#tw: misfits songs

[rainrot4me]

Let Me Hear You

Summary: Walking the same path every day while listening to music is your routine. Humming along, Masky makes it his routine to follow you. Until you wander somewhere you shouldn’t…

Characters: Masky x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Stalking, non-con, vaginal fingering, vaginal, Masky's nasty, struggling, you don't give consent/Masky just takes what he wants, choking

Words: 4.2k

You walked this path every day. 

After every shift of work, every weekend, rain or shine you would slip your shoes on and take that dirt path through the woods. The path used to be an old horse trail used by the previous owners of the land, the dirt dry and matted down for miles. The forest surrounding the path was dense, sunlight rarely slipping through the leaves overhead and giving the lush area a nice, shaded feel. The area was thriving, nature untouched besides your constant walks, but you never dared press off the path out of fear of getting lost. Although the dirt made a giant winding loop back to your home, what lay in the middle made you too nervous to find out. 

You could usually complete your walk in under two hours, making your way back to the treeline connected to your backyard and safely back into your house. It was routine, so of course, when you got home from work well past nine PM, you slipped out of your uniform and into athletic clothes and a hoodie. Sliding your screen door open, you flicked your flashlight on, the moon hiding behind dense clouds and offering little light. But this was your comfort, if you didn’t have anything else, at least you would have these two hours to debrief and get at least some exercise in. Despite the cool summer air, you pressed through your ward and to the well-worn path you knew, disappearing into the trees.

What you didn’t know, or rather, what Masky didn’t want you to know, was that this path was also his daily routine. Not for walking, persay, but more for observation. His routine was to hang at the edge of that treeline whenever he wasn’t busy, waiting for your car to sling into your driveway and for you to come strolling out that screen door. You were oblivious to his presence, sauntering on that path as he quietly shifted behind the trees to watch you unwind the further you walked. In a way, it was his way of unwinding, giving himself something to focus on besides the constant pounding in his head. 

Now, he hadn’t sought you out through choice. It was a sort of coincidence that he began to watch you. 

Before you lived in that house, the previous owners were old, rarely trailing past the range of farmland and into the trees. So it made it simple. That widespread land in the center of the round path was a popular spot for the various members of Slender’s band of misfits to visit, hauling whatever recent kill they had made and burying them randomly, difficult to find. Seeing as it was land connected to the house, cops couldn’t just stroll through without some type of warrant, so it made it all the easier just to dump the bodies there and forget about them.

Until you moved in, curious little mind pulling you to the trees and investigating the trail. Masky was there that day, burying some boy, or what was left of him, just out of sight. He didn’t even realize you were there until your foot crunched on a branch, sending him grabbing for his pistol and aiming it through branches straight to your head. You had no clue, headphones lodged in your ears and playing some old songs, leaving you completely vulnerable. Masky was going to shoot, irritation guiding his movements at the thought of being seen. Until you started humming, tune familiar to some Fleetwood Mac song that stirred in the man’s brain, tugging at some long-forgotten memories that he knew were Tim’s. But instead of becoming angry, it was like his body was relaxing, gun slipping back into his jacket pocket and eyes trained sternly on you as you continued walking. 

It was laughable how unaware you were, even still as Masky followed that familiar path, watching you the same way he always had. He chalked it up to being a precautionary measure, watching to make sure you didn’t move further off the path than he wanted you to. But in reality, in the depths of his mind that he wouldn’t tell anyone, he just wanted to hear your voice. 

So, nudging your wired headphones into your ears, you shoved your phone into your pocket, shining your flashlight on the ground below as you walked. You kept the volume low, still able to hear your feet crunch on the weeds as you hummed lowly, swaying the light back and forth. Masky was to your right, hidden in the shadows of the branches as he walked in time with you, straining his ears to relish in your sweet voice. It was his guilty pleasure, getting to hear new and old songs that otherwise he wouldn’t. He recognized it as Name by Goo Goo Dolls, an older song he occasionally heard in bars and stores he passed. Tim was already stirring, pressing against the edges of his consciousness and skewing his thoughts, making the man reach for his cigarettes, popping one into his mouth and flicking the lighter. Masky had to put distance between you two now, wary of the smell of smoke alerting you, giving himself about fifteen yards of space but still keeping time with you.

