#steve's very much aware of that one

[robthegoodfellow]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Eddie Munson, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson Summary:

After high school, Eddie works at the Hideout. And then moves into the ratty apartment above the bar. And then Billy moves in with him. And then they start hooking up. And then they scheme to set each other up with the person they think the other really wants.

[luxeberries]

now on ao3

One day, in mid August of ‘85, Dustin shows up at Steve’s front door, completely unannounced. It’s the middle of the night and Steve has half the mind to reprimand Dustin about curfew and biking alone in the dark. But when his vision finally focuses on Dustin’s expression, Steve sees panic in his eyes; fear. At first, his heart plummets and he thinks not again, not so soon. But then Dustin says-

“I killed that guy. Didn’t I?”

And every other thought in Steve’s mind crumbles like ash. 

“The Russian,” Dustin clarifies in Steve’s silence. “The doctor.” 

Steve remembers. 

Bald, round glasses. 

Stale coffee breath. 

Pliers pulling his nail. 

He can’t speak, throat closing up. 

Dustin keeps talking, rambling like Robin does when she’s panicked. “They used those cattle prods to stun demogorgons, Steve. Do you have any idea how many volts that thing held? He- He fell, like-”

“Dustin,” Steve says - rasps it out because his throat is dry but he needs to stop Dustin’s spiral. 

Rendered silent, Dustin looks up at Steve with wide, glistening eyes. He’s expecting an answer, but Steve doesn’t have one. He can’t think beyond the sight of Dustin standing before him in a matching pajama set and untied shoes, like he didn’t have the time or mind to fasten them up because he was in too much of a rush to come here. To seek out Steve, in the middle of the night. Steve, who should be able to help because that’s his job; he’s the protector, the older brother Dustin can come to for comfort. 

Except that Steve was woken with a start just five minutes ago when Dustin started pounding on his front door and he thought it was the Russians coming back for him, his mind still half lost to the nightmare he was having; all blood and bone saws and Robin’s screams. Part of him is itching to call her, like maybe she somehow died back there and Steve has been imagining her this whole time and he just needs to hear her mom answer the phone and say, ‘Yeah, she’s right here, honey’. 

But he remembers Dustin charging in, remembers watching him strike the doctor right in the chest and how he fell to the ground, limp, and didn’t get back up. Knows that everyone is safe, no matter what his brain tries to tell him. Robin and Erica are sleeping in their beds, and Dustin is standing on his front door step, bike discarded on the ground next to the Bimmer. 

Steve takes a deep breath and says, “Get in here.” 

He ushers Dustin in with a hand on the back of his neck, locking the door behind them, and heads to the living room. Dustin just keeps looking at him, like Steve has all the answers. Like Steve can make it all better. Can say the voltage wouldn’t have killed him, as if the possibility that he’s still out there wouldn’t send himself into a panic attack. 

“Steve,” Dustin says, and it sounds like a plea; the way his voice lisps, wet and small. 

He’s only thirteen.

“I killed a person,” Dustin says. 

And Steve gets it, sort of. It doesn’t matter that the person Dustin killed was evil and cruel, just like it didn’t matter that Billy Hargrove was about to kill Lucas when Steve stepped in between them. He still didn’t want to hurt someone. Each punch felt like too much, like if he punched any harder, he’d do some serious damage. And Billy would have deserved it - as horrible as it feels to think that after his sacrifice - but Steve didn’t want to be the one to do it. That’s not who he is. He’s a protector, not a fighter. Not a killer. That breaks something in a person, as is made clear by the crack in Dustin’s voice. It took something from him. The little bit of innocence Dustin had left. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, quiet and almost apologetic. “You did.” 

Dustin’s face falls, as if he really did want Steve to say otherwise. But avoiding the truth won’t help anything. 

“But- But you saved me, okay?” he says, like he’s asking if that truth is enough.

Dustin’s eyes flash with something Steve can’t identify. 

“Me and Robin,” Steve continues. “You saved us. If you hadn’t done what you did- What you had to do…”

His nightmares have answered that hypothetical too well. 

He shakes it off, puts his hand on Dustin’s shoulder instead.

“You saved us. You did good, Dustin. Okay? That’s what’s important here.” 

Dustin's face crumples and before Steve can blink, he’s got an armful of the kid. He’s still bruised, ribs only just recovering from the break, and it hurts. But he wraps Dustin up in his arms and lets him cry into his shoulder, wetting the thin fabric through. 

"Hey, it's okay," Steve soothes, voice low. "You're okay. I've got you, buddy."

He’s not coddling him or trying to get him to stop crying- he just talks so Dustin knows he’s there. Tells him how grateful he is for Dustin taking care of him and Robin when they were messed up, for being so brave when he busted into that room. He talks until Dustin is quiet against him, left with his arms wrapped around Steve’s waist and his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. He doesn’t move for a while, but Steve doesn’t mind - just rubs his back and rests his cheek against his curls. 

“Your mom know you’re here?” he asks softly. 

Dustin shakes his head. 

“You wanna stay here tonight?” 

Dustin nods. 

Steve checks his watch over Dustin’s shoulder. It’s almost midnight. He sighs. 

“Remind me to send her flowers or something as an apology for waking her up right now,” Steve says, light-hearted, trying to make Dustin laugh.

But Dustin just sniffles, guilty. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no. It’s fine. Take your shoes off and head on upstairs, yeah? I’ll call your mom and tell her you’re with me.” 

Dustin pulls back, wipes his wet nose with his sleeve and Steve tries not to cringe. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

It’s not entirely selfless, calling Dustin’s mom. If he calls Mrs Henderson, he can call Robin right after without Dustin knowing. He has a feeling she’ll be awake at this time too anyway. He thinks he might call the Sinclairs as well, wants to make sure Erica is okay. 

And as long as Dustin stays the night, Steve knows that at least he’s safe, spread out right beside him, taking up the whole bed. Can make sure Dustin sleeps through the night, can be there if he has a nightmare that his mom wouldn’t be able to calm him down from. 

Steve ruffles Dustin’s hair, smiling at how he pushes into it like a cat. “It’s no problem.”

[littlexdeaths]

i called her on the phone and she touched herself - e.m.

ghostface eddie munson x fem reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

warnings: voyerism, mutual masturbation, phone sex, eddie’s a perv but we’re into it, alluding to a knife kink, lots of scream references

i ended up taking a look at this fic today and making some little tweaks and i love it so much more now. this is another repost from my old account but i promise new content will be coming soon. enjoy xx.

word count: 1.5k

The phone rings, loud and shrill in your ear.

It sound causes you to flinch in surprise, heart thudding in your chest when you reach for the receiver. The cheesy horror movie playing on your small tv set now forgotten as you pick up the phone.

“Hello?” Your voice sounds a little breathless, a deep chuckle resounding in your ear.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

The voice on the other end was husky, smooth yet confident.

“Who is this?” You feign a bored tone, your thighs squeezing together unintentionally.

You’d never been so attracted to someone’s voice before— and he’d only spoken two words to you. But something about it felt oddly… familiar.

“Were you expecting a call from someone?” The male asks and you shift slightly to glance at your bedside clock. 8:43 PM.

Steve would still be working at the video store, or he was supposed to be. Unless he decided to prank call you during a lull in customers. Which could very well be a possibility.

“Maybe… why do you wanna know?” Your tone is overly flirty as you decide to play along.

The call now much more exciting than the movie playing out on your tv screen.

You’d never take a suggestion from Keith ever again.

“Hm, a pretty girl like you must be waiting on a call from a boyfriend?”

You can’t help but laugh at that notion, serious relationships weren’t your thing. Despite how attractive and persistent Steve was, a relationship is the last thing you wanted to tangle yourself in right now.

But he clearly was still trying too hard.

You breathe out a heavy sigh, “Nope, no boyfriend.”

Despite being a usually observant person, you still weren’t aware of the eyes trained on your half naked figure. The dark cloaked figure watching from the tree that faced your bedroom window.

“Mm, lucky me then.”

You glance back at the screen when the music begins to swell, hinting that one of the teenagers would be killed off at any moment. A loud scream fills the room as the killer takes one of the camp counselor by surprise.

“What’s that sound?” He asks, unable to see the television from his vantage point.

“Oh, just a movie.”

The male hums deeply, the sound causes you to squirm against your bedsheets. Heat pools in your lower belly and you mindlessly let your fingertips dance along the edge of your lace panties.

“What kind of movie?” He probes, his dark eyes now drawn to the silky skin of your thighs.

You begin shifting, lying back fully against your pillows. You rest the receiver between your ear and shoulder as you spread your legs open. Unintentionally giving him the perfect view as you dip your fingers past the flimsy material. The sight causes his cock to stir beneath his dark jeans.

“A scary one,” you reply, despite this being the least scary thing you’ve ever seen.

Eddie grins beneath the white ghostface mask, sheathing his blade before he reaches for the zipper on his pants. He tugs them down to free his hardened cock, pulling his mouth away from the phone to spit into the palm of his hand. The male wrapping it around his thick length whilst your fingers begin to circle over your clit.

While the brunette had come here with the intention to scare you… this turn of events was far more interesting.

“Oh, you like scary movies?”

He grins, enjoying how your voice seems to shake over the line, but not for the reason he initially expected.

“Y-Yes…”

Only pleasure laces your tone.

Eddie inhales deeply, watching as you twirl your fingers around the phone cord with your other hand. The light of the television illuminates your body with an almost ethereal like glow.

“Hmm, tell me… what’s your favorite scary movie, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, now shoving your soaked underwear completely down your thighs. You kick them off the edge of your bed before dipping a finger inside yourself. You chew on your lower lip to hold back a moan you so desperately wanted to let escape, eagerly slipping another digit inside.

This wasn’t the first time you’d touched yourself like this with Steve on the other end of the phone, but this was by far the most exciting.

Little did you know the male on the other end was definitely not Steve Harrington.

Dropping the twisted cord you grip the receiver in your unoccupied hand, eyes fluttering shut when you begin pumping your fingers even deeper inside yourself. Letting your thumb brush over your swollen clit as you curl your fingers up.

“Halloween,” you breathe, a low grunt sounds on the other end of the line as the male strokes his cock in tandem with each thrust of your fingers. The slick sounds reverberate softly through the receiver.

“Is that the one with the guy in the white mask who walks around stalking babysitters?” He asks, despite already knowing the answer himself.

A soft ‘mhm’ leaves you as you revel in his throaty moans.

“I liked that one… it was scary.” His voice drops an octave, Eddie unintentionally slipping into his dungeon master voice.

Keeping the cell phone tucked into his shoulder as he adjusts himself between the tree branches. Increasing the pace of his fist as he continues to watch you pleasure yourself through your window.

The movie playing out on your tv screen is now long forgotten as his deep voice is the only thing you can focus on.

“I like that thing you’re doing with your voice, Steve. It’s sexy.” You whimper, already feeling yourself teetering on the edge of bliss. No longer able to keep up the oblivious act anymore.

Eddie chuckles darkly, sending a shiver up your spine. “Oh sweetheart, this isn’t Steve.”

As much as those words should frighten you, it only seems to increase the tightening in your lower belly. The jealous edge to them causes a high pitched whine to leave your lips, pumping your fingers even faster into your dripping heat. Increasing the pressure on your clit, as the male’s deep moans fill your ears.

“God you little slut, you gonna cum f’me?” He growls, feeling his own orgasm drawing near.

His cock twitches in his rough palm as he observes your lower half lifting up off the mattress. Thighs trembling as your orgasm washes over you, milky white spilling over onto his ringed fingers.

Heavy breathing is all that is passed back and forth between the two of you for a moment, your body falling limp against the mattress.

“Fuck, you look so pretty when you cum, baby…” while it was whispered into the phone, you still heard it.

You recognized the husky voice instantly— the pretty but rugged metalhead who always gave you a discount on your weed.

Eddie Munson.

Your eyes instantly snap open, dropping the phone as you sit up. Letting your fingers slip from your drenched core as you rise to your feet. Padding over to your bedroom window and gazing out into the dark night.

You catch sight of a white ghostface mask in between the branches opposite your window. Your eyes meet as you reach back over for the phone, your juices smearing over the handle as you grab onto it. Amusement dances over your features as you tilt your head at him.

“Do you spy on all the girls you deal to, Munson?” You pause, clearly catching the male off guard, “Or am I a special case?”

Eddie doubles back, stuttering out a reply while he attempts to disguise his voice once more but it was too late— you caught him.

