have herself broken up over him.

Only the police station knew the truth, and frankly, they all agreed with her when she said she’d like to keep away from the asshole who felt that vandalizing property was a better way to deal with a relationship than talk it out.

And then, Starcourt Mall opened, (F/N) had graduated and she was spending her summer in Hawkins with her dad since they hadn’t had a lot of time together lately. And the fact that he had adopted a girl with strange powers, but that was a story for another day.

El and (F/N) had become something close to sisters but not quite. They gave each other space and hadn’t quite started to grate each other’s nerves with their habits. Although El making out with Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother, Mike, did always rub her the wrong way. As it did her dad, especially when the door wasn’t propped open three inches.

Jim Hopper had barged in on El, believing Mike was inside, but instead found Max Mayfield with her reading magazines and doing girly things together. He stuttered out an apology and made his way out of their room. (F/N) had entered the room after them, telling the girls that she’d take them to Starcourt the following day so that Max could show El around the new mall and maybe get some new clothes.

The three stood in the mall the next day, (F/N) handing both girls a crisp dollar bill and let them go off on their own letting them know she would be waiting inside Scoops Ahoy. Crowds weren’t something (F/N) was a fan of so sitting in a cold ice cream shop by herself sounded like the best mall experience she could ask for. Plus, she had been to plenty of malls in Indianapolis with her old friends, and if you’ve been to one mall, you’ve been to them all.

(F/N) walked into Scoops with her thumbs rocked in her belt loops and a bright yellow tank top showed off the slight tan she had gotten from the summer sun. (F/N) looked to the counter before anything else and there at the counter stood an asshole. (F/N) almost turned around, but decided that with him pegged behind the counter it would allow her to torture him.

(F/N) stepped up to the counter, leaning her side against the counter as she hit the bell repeatedly to call someone else to the front as Steve glared at her.

“I’m right here,” Steve muttered, but she didn’t even make eye contact.

“I’m sorry, I don’t take orders from assholes or slut shamers or people who run away from the cops when their arrest is valid, (F/N) shrugged her shoulders, hoping someone would come out from the back rather than Steve Harrington.

(F/N) watched as Steve’s face turned red and she smirked at his stupid sailor’s uniform and couldn’t help but think of what a loser King Steve had turned into after graduation.

“Please stop, Robin’s not here to take your order,” Steve muttered, his shoulders hunched as he massaged his temple.

“Guess it’ll be a while,” (F/N) shrugged, tapping her hand on the bell still.

Steve looked like he was going to explode, his face red and stress sweat had started to pile on his forehead.

“Is Erica here?” a familiar face asked from behind the counter and into the backroom. “Oh! (F/N), y-you’re in town?”

“Yeah, I’m spending the summer with my dad and... enjoying Hawkins,” she laughed awkwardly, turning back to look at the customers inside and then to the two behind the counter. She caught Steve’s eye that held a knowing gaze that she wasn’t planning on saying Hawkins but a little girl no one was to know about.

(F/N) shuddered at the look he was giving her but returned to Robin with a small smile, pushing out of her head the thoughts of ‘why would Steve Harrington know?’

“How have you been?” (F/N) asked with a small smile.

“I’ve been working here,” Robin laughed nervously, her hands on the blockers and her knuckles turning white out of anxiety.

“Hold on,” Steve interrupted the two, whipping his head to look over at Robin. “You know here?”

“Yes,” Robin nodded, slowly nodding her head to ensure he caught her words.

“Cool people know cool people, Hairspray,” (F/N) explained with a small, huffy laugh.

“I’m cool,” Steve defended, straightening his shoulders but waiting for them to validate his coolness.

“You’re an asshole,” (F/N) pointed out.

“I’ve grown past that,” Steve explained with a loud sigh.

“He has,” Robin agreed like she didn’t want to but had to.

“Thanks, Robin,” Steve muttered, dejected by the two women berating him. The hand on his shoulder caught his attention finding (F/N) at the end of it and there was a small hope that she’d reassure him in his expression that (F/N) found funny.

“You’ve become a loser,” (F/N) laughed. “But I could be friends with a loser.”