You slipped your hair behind your ear, hands shoved into your hoodie pockets as you walked. The air was rather cool for a summer night, the clouds overhead making you wonder if there would be a storm tonight. Slipping your phone from your pocket, you flipped to a weather app, scrolling through and surprised by the pop-up showers happening within the hour. You'd have to speed up if you wanted to return home without getting soaked. 

So, shoving your phone back into your pocket, you held your flashlight tight, putting a little pep in your step. Masky was caught off guard, pushing his cigarette box back into his jacket and matching your pace, confused as to why you were hurrying now. He sucked the smoke into his lungs, the pounding in his head sizzling out. You had stopped humming, which irritated him, but he followed in the hopes that you would start again.

Minutes had passed and you recognized the path to be at about the halfway mark. You had an hour left, but the heavy clouds in the sky were already pushing down, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance. Shit. You wouldn’t make it back in time. Stopping, you had to think, to weigh your options of running the rest of the way or cutting through. You had never been off the path, the entire unknown distance in between making you uneasy. But what could be in there that wasn’t just more trees? This land had been lived on and used, so you had nothing to be afraid of except the possibility of running into a deer. Taking a breath, you held your flashlight up, stepping off the dirt path and into the thick brush of the woods between. 

Masky immediately tensed, heart thumping as he saw you turn off the path and past the trees in the direction of your house. You were gonna cut through. The man had realized your hurry, the rolling storm clouds above telling him it wouldn’t be long until you were both soaked. But he never expected you to take a shortcut, pressing into the dark shadows of the trees and unfamiliar territory. This was bad. It wouldn’t be if he knew you would just pass through, mosy on to your home and out of the rain, but Masky knew better. You see, using that plot of land as a screwed-up burial plot was way too easy and convenient, and it led some creeps to become lazy. Toby was the worst, leaving chopped-up pieces of arms and torsos scattered against the earth, letting nature and curious animals take care of the rest. But that method left evidence, bones and rotted flesh scattered everywhere and easily noticeable. You would see them and become scared, calling the stupid cops and busting them all. He had to deter you. 

Hiking your legs over tall bushes and weeds, you push deeper in, trying your best to keep straight and search for your porch light. The wind was already blowing, leaves upturned and shaking against the breeze. Keeping your eyes trained on the ground, you began to hum again, Leave Out All the Rest by Linkin Park thumping in your eyes, keeping you distracted against the pants you were heaving. Your leisure walk had turned rough, getting more exercise in than you intended. Meanwhile, Masky was gritting his teeth, shoving through the trees as he pressed in front of you, wracking his brain for some way to throw you back onto the path. You were quick, Masky having to work to stay ahead of you and make sure you didn’t run into anything unsightly. 

Your humming was throwing him off, cigarette pressed tight between his lips as he tried to focus more on you instead of your pretty voice. The pre-storm breeze was picking up now, tall grass whipping against his legs and tangling themselves around his boots. Looking forward, he could see fresh dirt dug out into a pit, one of Toby’s lazy mishaps again. Masky didn’t have a choice, he’d have to confront you if he was gonna get you out of here. Swearing, he crossed your path, yards in front of you and shoved off his mask.

You smelled the smoke before you saw him, his lit cigarette wafting in your direction as the breeze blew. You looked up, flashlight shining ahead and barely catching the man mixed in with all the trees. Heart dropping, you stopped, music still pumping in your ears as you stared at the man across from you. In all of your time here, you had never seen a person in these woods. Especially during the night right before a storm. This was bad. Your breath was shaky, catching up from your quick movements but not getting a chance to settle as you began to panic. You didn’t have a weapon, you never needed one, that was a sore mistake now. The man didn’t move, just standing and watching, his build taller and larger than yours, able to easily overpower you. 

Moving slowly, you plucked the headphones from your ears, taking a step back as you shook. “Uhm… Hello..?” You called, voice shaky as the breeze whipped your hair in your face. The man had his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, puffing his cigarette in the breeze and making your nose furl, the scent sour. “Pretty late, huh?” His voice was rough, low and scratchy as he talked, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. You stepped back, nerves begging you to run but deciding it would probably be worse if you did. “Hah, uh, yeah. Just out for a- uhm, a walk. Cutting through so I don’t get rained on…” You laughed awkwardly, fidgeting the flashlight between your hands as you continued to step back slowly, trying not to draw his attention.