“I promise this isn’t what it seems, sweetheart.”

A small giggle leaves your lips as he fumbles his way down from the tree, removing the mask so he can see properly. His bangs stick to his forehead, pale skin flushed pink under the bright moonlight.

He drops the phone and his knife in his haste, the glint of the blade catches your attention. The way the sharp metal reflects in the light makes your heart race, arousal coursing through your veins. You lick your lips when he picks up the discarded items, his brown eyes meeting yours through the glass.

“I think I know why you came here, Munson…” you hum into the receiver once he returns the phone to his ear, your sultry tone causing his cock to stir in his jeans again.

“Why’s that, sweet thing?” He bites back, his dark eyes not leaving your silhouette.

“Someone wants to play psycho killer… but it looks like you need a helpless victim.”

You lean your forearms on your windowsill, noticing the way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows down a moan. His ringed fingers grip tightly onto the handle of the blade, the male now desperately hanging onto your every word.

“And I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Eddie curses, your words going straight to his now throbbing cock. There was no way he was passing you up on this offer.

“Now… tell me Mr. Ghostface, what do you want?” You feign a frightened tone as you pose the question.

His shallow breaths mingle with the static on the line, anticipation bubbling up inside you.

“I wanna know what your insides feel like.” He groans, his words sending heat straight between your legs.

You squirm when you watch him slide the mask down over his face, glancing back up at you with an almost predatory look.

“Come and find out then, freak.”

Click.

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬

→ premise: you were just so pretty and so much smaller than your boys how could they not love it? though they’ve seemed to take notice of just how much you love it

→ pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader x bucky barnes

→ warnings: smut | 18+, size kink [reader is described as smaller/weaker in the sense of them being super soliders and stronger more muscles etc.][im also not that good at writing size kink so just squint a bit], body worship, dumbification, nicknames [little one, dumb baby, baby], oral [f receiving], creampie [only 1 i was gonna have them both do it but]

→ a/n: 01 kinktober

It was very hard for your boys to keep their hands to themselves around you, they were both very possessive after all but they knew you loved it. They noticed the way your thighs clenched when they stood tall behind you, presence big and looming as their large hands both snake around each side of your waist. Their stares and presence are enough to make the guy talking to you back off. They hear the small lustful gasp that leaves your lips when one of them manhandles you picking you up to place you out of their way. They were more in tune and hyper aware of every motion and sound you made than you'd like sometimes. They could catch on to things you like before even you could. Such as that you really really enjoyed just how much bigger and stronger they were than you.

It had been a couple days of a long mission where the three of you simply didn't have the time or space for many intimate moments, that was until you finally got back home. You're in the middle of a conversation with Sam before suddenly you're swept off your feet by Steve.

With a short startled scream you're thrown over one of his broad shoulders. “Hey i was in the middle of a conversation, you know” you whine and ignore the ache that begins to settle in your core at the action. You smack Steve's muscular back in an attempt of telling him to let you go, with the one hand that was holding your waist still he lets go quickly to smack your ass. You squeal and shut your mouth fast as arousal replaces all confusion and frustration. Steve's other hand that's gripping the back of your thigh squeezes a bit harder around the plush skin. You watch Bucky not far behind you two as Steve carries you to our shared bedroom. A small but seductive and taunting grin plastered across the brunette's face. He watches with amusement as your eyes glaze over, practically seeing you begin to sink into sub space already.

“Wish you could see her face rn, shes turning into our dumb little baby already thinking of all the things we’ll do to her” Bucky's deep voice breaks you for your train of thought before you sink right back away and the rest is a blur until your sat on your large soft king size bed, ass nestled into steves lap and your facing bucky whos sat in front of you.

“We missed your body little one” Steve whispers, coming out desperate and soft, breath hot the back of your neck as Bucky tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and resting his big calloused hand on your face. “Your perfect little body is all we ever need baby” Bucks voice is a stark difference to the blondes as his comes out husky and deep. You gasp as bucky's cold metal fingers find their way under your shirt inching towards your bare chest.

You couldn't be bothered to put a bra on for the long and uncomfortable trip home and you've never been more grateful for one of your decisions til this moment. His thumb brushes across your already hardening nipple at the same time that Steve begins leaving sloppy kisses on the back of your neck making his way to that sweet spot behind your ear. Your breath hitches in your throat as you squeeze your thighs together but steves warm hand slides between them spreading them apart. You whimper softly at the strength.

“We wanna worship that pussy baby don't hide it little one” Steve mumbles against your neck as he starts to unbutton your pants with one hand and push them down with your panties.

The boys move fast to discard the rest of your clothes as well as their own and their lips are back all over your body, kissing, marking, licking every inch of skin that they can.

You're now propped up against the headboard, a pillow behind your back and one under your hips. Bucky has one leg pinned and Steve has the other so your legs are spread, throbbing cunt on full display for them. Their strength while forcing your legs open causes your arousal to leak down your pussy and ass soaking the pillow under you as you squirm a bit in impatience.

“Look at our pretty little dumb baby Buck so needy, you want our mouths baby?” Steve asks in a soft yet taunting voice that has your head going hazy again. You nod yes eagerly and whine as the blonde and brunette hovered their mouths over where you needed them most. A small chuckle leaves Bucky's lips before he is quick to slide two of his thick warm fingers through your slick, spreading it over your puffy folds. The small gasp leaving your parted lips turning into a louder one the second his fingers slip inside you and are fast to find that spot only your boys could. Steve, not far behind Bucky in action, leans closer and starts to slowly flick your clit with his tongue, teasing you by slowly licking shapes over your aching clit. Your thighs twitch and on instinct your legs attempt to shut from the overwhelming pleasure, the pressure building embarrassingly fast in the pit of your stomach.

“You gonna cum already little one? Keep these fucking legs open and cum on Bucks fingers, come on dumb baby” Steve groans against your pussy as he moves his attention back to your clit, sucking it sloppy and hard. Steve's hands grip your inner thighs hard and push your legs away from his head and Bucky pins one knee down to the bed with his free hand. “Cum on my fingers baby then you can get filled with our cocks you miss that dont ya’ little one” Bucky chuckled and watched as you squirm and whine when he starts slowly and teasing stroking his hard cock giving you the perfect view.

With a gasp and fingers threading through Steve's dirty blonde hair and pulling you cum hard on Bucky's fingers. You feel Steve smile against your clit as your chest rises and falls, catching your breath.

Bucky having other plans however the minute Steve pulls away from your clit is smacking his red leaking tip against your abused bud and slamming inside you. Your eyes glaze over and their voices fade as pleasure and overstimulation take over your body. A wanton moan fills the boy's ears causing them to smile as Bucky's thrusts are hard and fast. He's been pent up for days and your walls clenching around his thick cock is a heavenly feeling he desperately missed.

Your eyes fall shut but snapback open fast when Steve is gripping your cheeks squeezing them lightly, you whine, his rough hand making your face seem so small. “Eyes on us baby got it? Look at Buck as he fucks this gorgeous cunt yeah?” He questions and smacks your clit before you can answer, making you clench down harder on buck. “Yes! Mhm mhm!” You nod and hum in response, not being able to form enough words.

The brunette groaning loud and grabbing your hips hard to plow into you even harder. He was so big it was easy for him to manipulate you. “Fuck you’re already gonna make me come little one” his head falls back as he lets pleasure wash over him. He thrusts one last time filling you to the hilt as thick hot ropes of cum fill you up. Your mind goes blank again and before you can register their voices again, Steve's hands are grabbing onto your hips and lifting you into his lap.

“Shes already so fucked out aww well too bad baby i need to be inside you so fuckin’ bad missed it just as much as buck did” Steves voice is ringing in your ears but before you can form an answer he is lfting you up again to slide down onto his cock. “Ah! Fuck steve” you whine and yet still press your hips down to take him inside. “Look at you trying to complain baby you love it when we manhandle you, didn't think we noticed huh?” Bucky taunts and grabs a fist full of your hair to pull your head back so he can kiss you hungrily. You kiss back passionatly with a goofy smile on your face that fades into a lust filled one once steve starts to fuck up into you, hands still grabbing onto your now probaly bruised hips.

You moan against Bucky's lips, head hazy but happy thinking of how well they will take care of you after this. They may manhandle you and be much stronger than you but they could be big teddy bears when it came to aftercare.

→ a/n: this is only my second time writing stucky so i hope its as good as my first one that everyone loved but :) also this was meant to go up yesterday im not doing 31 days im doing 18 im posting a fic every saturday, sunday, tuesday, and thursday but i got busy yesterday and this wasnt proof read too well so im sorry and i rushed the ending to get it out td.

[rustedhearts]

somebody told me (fratboy!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve has made it very clear that he doesn’t want you. but he doesn’t want anyone else to have you either.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

i want your things in my room (part one) the library record store

tags: angst, mean!steve, so much tension, yeah the football player is tim riggins in my mind and so what?! i literally wrote this months ago, enjoy <3

"heaven ain't close in a place like this"

— somebody told me, the killers

may 1st, 2009

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

It came hissed in the doorway between the second floor fraternity steps and the sticky wood paneled wall. Steve hovered above you, breath sour with beer and a new bottle dripping condensation through the hand dangling at his side. His eyes were slanted and directed down at your eyes watching him in surprise.

30 seconds ago, he cornered you against the wall after your swift trip to the bathroom. You caught eyes with him across the kitchen nearly an hour ago, and it took all this time of carefully scanning your movements when you weren’t looking for Steve to get you away from the junior you came with.

“What are you talking about?” you laughed. “It’s a party.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

You swallowed, trying not to let your good-natured grin drop. You were well aware that Steve didn’t invite you.

After he practically ran from your bedroom two weeks ago, things went radio silent between you and Steve. You texted, he didn’t answer. You called once, thought about leaving a voicemail, and spent a whole weekend crying when you realized: he didn’t want you. Someone who wants you doesn’t flee your room the way he did that night.

You were perfectly content wallowing in your idiocy for ever thinking Steve Harrington could have a special spot for you in his tiny, shriveled heart—until said junior you were attending tonight’s party with saw you at the dining hall.

You were studying late into the evening, sitting all alone at a table near the fireplace with your books sprawled out and your picked-at dinner in scraps. He came staggering in with a band of other men, all sweaty and half-dressed from practice. He was a linebacker on the football team, and he looked damn good easing into the chair across from you and making it squeak.

His name was Tim and he had a handsome smile, and a slow way of talking in this Texan drawl that had you blushing. For the ten minutes he sat and talked to you and asked you what you were so focused on, you forgot all about Steve.

You texted for a week, grabbed a few lunches and coffees together, and now here you were. At a frat party, invited not by Steve—but Tim.

“I know that,” you told Steve, pulling your arms up to fold them over your chest. Steve’s eyes flashed down to your breasts cupped under a black lace bra peeking through a red shirt.

“I came with Tim.”

Steve screwed up his nose, pulling back a little. “Tim? Tim who?”

Huffing, you pushed yourself off the wall and pressed Steve back by the shoulder. “Tim, Steve. Now, excuse me, but I’m gonna go find him—“

“No, hey.”

Steve snatched you by the elbow, causing you to fumble on the carpeting and narrowly miss someone heading up the steps. You gasped, stumbling into Steve still against the wall.

“Steve, what the hell?”

“‘m not done talkin’ to you.”

You glared at him, wrenching your arm away with force. “I don’t care.”

You rushed down the steps before he could speak again, head suddenly swollen with confusion, heart pounding hard in your chest. He hadn’t touched you in weeks. Hadn’t spoken to you, looked at you, so much as acknowledged you since the last time he was inside you.

All it took to get his attention was to finally attempt to move on? It was bullshit. It made your cheeks flame and your mouth line with sweetness that made your stomach coil. It wasn’t fair.

“Hey.” That soft Texan drawl called to you.

You raised your head from where you were glaring at the floor, softening when they found Tim’s green gaze. He grinned at you, still holding your red plastic cup from earlier. You retrieved it from him and allowed yourself to tuck into his side under the weight of his arm.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you told him. “Long bathroom line.”

Steve stepped into the fluorescents of the kitchen, weaving his way through bodies with wide, squared shoulders. He tossed a quick glance your way and shook his head as he made his way through the room. And what pissed you off most was the fact that he thought he had the right. The right to be upset, the right to think anything of you.

“Baby, you look so pretty in that lil’ top,” Tim said, tipping his chin down to you with a lopsided grin. He was a few beers in and loopy.

You grinned. “Do I?”

