#minor buckingham

[atimeofyourlife]

Lost in time, lost in space, and meaning

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: platonic stobin | rated: m | wc: 795 | tags: platonic stobin, dr who au, minor robin/vickie, minor steve/tommy/carol, minor buckingham, minor steddie, alien fucker steve Robin and Steve meet a strange man called The Doctor, and they join him in his adventures in time and space, where they get themselves in and out of trouble, and fall in and out of love. title from Rocky Horror

Neither Steve or Robin had expected this when they stumbled across the strange blue box. They hadn't expected the strange man to come stumbling out and collapse at their feet. And they certainly hadn't expected to end up fighting the strange creatures that had appeared after they'd helped get the man some food and water, ensuring he was okay.

But, it got them an offer to join him in travelling. He'd introduced himself as The Doctor, and the box wasn't just a box. It was a machine that could take them just about anywhere in time and space. Neither of them had anything other than each other to tie them to their everyday lives, so it only took seconds to reach a mutual agreement to go. For the adventure of a lifetime.

Robin thought she would get a chance to put her language skills to the test, getting to converse in other languages when they visited somewhere that used a language that she already spoke, and getting to learn new languages everywhere else. It was a disappointment to find out they were covered by a universal translator.

Steve just wanted to experience every type of sport he possibly could. Ancient precursors to the sports he'd known and loved in their own time. Future sports that were millennia from being invented, the technology and techniques so far advanced that it would be inconceivable in their own time. And alien sports, that couldn't even translate to anything like earth sports, too different, too far removed from anything he'd ever known. But he loved every moment of it, experiencing things he never should have known existed.

Over their time with The Doctor, they both managed to get themselves into a wide range of trouble, leaving a number of time periods they would never be able to return to. They'd almost been arrested at various points, needing The Doctor to save them. In the times of the witch trials, they'd nearly gotten themselves executed for witchcraft. Steve had started a fistfight with the man who had brought conversion therapy into prominence. And both of them had had to make a hasty escape after not holding their tongue around various rich and powerful members of society across the ages, politicians, royalty, those who had caused social change for the worse.

Then there were the more fun reasons why they couldn't return to some periods. Steve's desire to flirt his way out of trouble, or to get information out of someone. Which often led to sex, which could be very interesting, especially when there were extra limbs or... appendages depending on the species. Robin always listened to Steve's tales of his encounters with both fascination and disgust.

"I don't care who or what you fuck, I just hope you're using condoms or whatever the alien equivalent is, because otherwise, you are going to be the source of some super-STI." Robin replied to Steve, after a lengthy and detailed account of the previous evening.

There was also both of them having relationships varying in seriousness. Robin falling head over heels with Vickie, an Irish immigrant in mid-1800's New York, having left Ireland during the Great Famine. It could have been forever, if not for Vickie's reluctance to leave her family, who she helped support.

Steve getting caught up with a couple, Tommy and Carol, in the early 22nd century. It was messy and painful all around, but Steve knew he would always hold some love for them.

Them both falling at the same time, for a pair of friends in a royal court. Robin falling for Christina, a lady-in-waiting to the princess, while Steve fell for Edward, the court jester. It felt magical, but they didn't know how to move forward. They couldn't just stay in place because of who they'd fallen for, and Edward and Christina couldn't come along. Neither of them understood where Steve and Robin had come from, or how they had appeared. They were cautious about anything, in fear of word reaching the king. Not wanting to risk their positions in the royal court, to lose their livelihoods or even their lives.

Steve and Robin hadn't wanted to, but they were able to move on. But always remembering what could have been with Edward and Christina. Occasionally, they would talk The Doctor into returning, not to make contact, but just to see how they were, if they were surviving.

Eventually they returned to their own time, to the lives they had taken a break from. It was strange, settling back into the monotony of normal life. But life had to move on. They moved to a new city, got new jobs. And even became close to Eddie and Chrissy, a strangely familiar pair of friends that lived opposite.

[bigskyandthecoldgun]

1 2 3

ao3

“This is…not what I signed up for, Eddie,” Steve says, carding his fingers through his hair and repeating the motion to set it back into place.

“This is actually insane,” Eddie agrees, voice fluctuating in volume slightly, and Steve can see his silhouette pacing back and forth behind the tinted window of the booth.

Steve wishes there were a seat closer to him, but the only decent one in the room is the couch by the booth window. He’s sure there’s a second seat in Eddie’s booth, the one that Robin typically sits on; maybe he’ll ask for it later. “Was Joyce serious when she said it’d take her four hours to get help?” he asks, and he watches Eddie nod. Eddie’s got really long hair for a guy—curly, too—and it bounces in sync with his head. Steve groans. “This guy’s gonna kill half the town in four hours!”

Eddie’s pacing abruptly stops, and he grabs the mic. Steve’s headphones squeak with the feedback. “Steve, that is not helpful,” he says.

Shit, yeah. Especially not when Eddie’s doing most of the phone stuff. All Steve has to do is answer the calls and…maybe save somebody’s life. “I know, I know, I just—ugh,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Who is this Whistling Man dude anyway?”

He watches Eddie’s silhouette plop back down in his chair. Must be nice. “He was this serial killer back in the sixties. Henry Creel. Went around in a freaky mask whistling that one song—Ella Fitzgerald, Dream-something—”

“Dream a Little Dream of Me, yeah, I know the one,” Steve says. That must’ve been the song they’d heard before.

“Well, he killed about a dozen people in Hawkins. Mostly teenagers. He had no reason for it—no motive, he just…did,” Eddie explains.

Jesus, that’s dark. “So…what happened to him?” Steve asks. The most he knows is that the guy died at some point. In a town like Hawkins, a serial killer seems so…out of place. On the outside, the town seems like a run-of-the-mill, middle-of-nowhere, normal place. Steve would’ve never guessed it had such a horrifying history.

Eddie’s sigh is crackly over the speakers. “Well…cops chased him over to the abandoned lab, up to Ellis Point. We call it Whistling Point now. And it was—shit, it was on the—it happened on this night, actually,” he says. So…maybe a copycat? “The cops cornered him, and he jumped into the river. His body was never found.”

“Wait, if his body was never found, is he—is he alive? Dead? What’s the story?” Steve asks.

“Story is, he’s biding his time. Waiting to take revenge on the town,” Eddie says in a low, theatrical voice, and Steve rolls his eyes, fighting a smile.

“Okay, okay, that’s the story,” he says. “What’s the truth?”

Because old Henry Creel is probably, like, sixty, seventy years old by now—unless he’d been, like, a teenager killing teenagers—which means that even if he were still alive, revenge-seeking would probably be out of the question. “Other than we have a whistling killer on our hands tonight?” Eddie asks, and Steve nods. “Shit, Steve, I got no idea.”

Steve shifts, uneasy. “Well, I guess we’ll have to end up finding out what we’re dealing with, whether we like it or not,” he mutters. “But—y’know, chin up, man, we’ll do our best.”

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, “I guess so.”

“At least we got the word out,” Steve says, though that raises another question. “”What kind of listening figures do we get around this time?”

Eddie gives him a snort-laugh. It’s a nice sound, compared to the literal mortal-peril shouts of Joyce from earlier. “On a Thursday? After midnight? Could be…around thirty-five?” he says, and, huh, that’s not bad.

“Thirty-five, as in thirty-five hundred? I didn’t realize Hawkins had that many people,” Steve says, pleasantly surprised.

“No, thirty-five people,” Eddie clarifies. “At best.”

Yeah, that makes a lot more sense.

“Are you serious? We only have thirty-five listeners?” Steve asks, trying to hold back his laughter. It’s absurd, really, just how far he’s fallen. But it’s his own fault, truly. That disaster back in Chicago…God, it’s a wonder he still has any semblance of a career.

“Yep. Thirty-five. It’s a school night,” Eddie tells him, like that makes it any better.

Steve bites back a smile and pinches the bridge of his nose. “And, uh…what’s the population of Hawkins?” he asks.

Eddie makes an uncertain sort of sound. “I dunno exactly. I’m not secretly an encyclopedia, Steve, but it’s…a little over a thousand, I wanna say,” he says. Steve hums. “How many did you get before your fall from grace, my liege?”

“Oh, you mean before my career exploded and I ended up on a midnight hour talk show in a town of a thousand people?” Steve shoots back, easily playful even though it’s still painful to talk about, a little bit.

Snickering, Eddie toys with something behind the tinted window. “Yeah. Before that.”

That’s a hell of a question. Steve blows out a long breath. “Around five for most shows on the low end, I think. Big guests could pump that up to ten, fifteen, easy,” he recalls. It’s not necessarily that Steve had lived for the attention—although that hadn’t hurt—but it had been nice, honestly, to know that people really enjoyed what he has to say, that people would listen to his ideas and opinions and take them as something with worth.

Eddie lets out a bewildered laugh. “Holy shit, Steve, five thousand on the low end?! We could only dream of that!”

Ah.

“Five million,” Steve corrects.

An unholy noise passes through his headphones, and Steve almost chucks them right off his head, but it stops just as soon as it had started. “Mill-i-on?!” Eddie squawks, pronouncing each syllable like a separate word.

It makes Steve feel a little sheepish. “Yeah, y’know, that’s—sometimes, that’s just the way that it goes,” he murmurs. “At least The Whistling Man hasn’t killed me yet…I guess.”

“I never did ask you—oh, shit, hang on, switch the songs,” Eddie tells him, and Steve watches the ‘on air’ sign flicker back to life as the music fades out.