“Well, you outta be careful. Buncha fox traps out here. Could take your foot clean off.” He called, taking a step towards you and making your stomach turn, palms beginning to sweat. He flicked the cigarette between his fingers, ashes falling before he put it back in his mouth, puffing smoke. You glanced around the ground, feet suddenly nervous as you shuffled under yourself, hugging yourself tight. “O- Oh really? Didn’t know about that… uh, I’ll be careful. Just gotta make it home before it rains.” You went to turn, pushing for another path away from this strange dude. You noticed he didn’t have any form of light, standing in the darkness as he began to step towards you, panic surging. Stumbling back, you gripped your flashlight, willing yourself to hit him if it came down to it.

But instead, the man stopped in front of you, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it, glancing at you. “Trust me. It’d be better if you just take the path. I can walk with you, make sure you don’t get rained on too bad.” He was pushing, pressing beside you and guiding you back towards the path, not giving you any choice but to follow beside him as he pressed his hand on your back. The rain had already begun to sprinkle through the leaves, cool mist running across the ground as you held your flashlight close, wary of the man as you walked next to him.

Finally seeing the dirt path again, his hand pushed you to follow it again, the familiar crunch of weeds comforting you against the panic you felt internally. The man’s hand never left your back, keeping you next to him as he walked quickly, moreso forcing you to go this way than advising you. You wanted to run, to throw the flashlight at him and get home but he was stern, the brunt look on his face stunning you. So you just kept walking.

Masky had no clue what he was doing. He only meant to scare you, push you in the opposite direction and disappear again. But when you didn’t run, just kept watching, he had no choice but to speak up. He opted to take the mask off, giving you good reason to leave but not scaring you so much you wouldn’t come back. He still wanted you to feel comfortable here, just not off that path. Obviously, that didn’t work. If your survival instincts wouldn’t help you, he would. 

Minutes passed in tense silence, flecks of water sprinkling onto your face and wetting your hair. His hand still pressed, your shoulders tense as you flicked nervously between the path and his face, the unwavering look making you uneasy. “So, uhm. Why’re you out here?” You shook out, filling the cold air as you felt his fingers tense, eyeing you slightly. He was quiet for a second, almost like he was contemplating. “Cleanin' up. Got some hunting equipment back there. Had to get it stable before the storm.” He looked away, continuing on.

Settling in, you let him guide you, figuring that if he tried anything, you would be close enough to neighbors to scream. If he was going to do anything, he would have done it where no one could hear. Either way, you knew after tonight you wouldn’t be walking back in these woods without a knife. The rain was coming down harder now, thick droplets landing on your cheeks and blurring your vision. Your hair was soaked, clothes sticking to your body as you walked, and chills running over you. “Almost there.” The man grunted, tugging at his jacket and pulling it closer to his chest, raindrops running down his face. Nodding, you hummed, slicking your hair back off of your face.

This walk was weird without music, and your routine became skewed. So you decided to hum, picking up where you left off of the Linkin Park song and hitting the notes softly. The man’s hand instantly tensed, fingers curling into your hoodie and catching you off guard, stunting your voice. “Sorry.” You mumbled, sniffling as your nose became stuffy against the cold. He huffed, flattening his hand out again. “It’s fine. Keep singing.” He huffed, gripping the back of your hoodie. Uncomfortable, you began to hum again, pressing the notes quietly as you walked. The man held your top tight, taking deep breaths as he listened to you, teeth gritted. 

Internally, Masky was fighting himself, using all of his willpower not to drag you back to your house and force better noises out. Maybe it was his deprivation, the loneliness from all this time, but he couldn’t stand how nice you sounded next to him. It was always from a distance, but right now, pressed by his side, it was like you were beckoning him. Like some fucked up siren. He huffed a breath, begging himself just to keep walking, just get you home. But as you hit a high note, throat straining against the sound, Masky's breath hitched, fist gripping onto your back. 

You paused, humming stiffled in your throat as you looked at him, feet planting beside his as you stopped. “Are you… alright?” You asked nervously, gripping his jacket sleeve and gazing into his stern face, eyes dark as they looked back at you. “[Y/N]...” 

“How do you…” You gasped, pulling back against his fist wrapped against the back of your hoodie. “You’re a real tease, you know that?” The man huffed, gripping your shoulders and shoving you backwards against a nearby tree, shoulder blades shoving into the bark as rain pelted down your cheeks. You shook your head, panic rising in your chest as you pushed back against his arms, his fingers gripping your shoulders tightly. “I don’t… What?” You huffed, tears pricking in your eyes as he grits his teeth, eyes roaming your body under him quickly.