“Mhm. Real pretty—come gimme a kiss.”

You perked up on your toes to meet his mouth. His lips were always warm and soft and soaked in beer. Lord, college boys drank a lot. If you closed your eyes and forgot where you were, sometimes he even tasted like Steve.

But Tim always called you baby, and Tim always called you back. He walked you to class with your books in his arms and a hand on your waist, opened the door for you, and helped you into his truck when he took you for coffee.

And Steve? Steve acted like you didn’t exist if his dick wasn’t inside you.

Your tongue was just slipping past Tim’s teeth when you were torn apart by force. Tim stumbled aside, knocking you as he went and catching you quickly with a hand on your waist. Both your heads turned sharply toward the assailant.

Steve stood near the island where Tim had previously been, holding a bottle of beer and a look of nonchalance. His eyes glided from Tim’s look of surprise to your absolute glare.

“Sorry about that,” Steve said coolly. “Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Tim resumed his spot beside you, and your body felt like it was vibrating against his. Every part of you was burning—and you couldn’t tell from what. Anger? Humiliation? Arousal? Maybe all three. You swallowed with difficulty and let Tim pull you in again. But your eyes never left Steve’s.

And his never widened from their slits. The ball of muscle near his jaw bone knotted when he clenched his teeth and it didn’t move.

“You okay, baby?” Tim’s attention was on you, and you looked away from Steve to smile at your date.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

The footballer had an easier lightness to him. Breezy, taking things with a grain of salt. He didn’t bother fighting Steve for his ‘mistake.’ He didn’t scold him for knocking you. He only smiled at you with a pair of pretty dimples and kissed the top of your head, arm bending around your shoulders.

“Wanna get outta here?”

Because he’d be going home with you. And it only took Tim a few moments to deduce that it was that fact alone that would drive Steve crazy. Even if you couldn’t.

You nodded, hand rubbing over his chest. You spared one more glance toward Steve, who had stepped away toward the other side of the kitchen with slow, slithering steps. He took a swig of his beer and clenched his teeth on the swallow.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Tim held your hand on the way out, guiding you down the front steps and toward the street. Your arms swung over the pavement, and you almost felt compelled to check if Steve was watching. What the hell was wrong with you?

“So what was that?”

You peered up from the pavement to Tim’s green eyes. “What?”

He cocked his head back at the brightly-lit house dimming behind you. The music faded the further you went. He was still wearing that dimpled grin.

“Back there, with that guy.”

You inhaled, looking back toward your feet. It only took a few moments to decide that you didn’t want to lie.

“We…used to hookup. But it’s completely over, I swear.” You skirted to a stop, gathering Tim’s other hand and meeting his eye again. “He’s just being a dick about it.”

He snorted. “I sort of got that when he came from across the room to ram into me.”

A giggle burst from your mouth, but it drooped into a frown. “I’m sorry.”

Tim frowned, brows creasing. “For what? You don’t got nothin’ t’ be sorry for, pretty girl.”

The warmth pulsing in your chest you could certainly make sense of now. “Okay.”

He grinned again, dropping one of your hands to squeeze your chin affectionately. “Okay. Come on.”

You walked the rest of the way to your apartment with his heavy arm over your shoulders again. And Steve watched from the front seat of his car, knowing exactly where he was going as he peeled away from the curb.

✶ ✶

“Alright, goodnight, little lady.”

“Goodnight, Tim.”

Your voices were punctuated by the slam of a door. Quick footsteps followed, a rhythmic succession ascending the staircase. Over the creaky board on the other side of the door, then—

“What the fuck?”

It burst open to a streak of lamplight in your bedroom and one Steve Harrington shadowing it at the foot of your bed. He had your university football teddy bear in his hands. It was a gift from Tim and it had his number on the bear’s soft yellow t-shirt.

Steve leapt to his feet. “What are you doing?”

You couldn’t seem to close your mouth. It hung open as you watched Steve raise his brows and jerk his chin expectantly. He tossed his arms out on either side.

“Huh?”

You came to your senses with a hard blink. “What am I doing? What the hell are you doing? How did you get in here?”

“Same way I always get in,” he quipped.

Heat touched your cheeks as you stepped into the room and gently clamped the door shut. You snatched the teddy bear from his hand and placed it back on your desk silently. Your purse fell to the floor where you were standing.

“You didn’t answer me. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Is this about the party or Tim?” You kicked your shoes off one by one, keeping your back to Steve and his stupidly pretty face.

You had such a soft spot for pretty boys, it seemed.

“You know what? Both.”

“Okay,” you sighed, pulling the first layer of your outfit off. Steve’s eyes scanned the lace of your tank top as red fabric made its way toward the hamper. “Tim and I are seeing each other. Tim wanted to go to the party, which happened to be at your frat—alas, there we were.”

The mattress springs yipped when you bounced on the edge to pull a clean pair of socks on. You wanted to strip your jeans, too, but you didn’t want to give Steve any ideas. He was already standing there with his arms crossed and his biceps and chest all puffed and sculpted. He already had that handsome pink tinge to his cheeks: his beer blush.

“Well, it’s weird,” Steve stated.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling a snicker. “Okay, Steve. Can you leave now? I’m tired.”

Steve tapped his finger on his arm, watching you shift on the bed and feign exhaustion. He chewed his cheek for a minute before reaching for his hair.

“Well…you know I missed you, right, sweetheart?”

He dropped his hands and softened his eyes into that soft, puppy-dog pout. Your scoff was sharp and sliced through the room. Steve stepped toward the bed.

“Right.”

“No, really,” he urged, sinking into the mattress before you. “You know I was just made president, and I just got super busy, that’s all. I meant to call you.”

You tipped your head at him and stared directly into those faux-pleading hazels. "How come everything you say to me sounds like a line, Steve?"

Steve sat unblinking for a moment. Then his cheeks colored a rosy shade, and he covered it with a cruel scoff and another sweep of his hair.

"What? Come on, you-you know I like you."

You pushed off the bed, head shaking. That warmth was slowly but surely returning to your body in violent form. You pulled your hair off your neck and padded toward the window to open it. Your room already smelled too much like Steve.

"You like playing with me," you corrected, keeping your back to him even as the mattress shrieked with his freed weight.

"You know, you're such a bitch-"

You spun around, shoving him by the chest. Steve stumbled a step back, but the smirk on his face made you regret even touching him at all.

"Get out."

"Hell no," he bit, lunging back into place. He grabbed at your arm again. "You think Tim wants you either? You think he doesn't just like playing with you? You always gave it up so easy."

Tears bubbled in the edges of your eyes. A tingling burn settled in the bridge of your nose. You shoved at him again and angled your head away from him and his sneering scowl and beer breath.

"Fuck you, Steve."

“You’re trying to replace me? Hmm?” Steve cocked his head to meet your eye, and you wished you could will away the hot tear trickling down your cheek. “That’s fine, sweetheart. I’ve got ten of you in my pocket.”

He shoved your arm away with a scowl, and you sniffled as he headed toward the door. All the hot-headed, enraged words pulsing on your tongue shriveled and died—and they were replaced with a hurt and heartbreak that was so familiar it was almost comfortable.

Yet as he opened your bedroom door, you rubbed your arm where he had held you and sniffled.

“Stay away from me, Steve.”

Door in hand, Steve turned and scoffed at you. “No problem.”

✶ ✶

You spent the next hour crying between makeup wipes and playing your radio on low. Pulled a faded grey t-shirt from your pajama drawer and tried not to look at Steve’s face rumpled at the bottom on a white t-shirt. Why hadn’t you thrown it away? He was so hard to let go.

With the football bear cradled to your chest, you wiggled under the covers and reached for the lamp. Your phone buzzed consecutively on the nightstand, causing pause. The plastic clicked on its hinges as it flipped open, and the sheets rustled when you shot up in bed.

u up?

tim is a fckn l0ser

answer

i’m sorry

The first time he called, you didn’t answer. You watched the small square light up with his name, felt the plastic shake in your palm with the force of its ring.

answer

Another call. You pressed the green button, but waited.

“Hello? Hey-hello?” His faded voice brought you from your daze.

You pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Jesus, do you not read your texts?”

“Wh-what…why are you calling me?” Disbelief colored every syllable from your mouth.

Steve huffed. “I just…how much do you really know about this Tim guy?”

You looked at the bear sitting on your lap against the sheets. “About as much as I know about you, Steve.”

The line buzzed with quiet for a while. You played with the hem of the teddy bear’s shirt and gnawed on your lip. An ache balled in your chest when the thought of him hanging up occurred to you.

“Fair,” he said quietly.

Sighing, you shimmied under the covers again and reclined back against the headboard.

“Why are you calling me, Steve?” This time it was softer. You couldn’t give in to him anymore, but you had to hear him out. He never called you like this.

He never acted like he cared until now.

“Just…don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

You scoffed, pressing your palm against your head. Despite the way your heart pulsed with excitement, and the way your nerves locked up at the thought—you knew Steve didn’t mean any of it. He was just jealous. He wanted you as his personal plaything and he didn’t like to share.

You couldn’t swallow it anymore. You couldn’t keep biting your tongue to stay the perfect toy in hopes he might see you as more.

You had to end it.

“You already took care of that, Steve.”

You reveled in the buzzing silence of the other line for a beat.

“Goodnight,” you told him.

And you hung up the phone.

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

  You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

Fish guy is actually pretty much the same height as Steve when they’re sitting next to each other on the edge of the pool. Steve finally gave in, the heat of the day getting too much, and is trailing his feet in the water – fish guy doesn’t seem to care, but Steve still made sure to shower before he came out here. Next to Steve’s feet, the flat point of fish guys tail is also swirling in the water.

Fish guy loves pears. Steve’s sure they’re his new absolute favorite thing, and Steve’s watched him demolish six, cores and stalks and all, one right after the other.

He’s licking sticky juice from his fingers. Steve can’t see his eyes behind the shades; but he’s certain fish guy is watching him. Probably waiting to see if Steve will produce more food; fish guy has developed a hearty appetite, and he hasn’t put on much weight yet, but he’s not exactly what Steve would call emaciated either. A little over a week of regular food is obviously helping.

“Okay,” Steve sips on his beer, the points to himself, “Steve.”

“Steeee,” fish guy readily replies, nodding. Steve has no idea how or when he picked up the nodding and head shaking, but he uses both correctly, as far as Steve can tell, so Steve doesn’t argue.

Steve points at fish guy. Nothing, then a curious head tilt.

Steve’s starting to come to the conclusion that maybe fish guy just doesn’t have a name. Which, okay, Steve can kind of see that. He vaguely wonders if fish guy has any family; if he’d even want to go back to the Upside Down.

“Right. Should probably name you something vaguely fish related, no? Should we stay on brand?” Fish guy cocks his head the other way, like a bird. They’ve been sat here long enough that the sun has started to dry the ropey mess of hair that fish guy has; it gone kind of curly now, pinging up as it dries.

Steve really wants to comb it out, but he has no idea how fish guy will react; they’ve only just made it to sitting next to each other. Steve’s vaguely aware that combing someone else's hair is a bit...familiar, but he figures fish guy is kind of in his care or whatever.

Maybe they could build up to it.

“Fish,” Steve muses vaguely to himself, “fishing? Scales? Tails? Fishing, fisher? Fisher, Eddie, Eddie Fisher, that singer guy Mom really likes. What do you think, how does Eddie sound? Good as anything, right?”

Steve has no idea what’s going on behind the sunglasses, but fish guys head keeps cocking curiously to the side. Steve points to himself, “Steve.”

Fish guy, replies, “Steeee,” as expected, nodding.

Steve points to fish guy, and says, “Eddie.”

Fish guy points to himself cautiously, and quietly volunteers, “Edidie?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, nodding, “near enough, man. Eddie. Sounds good.”

“Good,” Eddie replies, startling Steve a bit because it’s clear as a bell.

“That’s right, good. Eddie.”

Eddie, very slowly so Steve can clearly see what he’s doing, reaches for Steve’s beer bottle. Steve’s instinct is to take it away, what if it’s poisonous or something? But then he figures Eddie’s been pretty clear about rejecting stuff so far if he doesn’t want it; plus he lived in the Upside Down for, presumably, years. If he can survive in a toxic environment like that, then surely a sip of beer won’t hurt him.

Eddie’s funny as he lifts it, sniffing cautiously before he works out the mechanics of fitting his lips around the neck of the bottle. He drinks. Seems to ponder it for a moment, and then drinks again, giving the bottle a mournful little shake when he realizes it’s empty. There wasn’t much left anyway; Steve figures he’ll be okay.