“Alright, folks, that was Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive,” Steve says smoothly, switching out the records. “This next song is Asia’s Heat Of The Moment.”

The sign flickers off. “Nice work,” Eddie commends.

Steve mimes tipping an imaginary hat in Eddie’s direction. He clears his throat. “Uh, you were saying something about—were you gonna ask me something?”

“Yeah, um—I was just gonna say, I never did ask about how that whole thing went down. The Chicago thing,” Eddie says. Steve feels his gut churn with nerves. He doesn’t like talking about this. It’s one thing to know that the person he’s talking to knows about the biggest screw-up of his career, that they had heard the broadcast, but it’s another to explain it himself. “So…are you gonna tell me what happened?”

It’s not as if Eddie’s an asshole. Sure, he can be kind of a dick, and he certainly knows how to take a bit to the worse end of ‘too far,’ but he’s not, like, awful. Steve sighs. “Okay, so…I was interviewing this politician, right?” he starts, and he sees Eddie’s silhouette nod. “And, uh, he was a contributor at the station. Big-wig type deal, y’know? So, I—the PR people working for the people I interview usually give me a list of stuff that’s off the table, a list of topics that they require I bring up, stuff like that, and—anyway, I’m supposed to ask this guy about the platform he’s running on, his policies, whatever.”

Eddie chuckles. “What, you disagreed with your guest? That’s it?”

Steve takes a deep breath. It’s not like he has issues keeping his temper in check, most of the time; he’d used to, when he’d been in high school, but a career in entertainment has really hammered the value of patience into him. “We’re talking about this guy’s campaign. And he starts going on about how his platform is around family values,” he tells Eddie, running a hand through his hair nervously. “So, now he’s talking shit about the ‘dangers of homosexuality,’ and my blood’s starting to boil.”

“He sounds like a douche,” Eddie says, so quiet that Steve almost misses it.

He nods. “Yeah, he is. I try and steer the conversation away, because I’m a professional, and that’s just what you do when there’s some stupid shit happening on your show, but he won’t stop. He won’t shut up about it,” Steve grits out. It still gets him worked up, thinking about what had happened that day. “Next thing I know, I’m coming out on live radio to fifteen million listeners and yelling at some jackass for ruining my show.”

The silence that stretches after he says it makes Steve tense. For the most part, no one in Hawkins has given him shit for what had happened—not directly, anyway. Steve’s still amazed he’d managed to get hired. He thought he’d be blacklisted. For all intents and purposes, he might as well be, but Owens had given him a job here, and that’s more than anyone in Steve’s position could’ve reasonably hoped for.

It’s why he and Robin had become such quick, close friends. The relief that comes with knowing someone else on his show is queer is indescribable. Chicago—his whole career—had been fantastic, he’d done so well, but it had been really isolating. He couldn’t risk his career, which meant he couldn’t go out and meet people, make meaningful connections, without chancing that they’d go to the tabloids if they were to ever break things off with him.

But, hey, at least he’s got nothing to lose now.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes at last, but the song’s coming to an end.

The sign flickers on, and Steve swaps out the records again. “Our next song comes to us from our intern’s friend—this one’s for you. Kate Bush’s Running Up That Hill,” he announces, the sign turning off once the music starts up. Steve clears his throat, an all-too-familiar sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. “So…do you totally hate me?”

There’s a half-aborted mix of a squawk and a shriek, and he watches Eddie’s silhouette nearly topple out of his chair. “What?! No! No! Jesus—I wouldn’t—I’m—that’s awful, Steve, I’m…I am so sorry,” Eddie says. “Shit. Shit, it’s so not funny to make fun of your career falling apart, then, oh, Jesus H. Christ.”

Steve lets out a nervous little laugh. “I mean—why did you even make fun of me in the first place?” he asks, because he is kind of curious.

Eddie’s silhouette flaps around in an indecipherable series of gestures. “I thought you were, like, just another radio douchebag! But you’re not! You’re actually a really good dude, and now I feel really bad for making fun of you,” he groans, and Steve smiles at him.

“Well, in your defense, it’s not like I was eager to make the reason why I was fired known,” Steve says. “It’s rare to find someone who doesn’t know why it happened. It was kinda nice, in a weird way…? To get treated like just some guy.”

“Be still, my beating heart! Handsome, charming, and a down-to-earth, good guy? I never stood a chance,” Eddie mock-swoons, and Steve rolls his eyes. “You know, Hawkins is kind of a tiny town, but it’s not, like, awful. I wanna get out of here as much as the next guy, don’t get me wrong, but don’t beat yourself up for ending up here.”

A small smile worming its way onto his face, Steve nods. “Yeah, it’s not half bad. Gotten a couple dirty looks, but you get that anywhere, being queer,” he says, and Eddie inhales sharply. And that…sucks. “I, uh—sorry, I know some people aren’t really cool with just bringing it up casually—”

“No, no, I’m not—I just—I get that,” Eddie tells him gently. “The, um—the dirty looks. I know what that’s like, that’s all.”

Something warm lodges itself into Steve’s chest. “Oh,” he says, “um, cool. Is that because of…?”

“I mean, kind of. I’m—a lot of people assume things, whether or not they have even a grain of truth to them. But they mostly give me dirty looks because they think I’m a satanist,” Eddie snickers. “I mean, I’m not, but—with the way I look, the conclusions people jump to are…definitely understandable.”

Steve tilts his head. “I’ve still never seen what you look like, y’know,” he says, and Eddie’s silhouette tenses a little in the window. “I mean—I’m sure you look—”

“Oh, shit, we’ve got another call coming in,” Eddie tells him, just as Running Up That Hill is beginning to fade into its outro, and Steve clears his throat. “Take it when you’re ready.”

Steve adjusts the volume slider to fade the song out before stopping it completely, watching the ‘on air’ sign flicker back to life as he presses the first phone line button to accept the call. “Hello, caller, you’re live on 189.16—The Scream,” he says smoothly. Then, recalling that this could very well be a 911 call, he winces. “Is everything, uh…alright?”

Heavy breathing is the only thing that he’s met with.

Steve’s brows furrow. “Okay…? Who is this? Are you—hello? Hello?” he tries, because maybe it’s someone that’s been hurt. He hopes it isn’t. Not because he wouldn’t have to deal with the situation, but because he isn’t really sure how efficient Hawkins General’s ambulances are.

There’s just more heavy breathing from the other end.

“Okay, what’s your name, and why are you calling in?” Steve tries, because he can’t help if he doesn’t have any information.

Some whistling comes through the speakers of his headphones, but it’s shaky. The tune isn’t right. “You know my name,” the caller says with a clearly put-on, gravelly voice. “I’ve come back from the dead to kill again! No one is safe!”

Oh, great, some bored dickhead has decided to make light of a murder. “Do you accept requests?” Steve asks, one hip cocked as he crosses his arms. “I’ve got a list of names I’d love to see in the obituaries.”

The caller makes a couple of half-choked noises in confusion. “Uh…maybe,” they say uncertainly. “You must—um—you must make a sacrifice to us—oh, shit—I mean, me! Dude—dude, what do you want? We want cheese dusted pretzels. I mean—! I want cheese dusted pretzels! Or I’ll…cut your face off!”

Eddie groans. “Goddamn kids! I’m cutting them off,” he huffs. He does, and the dial tone is actually a pretty welcome sound this time around. “Sorry, Stevie, I know you’re not big on pranks.”

A small smile makes its way onto Steve’s face in spite of his annoyance. “Needless to say, I won’t be going out to buy anything for these kids, and none of you should be going out tonight, either,” he says. He swaps out the records again. “We’ve got an actual killer out there. Anyway, this next one’s dedicated to all of you staying inside with your doors and windows locked. This is Never Let Me Down Again —Depeche Mode.”

The ‘on air’ sign flickers off. “Hey, Robin just paged. She’s calling in, but she doesn’t want it on air. You good?” Eddie asks, and Steve nods. “Hey, Rob. You’re on with both of us.”

“Guys!” Robin near-shouts, and Steve winces. “Oh my God, okay—Chrissy isn’t home yet. Her jogs never last this long. And I was listening to the show in the car—holy shit, by the way—and now I’m starting to get paranoid, because there’s a killer on the loose, and I just keep thinking about all the different things that could’ve happened, and she took her cell phone, but the thing is huge and clunky, so what if she dropped it while she was getting chased or something? She drives her car all the way out by—”

“Robin, hey, calm down,” Steve says, as soothing as he can make himself sound. “I’m sure she’s okay. Her jogging route goes off Coal Mill, right? That’s so far from the station, and we don’t even know if that whistling asshole is still conscious. Joyce got him pretty good with her taser.”

Robin takes a deep breath. Steve kind of hates that he knows Hawkins’ layout enough to reassure her like this, but how can he really hate it when he hears her quietly laughing in relief on the other end of the line. “Right. You’re right. I’m being—ugh. Sorry, you know how anxious I get sometimes,” she sighs, and Steve hums. “She’s probably just fine. Thanks, Steve. I’ll keep the radio on just in case something does happen, but I won’t go anywhere, don’t worry.”

“You’ll page me if—you’ll page when Chrissy gets home, right?” Eddie asks, and, shit, Steve can’t believe he’d forgotten how close Eddie and Chrissy are.

“Yeah, ’course I will, Eddie,” Robin says, and her voice is soft. “You guys just…keep your heads up, okay? I believe in you. Talk to you soon.”