“Of course you don’t. Coming out here every day just to tease. Practically begging me.” The man spat, pressing a knee between your legs and shoving your hips down, forcing a whine out of your throat. You had no clue what was happening, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as your hips forcefully ground down against his jeans. “Please… I don’t know what you want. If it’s money-” The man gripped your throat, pressing whines and gasps past your lips and holding you flush against the large tree behind you. “Can’t you see? I don’t want your fucking money, hun.” He grunted, pressing his body close and shoving his clothed bulge against your hip, gripping your hips tightly. 

You were still clueless, adrenaline pumping and kicking your brain into survival mode, too busy wondering if you would survive to realize the man’s intentions. Grunting, he gripped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Listen to me very closely, [Y/N].” He spat, grinding his bulge against your hip, moving your hips along with his against his knee, making your eyes shoot down, cheeks growing hot. “I just wanna hear that voice. You can’t imagine how many days I listened to you humming and wanted to turn them into moans. You’re just so… addicting.” 

You couldn’t comprehend what you were hearing, your mind too muddled with the feeling of your clothed cunt throbbing against the man’s leg, his hands rough against your hips. “I don’t understand…” You grunted, pushing back against his shoulders as he leaned in, pressing his lips close to your ears.

“I need to fuck you, hun.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss against your ear as you gasped, flinching against him. Shoving a hand up your shirt, he pushed the cloth up, rubbing his rain-soaked hands against your warm skin. You didn’t know what to think, didn’t even know what to do. This guy overpowered you by a long shot, but as he pressed his hand into your shorts, you couldn’t hold back the whine that sounded. 

“Yeah, yeah, noises just like that, hun.” He smiled, pushing your shorts down to your thighs and groaning at the sight of your panties. Your clothes were soaked now, pressing uncomfortably against your skin as he pressed a finger against your clothed cunt, pushing his thumb between your folds and onto your clit. You gasped, gripping his arm tight as he watched, your eyes trained on his face and hand as they moved. “I don’t-”

“Just don’t hold back that voice, mkay? Let me hear you…” He sighed, shoving your panties down before you could stop him, rubbing his thick fingers between your folds. Slick collected against the digits, your body betraying your racing mind as you decided to give up, fighting obviously useless. 

Masky was electric, fingers moving faster than his mind could cooperate as he pressed against your clit, causing your body to stutter under him. Even if you didn’t know him, he knew you, and he knew that this was what you needed. Rain ran down his face, he rubbed his fingers against your cunt, pressing in and stretching. You couldn’t handle it, mind racing as he slowly fucked you open, body unsure of what it was even supposed to be doing. He shoved deeper, curling up into you until you were moaning out, fingers digging in. You gripped and held his forearm, too sensitive to take it as you spasm against his fingers, words getting caught in your throat. Masky relished in the way you gasped every time his palm hit your clit, fingers pumping up until you were gushing against him, arousal building. With every unforgiving pump of his fingers, you were losing your restraint, mind muddled under his grunts and thick fingers. 

“Can barely hold back, yeah? Go ahead, be as loud as you need to.” You were biting your lip, eyes screwed shut as you fought off your orgasm, refusing to give in to this eager man. Until he leaned in, licking against your neck and pressing his wet hair against your cheek. You shuddered, losing your resolve until you were clenching around his fingers, his palm shoved against your clit and rubbing your orgasm out, chuckling as you cried out, your resistance completely gone. 

He didn’t give you a moment, shoving your panties down to your knees and leaning up, unzipping his jeans. Stuttering, you whined, watching as his length sprung free and pressed against your abdomen. “What are you…” You gasped, vision blurry and goosebumps running against the throbbing still in your cunt. “I already told you, hun.” He hissed, pumping his cock with his wet hand before he was pulling your hips close, feet still planted but knees buckled. He pushed his cock down, pressing the tip against your lips, pushing forward until your lips were wrapping around him, clit spasming. You whined, the man angling your hips until your entrance pressed against the tip, your hands gripping his shoulders tight as he pulled you to him, pressing inside.