“Good,” Eddie says as he hands the bottle back, “inied.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “finished.”

“Why do you think he doesn’t have any gills?”

“You are definitely asking the wrong person here Robs,” Steve scatters another handful of peas into the water, watching as Eddie bobs along, collecting them one at a time and popping them into his mouth, “ask Dustin. He’ll produce a book. There’s literally always a book.”

“I don’t want to ask Dustin, he’ll actually try and explain it to me...I’d rather speculate emptily.”

“You do love a bit of empty speculation.”

Robin nods in agreement, “so, no gills, what do you think?”

“I think…” Steve ponders for a few seconds, filling up the dog bowl with the rest of the peas and floating that on the water, “that he can’t actually breathe underwater. He can just hold his breath for a fucking long time.”

“Nah. Boring. Plausible. Logical. Could be correct. I need something wild Steven.”

Steve thinks, but he doesn’t have much of an imagination, not like the kids or Robin. Clever people have good imaginations; Steve’s not one of them. But he does remember hearing something about bugs one time, “he breathes through his skin.”

“Fucking rad.”

“You have been spending way too much time with Argyle.”

“He has the good stuff Steve, supply and demand,” she says shrugging, and then, “why, you jealous?”

Steve huffs, rolling his eyes. Because no, of course he isn’t. Much. Maybe a tiny bit. But that’s okay, Robin should have other friends and stuff he guesses. She pokes him in the ribs and he flaps at her.

It just encourages her, obviously, so he tries to ignore her which just makes her ten times worse. She pokes more, and she just knows him too well, goes for his ticklish ribs and before Steve knows what’s happening he’s on his side, trying to curl up to get away, begging for mercy and shrieking with laughter, Robin hollering “admit your jealousy Steven. Say uncle! Say iiiiiiiiiit!!”

Robin disappears suddenly with a splash and yelp. She scrambles on the grass, trying to right herself from where she was shoved, Eddie suddenly flopped half on top of Steve, his tail twisting around Steve’s middle. Robin scrambles back a few more paces, Eddie’s arms locked at the elbow to hold his torso up off the ground as far as he can, claws raking into the grass.

He’s completely silent, and Steve, shocked, just sits for a moment, looking at the back of Eddie’s soaking head. The water’s dripping from his hair in rivulets down his pale back, his shoulder blades standing out sharply, the knobs of his spine visible where his back is held in a sharp arch.

He’s puffed up like an angry cat, Steve thinks absently.

He makes eye contact with Robin over Eddie’s shoulder, and she raises her eyebrows just a teeny tiny bit, ‘what the fuck?’

Steve shrugs, ‘I don’t know.’ Then tilts his head to the house a little, ‘give us a minute.’

Robin frowns spectacularly, ‘I’m not leaving you alone with the crazy fish guy’ or words to that effect, Steve guesses.

He nods toward the house again, trying to give his best, ‘I’ll be fine,’ vibes.

She looks hugely doubtful, but does move away, all slow and careful. Eddie hand walks to keep himself between between Steve and Robin, his tail clenching around Steve as he does.

“Eddie,” Steve’s hand hovers in the air for a few seconds before he bites the bullet and lets his hand rest on Eddie’s tail. It’s surprisingly smooth. Not soft exactly, but not hard. Doesn’t even feel scaly really, just smooth and warm it doesn’t look scaly either, now that Steve can have a close up look. It’s just...black. Matt black.

Actually now that he’s here, there are some funny little slits toward the tippy bit, they kind of look like they could be openings, but he doesn’t have time to investigate because Robin’s gone, so Eddie turns to him.

Steve has no clue what to say as Eddie’s tail slowly unwraps from his middle, “Eddie,” he starts, as Eddie slips back into the water.

“Steee.”

Steve just sighs, retrieving what are now Eddie’s sunglasses from where they’ve fallen by the edge of the lawn, “what am I going to do with you?”

Eddie tips his head, listening, but Steve doesn’t have anything else to say. At a loss, he heads inside to make sure Robin is okay.

A/N I know the time line doesn't work with Argyle since this happened after starcourt but lets just all agree to ignore that. There is no tag list for this work.

Part Four

[lilpomelito]

Steve and Robin go out to a gay club in Indy one night and Robin ends up pissed off because even if she did make a couple of friends and connections with the local scene she didn't have as much luck as Steve who made out with like 5 dudes in a row. How come they're going to the gay places and her straight friend still has more game than her?! Turns out maybe not so much, since Steve spends the monday shift at family video talking how much he enjoyed kissing guys and how hot it got him and how it didn't feel like a performance—which Robin can relate to that part—so maybe it's time to keep experimenting? Robin thinks he might be going a little fast but Steve is determined so he asks if he should ask Eddie if he's down to hooking up so he can try having sex with a guy which sends Robin into another spiral because whoa, since when are you aware that Eddie's gay? (And shit, if she said it out loud to Steve does that count as outing Eddie?!) Steve says he just knows, the same way he knows that Vicky is into boobies (ugh, not this again!) and anyway there's no harm in asking. Robin's mind is blown when Steve literally picks up the phone and calls Eddie if he's down to fuck that night at his place. She's not surprised Eddie agrees. He might be even more of a masochist than Robin herself, really. Which leads to a very interesting night where Robin spends hours trying to concentrate on her stupid homework and not think about how her best friend, her soulmate, the light of her life, is right now having gay sex literally days after finding out "kissing guys is cool actually," when it took her years to admit to herself that she was into girls. And it's even more mortifying when a little after midnight Steve calls her—of course he does—and informs her that sex with men is actually so much better than sex with girls, for him at least, he just had the best orgasm of his life (good for him) and inform her that he now has a boyfriend. Honestly, what did Robin expect. Good for Steve and his simple, honest heart.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Once Upon A December

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Of all the things your heart used to know, things it years to remember, Bucky Barnes is at the top of that list.

A.N. - I feel like you guys just haven't been made aware, but one thing about me, I love a good musical.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Anon's Birthday Celebration

Bucky softly swallows the air that seems to get more sparse as he thinks, truly thinks, about his latest conclusion. "I just - I think it's time."

His hands fold together, he hunches over, barely able to tear his eyes off the ground.

"I can't tell you what to do here, Buck."

"I know."

"Do what you think is best."

"Best?" He bitterly chuckles. "There is no best. I just - I'm hurtin' the both of us by holding on. And I don't want to hurt her anymore."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"I feel so guilty every time I look at her." Bucky lightly gasps for air. "And God, I - Sometimes, I think that maybe that's the reason I'm the only one she doesn't remember."

Steve grips Bucky's shoulder, "Buck... it wasn't your fault."

"How do I let her go?" Bucky brokenly whispers. "How do I mourn the love of my life when I know she's right there, she's alive?"

Steve finds himself at a loss for words. There was no answer. Nothing he could say. It was a truly impossible situation. "I'm so sorry."

He shakes his head, clearing his throat, "I should go talk to her."

"I think she was in your - in her room."

Bucky winces at the correction. It wasn't their room anymore. Now, it was your room. He'd given you the space to try to regain that void in your memory.

And yet, it's all so painfully familiar. It's muscle memory. Walking to your room. Knocking on your door. The only difference is now, it doesn't feel like coming home, it feels more like the procession to his own funeral.

"James..." Your tone is flat, unsure as you open the door. He hates the guilt glistening in your eyes. He sees it every time you look at him. He hates that he's the one that made you feel that way.

When it first happened, when he first realized that he was nothing but a blurry figure dancing through your memory, he tried telling you.

He tried filling every detail of your epic love story in your mind. He tried forcing himself back into your memories. Nothing brought back the look of love and adoration in your eyes.

He offers a heavy smile, "Hi. Can I come in?"

You nod, stepping away from the door to allow him into his former home. The place looks the same, with the notable exception of the traces of him.

You settle on the couch. He sits on the small loveseat, perpendicular to you. "How are you?"

He licks his lips, offering a small shrug, "I start therapy in a few days again."

"Oh."

"What about you?"

Your voice is far more curt than you intend, "I didn't remember anything if that's what you're asking."

His heart stammers, "No. That's not what I meant."

"Sorry, I didn't sleep very well. Not that it's an excuse."

"Nightmares?"

"Just the same one." You're not sure how much detail he cares to hear, but the way he waits for you to continue is almost a comfort. Your eyes squeeze shut as the memory plays on a loop. "I - I don't remember the mission. Just bits and pieces. I was alone. On the rooftop. And then I see the HYDRA agent's face. When they push me. That's where the nightmare starts... I fall. It's dark. I can hear someone screaming my name. And it's over."

"You weren't alone on the roof."

"What?"

"I was on the roof with you. We were scoping out the area. They came out of nowhere."

Your eyes widen. It clicks. The sound of the voice screaming after you. It almost perfectly matches the timbre of his voice. Only now, his voice sounded strained, tried. "You were screaming my name."

Bucky nods, "I jumped after you. I didn't make it in time. I found you laying in your own blood."

"I'm sorry, James."

He hates the sound of his name so formal leaving your mouth. He can't help himself as he speaks, "You never used to call me that."

"Oh?"

A sad smile tugs at the corner of Bucky's mouth, "You only called me James when you were upset. Or when I was annoying you."

A light chuckle leaves your lips, "What did I call you when you weren't annoying me?"

"Bucky. Buck." He shrugs. He swallows the knot forming in his throat, his voice wavering, "A lot of pet names. I pretended to hate it, but I didn't."

You look up to see tears shining in his eyes. His voice breaks as he continues on, "You called me Sarge when you were joking or being flirty."

You reach forward, squeezing his hand. A tight knot forms in your throat, "I'm sorry I can't be the girl you remember."

He looks down at the warmth of your hand resting on his. He's acutely aware that this is the first time you've initiated contact with him since you forgot him.

He swallows back his tears, "You didn't take off your ring."

"It didn't feel right to." You start sliding the ring off, "I should probably give it back."

He immediately stops you, "Keep the ring."

"Steve said it was your mother's. I couldn't."

He shakes his head, his heart clenching with pain, "I won't need it."

You rest your hand on your chest. Your heart yearns to remember him, to remember his place in your life. It was right there. Like a word on the tip of your tongue. You could feel the memory of him glowing in the recesses of your memory, glowing as dim as an ember.

You were so close, and yet, it wasn't enough. "I want to remember. I so badly do."

He stroke a stray hair out of your face. Sitting this close to you, he takes a long moment to memorize every detail. The slope of your nose. Your eyes. Your lips. He knows he'll never be this close to you again.

He had to stop hurting you. He had to stop hurting himself.

"I know."

You rest your forehead against him. It feels both so foreign and so familiar all at once.

"Can I - Can I kiss you?" he asks. "Just one last time."

You nod, your heart shattering at the sound of the hurt in his wavering voice.

His flesh hand rests against your cheek. Your breath shudders, dancing across his lips. His nose brushes against yours. Once. Twice. You find yourself leaning forward, closing the distance. His lips brush against yours hesitantly at first. You can't help but notice the way they mold against yours perfectly.

The song that vaguely echoed in the back of your mind gets louder and louder, echoing with thoughts of him. The memory of him rattles against your skull, begging you to remember.

Your hand moves from its place on the cushion to his shoulder. Slowly, it creeps down to rest just above his racing heart. You hum against his lips, pulling yourself away from him.

You look up at him, your eyes shining up at him like they once used to. "Bucky?"

Bucky Barnes Masterlist Anon's Birthday Celebration

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[ashwhowrites]

Hi I sent in a request for prompts 43 and 25 for angst but forgot to and that I wanted it to be Eddie Munson x reader and I’m so sorry

"I’m not coming home, don’t look for me.”

“don’t make me choose” “why? Because you’d pick her?”

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

⚠️angst ( since I've been told my angst needs warnings ;)

Pick me, choose me, love me

Eddie and Y/N had been best friends since first grade. They grew up together and did everything together. Everyone in their life thought by the time they graduated they would have figured out they were in love with each other.

But that didn't happen. They were still best friends, oblivious to how they felt for one another. They lived in a small apartment, both needing a life outside the trailer park.

Y/N went to school, and worked at a bar for extra cash. Eddie worked with Wayne and spent his extra cash at said bar. He always kept her company while she worked, and kept an eye on how men were around her. He wouldn't dare let anyone touch her.