Steve smiled lightly at her words. At the same time, a little girl with colorful beads in her hair pushed past (F/N) knocking her hips into the counter that rattled a stinging pain through her. She hunched over, Steve following suit although the girl hadn’t knocked into him.

(F/N) kept her head down waiting for Steve’s reaction but nothing came. Slowly, (F/N) looked up from her huddled position and through the strands covering her face to catch Steve’s eyes warmed from the thought that she was his soulmate. Maybe it was because of the heartbreak he had gotten from Nancy Wheeler, or perhaps it was because she was just so goddamn cool all of the time, but he’d never thought for a second he’d meet his soulmate. Especially someone he e had met before.

(F/N) smiled like a teeter-totter, one side going up and the other falling down in an awkward ‘yeah, I’ve known all along’ and somehow Steve caught that from just a glance at her guilty face, because now he was pointing one of his sticky fingers in her face, shouting, “You knew!”

“Of course, I knew, dipshit!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were an asshole! Why would I tell an asshole?”

“I’m not an asshole now.”

“No, you’re a loser now.”

“Would you go on a date with a loser?”

“Depends,” (F/N) said, a stupid smirk coming to her face. “On the loser.”

“I’ll pick you up tonight,” he winked, trying to lean on the counter but tripping over his two own feet and had to catch himself.

Behind her, she could feel the air shift, and there stood El and Max with shimmering eyes and shit-eating grins now with more fashionable choices of clothing. They stared at her, something lingering that felt like (F/N) had a sister again as the two sung, “Steve and (F/N) sitting in a tree!”

“Are you two children?” (F/N) asked, rolling her eyes at the two.

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

wanna request?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things imagine #ashley's writing

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teaspacebar · 5 years ago

Text

far too young to die (7/???)

a/n: I AM BACK!!! this story went on a bit of hiatus because of school and work (also i had major writer’s block for a while) but i am back and in business. thank you for all of the comments and love for this story. enjoy!

taglist: @ashtounding @orchideax, @asheseiler @steve-harrington-said-gay-rights @kake-babe @sweetpeabellamyblakedracomalfoy

relationship: steve harrington x reader

word count: 1100+

summary: you just wanted to keep your job at the starcourt mall movie theater. all you had to do was find out how these kids were sneaking into the movies without coming in the front door. your small little movie theater conspiracy ends up pulling you into something a lot bigger, and a lot scarier.

previous part / series masterlist

chapter seven: closest thing to fate

You guys were stuck in a goddamn Russian elevator. After you all had your “freak-out moment,” you proceeded to pull out water bottles and snacks from your backpack – making sure the kids got some first. Steve made a comment about how you were always prepared, smile on his concerned mom face. You only had enough supplies to las you all for about two days – if that. Erica didn’t seem keen on sharing her water bottle.

You, Robin, and Steve decided to take shifts so the kids could get some sleep. You and Robin took the first shift, letting Steve take a two hour power nap. When he woke up, you urged Robin to go ahead and nap next – you weren’t sure how much sleeping you’d be able to do anyways.

Which left you and Steve Harrington sitting with your backs against the elevator door. The two of you had played multiple games of tic-tac-toe in your notebook, plus a couple rounds of hangman. Steve snorted when he realized one of your sayings was ‘Ahoy Captain Steve’. An hour had passed, and it must’ve been sometime after 3am. Games seemed boring after a while, so you turned to asking each other questions back and forth.

“Licorice fingers or popcorn ears?”

“What the hell kind of question is that, Harrington?”

“…Dustin.”

You had to cover your mouth to muffle your snickers. Steve gave you a pointed look, running his hands through his silky hair. Okay, sue you, but the more time you spent with Steve in this creepy Russian elevator, the more you were starting to like him. And his hair. If you were going to die there, you might as well enjoy yourself before it happens.

“Okay, favorite color?”

“Blue,” He answered simply.

“To match your uniform? Or the oceans of flavor you sail on?”

“Oh, shut up.” He nudged you with his shoulder. “Is your ass really on the line at work?”