You gasped, his thick cock stretching you until you were gritting your teeth, his head nudging against your soft walls. “Don’t hold back, now…” He gasped, chuckling as he began to grind your hips down onto his length, your folds pressed against him with every deep thrust. You couldn’t handle it, stomach tightening with every tug and pushing gasps through your lips. No matter how badly you tried to keep quiet, you just couldn’t, the sensitivity dragging noises from you. He was ecstatic, every moan matching yours as he thrust faster, nails digging into your hips. He stared you in the eyes, dark gaze staring through you as you stared back, jaw hanging open. 

As if by instinct, fingers pressed into your mouth, shoving down into your throat until you were gagging, throat constricting around the digits. He was moaning, your lips wrapped tightly around his fingers as you sucked, your head becoming light due to the lack of oxygen. He would pull back slightly, giving you a moment before shoving his fingers back in, spit building against your lips. You couldn’t handle it, couldn’t comprehend anything but the intense pleasure of his thrusts, fingers muddling your mind. 

Before you knew it, you were clenching around his cock, clit straining against the pressure until you were crying out, choking on his fingers pressed knuckle-deep into your throat. “Fuck, hun…” He groaned, bottoming out against you and gripping your hips tight, relishing in the way your throat squeezed in time with your cunt. You were whining and grunting against him, eyes rolling back until you were coughing, cunt throbbing as spit ran down your chin.

Ripping his fingers from your mouth quickly, he slid your cunt off of his cock, throbbing hard as he fisted himself quickly, pressing the head against your abdomen. You gasped, heaving for breath as you watched, eyes heavy and face soaked with rain. He came against your skin, seed shooting against your stomach as he was rubbing the tip against you, cursing as he stared into your eyes. It was all too much, knees buckling against him as he gripped your waist tight, shoving your hoodie down and pulling your shorts up, your wetness soaking into the fabric. Your eyes lulled closed as he threw you over his shoulder, legs gripped tight as he began to walk through the trees, abandoning the path completely. But you were too delusional to think, mind too frayed to fight against him.

-

When you woke, you were in your bed, clothes still damp and hair still tangled. Cursing, you sat up, cunt sore as thunder roared outside, the hint of sunrise peeking against the trees. You tried to wrack your brain, tried to comprehend what had happened. But when you moved, feeling the crusted semen against your stomach, you decided a shower was the better option.

You still walked that path, just more cautiously now, carrying a knife in your hoodie every time. Cautious, you always made sure to stick to the path, unsure if the ‘fox traps’ existed or not, but not wanting to tempt it. 

You still had your headphones lodged in your ears, keeping the volume at a good level as you walked, making sure to hum just a little louder. Occasionally, catching a whiff of smoke.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[lovebugism]

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick <3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

[justmeinatree]

The Greatest Show

Summary : a group of misfits, a mysterious leader, a string of murders, and a life on the road. all things that sound quite tempting. especially after being outed to the entire congregation, and shunned by family & friends, only to be smuggled onto a boat, to avoid her inevitable faith of ending up in an asylum for the insane.

1849 was not too kind on pretty young lasses that go by the name "lady bug". especially since they were born with the name "timothy". fortunately for her, in leaving behind reality, the impossible came true. she found a home, and she found love, with a group of runaways - her new family, under the coloured lights.

welcome to the greatest show.

Story TW : hardships of being trans in victorian era europe, mentions of murder, smut, drug use. each part will have its appropriate warnings.

A/N : inspired by the song the greatest show, by panic at the disco. this story can be read as either a third-person reader insert, or as a main character featured story.

the preacher in the pulpit

searching in the dark

all the coloured lights

where the lost get found

the moment you've waited for

runaways are running the night

all that was real is left behind

impossible comes true

sweat soaking through the floor

the sun can't stop us now

crown 'em the circus kings

......

Masterlist

[lita0]

Tw!! Blood

Larryyy xP

The last pic is lyrics from a misfits song <3

[srirachaz]

I really want to go through nct's discography but holy cow where do I start I'm thinking 127 dream wish wayv u superm nd thsn the full albums

ok i apologize for the massive fucking wall of text that follows this paragraph but i'm in fact a huge nctzen (i listen to literally every subunit and solo i love them all)