She was a little more aware than he was. She couldn't deny that Eddie grew into a very handsome man, with a sexy charm. His smile and sly winks could win over any girl, including her. She never believed Eddie saw her as anything more than a friend, so she kept her feelings to herself. No way was she going to lose Eddie.

But that meant she had to suffer when he flirted with girls during her shift. Ignore the pain in her heart when they snuck off to the bathrooms. Or the night he brought a girl home, as she turned up the living room TV when his door slammed.

He seemed to be good in bed, from the countless girls she was forced to listen to. She tried to ignore how jealous she was, hating the way girls left in the morning satisfied and bruised.

She thought the random hookups were bad, but it was so much worse when he got a girlfriend. Her name was Kathy, and she was a bitch. Not that Eddie noticed, he worshipped the ground she walked on. Kathy and Y/N never got along, but girls knowing they both wanted the same thing from Eddie. Kathy was smug since she was the winner.

Tensions got high when Y/N told Eddie she saw Kathy going into the bathroom with a guy during her shift. A huge fight broke out and Eddie left for a few days. Kathy said Y/N made it all up and Eddie fell for it. Even though Y/N wanted to kick him out, she called a truce. Both agree to leave it in the past.

Trouble didn't stop there, it seemed Kathy brought in new drama weekly. But Y/N tried her best to keep her friendship with Eddie alive. Even when he made it so damn hard.

~~~

"Alright, everything is set up. Don't you forget to show up!" Steve said, pointing a stern finger at Eddie.

Eddie rolled his eyes, "you think I'm going to skip out on my best friend's birthday?"

"I'm just saying." Steve said as he held his arms up.

Y/N was turning twenty two and Steve planned a huge surprise party for her. All their friends would be there, her family, and most importantly Eddie.

Steve was a good friend of Y/N's. And he could easily tell she was in love with the metal head. He knew Kathy was bad news but Eddie was never one to listen.

~

Y/N jumped as she opened the door, Steve sent her an address to meet him at for a birthday dinner. She wore her best dress, a little short and a perfect amount of tightness. Her hair was styled and she wore her best make-up. She was in awe as she took in the huge crowd of people.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!" Steve screamed, along with everyone. But he was front and center, arms open as she raced into them. She crushed him in a bear hug and he spun her around.

He had to stop himself from sticking his nose in her neck. While Y/N pinned after Eddie, Steve pinned after her. But he knew her heart was with Eddie and he respected that. Still, his heart raced in the dress she wore.

"You look gorgeous," he whispered in her ear. She tried to push back tears, feeling so loved.

"Thank you for this!" She squealed. She took her time walking around the party, hugging everyone. She made sure to talk to every person for a good amount of time before moving on.

But as more time passed, she couldn't ignore that Eddie was nowhere to be found.

She hadn't seen him all day, and it broke her heart. She spent every birthday with him since she met him, and he was nowhere to be seen the whole day. But she tried to focus on the people who did show up.

After a few drinks, she let Eddie go, fully enjoying her party.

~

It was 11pm and Eddie still wasn't home. Her party ended about two hours ago, she played with her empty beer bottle at the counter as she waited for Eddie to walk in.

She perked up when she heard the door unlock and Eddie walked in.

"Hey," he said

"Hi," she said, her sadness was clear in her voice. Eddie sighed as he heard it.

"Look, sweetheart, I'm sorry." He whispered as he walked towards the table. His puppy eyes looked at her nervously.

"Just answer one question," she sighed. Eddie gulped when she looked up at him, her tear-stained face and red eyes told him she had been crying for a while. "Were you with Kathy?"

"Yes," Eddie said honestly

Y/N scoffed and stood up. She shook her head as she pushed in her stool.

"Y/N-"

"Eddie, don't," she snapped, Eddie stepped back. He never heard her sound so angry towards him. "Just stop"

Eddie watched as more tears fell down her face.

"Don't shut me out. Talk to me." Eddie pleaded. She sniffled as she looked up at his sorry face. His puppy eyes and the pout on his lips. But she couldn't push aside how she felt just because he looked like he got kicked.

"I don't want to talk to you," she said. She glared at him as she went to walk past him. But his arm shot out and stopped her.

"Well too bad because I want to talk to you," Eddie snapped. His temper was always short. "Look, I know I fucked up but let me apologize so we can move on."

Y/N yanked her arm away from him. Angirly standing face to face with him. Her fired eyes burned into his, challenging him.

"My best friend ditched me on my fucking birthday for some girl, and you think a shitty apology is going to fix that?"

"Girlfriend" Eddie corrected

Y/N let out a laugh, with no humor behind it. "I don't care what she is. You ditched me, you ignored me, and my heart shattered when I realized you weren't there and you wouldn't show up."

"I planned to be there, and I wanted to be. But Kathy needed-"

"I NEEDED YOU!" Y/N screamed. Eddie backed up as he clenched his jaw. "I bet she made up some fake lie to keep you occupied. She plays a game and you keep allowing yourself to be the pawn."

Eddie growled as she spoke. "I'm not a pawn and It's not a game. You don't know what she is going through."

"NOTHING!" she screamed again. "NOTHING IS WRONG WITH HER. SHE JUST WANTED TO KEEP YOU AWAY FROM ME"

This time Eddie laughed, scoffing as he angrily rubbed his chin.

"Get over yourself," he muttered

"Excuse me?" Y/N replied

"I said get over yourself. You're not a threat to her. She already told me about this little more than friend love you have for me. For your sake, I'll continue to act like I don't know. But you need to start respecting my fucking relationship." He demanded, his voice low and deep. He was pissed.

Y/N felt the color drain from her face. She gulped as she stared at him. He knew?

"How long?" Y/N whispered, her head down as she clenched her eyes in embarrassment. He knew and he never said a thing. He didn't like her back.

"What?" Eddie asked

"How long did you know?" she said through clenched teeth, looking up at him in the eye.

"Three months" Eddie whispered, feeling a twig of guilt as Y/N looked betrayed. He wasn't sure what heartbreak looked like but he swore he saw it on her face.

"What if I don't?" Y/N challenged, and she crossed her arms. Her eyes back to being heated as she stiffened out her jaw. "What if I don't want to respect your fucking relationship?"

This caused Eddie to back down

"You have to," He pleaded, "I want both of you in my life."

She ignored how the hurt puppy look came back. She was done allowing him to hurt her. He knew how she felt and never said a thing. He betrayed her and threw it at her in her weakest moment.

"I don't think that's possible" Y/N admitted

"No no," Eddie panicked, "It is. You've always been here, you have to be here." His voice cracked as he started drowning in his fear.

"You're right, I've always been here. But have you?" Her eyes watered as she felt more tears building. Eddie tried to close his eyes to avoid those eyes but it was all he could see. "I'm sorry, Eddie but I can't put myself through that. The decision is yours."

"Please don't make me have to choose." Eddie cried, his bottom lip trembling. He reached forward, desperately holding her face as he cried. "Please"

"Why? Because you'll pick her?" Y/N whimpered, she could see the answer in his eyes. He picked her a thousand times before, of course, he'd pick her now.

"I-I---I" Eddie stuttered. Almost like he didn't want to say it out loud. He didn't want to admit it.

Y/N bit her lip to try to hold back another sob. She grabbed his hands, pulled them off of her face, and dropped them at his sides. Eddie began to mumble no over and over, knowing what it meant. But she ignored his pleas and cries, just like he did hers.

She quietly moved passed him and walked out.

~

She made it to Steve's doorstep in seconds. Crashing into his arms as she sobbed. As Steve always did, he picked up her broken pieces.

After she calmed down, Steve moved her to his bedroom. He was downstairs, lying on the couch. The room was dark and silent, leaving Y/N stuck in her head.

"Darling?"

She jumped as Steve's voice came from behind her. She turned around and silently asked what he needed.

He didn't say anything as he passed the phone over.

Y/N sighed and took the phone. She already knew who it was. Without waiting for him to speak, she said "I’m not coming home, don’t wait for me.” And ended the call.

Steve reached forward and softly rubbed her shoulder for comfort. He pressed a small kiss to her forehead and pulled away. He started to walk out of the room, but right before he was gone she called out to him.

"Can I ask for a favor?" she asked, her voice dry and cracked from all the crying she did.

"Anything for you," Steve said, his voice so soft and silky. She could see so much emotion in his eyes. And she knew he meant his words.

"Can you hold me?"

Steve didn't waste a single breath as he walked over to the bed. He got in bed without another word, and Y/N turned around. Her back to his chest as he scooped her in his arms. He was cautious at first, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

But she backed further into him, no space left as their skin touched. He tightened his arms and she sighed in pleasure.

"Thank you" she whispered, feeling the need to sleep taking over her body. The touch of Steve instantly calmed her.

He smiled and placed his chin on her head. He closed his eyes and prayed he'd remember this feeling for the rest of his life.

Y/N silently cried as she stared ahead.

Where was she supposed to go when Eddie was the only home she ever had?

Tags!

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[soliloquent-stark]

besides the well-known fact that tony stark's arc reactor literally powered his heart and symbolised his second chance at life, it's been not just alluded to but clearly stated by marvel from the very first iron man film that it represents his heart:

this point is made very clear again when it's used to portray his death:

of course they did this; they're such obvious metaphors that are easy to rely on for beautiful visual storytelling. they undoubtedly were aware of the potential for these scenes and carefully considered them since the beginning.

but you don't really get to use each of these moments more than once if you want them to matter, so they had to choose which one of tony's stories needed to be told through carefully picked parallels.

and who did they use them on?

yup, that's right. steve rogers. steve, who literally ends their painful fight by breaking his heart.

steve, whom tony literally hands his heart and says "here, take this" while he's devastated, disappointed, and at one of the lowest moments of his entire life.

so, platonic, romantic, alterous — the intricacies of his feelings don't even matter. they're only for tony to know.

but what we as an audience know, what we were explicitly told by marvel, is that the feelings tony had for steve were so strong that they were the equivalent of getting his heart actually shattered into pieces, and being reduced to offering your desperate, mourning heart on a platter as a way of saying "take it all, there's nothing left of me that you don't own now".

these were not accidents. we were meant to understand how profound his feelings were. so many things spiraled out of their falling out — the entire universe's faith was at stake as a result. tony was not indifferent to him. his problem was that he felt too much.

tony's achille's heel was always steve rogers, and that will forever be the backbone of the marvel universe.

[steviewashere]

Thinking about a fic idea right now where Steve comes out (maybe with a little Steddie...maybe; might be best to start them pre-relationship in this). Walk with me here.

Steve Harrington who has always been a huge Wham! fan. And then eventually a huge George Michael fan. He's got all their albums. Collects magazines with interviews in them (y'know, if there's a U.S. release). So, he's pretty much up to date with all news, music info; that kind of thing. He's always on the money about when interviews are.

George Michael who comes out publicly in 1998 after his arrest. Which, you can watch the clip from the interview here. He's thirty-four at the time, had been private about his sexuality and romantic life up until then.

Steve who's freshly in his thirties.

He's thirty-one. He's had some thoughts in regards to his sexuality for years now. Since Robin came out to him in 1985, he's thought about little things. The way certain guys walked that caught his attention, maybe the plushness of their lips, how they styled their hair. She's introduced him to queer culture at the time—pride parades & protests, some lingo, the handkerchief code, etc. So, he's well aware of a lot of things before the CNN interview airs. He hasn't made any hard connections between his sexuality and the thoughts in his head; maybe he's had a few, soft, questioning moments like: Am I gay? Am I bisexual? Is this what I really think or am I searching for something I don't actually want? Am I just being too observant?

(Okay, thinking about pre-Steddie now. And a lot of platonic soulmates Stobin. Also, I totally (accidentally) half-wrote a fic. Stay with me here.)

Eddie's been a part of Steve's life since 1986. Somehow he survives (don't ask me the fine details, I don't know). And Steve tries his hand at being Eddie's friend because he kind of—no, really—wants a guy friend who's around his age. Cue their shenanigans: the chaos they cause together, the pranks they pull on their other friends, the shit Eddie makes Steve get into (drag racing (cars), stealing scrap from the junkyard, throwing rocks over the quarry to guess the impact they made, other little town shit). Eddie who learns that Steve's a true ally to Robin, so he comes out to Steve, too. They all form a very great, deep bond of solidarity. Become roommates outside of Hawkins, somewhere a little more progressive. They protect each other. Listen to each other.