The dial tone sounds again, and Steve sighs. “Hey, Eddie?” he asks, and Eddie hums. “What the hell was that? Not—not the thing with Robin, the whole…kids pretending to be a killer, who, right now, is stalking the town…thing.”

Eddie groans. “It’s…a thing.”

“A thing?” Steve repeats, incredulous.

“Kids around here, they pull pranks pretending to be The Whistling Man. They think it’s funny! But it’s not. It’s not funny at all,” Eddie mutters darkly.

Steve stews in his own nerves. “So there’s no chance that our Whistling Man was just a prank, right? That Joyce…”

He can hear Eddie swallow. “No, that…that was real,” he says, and Steve swears under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He watches Eddie’s silhouette sit up a little straighter behind the tinted glass. “Let’s stay positive! We still have a show to do.”

“I’m gonna need a seat that isn’t halfway across the universe if I’m gonna get through the rest of this,” Steve tells him, gesturing over at the couch. “You got a spare in the booth?”

There’s a long pause.

Steve calls Eddie’s name after a solid thirty seconds of silence. “Yes, I—yeah, I do. Give me a second to put it outside the door,” Eddie says.

“I’ll just come grab it from you,” Steve tells him, “no big deal.”

“No, no, it’s okay, really, I—I’ll just put it out there. Just wait.”

He watches Eddie’s silhouette move towards the corner of the booth, and Steve makes his way over to the door. They’ve got, like, a little over a minute left until the song’s done and they’re left with dead air, so he might as well save them some time. The hall’s wide and warm, and Steve waits outside the door to the sound engineer’s booth, hands in his pockets. The door swings open, and he’s face-to-face with Eddie Munson for the first time since he’d arrived in Hawkins.

Eddie’s eyes are wide with surprise, big and brown under the curly bangs of his hair, the rest of the curls cascading down just past his shoulders. He’s pale, with a light line of freckles right under his eyes, going across his nose, and his plush, pink lips are parted in a perfect ‘o.’ He stands up straight—he’s about Steve’s height, maybe a little shorter—and brushes a lock of hair behind his ear, ringed fingers catching slightly on the dark curl. Steve follows the line of his arm, scans over the tattoos there, and he registers the giant letters of some heavy metal band sprawled across Eddie’s shirt, right over his chest. His eyes drag back up to Eddie’s face, a pretty pink color slowly spreading over his cheeks as Steve looks at him.

He’s kind of gorgeous.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

[formosusiniquis]

stevie just hit the wall

aka the multi chapter bowling for soup inspired Stevie fic where i give her a midlife crisis and a second chance at dating a rockstar.

transfem!Steve Harrington; Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Minor Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham; Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley; Steve Harrington & Chrissy Cunningham

��Maybe I should have just stayed with him, Robs. I mean I'm not getting any younger. “Okay 1. Tommy was using you to cheat on his wife of 10 years, remember, Carol?” “They were on a break. Basically separated.”  She keeps going like Stevie hadn’t spoken, “2. He called you dude every time you went out with him cause he was a total chaser. And most importantly 3. He was a fucking CPA Evie, what a snore.”

NOW COMPLETE ON AO3

[xstevex-world]

(Part 1 of the pop star Chrissy AU)

“So what you’re saying is that you are 100% positive that I’ve spent my day with, not only an actual, real life international pop sensation; but the same Chrissy Cunningham that you have been fangirling over since senior year of high school?”

Robin hears Steve groan on the other end of the line. She can't blame him though, she’s made him explain her exact situation to her 3 times over.

“Yes Robin, that’s definitely her,” he sighs.

Robin falls back down on her bed, she can’t believe this. If she had been honest with herself, that entire day felt like a fever dream, a fantasy she had conjued up from weeks of sheer boredom. It was hard to ignore, the feeling that her day shared with her was a one time thing, especially after Chrissy apologetically declined to meet up with her the next day, saying she had to do work stuff.

Thinking about it, in retrospect, the signs were there. She had absolutely talked about how she worked in music and had been travelling a lot with it recently - yeah, Robin thought she was probably in a small band or was a session musician by the way she talked so casually about it.

But this? Shit, this whole situation she's found herself in? it’s like something out of those stupid romance novels her mom and Steve like talk about.

She always had it in her head that pop stars were meant to be over the top and flashy, but Chris just seamed so…sweet. She was listened to robin ramble on and on about everything and nothing, laughed loudly at her terrible jokes before giving her perspective or talking all about her own experiences

And when she smiled? She radiated happiness and joy as if she was the personification of the sun. There would be an etching of that smile in her brain for the rest of Robin's life.

“Robin!”’ His voices takes her out of her trace, grounding her in reality. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” is all she mandages to say.

“So you have two options,” Steve explains, and gods, she wishes he was here so she could at least see his eyes roll at her obvious awkwardness.

“The first is you just ignore that this whole meeting ever happened,” which, yeah is she absolutely not doing. Even if she never got to meet Chrissy again, at least she would still have the memory of meetng that deity of a human being.

“Or?” She asks, hoping that even 3637 miles away, Steve would be able to bring her down from her wild panic.

“Or; you listen to me and go see her.”

Steve has always been rather blunt, it’s what Robin likes so much about him. He tells her exactly what he means, no in between meaning to his statements.

“She’s playing a concert tomorrow night in the city, it’s probably why she said she couldn’t hang out tomorrow, she has sound checks and rehearsals and stuff," he explained, as if he knew her entire schedule (what was she kidding, he probably did.) "I'm going to get you a ticket, so you go to see her tomorrow night, enjoy the show, take a photo and dm her telling her how good her performance was, ok?”

He makes it sound so simple.

“But what if I go and do all this and it turns out that-“

“She’s straight? Robs, she’s very open about being bisexual-“

“No, dingus!” She yells into the receiver, running her hand through her hair. “What if I read the entire thing wrong and she was just being nice? I’m famously not good at reading the room and, for all I know, she could have thought this was just all a friendly thing that we have going? Like, listen to me Steve, I’m me, and if she’s the same pop sensation that you’ve talked drones about for as long as I’ve known you then what could she gain with a romantic endeavour with me? She could have anyone and not the person who she met yesterday who’s…”

“Who’s what, robs?”

She can’t answer that, knows if she says what she wants to that Steve will deny it, but she knows who she is - she’s annoying, too much all the time and knows that logically she wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice in friend, let alone girlfriend.

Sometimes she thinks it’s a miracle that Steve has been her friend for as long as he has.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he interrupts her inner monologue, voice softer than she’s used to with him. “But you have to stop thinking that you’re not good enough. The only person who’s allowed to talk shit about my best friend is me…and probably Erica, but I think she thinks you’re too cool to actually insult you much.”

Robins audibly snorts, falling back onto her bed.

As hard as it was being away from her family and the rest of their little friend groupd, the thing she misses the most is Steve. She was so used to having her platonic soulmate with her at all times, ready to latch onto for whatever the reason may be.

And right now? She could really use a hug, pecifically one from Steve "The Hair" Harrington.

“Robs, just trust me, she wouldn’t have spend they day following you around Paris is she wasn’t completely gone for you - she would have been at Disneyland with Corroded Coffin getting pictures with Darth Vader and shouting about how it's a capitalist utopia while eating the churros…" he pauses momentarily, and robin knows exactly what he's going to ask next. "...actually, speaking of, did she-?"

“Talk about Eddie Munson? Well, considering that I didn’t know that it was the same Eddie that you’ve had a raging boner over for the past year despite the fact-"

“Robin!”

“It’s true!” She yells, face now beaming from her laughter. “I’ll make you a deal, Stevie, if you plan works then I’ll put in a good word with Chrissy for you, she’s bound to know what gonna bring you into Munson’s raider-"

“Robin, stop!”

"-because I have some stories, Steve, and you’re lucky I was listening because if I didn’t like Chrissy so much I know wouldn’t remember, which would suck for you because i now know a few rather scandalous stories about the guy-"

“ROBIN!” Steve shouts through the receiver, making robin jump. “Focus!”

She shuts up, smiling to herself.

“I wish you were here, dingus,” she admits, rolling onto her stomach. “At least you’d be able to help me out, maybe, if this works, make sure I don’t pass out in front of her.”

“Of course it’s going to work” he states with every syllable oozing that signature Harrington’s smugness. “But only if you wear those plaid pants you have, the ones that hug your thighs in all the right places-“

“Gross, dingus!”

But sure enough, she listens, but if Steve’s right about one thing it’s how to leave a lasting impression, especially in the “you look good” department.

So, the following evening, she dons blue, plaid pants with a plain black tank, slicks back her hair using whatever hair products Steve left during his last visit and makes up her face: brushing electric blue pigments onto her eyelids before smudging kohl against her waterline.

It takes her serval pep talks in the mirror to finally convince herself to actually leave the apartment, but she did it, managed to walk to the venue and wait, nursing her beer whilst leaning against the against the back wall.

Robin kind of regrets not tagging along to all the Chrissy Cunningham concerts that Steve invited her too in the past, maybe then she would know what to expect.

(Or, maybe then, she wouldn’t be in this exact situation, but who was she kidding, of course she would be, nothing straight forward ever happens to her).

The entire thing is overwhelming, the venue has been crowded since before she arrived, (since it was well after the opening act ended) which really isn’t her scene. She’s already nervous and her hands won't stop shaking and she's about to call it quits, text Steve that she'll pay him back for the tickets in actual money rather than their original plan and walk out the doors of the theater where she can crawl back into bed and scream into her pillow-

The lights dim, and everyone around starts screaming as the first notes of the synth play, Chrissy's voice carrying through the room.