Ah. Serious questions now. “My manager basically threatened me. Those kids of yours like to be a tad rowdy in the theater sometimes. But I’m more worried about dying here than my job at this point. If we get out of here, I’ll sneak you all into however many movies you want.” You sent him a smile, which he returned. You glanced over at Dustin and Erica, who were soundly sleeping on the floor. “You and Nancy, you guys broke up halfway through senior year.”

Steve tensed for a moment, but let out a sigh, “Yeah. The question?”

“Did it have anything to do with what happened to Barb?” Your question seemed to have hit something within him, and Steve stared at you harshly.

“Why are you asking?”

“It was just a question, Harrington.”

He huffed out a laugh, but it seemed more bitter than anything. “Is this all a game to you? Just more answers to whatever conspiracy theories you have in your head? The Russian thing. Me sneaking the kids into the movies. My relationship with Nancy. Now you have to ask if I’m involved in the government shit that got Barb killed?” He was whispering aggressively, still doing his best not to wake up everyone else, though you could tell that he was getting upset. A pang of sympathy went through you and you frowned.

“I never said that you killed Barb.”

“And now you’re going to assume I did.”

The tension in the room was high, and you didn’t want him to blow up any more than he already had. “Steve…” you take in a breath, “I’m sorry. My brain just runs wild and I don’t like not knowing things. And I’m a little freaked out right now. I don’t think you killed Barb. I’m not sure what happened, but even after eight years, I’m pretty sure you’re still the same ten-year-old kid who just wants someone to care.”

“What?”

Fuck. “Never mind. What I’m saying is, you’re good, Harrington. You’re so goddamn good and you just want to help. Dustin obviously looks up to you for some reason and trust you with his life. And frankly, so do I. Not sure if I should, but I do.”

And that was true; you did trust him. Maybe that trust carried over from when you were kids. Or maybe your brain just recognized the fact that Steve wasn’t a total asshole anymore. It was probably a bit of both. The nostalgic part of you had utterly missed him, and being close to him again, it made you feel a little less lonely. It was like you were adopted into this crazy little family – all because he had snuck those kids into the movie theater where you worked. You didn’t believe in fate – you had a whole list of reasons why destiny was dumb after she and Jen discussed ‘love at first sight’ – but this seemed the closest thing to it.

Steve called your name, causing you to look at him. The wrinkles in between his brows – the ones that appeared when he was either concerned, frustrated, or confused – caused you to shake your head fondly. You grabbed your backpack from beside you and pulled out one of your granola bars, holding it out to him. “I noticed you gave Dustin yours earlier, you need to eat something.”

Steve looked like he was going to argue with you, until his eyes narrowed. He was staring right at you, like he was trying to use x-ray vision. His name was about to leave your lips, but he suddenly tore his gaze away from you, grabbing the granola bar from your hand. Steve settled back down next to you, chewing on his snack.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, mouth full of food. You glanced at him, and he swallowed, before continuing, “And sorry, about blowing up on you. It’s just a touchy subject and I haven’t thought about it for a while.”

“Apology accepted, Harrington.” You smiled in his direction, “As long as you tell me the actual reason why you work at Scoops.” A groan came from the sailor next to you, “No no, don’t complain. I won’t judge, you know that.”

Steve did tell you. He went on about how his dad was a douchebag – which you knew already, you remembered meeting him once when you were kids, he hadn’t changed much – and how school wasn’t his thing and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go to college.

Not that you would remember everything he said, since halfway through his rant you had fallen asleep, head falling on his shoulder.

You also wouldn’t remember the way that Steve Harrington had smiled softly at you, content to give you a few hours of sleep before everyone had to wake up and make a plan.

#far too young to die #ftytd #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things 3

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your-iron-lung · 5 years ago

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Survivor Blues

also available to read on AO3 HERE

You call that a scar? A bruise? A tear? Pillow-marks. Souvenirs.

Story Synopsis: 'What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger' is a philosophy Billy's father has been beating into him for as long as he can remember. If you get hurt, suck it up and walk it off. Take the pain and live with it. Grow with it; let it make you a better person.

Surviving the Mindflayer hurt. He should've been able to adapt to the pain; should've been able to let it shape him and make him stronger, but he can't. It's too much. The pain is too great and all consuming, and Billy has far too many things that need to be healed at once.