Cue the day in 1998 when the CNN interview is being aired live, unseen up until then. Steve's already ready to watch, having taken up the middle cushion on the couch. Robin's on his left, criss-cross and making a set of beaded bracelets for the three of them. Eddie's on Steve's right, uncapping a couple bottles of beer to pass over. And they're watching with Steve because Steve likes George Michael and, well, they like Steve and his interests. So they're all there when George Michael comes out. They're all there when the words are said live.

Robin and Eddie are wide-eyed, then laughing something a bit triumphant, high-fiving over Steve's head, maybe chanting something: "One of us! One of us!" Maybe becoming huge George Michael fans as they speak. But, Steve's silent. He's sitting on the edge of his cushion, palms down on his thighs, staring off into nothing. All the celebration stops as the interview continues, words being missed. And Robin and Eddie share an odd glance, a questioning one. Until, finally, Robin asks, "Steve-O? You OD over there?"

Steve blinks back into existence. Mutters, "Did George Michael just come out on live TV?" Eddie answers him truthfully, voice a bit soft and concerned. Steve licks his lips, doesn't move his eyes from his socked feet. "...He knew for a little while," he comments. "Right? He knew for a while."

"Sure, Steve," Eddie answers again. "He probably knew about himself for a long time. Probably...Honestly, probably while he was still in Wham."

Maybe Steve nods at that. Maybe he just stays kind of stoic, thinking too hard. "He's thirty-four," Steve points out.

"That he is," Robin answers this time. "Thirty-four and proudly out."

Steve hums some sort of acknowledgement and then goes back to watching the TV, moment drifting away. He sort of watches in a daze. Up until he turns in for the night. Well after Robin has slumped over on the couch and Eddie's gone to bed earlier—because he has work, or so Eddie's said. And Steve maybe sits in his bedroom, up at his headboard, looking down at his albums. At his Wham! and George Michael albums. Turning the tapes over in his hands, reading the track lists, maybe tracing the edges of the cases with his thumbs. Thinking about how George had said he was telling his life story, even through some of his earlier solo work. He's thinking about how successful George Michael has been. And then he thinks about how George Michael came out later in his life. In his thirties, not in his twenties, not in his teens. Sure, yes, it was definitely more negatively criticized to do so, but it means something to Steve. To be thirty-four and freshly out. And he thinks, too, about being thirty-one and things clicking into shiny clarity—he's into guys, too. He's into women, but he's into guys. That word, "bisexual" looking like the final jigsaw piece. To be thirty-one and proudly out, too.

And he's comforted in that thought, as he drifts off to sleep.

And when he wakes up in the morning, he bustles around Eddie and Robin in the kitchen. They make a shared breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast with jam. They sit at the dining table, forks against plates, shooting the shit back and forth.

Steve cuts a slice of sausage, puts it in his mouth, eats as usual. And just as the conversation is beginning to drift again, he finally speaks what's on his mind. "I'm bisexual," he's able to proudly state.

Maybe Eddie and Robin cheer, too for that. They ask him for his taste in guys. Maybe they tease him a little. Maybe Eddie realizes he fits the bill a little; maybe he waits a little bit before taking a shot, but he still does eventually.

And right before they head off for their respective, regular lives outside of the comfortable space of their apartment, Robin knocks their shoulders together. "Proud of you," she states. "Thirty-one and proudly out. How does it feel?"

They're in the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes because Eddie left for work already with a promise to bring home pizza for dinner. They're in the kitchen, the lights a little fluorescent like the Starcourt bathroom. They're in the kitchen, in each other's orbits, two friends who've seen it all and will continue to see the world together.

"It feels...I feel good. Excited."

Robin smiles at him, something soft and understanding. And as his focus goes back to the plate he's about to hand off, she snorts. "So, Eddie, huh?" And he scoffs, rolling his eyes. She just laughs to herself. Then, when she's calmed a little bit, she states, "He kind of looks like Rowlf. You and I have a thing for Muppets, Stevie. Muppets."

And after their laughter dies down and they live out the rest of the day, Steve thinks about how he can send a letter of thanks to George Michael. And maybe he cherishes those albums a little closer. And he is confident in himself for the first time in a while, all because the representation he didn't know he was seeking, is finally right in his face.

Sorry that got long. But I'm just thinking about Steve who comes out later in his life. Maybe he couldn't make those connections because he didn't have the safe atmosphere to do so; feared the worst if his parents ever realized he didn't care too much about women sometimes, if his eyes drifted to men a little too much, fearing that they'd catch his contemplation. Maybe he found his safe space through Robin and Eddie, but needed a little more of a push and he just didn't find it yet. Up until now.

[vbecker10]

Language (Part 1)

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Captain Rogers thinks you curse far too much at work so he came up with a way for each word to cost you fifty cents no matter where you are in the Tower. You are desperate for it to stop and go to Loki to see if he has a spell that can help you outsmart J.A.R.V.I.S.

Warnings: swearing lol... obviously?

A/N: I'm so sorry @soubi001 lol and you know why. I've been kicking this idea around in my head for a while because I'm very aware that I swear way more often than a normal person lol hope you enjoy it 💚

You knock on Loki's door and wait anxiously for him to answer. A few seconds later, the door opens.

"Can I help you?" he asks you with his typical annoyed expression.

"I hope so," you respond. "Can I come in?" You take a small step forward.

"I don't see why that would be necessary," he crosses his arms and leans on the door frame, blocking your path into his room.

You sigh, "Fine, I guess I can show you my problem out here." He raises an eyebrow and waits for you to continue. "Damnit," you swear then look down.

"Y/N, fifty cents has been deducted from your upcoming paycheck as you are in violation of SHIELD's Inappropriate Language Policy, per Captain Rogers' orders," J.A.R.V.I.S. announces from a speaker overhead. A small holographic screen appears next to you, showing your name and SHIELD photo ID at the top, the fifty cent charge in the center and a running total at the bottom.

Loki chuckles and shakes his head, "So the Captain finally made good on his threat."

"Yea. He thinks this high tech swear jar is going to stop me from cursing all the time but all it's doing is annoying the shit out of me," you complain to Loki.

"Y/N, fifty cents has been deducted from your upcom-," J.A.R.V.I.S. announces again.

"Shut up," you tell the program, cutting the announcement short.

Loki smiles at your outburst then says, "What is it you expect me to do?"

"I have no idea honestly," you shrug. "Don't you have a spell for everything?"

"I have a spell for almost everything, yes," he says then he is quiet for a moment as if he is thinking. "I do think I may have a solution to your... issue." He waves his hand vaguely towards the speaker J.A.R.V.I.S spoke from.

"Really?" you ask excitedly. "That would be awesome." You thought it was going to be way harder than this to convince Loki to help you.

He leans towards you and looks you straight in the eyes. "Stop swearing," he says then he goes back in his room and closes his door in your face.

You stand in the hallway, looking at his door and mumble, "Fuck."

"Y/N, fifty cents has been deducted from-"

"Shut the hell up!" you yell, cutting it off again.

"Y/N, fifty cents has been deducted from your upcoming paycheck-"

"I know! I get it," you tell J.A.R.V.I.S. You can hear Loki laughing loudly through his door and you glare at him even though he can't see you. You turn, ready to give up then you suddenly get an idea. You walk close to the door and say, "Just so I know, it would really piss off Steve if I figure out a way to get around this. Tony too, he helped set it up."

He opens the door a second later and you do your best to hide your smile. "It would aggravate them wouldn't it?" he says almost to himself and you nod but try not to look too excited. He sighs and takes a step back to open the door further, "Very well. I think I might have a spell that could work."

Loki closes the door and you stand awkwardly in the middle of his living area, unsure what to do. You've never been in his apartment before and as far as you know, no one else on the team has either. Loki isn't known for being a fan of having people in his personal space or of people in general.

You look around his living area. One wall is lined with tall, overflowing bookshelves and a leather couch is set against the other wall. A dark wood coffee table matches the end tables, one of which has a short stack of books and a steaming cup of tea. You walk over to the end table with the books and open the cover of the top book, assuming it's what Loki was reading before he opened the door.

"Don't touch anything," Loki says from behind you and you close the book quickly, turning to see him standing closer then you expected.

"Sorry, I was just-" you suddenly feel nervous being alone with him, maybe this wasn't a good idea.

"Sit," he motions towards the couch and you do as he tells you. You sit quietly on the middle of his couch with your hands on your lap, watching him search through the numerous books scattered about. While you wait, your mind wanders to a meeting yesterday morning with the team.

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

You take a seat at the rectangular table across from Thor and Bruce, scrolling through your tablet to find the notes for this meeting. Natasha and Clint walk in, followed by Loki then Steve and Tony. Without a word, Steve places a glass jar that says 'Y/N's Swear Jar' on in it between you and Clint.

You look up at him as he sits. "Seriously Steve? I haven't said a damn thing yet," you tell him then groan when he gives you a disappointed look. You reach into your bag to find your wallet and drop in your last two quarters. "Happy?" you ask him as you sit back in your chair.

"I would be happier if you stopped using inappropriate language so frequently," he answers.

"I think the odds of my brother voluntarily attending one of Stark's parties is higher than Y/N giving up swearing," Thor jokes. Loki roll his eyes as his brother nudges him playfully.

You look at thor, "Did you know that people who swear lie less often then people who don't?" Thor shakes his head and you turn to look at Steve, "They've done studies that suggest that people who curse are more honest because they use fewer social filters when they are expressing their opinions."

"Is that true?" Clint leans towards you.

"I have no idea, I read it online," you whisper back.

"That may be, but it is still not appropriate for a work environment," Steve lectures you.

"I send out super professional emails, isn't that good enough?" you ask.

"No," he answers sternly.

"That's bullshit," you cross your arms and look at him. He doesn't say a word, simply looking from you to the jar and back at you. "Ugh, fine." You grab your wallet and take out a bill, "Does anyone have change for a five?"

"Just put the five in there," Fury says when he walks in. "We all know you'll use it today."

"Hurtful," you tell him but you fold up the bill and put it in the jar then you smile at Steve.

"I don't like that look," Tony says and Steve agrees.

"It's like prepaying for ten words," you laugh, "I just have to use the damn things well."

"Nine," Clint says.

"Ah shit," you look at him and Natasha laughs.

"Eight," he smiles.

"Good thing someone is keeping track," Bruce says.

"Is it ok with everyone if we start this damn the meeting now?" Fury asks annoyed from his seat at the head of the table.

"How come he doesn't get a jar?" you ask, leaning across the table towards Steve and pointing at Fury.

Tony laughs, "Believe me, Steve tried."

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

Loki smirks as he looks up from one of his books, "This spell may help, it will render you utterly mute."

You stand up quickly, "Yea, no, fuck that."

"Y/N, fifty cents has been deducted-" J.A.R.V.I.S says.

"Oh, come the fuck on," you tell it and Loki laughs again.

"Y/N, fifty cents has been deducted from your-" it repeats.

"Just forget it," you tell him. "You don't know how to help me anymore than anyone else did. Coming here was a waste."

You walk past him towards the door and he says, "Maybe you should ask for a raise."

"Thanks," you tell him in an annoyed tone and open his door.

He sighs loudly just as you step out into the hall. "Fine," he says and you turn to look at him. "I'll help."

"With another stupid suggestion?" you ask.

"No, I'm sure I have a spell here we could use," he tells you, gesturing towards his books.

"Why are you changing your mind?" you ask, unsure if you can trust him.

He shrugs, "Honestly I'm bored."

"Seriously?" you ask, crossing your arms.

"Were you hoping for a different reason?" he asks, crossing his arms to mirror your body language.

You unfold your arms, "I mean... yea. You could see least feel a little bad for me?"

"But I don't," he says with a light shrug.

"Oh... well I guess I'll take it," you tell him and close the door. He nods to acknowledge your decision but doesn't reply.

You sit on the couch while his focus returns to his books. You watch him pick up a hardcover book then put it back, taking the one next to it. He flips through the pages slowly and you ask, "Your not gonna turn me into frog or anything, right?"

He looks up at you confused.

"Thor said you've done that to him before," you explain.

He groans, "It was one time and we were children."

"I'm just checking. I don't know how any of this works," you tell him.