Robin can't help but stare, she's so beautiful, stunningly gorgeous with the voice of an angel, she doesn't even notice the rest of the band join her one by one or the two dancers who have a hand on Chrissy's shoulder. She doesn't even realise the opening number has finished, can't pay attention to anything other than the cascading curls of chrissys hair, the way her body moves in one with the music, the same smile that struck her heart in the first place- the smile that shines brighter than any spotlight ever could.

She doesn't register much, barely hears anything other than Chrissy sing about new moons, staying when she shouldn't or sending her love to Wayne; songs she know she's probably heard before, probably from (just being in close proximity to steve Harrington), but none of that matters, shes memorised by her.

And when the final act is coming to a close, she almost misses it, but she can feel eyes on her even this far to the back of the crowd.

Robin only meets Eddie Munson’s eyes for a second, impossibly wide eyes staring her down in disbelief before seeing his cue to exit the stage. She almost drops her half-drank pint, a string of curses running through her head - but the whole interaction has her frozen. 

Her brain tells her to "RUN! GET OUT!" before it escalates any further, the churn of pure anxiety in her stomach reminding her that this was a stupid plan, she shouldn't have come. She cant do this, won't do this-

She leaves before lights go black.

⭐💘🎫🎤🎫💘⭐

So thank you all so much for the support on the first post, I was not expecting it to get traction buy you all loved it??? My heart is swelling omfg. Thank you for being patient with me with this part (I'm dyslexic and work full time, on top of just being very slow at producing, well, anything lol).

I'm hoping to have either 5 or 6 parts altogether if you guys keep enjoying it ((sorry not sorry to make you steddie fans sit through the Buckingham part first, Robin needs to get her girl!!!))

Shout out to my gf (who's not an st fan) for beta reading this with comments like "is Robin a useless lesbian?" Or "do they really say dingus in the show?" Or "wow, she really needs some loops!"

As a bonus treat, the concert playlist can be found here! Included are songs that represent or resemble the tracks on the set list of the gig that Robin goes too see (including the CCxCC material that would be played as the encore in the final three songs)

Taglist (if you wish to be added, I just ask you be polite about it x): @maya-custodios-dionach @papermachedragons @mildgendercrisis @vampiregirl1797 @lizard-dyk3 @hellomynameismoo @beckkthewreck @eboyawstenn @justmiiriam @gregre369 @korixae @victor-thee-corvid @yes-im-your-mom @bisexualdisastersworld @questionablequeeries

[wonder-worker]

J.L. Laynesmith taking the 'Buckingham Did It™' route for the murder of the Princes in the Tower AND the rumors of Edward IV's bastardy ... I have to laugh

[legendarydragonperson]

Robin Buckley and Eddie Munson's Guide to taking Down the Hawkins Monster: Volume 2

Status: Complete 27/27 Chapters

Read From the Start: Robin Buckley and Eddie Munson's Guide To Taking Down the Hawkins Monster

Summary: A retelling of Stranger Things Season 2 where Robin and Eddie would have been best friends and made everything better. With the help of their protective parents, a single mom, the town sheriff, a group of nerdy kids, a priss, an outcast, and a boy with pretty hair. Featuring the new kids from sunny California.

Characters: Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Chrissy Cunningham, Billy Hargrove, The Party (All the kids) Joyce Byers, Jim Hopper, Wayne Munson, Dr.Owens, and mentions of other canon Hawkins teenagers.

Main Paring: Platnoic Robin and Eddie Munson

Minor pairings: (pre-relationships) Eddie Munson/Steve Harrington, (for like a sec) Robin Buckley/Vickie, Chrissy Cunningham/Robin Buckley

Word Count: 76,560

Rating: T (for some violence, no smut

Read the first part of the series to make sense

He senses an instant feel of goosebumps form on his neck and then the front door rings. He’s confused to see that there are only three kids around him and the fourth one is making his way outside. Eddie checks his watch and finds it’s only 7 pm.

Way too early for Joyce to be done with her last-minute night shift. He was taking them all home anyway so it’s concerning when through the glass Will is standing in the middle of the parking lot and just..standing there. Looking at nothing but the smokey black sky.

Eddie walks out and runs to get in front of the boy crouching down to his level. His brown eyes are wide and Eddie has only witnessed his episodes so far in the past few months. Mike comes yelling and the rest of the Party comes outside, Robin is at the door keeping the door open while Keith complains and leaves his view. 

Eddie holds his hands and squeezes them. Some type of grounding exercise that Jonathan taught him once.

“Hey bud, um hey what’s going on?” Eddie says in a careful voice, small and gentle. 

Will blinks just a few seconds after and he looks around at Eddie with wide bright eyes, he breathes heavily.

Eddie tries to comfort him but Will shifts to the side, eyes trailing at the sounds around him. People in the parking lot are ready to come on or come out. Car engines running. People catching popcorn or gummy bears in their mouths. 

"Hey." Eddie tries to count out numbers, "1, breath in..., breath out...," He continues and Will repeats. Squeezing Eddies hand to ground himself.

A couple breathes after their interrupted by multiple voices calling Will's attention. 

“I’m fine,” Will assures him by letting go of Eddie's hands and nods but it looks like he’s putting up more of an effort to keep himself in check.

Eddie sighs and Mike comes closer to wrap his arm around his shoulders.

“He said he’s fine. Right your okay?” Mike says while Dustin and Lucas share a look. They are not completely convinced.

“Um, you're next on Dig Dug, we still have 2 hours before we have to leave.” They make their way back inside and Dustin stays near the entrance, Robin's cheeks are already red, the freezing wind and nervousness riling up. Filling up her half-empty belly. 

“Was it another episode?” Dustin asks and Robin makes an uneasy face looking for help with Eddie who takes a deep breath.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Eddie says patting his head Dustin doesn’t chortle but he tries his best to smile.

That’s enough for now. 

Keep Reading

[dutchs-toybox]

More ST blogs to be moots with? No minors please respect my boundary

Dutch

Mid twenties

LGBT maybe

A writer, maybe I'll take a request

Billy defender because I was that angry kid once too

This is a side blog

Writing examples

Metalsandwich fic How Kings Fall - NSFW Billy Hargrove recovery and growth fic And we'll be birds

[alsofullofflies]

Show me Shakespeare’s Duke of Buckingham

No the real Duke of Buckingham

No not him, the rEal Duke of Buckingham

Not quite, the REAL Duke of Buckingham

Ahh perfect

[painlandpalace]

dead boy detectives reading list

with the show finally out i figured it was a great time to share my reading list again! check it out below the cut 👻☠️🔎

-

⏳ the sandman #25 (1991)

this is their first appearance!

🐇 the children's crusade (1993)/free country: a tale of the children's crusade (2015)

1. the children's crusade #1

(2. black orchid annual #1

3. animal man annual #1

4. swamp thing annual #7

5. doom patrol annual #2

6. arcana annual #1)

7. the children's crusade #2

alternatively you can just read free country. whether or not you read the annuals i recommend reading free country's middle chapter

!!! in place of the annuals there is an additional middle chapter that was created for the book "free country: a tale of the children's crusade" where it is placed between the two children's crusade issues. the boys don't actually appear in most of the annuals (they are in two panels of swamp thing and appear in doom patrol) and reading them isn't necessary but i figured i would include them as they are part of the story.

❄️ winter's edge #3 (2000)

this is an anthology. their part is the 'books of magic: waiting for good dough' story starting on page 19

🐦‍⬛ the sandman presents: the dead boy detectives (2001, 4 issues)

i believe the tv show's esther finch was partially based on this run's villain.

*

(they do have a part in 'death: at death's door' from 2003. it's short and really just a retelling of events from sandman #25 with some minor changes. the entirety of their appearance in death: at death's door is included at the end of the next comic im listing so i am not really adding the death: at death's door book to the list)

☠️ the dead boy detectives (2005, one-shot)

this book was made by jill thompson in a very cute manga-esque style

👻 ghosts (2012), time warp (2013), the witching hour (2013)

these three are anthologies. the story 'the dead boy detectives in: run ragged' runs through all of them. 'run ragged' kicks off the next run.

🔮 from the pages of the sandman: dead boy detectives (2013, 12 issues)

this is the comic where crystal is introduced! a book collecting all 12 issues titled 'dead boy detectives by toby litt & mark buckingham' was released in 2023

🔎the sandman universe: dead boy detectives (2022, 6 issues)

the most recent run, centered around some really interesting thai mythology and featuring multiple edwin moments that i am sure you will love

-

and that's everything! i also recommend buying the omnibus if you can. it includes everything minus the 2022 run plus some additional bonus content!

i hope this is helpful! feel free to ask me any questions you may have about the comics. dead boy detectives is my number one interest so i should be able to answer

have fun reading! 👻

[spicysix]

READ HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

oh my gmdjjdjekfjwjjfkwnfkwkkcjwifiw

I'm SO OBSESSED WITH THIS

like HELLO??? HELLO??????

sex Ed 101 but make it fucking HOT????????

HELLO?!!!!!!!!!!!?!??!!!??!!?!!

For your requests! Buckingham anxious

(NSFW please 💕)

hello anon! I hope you see this even though it is weeks later! I promise I am still filling all of these backlog requests life has just been a doozy lately!

This is also my inaugural buckingham fic, and boy was it a fun one to start with. I really enjoyed writing this premise and I may end up expanding on this little drabble in the future. 🫡

prompt: 'anxious' | wc: 250 | rating: E | cw/tags: First Time, Virgin Chrissy, Sex Ed 101, Vaginal Sex, Mirror Sex (...kinda) | Buckingham

“… this…” Chrissy watches Robin’s fingers brush over blush-pink folds “…is the labia minora.”