In the end, what didn't kill him only makes him wish he'd died.

Word Count: 3416

Pairings: Light Harringrove

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, light angst (but with a happy ending- SOMETHING I DONT USUALLY DO)

Notes: this was just supposed to be a small thing, like, 4 paragraphs max, but it blew up and welp here it is. title comes from the song ‘Survivor Blues (the after hours)’. UHHH ENJOY **************

Surviving hurts.

Laying down, standing up; simply existing hurts him immeasurably. It’s like he can’t get comfortable anymore. Walking, talking, resting, sleeping, eating (especially eating) - anything and everything he does causes him more pain than he knows what to do with. But what else can he do? He’s alive, after all. He survived.

He tries to carry on like nothing’s wrong to prove a point, like, by pretending he’s not in constant pain it’ll somehow prove that he’s still as strong as he used to be, but it makes it all worse. Despair creeps in with the hurt, but before it overwhelms him he adopts it; uses his pain as penance, abuses this new sick form of self-flagellation to try and convince himself that he’s only getting what he deserves for all the hurt he’s caused countless others.

The doctors that saved his life had told him that recovery wouldn’t be easy, but still, Billy thinks, maybe he’d have been better off dying. Some days it hurts even to breathe, and if this is the way he’s going to be for the rest of his life, then he hopes he lives a short one, absolution be damned.

His dad still hits him. It hurts.

For a while after he’d been released from the hospital, things had been fine at home. Tense, but no voices raised. No hands raised. Some semblance of peace descending upon father and son until the bills from the hospital come in and Neil just loses it. Rages for hours. Just yelling, at first, but eventually his hands come flying and Billy is too hurt to escape them.

It becomes routine after that, although Billy notices that his father’s fist is a little bit gentler as it collides into him. Almost like he’s mindful of the places he’s already been hurt, as though by striking him in the places he still feels solid he’s showing his son some kind of mercy. It could be worse. Maybe Billy should be grateful. He isn’t.

Redemption is a far off dream that grows dimmer by the day whenever his father finds cause to blacken his eye.

***

He hears about Harrington through Max occasionally. Sees him around town sometimes when his dad drags him out. It hurts.

Part of that hurt stems from the unresolved things he did to Steve that night at the Byers’ place, but most of it actually stems from the night he almost died- should’ve died. It comes from where he’d been lying prone on the floor of the Starcourt Mall, bleeding out corrupted, blackened blood with Max crying over him. He couldn’t move his head after being impaled by so many cruel appendages, but even as his gaze had been fixed firmly upwards, he’d seen that pretty, pretty face of Steve’s looking down at him from over the railing of one of the upper floors. If Billy remembers right (and he does), Steve had appeared stricken. Horror-struck and dumbfounded. Billy pictures that look of terror on his face and feels his chest constrict painfully, because whenever he sees Harrington around town these days, he looks happy. Content. Like nothing ever happened. It pains him to see that he’s somehow made his life livable despite the things he’s seen, but it hurts more when he realizes Steve doesn’t ever look his way, even though he knows, he must know that Billy is near.

They hadn’t been friends before any of this, but rather, they’d been close to being something more.

***

It feels like he has nothing left to live for. It hurts.

He makes a list one day and runs down all the things he used to take stock in before his flaying and can’t find one single thing that stands up. His looks? Ruined; his body riddled with deep, ugly scars and a stomach devastated by irreversible chemical damage that leaves him barely able to eat anything. His car? Totaled beyond repair when Harrington had to T-bone into it to save those kids’ lives (and even the memory of that hurts). His friends? Tommy H. had gotten out of Hawkins while the getting was good and took Carol with him; probably the only smart thing he’d ever done in his life. High school was over, the crown he’d usurped passed on to the next sniveling bastard in line who wanted to be king.

He’s bitter when he comes to terms with the fact that he has nothing. Has no one. Can’t even tolerate looking himself in the mirror to see what being flayed has done to him. He’s too thin. Torn. Unrecognizable and dead around the eyes, haunted by the things his handler made him do.