"Clearly," he rolls his eyes and goes back to his book. He looks up again and adds, "If I wanted to turn you into a frog I would have done so already."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" you ask.

"Yes," he says matter of factly then he goes back to reading.

You try to get comfortable on Loki's couch but you can't seem to relax, you are afraid to touch anything including the pillows. After a few minutes of silence he sits next to you and you shift away from him a bit. He doesn't seem to notice your reaction and hands you the open book.

"Read this," he says.

"It's in Spanish," you tell him.

"Very observant," Loki nods.

"I can't read this. I took three years of Spanish in high school but it didn't really stick," you explain.

"Humans are so dull without the Allspeak," he mumbles.

"Do you always need to be annoying?" you ask him.

"No," he smiles at you.

"What was your point with the book?" you ask, trying to get back on track.

"I will explain after. Read this part," he points to a specific paragraph.

You give the short paragraph your best attempt. Based on the way Loki flinches at how you pronounce almost every word, you assume you did awful. J.A.R.V.I.S remains silent so you ask Loki what you said.

He smirks, "Something that should have cost you more than a few dollars."

"Really?" you ask and look back at the book. You grab your phone and use it to translate the text. Your eyes go wide at the excessive swearing and insults the character uses to describe another character. "Wow," you laugh, "You weren't kidding."

"Now that you know what it means, try it again," he suggests.

You read it again, your pronunciation still off but when you finish J.A.R.V.I.S charges you for eight words. Loki laughs and you look at him annoyed, "Great, thanks. That was annoyingly useless."

"I thought it was funny," he smiles. "And it wasn't useless. Now we know that it only works if you know what you are saying."

"You're an ass," you tell him.

"Y/N, fifty cents has been deducted from-" the program repeats.

"You owe me $4.50," you cross your arms and lean back on the couch.

He waves his hand and a five dollar bill appears between his fingers. He hands it to you, "I'm sure you'll use the other word soon enough. I want to try one more thing."

"I don't think I trust you anymore," you say, putting the money in your pocket.

"I didn't think you trusted me in the first place," he says.

"I... yea, that's a good point," you tell him.

"Here," he conjures a small notepad and pen before handing them to you.

"Where do you keep this stuff?" you ask looking at the objects.

"A pocket dimension," he explains.

"Right, sure, super normal," you laugh. "What the hell am I doing with this?"

"Y/N, fifty cents has been deducted from your upcoming-"

You groan and put your hand over your face.

Loki smiles and says, "I honesty thought you would keep those fifty cents a few seconds longer."

"You know, no one likes you right," you tell him in response.

"And I am truly devastated by that," he says, putting his hand over his heart.

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "What do you want me to do with this?" You hold up the pen and notepad.

"I'm looking for a loophole," he says. "Go ahead, write some of your favorites."

You sigh and write a word but nothing happens. You write another and still nothing.

"Interesting," he says then J.A.R.V.I.S activates. "What did you do?" You hold up the notepad and he smirks as he read it. "Well now that's rude," he says, shaking his head.

"It's accurate," you smile then cross out what you wrote.

"Do you eat pizza?" you ask.

Loki looks up from the book he is reading as he stands in front of the bookcase. "What?"

"Pizza," you repeat.

"Yes, why?" he furrows his brow.

"Its 8:30, I'm ordering food," you tell him. "I came here right after work so I missed dinner."

"No," he says and goes back to his book.

"What do you mean, no?" you ask, looking up from your favorite delivery app.

"I've heard humans are like stray animals, if you feed them, they return," he says.

You laugh, "First off, who told you that? And Secondly, if I'm ordering the food, technically that would make you the pet I'm feeding."

He sighs but doesn't argue, putting another book in the pile of what you imagine are useless books.

"What do you want on it?" you ask him. "Pepperoni, veggies, or are you one of those weird pineapple people?"

"Cheese is fine," he mumbles.

"One cheese pizza it is," you say, ordering from a place nearby. "It'll be here in half an hour," you tell him.

"Wonderful," he says without a smile. "I was so hoping you would be here all night."

"You can always tell me to leave," you say getting up from the couch.

He looks over at you and says, "I could but I won't."

You sit back down, "Okay, I really need to ask... why are you doing this?"

"I'm bored," he answers with a shrug.

"You said that before," you tell him.

"Because that is the answer," he insists but for some reason you don't believe him. You feel like there is more to it but you can't figure it out.

"I thought you were supposed to be good at lying, being the God of Lies and whatever," you say.

"I am the God of Lies and Mischief, not whatever," he corrects you. "And I am not lying. Why else would I want to help you?"

"Because you like me?" you smile and he scoffs. "You have to admit, I'm pretty awesome."

"I do not," he says but you see a hint of a smile on his lips. "Now, will you please be quiet and let me think."

"Can do," you give him a thumbs up.

You put the pizza box on the coffee table and he sits next to you. "You owe me for half," you say. Before you can tell him how much it is he flicks his wrist and a brown leather wallet appears in his hand. He opens it, takes out a twenty dollar bill and gives it to you. "Wait," you say before he makes it vanish again. "Is that Thor's wallet?"

"Hmm," he opens it. "It would appear so."

"He's been looking for that for like a week," you laugh.

"I'm aware of that," Loki responds.

"Of course you are," you shake your head.

"Do you want to money or not?" he reaches to take the bill back from you.

You pull it away from him and put it in your pocket. "I'm going broke from this fucking thing," you tell him as J.A.R.V.I.S activates again.

"Ah damnit, I forgot to ask for plates," you say, ignoring J.A.R.V.I.S. Loki holds out his hand and two plates appear. "I've got to admit, you are pretty useful," you tell him. He smiles but then you add, "You would be more useful if you could fix my stupid problem though."

"I already told you the easy way is to just stop swearing," he takes a slice.

"That's no fun though," you tell him. "Plus, I really don't want Steve to win."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

You shrug, "Sometimes I do it more when he's around cause I know how much it bothers him."

He laughs, "I can appreciate that type of attitude."

"I thought you might," you smile. "So any progress with the massive pile of books or am I fucked?"

He looks up mid-bite and J.A.R.V.I.S goes off again. "I have not given up yet," he tells you but his attention is focused on the screen that popped up. "Do that again," he says. You sigh, and he flicks his wrist, putting another five dollar bill on the table between you.

"Fuck," you say and the screen appears again with J.A.R.V.I.S 's announcement.

"I'm sorry, the total says $47," he sounds shocked and you cringe. "I thought you said they only turned it on at noon."

"Yea," you take a bite of your pizza.

"You have said 94 swear words since noon," he says.

"Apparently," you shrug but he continues to look at you so you put your food down on the table. "When Steve and Tony first told me about it I was kinda pissed," you admit. "I might have lost a few bucks before I left Tony's office."

He tries not to laugh, keeping his hand over his mouth while you talk.

"Then I went back to my office to try out a few things," you tell him.

"Like what?" he asks.

You take a list out of your pocket and hand it to him. "What counts and what doesn't," you say. "Some words only count in a specific context so there's that."

"That still doesn't account for all of this," he says.

You shake your head, "I wanted to see how far it reached outside of the Tower." You sigh, "It's about half a block in all directions."

He laughs, "I imagine you were quite a sight trying to figure that out."

You laugh too, "You would think so but this is New York. I don't think anyone noticed the weird woman cursing every few feet, followed around by a hologram yelling at her."

"This city truly is very odd," he agrees.

"And yet, you still tried to take it over a few years ago," you shrug and take a bite of pizza.

"Technically, I was trying to take over your whole planet," he reminds you.

"That's not better," you tell him and he shrugs.

"I found a few spells I would like to try when we finish eating," he changes the topic a moment later.

"Think one of them will work?" you ask hopefully.

"I certainly hope so," he says. "Of course, I could accidently turn you into a frog if something goes wrong."

"That's not funny," you tell him.

"I wasn't joking," he smirks.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[loveinhawkins]

was this written to solve my own inconsistencies because i keep forgetting Eddie literally hotwired the RV, they don’t need keys, why do you keep mentioning keys, you fool? maybe. do i also think they’d be this stupid? yes. ❤️

“Oh, son of a bitch,” Dustin says, midway to The War Zone.

Steve, who is used to this sort of outburst for things as mild as Dustin forgetting just one out of the eight pens on his person, does not react.

However Eddie—Hellfire rants aside—is not quite as familiar yet. He jumps practically a foot in the air.

“Jesus Christ, what now?”

All Dustin offers by way of explanation is an accusatory, “You,” pointing his finger right in Eddie’s face.

And then Eddie sees what’s dangling from said finger.

“… Oh.”

“What?” Steve says, glancing at the rearview mirror; Eddie quickly blocks Dustin from view, goes right up on his tiptoes and spreads his arms wide, curses when Dustin throws the keys—

—to Max, who catches them one-handed, who gives Eddie a grin that’s not so much pitying as it is evil, and then she—

—throws them to Lucas, and he somehow gets the metal ring to land on his finger, like he’s in a movie, and he twirls them round and round until Max snorts, and he grins like that had been his aim all along.

“Sinclair,” Eddie says, “I am begging you.”

“I’m not hearing much about what’s in it for him,” Erica says.

Aha! Eddie zeroes in on Erica and blocks her from Lucas, like a very unjust game of Keep Away.

“Dude,” Lucas says, affronted, “that’s not fair.”

Eddie has the decency to look a bit ashamed. Not too ashamed to stop because he is a pathetic man, but at least Steve still hasn’t noticed the—

“Lucas,” Erica says, in the aggrieved tones of a sister who’s despaired at him many, many times. “You’re on the basketball team. Just do a pass fake, nerd.”

Lucas feigns to the left, and Eddie falls for it—but, in what he’s sure is a completely unsportsmanlike move, he uses his height to his advantage, jumps…

And drops the keys with a clatter.

Steve must instantly recognise the sound for what it is, because he starts to cackle.

Eddie’s only saving grace is that Steve is driving, so at least he can’t see—

“Eddie’s going, like, super red in the face right now,” Dustin narrates helpfully.

“Scarlet,” Lucas says.

“Vermillion,” Robin pipes up from the floor.

“Ooh,” Dustin, Lucas, and Max chorus, impressed. Jesus Christ, they almost harmonize.

“Yeah, Eddie,” Steve says dryly, “you fucking moron. How did you miss those, it’s not like you had literally anything else on your mind.”

“You’re a real gentleman, Harrington, anyone ever told you that?” Eddie says weakly.

“Maybe once or twice,” Steve says, drawing it out teasingly, as if he means not often enough.

“Well, at least we got on the road,” Nancy says. Her voice quivers like she’s trying not to laugh—perched on the table, eyes shining with amusement. “And it did look pretty cool, Eddie.”

Eddie thinks this is an incredibly generous assessment, considering his main thought while breaking into the RV had been don’t get stuck in the window, Jesus Christ.

And then… like, he didn’t expect Steve to actually come up and watch him hotwire the damn thing, like, with rapt attention, so close that Eddie was kinda concerned he’d electrocute himself instead. Honestly, it was a miracle he got the engine started.

“That’s sweet of you, Wheeler, but I’m self-aware.”

“Since when?” Erica says.

Underneath everyone’s laughter, Steve grins and says, “Hey, don’t worry, man.” He catches Eddie’s eye in the rearview mirror, winks. “It was an educational experience.”

“Oh, wow, your face is even redder.”

“Henderson, I’m gonna put those goddamn keys so far up your ass.”

[delicatebarness]

Hi! For the Barnes rogers family adventures could you do reader who is obsessed with her paci and Steve and Bucky try and take it but she get very whiny and upset and cries for her binky please? If not I understand! Please and thank you!!! 🎀🍼

The Barnes-Rogers Family Adventures | “No, I want my paci,” #005

Summary: ^^ Requested.

Warnings: This post and series are safe for work (SFW) regressions. Nothing explicit. However, please be aware that the rest of my blog is NOT. NSFW accounts are welcome to read and reblog, but please keep all comments SFW out of consideration for other littles.

Word Count: 477

Series Masterlist

A/N: I've always wanted a paci, but it's just never been something I've ended up having :( - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @sapphirebarnes | Let me know if you want to be tagged specifically for this series.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602

Engrossed in your coloring book, you sat on the living room floor as the Sunday afternoon sun shined brightly through the windows. Your beloved pacifier is firmly in your mouth. Exchanging a glance, Steve and Bucky silently agreed that it was time to try and get to take a break from it for today. 

“Hey, Baby…” Steve began gently as he knelt beside you. “How about we try going without your paci for a little while?” 

You clutched the pacifier even tighter as your eyes widened. “No, Papa,” you mumbled around it while shaking your head. 