Chrissy’s heart flutters in an anxious rhythm. “They look all…wrinkly and weird.”

“I think they’re gorgeous,” Robin husks. In the pocket-sized mirror, Robin’s fingers spread, revealing soft pink flesh that glistens with wetness. The very tip of one finger dips into it—Chrissy squeaks, jumping in surprise. “That is your vagina.”

“I-I thought the whole thing…?”

“No, babe, just this pretty little hole.” And then Robin is inside her.

Chrissy moans—and immediately slaps an embarrassed hand over her mouth.

A kiss brushes over her neck. “Hey.” Robin’s voice is low, soothing. “I want to hear you.”

Chrissy nods, speechless, and Robin’s finger pulls out, tracing upwards. “This is your urethra…and this—” her finger hovers over the hard pink nub at the top of Chrissy’s vulva “—is the clitoris.”

Robin presses the mirror into Chrissy’s palm, and she watches as Robin keeps her labia spread with one hand and brings the first two fingers of the other down to press against her clitoris.

Chrissy throws her head against Robin’s shoulder with a moan, as Robin rubs.

Robin tsks in her ear, whispering, “C’mon baby, want you to watch what I do to you.”

Heat pools in Chrissy’s gut. Muscles clench. Her body is taut as a bow as Robin’s hand quickens.

The tension snaps, pleasure spilling all over. Chrissy doesn’t know what to call it.

But it’s the best she’s ever felt in her body.

I'm celebrating 250 followers with 250 word microfics! Requests are closed, but previous fills can be found here.

[youwouldntdownloadapizza]

The Pleasures of The Unknown | Kate Middleton x The Unknown (Glasgow Wonka Experience 2024)

masterlist | ao3 | follow @youwouldntdownloadapizza and turn on notifications for updates

When Kate Middleton mistakenly ends up at a magical chocolate factory in Glasgow, she finds herself drawn to a mysterious cloaked figure with a penchant for dark chocolate.

pairing: Kate Middleton x The Unknown (Glasgow Wonka 2024)

rating: 18+, minors DNI

word count: 1.2k

tags: crack, crack treated seriously, crack fic, smut, mild smut, finger sucking, chocolate, sex and chocolate, light BDSM, choking, thigh riding, rpf, bald harry styles, balddry, infidelity, glasgow, willy wonka experience - freeform, glasgow willy wonka - freeform, Balmoral, british royal family, unhinged innuendo

chapter warnings: smut, infidelity

Kate Middleton stared at her bangs in the Buckingham Palace bathroom mirror.

"I can't go out like this," she complained to William. "The Sun will rip me a new one!"

"Kate, my dear," he kissed her on the cheek, turning to lean against the counter. She continued tugging at her botched fringe until he took her hand. "It's just hair. It'll grow back."

"That's rich, coming from you."

William looked down at his royal bunny slippers with a frown. Even they had more hair than he did. Perhaps he should have them fashioned into a wig. He'd have to ask his frenemy, Harry Styles, for wigmaker recommendations.

"I don't know what to do." Kate looked up at her husband with tears in her eyes. He wiped them away with his royal hanky.

"I do," he smiled. Sliding his hand into his back pocket, he produced the royal AmEx.

"Take a holiday, Kate. Go to Balmoral or Hollyrood for a few weeks. Grow them out. Maybe even get that BBL you've been talking about getting. Scotland is a great place to recover from surgery. What with all the free healthcare and all, innit?" he said Britishly.

"You're so right, William. I'll leave first thing tomorrow."

---

Kate double-checked the address her husband had given her as she stepped out of her royal Uber Black.

"This can't be the right place. Balmoral was never this colorful!"

The cabbie rolled down his window. "Don't worry, ma'am, this is Willy's place! Be quick and get inside, it's looking like rain."

With a soft 'innit', the driver pulled away, and Kate was left on Willy's doorstep.

She assumed 'Willy' was short for her husband 'William', but as she entered the foyer, she began to have her doubts. The place appeared to be some sort of magical chocolate factory.

Although sparsely decorated, the place maintained some air of whimsy. Well, less of an air, more of a spritz, but clamato, clamato.

"Soo la voo," Kate shrugged, walking beneath the sparkly, styrofoam rainbow and towards whatever fate awaited her here.

"Ahh, more guests! Welcome!" A depressed-looking woman in a green wig approached her.

"Here, compliments of Willy," she said, sliding a plastic cup containing a splash of what appeared to be sparkling lemonade into Kate's left hand. Into her right went a single jelly bean.

"What is this?" Kate asked.

"Our welcome gift to you! And only $40, such a deal."

Kate supposed $40 was a fair price for such splendor. After all, if bananas were $10, this was surely worth four times that. She popped the jelly bean and washed it down with the lemonade.

"Carry on down the hallway. Your future awaits."

Kate left her luggage and her empty cup with the so-called Oompa Loompa and proceeded down the bare linoleum hallway. That uncanny-valley candy landscape tapestry really ties the place together, she mused.

A voice greeted her at the end of the hall.

"What. Is. That?" A blonde man in a red top hat and coattails pointed towards an unassuming mirror.

Why, that's me! Kate Middleton! Kate Middleton thought to herself.

Kate nearly leaped out of her skin when the creature emerged from behind the looking glass.

"It's...THE UNKNOWN!!"

That's when Kate fainted.

When she awoke, her head was spinning. "Where am I?" She asked to the blackness that surrounded her.

A deep voice answered her. "You're in the walls. This is my home. My own dark chocolate factory."

"Your what?" Kate asked.

As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was in a small bedroom combined with a confectionary workspace, almost a studio apartment of sorts.

"My dark chocolate factory. You see, Willy Wonka seeks only to pump this world full of river-churned, high-fructose, milky delicious bullshit. What I aim to create is something far more sophisticated. Far more complex. And far, far darker."

"Oh? Might I try some?"

"Why of course," the silver-masked, black-hooded creature pulled back its sleeve to reveal long, nimble fingers.

He crossed to his chocolate worktable and dipped his index and middle fingers into a whirring chocolate fountain. The creature stalked towards her, extending the sample.

Kate leaned towards him, but froze. "Before I suck on your fingers, I should probably know your name."

The creature angled his head, as if considering her. "I have no name. I am only...The Unknown."

Kate's heart raced in her chest. That chocolate, those fingers, it all looked simply divine. And if William could be unfaithful, why couldn't she do the same? She deserved it, just this once. As a treat.

She opened her mouth, and The Unknown slid his fingers past her lips. She sucked deeply, the flavor sliding across her tongue and down her throat, the complex flavor and intensity of the delivery method sending shivers down her spine.

"Are you cold?" He asked.

"A bit," Kate admitted.

"Well then," she could hear the smirk in his voice even if she couldn't see it on his face. "Perhaps I'll have to warm you up myself."

Kate bit her lip. "Would you...put your willy? In my chocolate factory?"

His fingers closed around her throat. She drew a sharp breath.

She could feel his breath as he whispered in her ear, "Forget willies. Forget chocolate factories. Allow yourself to submit, to embrace the pleasures of The Unknown."

Kate let out a shuddering breath as she gazed up at that shiny mask. She didn't know what lurked behind it. She didn't care.

She kissed him then, the plastic of his mask hard against her soft lips. And then she was sprawled on the bed, his knee between her legs, and she was grinding against him.

"Oh, The Unknown!" She moaned.

"Please, there's no need for formality. Call me The."

So Kate did. She sounded like the gilded first word of a sponge's term paper as she wailed his name over and over again, into the dark stillness of this secret room behind the walls.

"I'm close," Kate moaned.

"Good girl."

He leaned down to kiss at her neck. The rough edges of the cheap mask scratched at her sensitive skin, but she didn't care. She was lost in the pleasures of The Unknown.

It was the hair that brought her to the edge, something her husband could never give her. The chemical scent of his cheap, black wig filled her nostrils as she rode his thigh, dangling there on the precipice.

"Ohh!" Kate screamed as she came, her thighs shaking with pleasure as she clenched around nothing.

A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled at her throat, and she swooned. After all these years of marriage, William had never rocked her world like this masked stranger just had. As they lay there together, she slipped into the chocolatey darkness of slumber, utterly content.

---

When Kate returned home, butt bigger and bangs longer, William had wanted to hear about her experience in Scotland.

"What was your favorite part?" He asked.

"I learned a lot about myself on this trip," she told him. "But the most valuable lesson was in learning to embrace the pleasures of the unknown."

"See, a little uncertainty is good sometimes!" He teased, tugging on her much-improved bangs before giving her a soft kiss.

"Mm," he smacked his lips. "Tastes like chocolate."

[theroyalsandi]

BREAKING NEWS!!!

British Royal Family - The Princess Royal is in hospital in Bristol after sustaining "minor injuries and concussion" during an incident at her Gatcombe Park estate on Sunday eve. She is being kept in for observation and is expected to make a full recovery, Buckingham Palace said.

It is understood that Princess Anne was walking in Gatcombe and her injuries are consistent with potential impact from a horse’s head or legs. She is expected to be able to return home from hospital later this week, subject to medical advice. | June 24, 2024

[steddieas-shegoes]

Hey! I'm Mickala.

99% of my writing is Steddie, 1% is Buckingham, percentages subject to change with little to no notice.