127 is for sure the most popular but wish and wayv might be easier to start with because they have a smaller discography. unfortunately no matter how you slice it it'll take forever to get though because all the groups keep releasing banger after banger so try some sample songs to see which discographies you vibe with:

nct wish: hands up, wish. they're still in their teenage idoldom and their songs reflect that! very cute, very easy listening, very underrated. their bsides have a similar vibe to their tts and are very 2018 reminiscent. if you like riize, wannaone, or tws this is for you

nct dream: candy, istj, broken melodies, beatbox, smoothie, hot sauce. dream has 2 modes: early dream (cir. 2018-2020) with cutesy teen stuff and later dream (anything recent) that incorporates more 127 experimental sounds and is a little more mature but retains the amazing vocal quality they always had. their bsides range from ballads to heavenly hamonies (please listen to box omg) with a noisier song every once in a while. if you like seventeen, shinee, or stray kids this is for you

wayv: moonwalk, phantom, give me that. any given wayv tt is a good one so you'll never go wrong. melodic and life-changing, with harmonies to die for. generally a more mature vibe, and they can include noise really well. the raps lean into a darker heavier tone. their bsides range from melodic to club bangers, but each bside goes really well with the album. if you like exo, tvxq, taemin, or monsta x this is for you

nct 127: cherry bomb, fact check, fire truck, 2 baddies, kick it, superhuman, ay-yo, walk, simon says, sticker. very experimental, very fun. club music loves 127. their bsides tend to be a little softer? slower? idk how to describe it but they're usually showing off more of their vocal capabilities, so the tt isn't usually the same vibe as to what the rest of the album is. if you like stray kids, ateez, or block b this is for you

nct u: 7th sense, 90's love, make a wish, baggy jeans, baby don't stop, misfit. nct u bsides are usually to show off individual groups and the albums flow together really well, they're produced nicely. kind of a mix of the other ncts so if you like those you'll like nct u.

other: perfume, shalala, off the mask, nightwalker, smoke, little light, each completely different, each album perfect to listen to.

superM (bonus!): tiger inside, jopping. superm bsides all fuck hard and definitely should be listened to in full

i also have a separate list of nct b-side bangers but that can wait lmfao

HOWEVER NCT LOVES THEIR GENRE MIXING SO SOMETIMES THEY DO SONGS OUT OF LEFT FIELD THAT SOUND NOTHING LIKE THE REST OF THEIR STUFF WHICH IS OK BUT SOMETIMES IT'S A JUMP SCARE BASS LINE OR A RANDOM BALLAD

[caplanbuckybarnes]

For the Marvel gif thing with focus on Sam. 😁

Billiards Hands

Summary: Sam reconnects with you after you'd run away from TWS and his crew of misfits.

warnings: none!

Steve nudges Sam ass he leans up from shooting the ball across the felted mat. "Look," Steve whispers with a knowing smirk hidden behind his glass in his hand.

"What?" Sam turns his head in the direction where Steve was looking and felt his heart jerk in his chest. "What's she doing here?"

"Man, I don't know, but if you don't go talk to her, I'll take my chances." That's all Sam needed to hear before he rested his pool stick against the table and straightened himself, pulling at his jacket before making his way over to the bar where you sat by yourself, sipping a martini glass.

Leaning over the bar, Sam beckoned the bartender and ordered a drink for himself before he felt your eyes scaling his body. "Sam, is that you?"

Smirking slightly, he turned to look at you before your name fell from his lips. "Y/N, nice to see you in town again."

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes before taking a sip from your glass again. "I had no choice; the damned Winter Soldier and his damned crew traced me all over Madrepore. I needed to find a place to lay low, hence, the Avengers Towers."

"This isn't exactly a hiding place," he smirks turning around to lean his back on the bar top. "It's pretty public,"

Shrugging, you glanced around the crowded room, music blaring from Tony's systems. "Seems pretty good hiding spot to me. It's Tony's place, anyone can disappear in a place like this, become nobody."

"How long until you're going away again?'

"Well, this was supposed to be my last night in here, but since I know you're still hanging about with this crowd, what'd say we have some fun before I disappear for another week?"

Sam smirked before he turned and made eye contact with Steve, causing the man to nod in agreement before Sam turned back to you and gently took ahold of your hand and gently led you out of the room.

send a gif for a small drabble!

EVERYTHING TAGS: @writerwrites @miraclesoflove @palaiasaurus64 @notyourtypicalrose @hermesmaximoff @mariekoukie6661 @kjs-s @writercole @mistressofallthingsgeeky @fandomstuffff @km-ffluv  MARVEL TAGS: @dumblani @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @thoughtsofdarc @smokeandnailz @buckys-little-hoe @shakespeareanqueer @lxdyred @amelia-song-pond @pono-pura-vida @micheleamidalajedi @thegeekybibliophile @rebel-stardust @girl-next-door-writes @averyrogers83 @titty-teetee

SAM WILSON: @lxdyred @stuckybarton @saintlessmunson @girl-next-door-writes @awkwardfangirl2014

[zenosyneee]

Chapter 2: Who Are You?