He stroked your hair, offering a warm smile. “We just thought it might be good for you to play without it for a little bit.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes due to the surge of anxiety that rushed through you. “No, Papa,” you insisted, your voice starting to tremble. “I need my paci.” 

Steve gently took your hand after exchanging a concerned look with Bucky. “We’re not taking it away forever, Baby, just a short break. How about we play a game together?” 

Spilling over your cheeks, your tears soaked your skin as you shook your head vigorously. “No! I want my paci!” you cried, feeling more upset with each passing second. 

Bucky sighed softly, reaching out to wipe your tears. “Shh, it’s okay, Tiny.” 

You hiccuped through your sobs, still clinging to your pacifier. “I need it, Daddy,” you repeated. 

Steve’s hand gently stroked your back, trying to calm you down. “Okay, baby. How about we try something fun together? Would you like to bake some cookies? Cupcakes?” 

You hesitated for a moment, tempted by the idea, your tears slowly. However, you clutched your paci even tighter. “No, I need my paci,” you whispered again, almost desperately. 

Another sigh came from Bucky as he gently lifted you onto his lap, rocking you soothingly. “How about we read one of your books together? Or… maybe we watch a movie?” 

Sniffling, you shook your head again. “No, I want my paci,” your voice wavered as you insisted. 

Steve and Bucky were at a loss as they exchanged another glance. “Okay, baby. We just want you to be happy.” Steve said softly, placing a gentle kiss against your forehead. 

“And, if that means keeping your paci for now, that’s okay,” Bucky added, his fingers tracing light patterns up and down your back. 

Nodding, you snuggled close to Bucky, content with your pacifier in place as you felt the warmth and love from them. Wrapping an arm around both of you, Steve’s presence soothed you. 

Just then, Peter rushed into the room, curiosity etched on his face. “What’s going on?” he asked, noticing the cuddle. 

He climbed onto the couch, and without a word, he squeezed in beside you and Bucky. Steve wrapped his arm around Peter as well, chuckling at the antics.

---

Series Masterlist

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #6

Squealer

kinktober day six | roleplay + innocence kink | 18+, sleazy old man tony and you get into his mansion to, uh, listen to his records. it's all play-pretend. two dorks in love goofin' as usual | word count 2.2k | want more kinktober? click here

“I had no idea you had such a... Pimped-out crib, daddy,” you raised an eyebrow. A smirk tugged at your lips as you took in the interior of one of Tony's numerous mansions.

It was as if you had somehow been magically transported back to the '80s. The glam-rock, golden-days-of-Mötley-Crüe kind. You took off your high-heel Versace shoes, wiggling your toes on the soft zebra-hide imitation rug. A pristine Baldessari hung on a nearby wall, attracting your attention, thus allowing your boyfriend to sneak up on you with a drink in each hand.

“Mmm, I dunno,” Tony faux-pouted. “Seems a bit much even for me. I mean, cheetah and zebra print in one room?” He gestured towards the obscenely tacky couch. “What an eyesore. I should donate it to Goodwill. Maybe someone's grandma will want to remember her youth and get frisky after her old man finally lets her be and leaves for the pits.”

You snorted, accepting your drink. As Tony's arm snaked around your waist to bring your bodies together, you gave the room a good, long ponder.

“This feels very... Coke kingpin. You know, maximalism is making a comeback?” You said, referencing the resurgence of trashy 80s and McBling styles you've seen online. “I kinda dig it. Makes me want to go,” you threw your head back demurely onto his shoulder and batted your eyelashes, “oh no mister, I'm a good girl! I would never do such a thing! I thought we were going to hang out and listen to that record you promised...” You whined in your best baby voice, pouting your lips in a perverse imitation of innocence.

Behind you, Tony stiffened. And then you both laughed. Sputtering over your drinks, holding onto each other. No, it was a truly absurd thing.

But Tony Stark would not be Tony Stark if he couldn't convincingly sell just about any bullshit to anybody. With a flourish, his fingers dug into your waist as he straightened up and steered you towards the turntable.

“Why, but of course, sweetheart. Would make me a terrible host otherwise!” He spoke with a cheeky smile and sparkling eyes. A record was placed and the needle dropped, filling the room with sultry sounds of guitar strings strummed by nimble fingers. It was a song you both knew and loved.

Still laughing, you went for coy. “Oh, dear. My papa would have my head if he knew I listened to that!” Faking shyness, you gave your hips a sway and your skirt a twirl. “I kinda like it, though. Makes me think of someone...” You sighed, acutely aware of embers beginning to smoulder in Tony's dark eyes.

He leaned back to rest against a shelf. “Oh yeah, sweetheart?” He asked, sipping his whiskey without taking his eyes off you. “Special someone?”

“Uh-uh,” you swayed to the song, the bubbly in your blood making you slightly dizzy. It was a great tune, truly! Made you think all kinds of nasty things. “He makes me feel like nobody else does. Like in the song,” you flashed Tony the edge of your smile.

It made him take a calculated step towards you. Taking your arm, he pressed himself into your body, the outline of his budding erection resting against your hip. “I can make you feel even better, princess.” He toyed the strap of your dress.

Bait, hook and sinker.

You feigned nervousness as both of you pushed down on the breaking laughter and settled deeper into your allocated roles. “Mmm, I dunno. It's just a song and I've never done anything like that.”

“Like what?” Tony's fingers slowly pulled down the strap and stroked your bare shoulder. It felt electric.

“Like... Dirty,” you giggled, momentarily breaking character. Truly, this would be one of the least crazy things the two of you had done - just ask Steve!

Tony's empty glass landed on the shelf with a click. He took hold of your shoulders, massaging them gently to release you from the non-existent tension there, and placed his cheek upon your shoulder as you wobbled on your high heels.

“I'll be good to you, baby, I promise,” he rumbled, rubbing his scratchy beard on your tender skin. You giggled again, and Tony steered you towards the oversized couch. “We don't gotta do anything you don't wanna do,” he stressed, “but ya can't leave a man high and dry either. Capiche, Cupcake? Didn't you say you're a good girl?”

Wow, you silently thought to yourself, Tony was a gem amongst rocks. This role suited him to a, perhaps, scandalous amount. The sparkle of mischief in his eye, the sleazy twist to his grin. It promised lots and lots fun.

“I am a good girl,” you stressed, even as he sat you down atop his lap, your short dress hiked so far it barely covered your flimsy underwear.

It was an absolute lie and Tony knew it. He gave you his roundest eyes yet as his hand crawled over your thigh and up under your skirt, palming the lace of your panties with a gesture both posessive and questioning.

“Yeah?” His eyebrows shot up. “You sure 'bout that? 'Cause good girls don't come into strange guy's houses with their tiny lacy panties soaked.” He chided, thumbing the spreading wet spot at your front. Your face flushed in earnest as you fought to clamp your thighs shut over his hand, which did very little to deter him from wiggling his fingers against your cunt. “Don't be ashamed, darlin'. It's perfectly natural.”

You blinked, wide-eyed, awestruck by your boyfriend's commitment to the role. He really was unfairly good at everything he did!

“I don't know, mister,” you finally said. “My daddy said...”

Visibly fighting an eruption of laughter, Tony said. “I'm ya daddy for the night, honey. And I say it's okay.”

Fearing your own giggles making an untimely comeback, you conceded. “If you say so.” And loosened the hold on his hand, allowing him to stroke about the outside of your panties. Your cunt blossomed, fully interested in this sleazy caricature of over the top version of Tony's famed lover boy charm. “I just... Dunno what to do.”

The two of you were beginning to get impatient, if judging from the way his completely erect cock nudged at your side.

“Relax, darlin'. I'll make you feel good,” he bit your shoulder gently as his hand worked its way into your panties and between your outer lips. Tony circled your clit with slippery fingers, delighting in the quiet moans that left your lips, and finally, finally slipped two fingers inside of your sopping cunt. You arched. He groaned. “Fuck, baby, you grip like a vice.”

You flexed your muscles there, intimately familiar with the bumps and valleys of his calloused fingers, and subtly tried to sway your hips to give some much needed attention to your neglected clit. Tony was having none of it. Patting your bottom, he ushered you off his lap, and stuck his fingers in his mouth as he watched you stand up shakily on your tall heels.

“Undress for me,” he ordered, releasing your fingers from his mouth with a pop that added heat to your already flushed cheeks. “Slowly, baby. Don't rush.”

You did just that, sliding the straps of your dress completely off your arms. It was hard to take eyes off Tony for even a second. In the moment, he embodied his character sinfully: blazer and two top buttons of his tight-fitting shirt undone, it was the playboy billionaire of days past that sat in this kitschy living room of a forgotten mansion in Beverly Hills.

His brown eyes watched you shed your dress hungrily as the tent of his slacks rose high and higher to a point where he draped a leisurely hand over it and gave himself an unselfconscious squeeze through his pants. You stood before him in nothing but your heels and lacy thong, preparing to slide the last scrap of fabric down your legs.

“No, leave the rest on,” he said after a moment of contemplation.

“What now, mister?” You gave him a crooked grin, looking coyly at his tented trousers.

“Get down on your knees, baby,” he rasped, offering you a generous hand as you wobbled to sit demurely before him. A picture perfect form of innocence - you batted your lashes and fought the urge to reach for his trousers and swallow him down whole. Tony seemed to be having similar thoughts, as he wordlessly placed your hand on top of his cock and bit his lip. “Take it out.”

You did so, genuinely fumbling with the zipper. The arousal was making your fingers shake and the champagne you had drank certainly did not help your coordination. But then he was out and hard and proud, and you found yourself licking your lips. Seemingly at a loss for words this once, Tony took the back of your head in his hand and scooted closer so his cock was within your reach.

Tentatively, you gave it a lick. Wasting any of the clear, salty fluid was where you drew the line. Tony shuddered.

“Keep doin' that, honey. You're being a very good girl.”

So you did. Kitten licks grew to be bolder as you wrapped your cherry tinted lips over the silken head of Tony's cock, receiving a generous pour of salty liquid for your troubles. Looking up at your man, he was watching you with parted mouth and shaking lips. You gave him a wink and began working him in earnest, producing another moan from him in an instant.

His hand went for your cheek. As suddenly as you'd began, you were pulled off of his cock.

“It'll be over before we even started if you keep doing that, honey,” he explained, breathless. It took a second for him to find his bearings and then he was standing up, looming over you with a naughty smirk and cock glistening in the yellow light, nothing but his trousers undone. “Lay back baby. Show me your pretty pussy.”

You did. The horrendously patterned carpet was soft under your back as you laid down and lewdly spread your legs, showcasing the darkened gusset to your boyfriend's heated stare. Your hands laid demurely atop your belly to top off the picture.

With a thud, Tony landed with his knees on the carpet. Moving aside the gusset if your panties, he bared your swollen cunt to his eyes and you hissed as cool air hit the soaked, heated flesh. Your clit twitched, prompting Tony to slide a finger over it. He savoured your shudder, quick to replace the digit with the tip of his cock.

A gasp left your lips. Unconsciously, your hips wiggled, beckoning Tony to where you needed him most.

“I'm not going to hurt you, baby,” he murmured, transfixed on the way your pussy stretched around the crown of his cock. It disappeared easily into the channel, aided by the moisture that had gathered while you serviced him. That first push was heavenly. You never wanted it to end even as he bottomed put within you, staining the front of his designer slacks with your juices.

You threw your arms around his shoulders unprompted as he began to move. Slowly at first, savouring that first snug slide of your wet cunt over his hard cock, but picking up pace as your moans grew less breathy and more demanding. He always knew how to fuck you just right, hitting that sweet spot time after time with perfect precision until you unraveled, lax and warm, under him, the throb of your cunt allowing him to seek out his own release promptly.

Still inside you and rapidly softening, Tony finally burst into giggles, resting his sweaty forehead against your cheek as his body shook. It made the dam within you burst, too, intensified tenfold when the contractions of your abs made his soft cock slip out of you and seed drip into a puddle on the tacky carpet.

“We gotta tip the cleaning lady,” you snorted, aware of the sticky situation.

Tony just laughed harder, rolling over onto his back and bringing a palm to his forehead.

“Never change, honey. Ever.”

a/n: Thank you, @slothspaghettiwrites for the tiktok you sent me of that pimped out car! Haven't been able to get sleazy old man!Tony out of my head ever since. Tbh, Tony that is just a little sleazy is the best Tony. Even in the throes of Civil War angst that man was so unserious and low-key horny. It's sexy as fuck. So I dedicate this to you, Sloth, and to @persephonehemingway because we're both disgusting perverts for tony in a very similar way.

I genuinely forgot how easy it is for me to write Tony because I wrote this in like 2 hours. He's my best boy. I love him and I don't care that he doesn't even exist.