I co-mod for steddiemicrofic (monthly exact word count challenge with a one-word prompt), and run steddiesongfics (a monthly challenge based on random songs), steddieholidaydrabbles (pop-up prompts throughout the year, daily drabble challenges in December), steddiesmuttyseptember (weekly prompts rated M or E for the month of September), and strangerthingsocweek (a week-long event centered around original characters in the Stranger Things universe).

This blog is 18+, minors DNI.

AO3 | Ko-Fi

call me sunshine, send me to space - rated e | complete | 89,621 words

the only time i feel human is when i'm in bed with you - rated e | complete | 28,150 words

it led me to you - rated e | complete | 44,219 words

little nuggets series - various ratings | complete | 82,712 words total

this place is such great motivation for anyone trying to move the fuck away from hibernation - rated e | complete | 45,467 words

bear hugs - rated e | complete | 76,351 words

Tumblr Drabbles | AO3

Headcanon/Drabble Asks / Headcanon/Drabble Asks Part 2

Tumblr Requests (Rated Teen+)

Tumblr Requests (Rated M)

Tumblr Requests (Explicit)

Tumblr Requests AO3

Steddie Microfic Prompts July 23 - June 24

Steddie Microfic Prompts July 24 - Present

Birthday Fics

Sub Eddie Week

Steddie Week '24

Corroded Coffin Fest

Steddie Smutty September

-----------------------------

Fic Recs: spreading the worm | the hype around hype | it's a wynn for us all | the lexicon of omegaverse | thank you gerry much | eddywoww, that's what i call steddie fics | step into the abyss | the sidekick to her own hero | this vamp bites | she's the hottest mess around | the most legit cookie | the freak and the hair and lex | aida the gata' masturbata' | don't worry, bee happy

[steddieunderdogfics]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43944516/chapters/110492859

No Upside Down AU: Call My Number (and Call Me Yours) by novacorpsrecruit

Call My Number (and Call Me Yours) by novacorpsrecruit

@novacorpsrecruit

Rating: Mature

53,663 words, 6/6 chapters

Archive Warning: Creator chose not to use

Tags: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, firefighter and dispatcher, Kid Fic, no upside down, minor buckingham, no beta good luck y'all

Summary

“Fire department is on the way. Stay on the line with me, okay?” A buzz of a radio came over the headset. “Fire station 3 responding.” “Damn,” Eddie whistled. Chrissy looked over at Eddie. “This guy’s voice is hot.” Chrissy’s eyes grew wide. The voice cleared his throat. “Just wait until you see my face. It’s not too bad either.” ------ Firefighter/Dispatcher AU based off of MardyArt's amazing artwork <3

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is No Upside Down AUs.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[galaxiasgreen]

🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 4.9k words]

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. "Evenin'." "Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?" His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you. "Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

An incident occurs when Sebastian Sallow is having a drink.

[MASTERLIST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: alcoholism, grief, swearing, non-explicit sexual assault (this is not committed between Sebastian and the bar girl; I've marked the beginning and end of the passage with /////, if you wish to skip. Please take care!)

2: universal constants

The freckled stranger, Sebastian Sallow, breaks his four-month streak the day after you learn the truth.

"Has he come in yet?" you ask Bonny, one of the newer serving girls with a big heart – and even bigger bosom. It makes her popular with the older men, though she lavishes the attention. "Is he sitting in the garden?"

"Ain't seen a wink of him, miss," she says blithely. "Trust me, I won't be missing that muscled chest of his anytime soon, woooooo wee."

"Control yourself, Bonny."

"Don't know how you do. If it was me he was ogling I'd be all over him like Jesus on a Christmas turkey after his fortieth day in the desert."

You furrow your brow. "What? Ogling?"

She lets out a squalling giggle. "You ain't noticed the way he looks at you? I tell you what! You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know."

You flush deeply, and when she heads away to wipe a table, you glance down at yourself. You don't have a lot to boast about, frankly – you don't have enough money for fine clothes and your hair is raggedy on a good day, often thrown into a haphazard bun. What Sebastian Sallow has to look at, you'll never know.

Not that it matters. You wouldn't care – don't care – either way. You're glad Sebastian is getting help for his drinking problem and not squandering his time, money and potential. Still you glance to the barstool, his barstool, and recognise a pang of sadness at his absence. He's good company when he tries. You don't miss his attitude and poor life choices, but you do miss those kernels of goodness, like when he tries to make you laugh, or when he's happily entertaining conversation to pass the night.

He just needs to embrace them.

Don't give him too much credit. So he had one day of realisation? Ultimately it means nothing without the work. And it's not too late for today – he might come in later.

You sweep yourself down, retie your hair, and use the brass tap as a mirror to thumb away the dirt on your cheeks. For prosperity.

He doesn't come.

The next day, the door opens at precisely eight o'clock. Your head swings up from cleaning a nearby table. The man who strolls inside isn't Sebastian, however, but someone else – a new stranger. His fine garb, lacquered cane and pristine gold band on his ring finger are so at odds to the humble surroundings that you think he must've got lost on his way to the bank, the courthouse, or hell, bloody Buckingham Palace itself.

"Welcome to Ye Olde Hen House," you call. "Want a drink?"

His head cants, and then he's weaving between tables and chairs and Squiffy Joe. The stranger is tall and commands presence, but not in the way Sebastian does – this man is slender and lean, with coiffed dark blonde hair and a scattering of moles on his face. It's his eyes that draw you in the most, though, like waxy opals. They never quite focus on you.

"Good evening. I'm looking to thank you, actually. My name is Ominis Gaunt."

That rings a bell. Sebastian mentioned him once. Best friend, he called him, along with some other chap named Garreth.

"Oh yeah, one of Sebastian's?"

His lips press into a line. "I'd rather not be referred to as one of Sebastian's, but yes, we are reluctantly acquainted."

"What's this about thanks, then? Haven't seen him in a coupla' days."

"Precisely." His smile is genuine, but practiced. "He's trying to turn over a new leaf with his drinking habits, and I'm lead to believe you were the catalyst."

You snort. "I told him to sod off, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, I do like you. Yes, I'm afraid his sister's death hit him hard, and despite encouragement, I've never been able to help him overcome the grief. But you... you did. Without trying, no less."

You shrug. "Just told him to pull himself together or take his shit elsewhere."

"And I believe those words, coming from a near stranger, were exactly what he needed to hear, so I am grateful."

It's good to hear that you helped pull him from the pits – though that pang rolls through you again. You try squash it, but it resolutely shrinks until it's in a corner of your heart you can't reach.

"Sure you can't be grateful by putting money in my till?" you say to distract yourself.

Ominis lets out an amused sniff. "Very well, you've earnt it. A pot of breakfast tea will do."

"... Breakfast tea."

"Yes."

"In a pub."

"Yes."

"At eight o'clock at night."

"Do you always question your patrons' beverage of choice?"

"Only the bizarre ones. Sit at the bar, tea coming up."

You pour it for him. He uses his fingers to discern the coin value of his payment, and when he puts his cane aside, feels for the teacup's handle too.

"Thank you." He takes a sip, and the steam glistens on his skin. "Very nice."

"Just a Twinings blend."

He purses his lips, but does not comment – a move so unlike Sebastian you struggle to see how they're friends at all. Sebastian is beer, muscle and opinions; Ominis Gaunt is tea with his pinkie out, slender hands that have never seen labour, and quaint contemplation in near-silence. His accent is clipped and precise, each syllable like a dagger strike.

"You've been friends a long time?" you ask, too curious about this undrawn curtain of Sebastian's life.

"He works with me in law enforcement," Ominis says. "We're detectives."

Your eyes go wide. Sebastian is a bloody policeman?

"I take it by your silence that you're surprised."

It would explain why he's so... distractingly muscular. "A drunk officer?"

"He's been on extended leave since Anne was— since her passing."

"I see." Extended leave this long? Is that where your taxes are going? To keep Sebastian watered? "I'm glad he's got work, but can't see him enforcing the law for toffee. If anything it seems like he'd break it."

Ominis smiles with dark amusement. "I can understand the sentiment, but he is excellent at his job, though I'll never admit it to his face."

"Been doing it a long time?"

"Since I finished school. Sebastian is a more recent acquisition and works under me. I helped him secure the job."

"Really? What was he doing before?"

"Now that," he says, bringing the cup to his lip, "is something you'll have to ask him yourself."

You leave Ominis to his tea, though steal the occasional glance to check up on him. He doesn't need it, never speaks, never acknowledges anything around him. Halfway through his pot Bonny asks whether he's lost his way to Mayfair and needs a carriage called, but Ominis politely, amusedly, declines, and thanks her for her kindness.

"Another?" you ask, when all that's left of his teabag is mushy dregs.

He stands to replace his coat and tugs his hands into leather gloves. "Thank you, but I must be going. If you would," he says, before you wish him farewell, "I'd like to ask for a favour."

Suspicion erodes your curiosity. "With?"

"Sebastian is haunted by many demons." His voice is monotone, but ironically it's those unusual eyes that give him away, tightening ever so slightly. "I have no doubt he's trying to give up his addiction—"

"Stop there, Mr Gaunt," you say quickly. "I ain't no doctor. I run a pub. I sell drink. I can't get Sebastian to quit."

"I wouldn't ask you to. I only ask that you monitor his habits in my stead." He takes something out of his pocket and slides it across the counter. "His welfare is important to me, and I would like to be kept informed if he ever... relapses."

It's not a business card, but a scrawl of a landline number on... parchment?

"Please telephone if there are any issues."