Part 2, continued from Introductions. I'm still working on a title. Please don't copy my work, post, or use it without my permission.

In this chapter, Zenosyne discovers a little more about her party members... and a little more about who she may have been before losing her memories... The song lyrics are slightly altered but taken from the song Téir Abhaile Riú by Celtic Woman.

TW: blood, hypnotism.

Evening rain pelted the ground in a steady rhythm, and the sky flashed intermittently with the bright lightning of the heavens.The party had taken refuge beneath a towering cliffside just beyond the Druid’s Grove to keep themselves out of the elements. It had been many weeks since the start of their journey together, but the unusual band of misfits that traipsed through Faerun looking for the cure to their Ilithid curse had grown fond of one another. Each of them had their unique quirks, this was true. Lae’zel was arguably just as ferocious as Zenosyne had predicted, and her coarse manner had not softened in the slightest. Shadowheart talked more with her companion, but it seemed the more that the priestess of Shar spoke the more questions there were surrounding her past. Karlach, however, was more and more thrilled at the prospect of having new friends and of being free of the hells- even if just for a time. Her zest for life left Zenosyne feeling as though her cup had been filled whenever they talked. Gale and Wyll left her feeling this way, too, in their own ways. 

Astarion was a different matter- one which left Zenosyne questioning what it was that she felt towards him. Although Gale had revealed the dreadful curse bestowed upon him by the goddess Mystra- Astarion felt it necessary to chide him on his secrecy. It was a brazen thing to do, considering everyone knew that he was hiding something himself. The hypocrisy of the pale elf was not lost on Zenosyne- but she felt a sadness within him that left her both curious and patient. When he was ready, he would reveal his secrets. 

It happened one day before they had gotten far past the blighted village beyond the Emerald Grove. There stood a man dressed in leather armour, looking fairly quaint but sure of himself. The man introduced himself as Gandrel. 

“I am a Gur- a monster hunter, if you will.” 

“Oh?” Astarion asked, leaning in just enough to insert himself between Zenosyne and the stranger. “You’re a monster hunter? I thought all Gur were vagrant cut throats… and what is it you’re hunting then? A beholder? A mimic?” 

“Well, much worse than that. I’m hunting the lowest of foul creatures that stalk these lands.” He replied. 

Zenosyne sniffed the air, it was thick with a metallic smell. In that moment she gagged, a terrible turn in her stomach- as though it were making every muscle inside her quake in revulsion. Whatever it was, there was more to her reaction than simply disgust at the scent. 

“Pure iron” Gandrel said, knowing what it was that she had noticed. “Forgive me for the smell.” 

“Iron? Are you looking to… kill a Faerie creature?” She asked between gasps. 

Shadowheart turned her gaze to the green-haired “elf” that recoiled before her. She had questioned Zenosyne’s lineage before, and it was true that elves had very distant Faerie blood- but it was not so much that they would normally be averse to pure iron. Few creatures were. 

“Not a faerie, no.” Gandrel continued, “A vampire spawn. A cunning, evil creature named Astarion.” 

Instead of showing her surprise, Zenosyne remained calm. She would not give away her knowledge. She felt Astarion bristle next to her. Suddenly, it was as though an old instinct- one that she had not known she had, came to the surface of her conscious mind. However, she was kept at bay from the iron he wore as a putrid cologne. 

“A monster hunter such as yourself should know better than to look for a vampire spawn in the broad daylight.” She said, then as if she were hypnotizing the Gur- she curled one finger towards herself, walking slowly towards the open water they had been following along. The river was gently moving, and she made certain to be upstream from the flow as she removed her heavy armour and stepped into the water. Dark green, almost black scales crawled up her skin like spiders crawling upwards on a web. She fell slightly in the water, letting the waves take her body a little. She turned and swam against the current with newfound vigor, like a salmon swimming upstream. A powerful fish-like tail manifested from the splashes.

Gandrel’s body turned slowly, his eyes unmoving from her form as she moved. With her back towards them, she turned to look over her bare shoulder. 

“Come, now, and follow me down, follow me down, follow me down…” She sang. 