His gaze is drawn to the necklace that keeps his Saint medal close to his heart and hates the way that it hangs heavily around his neck. It gets heavier every time he remembers it’s there until finally it feels like the chain it’s looped on is digging into his skin. He takes it off when he can’t stand it any longer; doesn’t think ol’ Saint Christopher can do anything to help him anymore. Hasn’t helped him in a long time, actually, when he thinks about it.

***

He almost kills himself one night. Accidentally, but still as an indirect result of all the accumulated traumas and hurts he’s still struggling to contend with months later. It feels good for once.

Max finds him, of all people. Walks right into his room without knocking to ask if he’s seen something of hers she just can’t seem to find but knows is in the house somewhere. She stops talking as soon as she sees him splayed out on his bed, foamy vomit trickling out of his mouth, empty bottles of beer littering the floor and a stomach full of prescribed pain medications that don’t fucking work.

“It wasn’t on purpose, it just never stops hurting. They don’t help,” he tells her later, after his ruined stomach gets pumped and his dad wails on him for that added cost to his already large hospital tab. “Nothing works. I thought maybe more would.”

She looks at him differently after that. No longer cold. No longer calculated; just thoughtful. Contemplative, but not in the same way where, in the past, she’d had to tread on eggshells around him or he’d hurt her in much the same way Neil hurts him. She becomes surprisingly loyal after that, even after all he’s done to her- done to her friends- and that hurts.

She becomes the support he hadn’t realized he needs. Convinces him to try the recommended physical therapy to hopefully get to a place where it doesn’t hurt for him to simply exist anymore.

“I’ll get a job,” she promises him, knowing full well that whatever place willing to hire a 15 year old won’t pay nearly enough to cover the cost of continual therapy sessions. “We all can; we didn’t know how to help you before, so we didn’t, and I’m sorry, Billy, we were so scared- but we know what we can do for you now. We can help you.”

Her words hurt. At first because she’s confirmed for him what he’s suspected all along: that they hadn’t even tried to help him, but before that old semblance of anger he used to rely on can surface, she’s hugging him, and he realizes that the hurt this time comes from a place of emotional vulnerability too deep within him to pinpoint exactly.

It hurts, is the bottom line- but this time it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind that has him hugging her back.

***

Slowly, he begins to heal. The pain doesn’t lessen, but other things he hadn’t realized were hurt begin to mend.

He gets to know her friends; manages to apologize to Lucas for all the shitty things he’s said and done specifically to him. In turn, they begin to help him, but all the paper routes, lawn mowing gigs, and occasional pet sitting opportunities they take up don’t really amount to much in the long run.

But he still continues healing.

They try to recruit the teens. Nancy gives what she can, but most of the money she makes goes towards traveling costs so she can continue to see Jonathan without having to rely on her parents. Billy refuses to take her money anyway; he’s not a goddamned charity case, but unbeknownst to him she puts what she can afford to spare in Mike’s hand for him anyway. Not that she’d had anything to do with what happened to him, but some people are just good at heart- something Billy hasn’t had a whole lot of experience with.

They don’t hear back from Harrington.

It helps. He heals. It’s close, but it’s not enough.

He still hurts.

They all struggle to get him through the initial assessment appointment with a therapist, and it doesn’t go well. Billy hates it; hates the fact that he has to rely on other people for the betterment of himself, but he doesn’t want to squander all the hard work those damnable kids are doing for him. It drains him. It drains their funds. He doesn’t know what to say when the secretary asks what day she can schedule his next appointment for. He almost tells her ‘never’, but settles for ‘same time next week’ when Max takes his hand in hers and looks up at him with that determined, patented Mad Max gleam in her eye.

She knows as well as he does that they won’t be able to raise enough money in time for it, but he goes anyway when ‘same time next week’ inevitably rolls around. Somehow, miraculously, he’s able to afford it. When he asks Max how that’s possible, she stays suspiciously quiet. A mysterious benefactor has started funding his therapy visits, he realizes.

He hates it. The knowledge that he can’t know who he’s become indebted to hurts what’s left of his pride.

***

Weeks pass and the results of his therapy visits manifest in little ways. He can take deep breaths without his chest and lungs constricting too sharply. It doesn’t hurt as much to walk. On good days he can even laugh without that deep pain blowing up inside him. Not that he laughs all that much anymore.