Ominis couldn't be any more different from Sebastian, looks, mannerisms, attitude, yet this one request speaks of how much he cares. You smile, endeared at their brotherly relationship, and idly wish there was someone in your life that would care about you as much.

You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know.

Shooing the thought away, you stuff the note down your apron. If Sebastian collapses on your turf, at least the responsibility is on Ominis' shoulders. You can be a messenger. It seems a fair deal.

"I'll keep an eye out."

Ominis bows his head slightly. "I appreciate it, madam. Thank you for your time." He half-turns, then adds wryly, "I would say I hope to hear from you... but I sincerely hope I don't."

Sebastian Sallow appears three days later.

You're bone-tired, fighting the yawns that sprawl across your face. Owing to your parents, you went to sleep late – but his arrival wakes you like a slap. He looks different: fresh and clean, colour to his skin, and groomed, with a beard that no longer threatens to overrun his face. He catches your eye and heads straight for you, and you can't help but feel like he sees you, and nothing, no one, else.

"Miss me?" he says with that velvet tone as he takes his usual spot.

"Eh," you say, shrugging. "I only missed your money."

"And I only missed your beer. Stout back?"

"New shipment came this yesterday. Pint?"

But he raises one of his hands.

"No. Half-pint... please."

You make a face and switch to a smaller glass. Despite the reduced size it near-vanishes down his throat, Adam's apple bobbing frantically, and relief collapses his brow like he's broken the surface after too long underwater. His knuckles are white, clenched so hard, and two protruding blue veins converge at his wrist.

"Can I—" He takes a deep, shaky breath. "Another half-pint, please?"

You think about Ominis, and the note in your apron.

"How about a break first?"

After a beat, he nods.

"Beer garden's open." You tilt your head to the back door, where Bonny is slaloming through a rowdy group of patrons. "Might be nice to distract yourself with fresh air."

"Nah. Then I can't bother you."

"What makes you think you're bothering me?"

"Two things are universal constants, bar girl." He rolls his shoulder, and the muscles in his forearm strain. "How much I like to win is one of them."

"Uh huh. What's the other?"

"A man doesn't kiss and tell."

"Shame. Might actually be relevant to your so-called 'winning'."

"On the contrary, the more I bother you, the less you'll be able to stop thinking about me." He tilts his head. "And I'd take that as a very big win."

You snort and flick a wet cloth at him as you go to leave – but his breathy laughter echoes.

His schedule becomes erratic, unpredictable. One week you see him daily, nursing his beer and doing his utmost to bother you (his words)... then the next week he won't appear at all, space taken by another annoying, but less charming, alcoholic. You're loath to admit you miss him on those days.

"Heard Ominis paid you a visit?"

Today he's trying – with emphasis – to nurse his half-pint slowly. His fingers circle around the rim.

"Yeah." You snort, squeezing a cloth into a glass. "Oddball, sorry to say."

Sebastian barks a laugh. "Don't be sorry, it's true. Posh git."

"Is he blind?" Shit, that sounded rude. "Er, hard of... sight?"

"Yeah, but he can still see bullshit a mile away. Never fell for any of my pranks at school."

It did make you wonder how Ominis could be so competent in his field. A drunk detective, fine, plenty of those on the force, but a blind detective? That was unheard of.

"Maybe you're just bad at pranks," you tease.

"I'll have you know, in first year I got him stuck in a tree when he was fast asleep. No one found him until next morning after he yelled his voice hoarse. Don't give me that look. He dunked me into the lake next day."

The lake. What sort of school did he go to?

"He told me you're a detective."

"Sort of."

"You're his assistant."

"That's what he said? Prick."

You cross your arms. "So it's not true?"

"He's above me in rank, but I sure as hell wasn't his assistant." His eyes trace you up and down, warming your cheeks. "What else did he tell you?"

The note weighs heavy in your apron. Should you say something? Ominis made no request of keeping it secret, but you don't want Sebastian to feel undermined, or worse, babied. He may be a drunk but he's still an adult man and capable of making his own decisions, no matter how stupid.

You wet your lips and decide, against your better judgement, to share. "He asked to give him a bell if something ever happened to you."

You wait for a twitch of his expression, betraying indignation or hurt, but Sebastian merely shrugs.

"Typical bore. He's been trying to get me to quit since I started. Surprised he deigned to come here himself and didn't send Garreth instead."

"I think," you say, feigning shock, "he might care about you."

"Can't have that. You say he gave you his telephone number?"

You roll your eyes. "I said you were bad at pranks, didn't know you were unoriginal too."

"He can't retaliate if I'm not there."

"'Ello, Mr Sallow!"

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly.

"Evenin'."

"Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?"

His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you.

"Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

You blush. "I— you look— pale."

"Pale?" Bonny leans closer, then tuts. "Oh, your face is a bit peaky! You under the weather? Poor lamb. Get that drink down yous." She skips off with her next round. "You'll be right as rain in a jiffy!"

You clear your throat when she goes. "I'm sorry. She's new—"

"It's all right, she means well." He stares at his drink like he means to down it, but instead says, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Looking out for me."

"I ain't done a thing, Sebastian."

His lips press to the rim of the glass, and it mists with his breath.

"Not yet."

/////

You're saved from answering by a high-pitched giggle. Bonny flutters a hand at a rowdy customer, a man in his fifties, belly so swollen with drink it flops out his shirt. He stands with his arms raised.

"Cor, you are a beaut, aren't you, Miss Bonny?"

She swipes the used glasses from his table. "You should drink more, ain't never been kinder!"

They laugh together. You shake your head, turn back to Sebastian. "Just don't fall asleep—"

The giggle turns into a shriek. Glass shatters. You spin back – Bonny has dropped the tray, shards glimmering all over the floor like granulated sugar. The patron raises his arms again, but this time she backs away, and this time there is fear in her eyes.

"N-No— don't touch—!"

"What're you on?" the patron bellows over her, all trace of comradery gone. "Clumsy girl, dropped your tray!"

You snatch a broom on the way over. "What's going on?"

But the man is angry now, pointing accusingly at her. "She dropped her tray! I tried to catch her! I did!"

You stand between them. "Happens all the time, no bother. Sit down, sir. Next drink on the house."

He backs down, satisfied.

You aren't.

Bonny's hands tremble when you turn to her, noting the way her face is drawn. It's like she sees the world in grey for the first time.

"You all right?"

"Y-Yes, Miss."

A piece of you breaks. "Sure?"

"R-Really, Miss, right as rain, I am." Her smile wobbles. "Just— I was silly, dropping them glasses—"

"Take a break." You don't touch her, but gesture to the stock room behind the bar. "Sit out back for a bit. I'll get Helene to stay with you, keep you company."

Tears fill her eyes. "A-Am I fired, Miss?"

"God above, no. Just... take deep breaths." You make sure you look her in the eye when you add, "It's not your fault."

But she moves sluggishly past you, eyes vacant.

"Isn't it?"

/////

Helene goes to her aid without complaint. You sweep the shards away and procure more drinks for the rowdy patrons, but your blood boils. You've been here eight years, you've seen the best of humanity... and you've seen the worst. Him, that pig – he's the product of a society that thinks their entitlement extends to taking what they want without ever accepting a no.

You bin the shards and almost collapse on the counter with exhaustion. Dealing with horrible customers is part of the job, but there's something especially vile about dealing with this sort.

The Pig laughs loudly with his friends – at the same time, only a wall away, Bonny is sobbing.

"I saw him."

You jolt at Sebastian's voice. God, you forgot he was there. His hands are shaking, but not from withdrawal – from anger.

"I saw him touch her." His voice is low and dark. "I should break his hand."

You wish he would. It would be but tiny retribution for what's owed, for how badly the Pig has irreparably altered Bonny's life. She's young, innocent – she doesn't deserve to fear the world because of it.

"It's our word against his," you murmur. "He won't face no justice."

Sebastian doesn't answer, just keeps staring at the man with hatred. Those kernals of goodness you know exist are now enveloped by black vines, poisoned by the desire for revenge, as dark and deeply-rooted as the stairs paved to hell.

"Don't do anything stupid," you warn.

"I wouldn't."

"You got that look in your eye."

"I always have this look in my eye."

Well, that's true at least. You lean towards him, voice crisp. "If you do anything in retaliation you will put Bonny in danger. And me too."

The loathing cracks. "You?"

"He's got a big group of friends! You think either of us will get off scot-free if their mate winds up in some alleyway with a black eye? Bonny won't talk, but they know I might – they'll know he got beat up because of me. You look like you can throw a punch, Sebastian, but you must not."

He hesitates. The black claw with its vice grip holds tighter. Then:

"I look like I can throw a punch?" He smirks, killing the moment. "Because I have muscled arms?"

Relief trickles through you. He understands. He's placated. He won't do anything – for Bonny... and for you.

"Don't get cocky about it," you sniff.

"You've been looking at my arms?"

They're hard to miss, especially with the sleeves rolled up, veins like cords, glistening with sweat and freckles and tattoos and good God you are blushing. It must be nice to be enveloped in those arms, in his protection. You turn away, clamping your jaw and feeling guilty about having such sordid thoughts after everything that's happened.

He takes the opportunity to flex them, and your traitorous eyes dip to them again, to the muscle contorting, straining against his skin.

"Don't do anything stupid," you snap again.

You put the conversation out of your head when you go into the back room.

When Sebastian comes that Saturday night, the pub heaving with customers, he brings a friend.

"This is Xander," he introduces, looking mightily pleased with himself. "Or should I say, Police Inspector Xander, Scotland Yard."

Panic bolts through you, and your gaze flickers to the stock room.

Xander ruffles, pretending to look put-out. "Off-duty, but yes. Hello, ma'am. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Off-duty or not, Sebastian has no idea what he's done bringing him here, no idea what he's risking. Play it cool. You shoot daggers his way, but they might as well be made of foam.

"Nice to meet you," you say through your teeth. "You know each other through work?"

Xander chortles. "Actually, Mr Sallow—"

"Please, you know I said to call me Sebastian."

"Quite! Sebastian and I met entirely by chance at the local farmer's market a few days ago. Turns out we both have a love of southern French cheeses! Say, did you try the Roquefort I suggested? Scoffed mine with my wife, I did."

Instantly you can tell this is all balderdash, because there's no way Sebastian Sallow, the drunken, tattooed stranger with more skeletons in his closet than freckles on his face, has any interest in cheese.

"I did," he panders. "I had some with those sourdough crackers from Harvey Nichols. Delicious."

Xander blusters. "Why, and I the exact same! How bizarre! Almost like you read my mind!"

"I've also," he brings out a round package made of... leaves? "brought some Banon cheese to try."

"Banon! Another favourite of mine!" He waggles a finger at Sebastian. "You know I never believed in fate and destiny, but I dare say some higher power has intervened to bring you into my life. God perhaps, or magic!"

"Magic?" Sebastian laughs. "As if."

There's certainly something rotten in the air, and it's not the Roquefort on Xander's breath.

Sebastian pledges to buy everything after Xander makes his order and finds a table. When he sidles to the counter, armed with a handful of coins, your faux smile drops into barely-restrained outrage.

"What the hell are you playing at, Sallow? Because I swear to God—"

"Sallow now? You remind me of one of my school teachers."

"Don't joke! The police cannot be here."

"Why not? You hiding something?"

"They just can't," you say quickly. "I know you've brought him because of that incident – he won't be able to do anything."

"He's off-duty." Sebastian is a lazy cat on a balmy summer's day. "Just here for a drink with me."

"He may have fallen for your French cheese nonsense—"

"I like rocky fort, thank you."

"— but I know you've got something up your sleeve."

"Staring at my arms again? You've got to stop that, bar girl. It's very perverse."

You grind your teeth together as you make the drinks. Sebastian is infuriating— no, infuriation, the very thing itself, rather than its pompous vessel.

"This isn't about your male ego," you snarl, when you hand both glasses to him. "It's about keeping Bonny safe."

His face changes instantly. "Is she all right? Is she here today?"

"No. I'm paying her some time off."

And good thing too, because the Pig has come every day since. He's over on the same table, laughing with the same group of friends, slurping at the same drink.

"If you get her hurt—"

"I won't." It's stony, hard truth. "On my word."

"Your word doesn't mean much to me."

He grins.

"It will."

After locking the stock room, you keep a close eye. He's left his barstool free to sit with Xander at the corner table, the two exchanging animated conversation over slices of Banon and sourdough crackers. All the hairs raise on your neck. Sebastian drinks and drinks, but it's easy to tell he's taking his time, doesn't indulge as much as he usually does. He's not trying to forget.

He trying to stay alert.

Whilst you're serving the local darts club, Sebastian stands, a swift movement you catch in your periphery. He mumbles something to Xander and heads towards the bar – but not to you, to Edith, one of the other barkeeps. You might've been hurt if not for the troublesome glint in his eye.

With too many customers you can't stop to chat, though you scrutinise Edith to see what he wants: five measures of straight vodka. A man trying to give up drinking does not order that many small glasses of pure alcohol... especially not when he and Xander, and the Pig and his friends, make five.

But you're too slow to stop him when he swiftly takes the tray from Edith's hands.

"You're busy, I'll carry it."

Sebastian turns his back to you – it's only for a second, but it's a second too long. Your trust whittles, you leave the darts club with half their orders and storm after him, catching his arm inches away from the table.

Muscle. You shouldn't notice, you're angry with him and he's about to do something reckless for God's sake, but his forearm is so hard and sturdy that a wild thrill runs up your spine. Imagine if he pulled you close, wrapped those sturdy arms around you, carding his fingers through your hair—

"Any excuse to touch my arms, bar girl."

You snatch away, blushing, irate. "Whatever you're about to do—"

"It's all in hand. On my word, remember?"

You trust Sebastian Sallow about as far as you can throw him.

... Yet you find yourself stepping away.

The Pig and his friends falter at first, but Sebastian is ignorant and cheery, almost like he's honoured to hand out the drinks.

"On me tonight, gentlemen," he announces. "Life is great, I got a promotion at work and I've finally scrounged up enough to finally propose to the bonny lass I've been seeing in secret. Achilles, you too, my friend!"

You end up hugging the wall close by as Xander and the men cheers to him. The Pig's friends are too drunk to notice Sebastian is a regular, too drunk to notice he was there last week. The Pig snorts as he raises his glass.

"Might do you better to leave it, boy. Women – ain't nothing good from them."

With a sinister smile, Sebastian downs his glass, and claps Xander on the back when he does the same.

"Well, gentlemen," Sebastian bows his head with a flourish, "my friend and I will leave you be. Do have a pleasant night!"

"I never have a pleasant night." The Pig hiccoughs. "Every time I go home, I wank myself off and cry because I can't get any woman to love me."

You go utterly still.

One of the Pig's friends chimes in with, "Me too."

"I use a sock," says the other.

"I just want a good fuck," the Pig mutters, though he turns red, like he's fully aware of what he's saying. "And not one I had to buy off the street. Bobbies are cracking down on my favourite spots, the bloody meaters."

Your gaze slides to Xander, whose face has turned iridescent with anger. You think the Pig and his friends will stop now – surely they can't embarrass himself anymore, surely they won't. But the truth spills out of them; they loudly confess their darkest, most humiliating secrets, crimes you never want to hear repeated, desires that make your stomach turn. The Pig declares to assaulting Bonny like it's nothing.

"And even she turned me down!" He sweats but doesn't stop. "The fucking audacity, after she flirted with me for so long!"

Xander marches forwards, brows cutting into his eyes, and produces his ID from his jacket pocket. "Police Inspector Achilles Xander of Scotland Yard. I think I've heard enough. All three of you will follow me to the station."

"What?" the Pig roars. "But I— we've done everything wrong!"

"I understand that perfectly well, sir!"

The Pig goes redder. "N-No, I— I buy prostitutes almost three times a week and avoid my taxes— fuck—"

"Really, sir! This is extremely inappropriate!" When the Pig flails, saying nothing, Xander harrumphs. "You'll all follow me outside as I call for backup! Sebastian, I apologise, we shall have to catch up another time."

The Pig and his friends hang their heads as they're escorted out the pub. Sebastian is more than contrite about cutting short the chat with his cheese companion – all an act – and when the door clatters shut, he reclaims his normal stool and finishes his beer in three long, languid gulps. His tongue flickers out, catching the froth at the corner of his mouth; it reminds you of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

"What— how—" You swallow thickly, trying to keep your voice down. "How'd you get him to talk?"

"Don't know what you mean."

"Liar."

His smile is like an omen.

"Remember when I said I wasn't going to heaven? I meant it." He's quiet now, but exuding aggression in the way a lion's presence alone can subdue its pride. "Hell won't just welcome me with open arms — it will roll out the red fucking carpet."

But then his gaze softens, and you can almost believe all that anger, that power, those black vines steeped in vengeance... are a lie.

"You were right. Much as I wanted to drag him into an alleyway and beat him until his own mother wouldn't recognise his face, sometimes you have to work smarter, not harder. And I will never take kindly to sick bastards abusing innocent people." He takes a deep breath. "It's not much, but I hope Bonny finds some peace of mind now."

You're nearly speechless. "You did all that for Bonny?"

He seems to ponder the question.

"And someone else."

When he meets your eye, you're paralysed.

"If one universal constant is how much I like to win, then the other is how hard I'll fight for the people I care about." He says it gently, with a half-smile that makes your stomach flip. "I'll let you guess which one I live by more."

[MASTERLIST][PREV][NEXT]

thank you to my tag list: @okay-j-hannah @morelikeravenbore @vylaris. please let me know if you'd like to join/ be removed ❤️

[Divider credits]

[yearningagain]

hi guys i had a steddie fic idea that i cannot stop thinking about so i'm finally writing it, but i know if i don't write it all at once before posting, i won't finish it (as we've seen 🙄).

however i am determined to finish this thing, i don't know how long it'll be yet, maybe a long one shot, but i wanted to see if anyone would be interested in beta reading! it'd be bits at a time so i can keep things straight in my head, but the finished product will be released all at one time, even if it ends up being a multi-chapter fic. (plus i think the added help of a beta reader would help me keep to this shit bro)

anyways! this may be a complete shot in the dark, but i figured it doesn't hurt to try! please feel free to comment or dm me if ur interested :D THIS IS AN EXPLICIT FIC!! 18+ only pls!!! the primary tags (so far) will be:

- a/b/o (alpha eddie and omega steve)

- modern!au

- steves parents are shitty

- possible side buckingham

- fated mates/true mates/soulmates

- lots of sex. like. an ungodly amount.

- possible famous rockstar!eddie and baker!steve? not too sure yet what i'm gonna do with that lol

- steve harrington needs a fucking hug

- maybe some minor hurt/comfort and/or miscommunication but eventual happy ending

that's all i can think of rn but i will update as i go!!