Max remains quiet whenever he asks her who’s doing this for him.

“A friend,” is all she says whenever he tries to corner her about it.

“I don’t have any friends,” he informs her, to which she shrugs and replies, “You have one.”

He heals. Day by day as he learns the exercises, he heals. But still he wonders who.

Who the hell cares about him that much to help him? Not Neil. Not Susan. Max was already doing her best for him, but her best wasn’t enough. To think that someone out there could care so much about his recovery leaves him feeling oddly funny. He both likes and dislikes it.

The mystery doesn’t stay unsolved for long.

When school starts again, Max can’t go with him to his appointments anymore. She becomes afraid that he won’t go if someone doesn’t go with him to make sure he does (and she might be right about that), and arranges for someone else to take him but declines to say who.

He waits outside on the porch for them, smoking lazily now that it doesn’t hurt him to breathe in deeply anymore. Sunglasses on even though it’s overcast because that fucking thing left its aversion of sunlight in him when it died. Coat on, collar up. Trying to reclaim the air of confidence he used to live by even if he doesn’t quite fill out his clothes like he used to anymore.

He waits until he sees his ride pull up to the curb in front of his house. He lets his cigarette smolder on his lips, lets it burn right down to the filter before he flicks it away as he belatedly comes to understand just who has been helping him.

Harrington honks at him, pokes his head out the window and says, “Shake a leg, Hargrove, let’s get a move on.”

Billy wants to be angry. Wants to be obstinate just because he can, but he’s tired and only has so many spoons left to get through the day with. He goes with him without much of a fuss, but has about a hundred things he wants to say to him as they ride.

It hurts that he can’t get any of them out.

***

Recovery is a slow process.

The drives to his therapist aren’t long, but there’s still room enough to hold a conversation if they ever chose to do so. They don’t.

Neither one of them is able to say anything to the other for days until Steve finally takes the initiative to breach that wide, wide gap that didn’t used to be between them.

“So… I’ve been seeing a guy,” he starts, side-eyeing Billy as he speaks to take stock in his expression.

They’re stuck at a red light that hasn’t turned green for two minutes. It’s divine. It’s torture.

It hurts.

“That’s… nice,” Billy says slowly, unsure of what Steve’s getting at. If it’s relationship advice, he has nothing to give.

“No! No, not like, uh, not like that,” Steve stutters. Drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Nervous. “Not that there’s anything… wrong with that, but, no. Not like that.”

“Okay.”

“More like, your kinda guy.”

“’My kinda guy,” Billy repeats dully.

The light remains red.

“Yeah, like, y’know,” Steve continues, still nervous, face colouring with embarrassment. Still waiting for that light to change. “A therapist, but, like, for my brain, or whatever.”

“A psychiatrist?”

Steve winces at the word, looks away, and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah. A psych.”

“Okay,” Billy says again. He doesn’t know where Steve’s trying to take this. A show of solidarity? Some sort of admission?

Steve’s quiet for a moment up until the light finally, blessedly, turns green. The car lurches awkwardly forward in Steve’s enthusiasm to get going.

“Yeah, so, I’ve been seeing a guy.” His fingers never stop tapping, playing out the rhythm of his anxieties. “And we’ve been talking uh, a lot about you.”

“Me?” He’s surprised, then, suspicious. “Why?”

“You keep me up at night.”

But before Billy can ask what the hell that means, they’re there, and Steve’s already wishing him good luck.

***

He’s lying in bed later that night, reveling in the fact that it no longer hurts to do so when Max knocks and enters. She’s holding something big and boxy in her hand and looks kind of confused about it. A little awkward.

“It’s for you,” she says and waits for him to sit up and take the bulky two-way radio from her.

“What?” he asks stupidly, turning it over in his hands.

Max shrugs. “He said he wanted to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“See for yourself. Give it back when you’re done,” she says, and then leaves.

He waits to hear her footsteps pattering down the hall, back to her room, before he presses down on the communication button uncertainly.

“That you, Harrington?”

“Don’t cream yourself. Yeah, it’s me.”

A ghost of a smile works its way across Billy’s face at the familiar words. He takes a seat on the side of his bed, holds the radio close to where his medallion used to hang.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do this in person,” Steve says, his voice coming through in crackles and static. Still legible. Still determined. Billy ignores the pounding of his heart. “When I said that you keep me up at night, what I meant was…”

Billy hears him sigh before trying to finish his thought.

“What I meant was that I kept seeing your body on the floor at the mall whenever I closed my eyes, and not being able to do anything about it. I started having dreams where you actually fucking died or some shit and I got all fucked up about it when I remembered how close we were to being- well, you know. But I couldn’t figure out why that kept happening; it’s not like any of that shit was my fault, right?”

“No,” Billy agrees, swallowing hard. “Wasn’t your fault.”

He thinks he can hear Steve exhale a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, so, I don’t know why but it just kept sticking with me. I started losing sleep because you were always there. I didn’t even know you were involved at all until-”

“Until I tried to kill those kids.” Billy finishes his sentence for him, trying his best to ignore the lump forming in his throat as he says it.

“That wasn’t you,” Steve says quickly, and gives Billy a moment to collect himself. “It wasn’t. But, I thought maybe if I just, I don’t know, avoided you, then maybe the nightmares would stop.”

A slight blossom of anger. He quickly discards it; that’s not what they need right now. “Did they?”

“No.”

The lump in his throat doesn’t go away. He swallows it down, but then it grows and starts to take up space in his chest. It pushes down the anger, and pushes the hurt he’s been internalizing up and out. His eyes grow wet. He blinks the tears back.

“I ignored you for so long,” Steve says in a hushed whisper.

“I know,” Billy replies and tries to keep the hurt that’s threatening to bubble out of his throat down.

“And then Max told me you tried to kill yourself-”

Steve’s voice catches, and Billy can hear the hurt that starts spilling out of him. He’s crying. Billy sniffs and stops blinking his own tears back.

“It was an accident,” he tries to tell him, but his voice gives out part-way through. “It was an accident,” he repeats as he clears his throat. Hot tears begin to streak down the sides of his face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t know what to do. I tried to talk to Robin but she said she couldn’t do for me what a therapist could, but I’ve always heard that that shits for crazy people, and I’m not crazy, just miserable and then Max came to talk to me about you again and I just. Saw my chance, I guess.”

Billy holds the radio in one hand and his head in the other. He can feel a headache coming on. Steve rambles on, about how the guilt he feels manifests the horrific visions of Billy lying dead on the ground in that shitty mall and how his shrink suggested that maybe just talking to Billy about it might help.

“I could’ve killed you that night,” Steve says at the end of his rant, sniffling uncontrollably. His voice sounds hoarse, but at least they’ve both stopped crying. “I almost drove right into you.”

“You kinda did. Eye for an eye, though. Guess that makes us equal,” Billy replies, and Steve laughs.

His laugh is cheery despite the dark tones of their conversation. Light. It lifts Billy up.

“It could’ve been way worse, though.”

“Yeah,” Billy agrees, breathing deeply. His eyes feel crusty with dried tears. He wipes at them and feels how sore they are. “Yeah, you could’ve missed. You wouldn’t be so sorry if you had.”

Steve gets really quiet at that. Billy knows that Steve knows he’s right. He would’ve killed them if Steve hadn’t done what he did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it hurt the both of them when he’d had to resort to such drastic measures.

“But I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You survived.”

“So did you.”

“Fuck it. I miss you, Billy. I wasted so much time trying to get over the part of you I thought had died.”

They stay up all night after that. Just talking. Catching up, making amends. Healing.

The conversation only ends when Billy realizes Steve’s fallen asleep on his end. He’d been slowing down gradually as the hours passed, so it doesn’t come as a surprise, but still Billy wishes they could’ve talked more.

And they can, he understands. They can talk the whole rest of their lives away if they wanted to, because they survived. He sets the radio down on the floor beside his bed and slips in between the sheets. He closes his eyes and smiles. They survived.

When he wakes up, he realizes he no longer hurts.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #hurt/comfort #light angst #some mature themes #happy ending

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