He moved slowly, his face gently smiling at her call. 

"Look how she's off on the town

She's off on a search for sailors though

There's fine fellas here to be found

She's never been one to stay at home"

His boots made contact with the water, and he waded in slowly- the iron dust flowing down offstream into the unknown. She held her hand up- palm facing him and he stopped his steps, face unchanging. She extended one finger outwards, and slowly pointed in front of her. 

"Come now and follow me down, 

Follow me down, follow me down,

There's fine sailors walking the town

And waiting to meet the ladies there"

Keeping the distance that she was enforcing, Gandrel walked around her. He moved downstream further and his dreadful aroma of pure iron washed away. She slowly let her pointed finger fall, and he followed it slowly beneath the rushing current. 

"Stay here and never you mind

The lights of the town are blinding you

The sailors they come and they go

But listen to what's reminding you

Handsome men surrounding you

Dancing a reel around you"

She began to pull at an invisible force, and he swam towards her- the last of the iron on his person washing away. At his approach, she lifted her palms upwards and he rose from the water- eyes opening, face smiling. 

She pulled him in closer- wrapping both arms around the monster hunter, and held him in a close embrace. The poor fool sighed as he rested into her comforting arms- 

“She’s not some moon or sun elf” Shadowheart said, echoing her previous observations. All of their gazes were fixed on her strange power. 

With one swift motion, she drew a dagger up into the air and brought it down upon his back. 

Not a sound was heard, and he slumped slowly from her embrace into the water- blood mixing with the fresh, clear stream as it carried him away. 

“She’s a siren.” Shadowheart whispered.

The waves carried Gandrel far from the party and out of view, and Zenosyne watched as he disappeared. Finally, she let out a sigh as if she had been holding her breath that whole time. Tension seemed to let go within her.

They did not see the dark figure hiding behind the trees, watching as her scaled slowly faded into flesh again. An old woman smiled to herself.

"Well, well" Astarion said, "Looks like someone has a little secret of their own. When exactly were you intending on sharing that little detail?"

Zenosyne dragged herself out of the river, understanding now what the purpose of her flowing light clothes had been all along- a way to keep quick in the water. Not weighed down by the weight of wool or velvet.

"Whenever I discovered that I had it" she said, her voice still low and melodic despite her song having ended.

"By the way" she added, picking up her armour, "I believe I may have been a siren before I was captured by the mindflayers."

"You don't say" Astarion mocked, but his face betrayed his amusement.

As they continued to walk there were whispers among the companions that Zenosyne could barely make out between the crunching leaves and sounds of the forest. She knew that the whispers were likely about her. They certainly didn't trust her now, if they had to begin with. She decided to leave the conversation about the revelation that had been made about both herself and Astarion at their meeting with the monster hunter. There was no need to address an already nebulous topic after such a day.

Finally, they stopped their whispers and their quiet steps when they came upon a rather dingy sheep.

"What are you doing? Are you far from home?" Zenosyne asked the sheep, hardly expecting a response at all. She went to walk past when the sheep said, "Baaa."

Everyone stood silently.

That was a rather human sounding "Baa" if any of them had every heard one. It was most certainly not from any old run-of-the-mill sheep.

They all waited in quiet anticipation, their hearts racing at the chilling realization. Zenosyne decided to keep up the facade, and echoed its call.

"Baaa" she responded.

The sheep seemed satisfied with this, and moved on from them. They all let out a collective breath of relief. They continued to move forward carefully and kept their eyes wide open, surrounded by "sheep" in the lush green grass. There was a beautiful clearing beneath a tree that shed small white apple blossoms in the wind.

"This is oddly calm" Gale whispered. "There's a dark hint of weave in the air." He dared say no more lest they be overheard by the "sheep" that watched them all too closely.

Upon a second glance, one of the suspicious creatures gnawed at an old wicker basket half open. A few apples were sitting sweetly inside, and a note accompanied them:

"Have a rest, on Auntie Ethel, dear"

"Was that there before?" Gale asked.

Zenosyne sighed, and dried herself in the warm sun beneath the sweet smelling apple tree.

"What a sweet old lady" She said, and reached out for one of the apples. "I'm famished."

With closed eyes she bit ferociously into the tempting apple. She chewed slowly, eyes meeting those of the others.

"Have you never learned not to take food from strangers?" Shadowheart asked.

"I... must hasten to agree with Shadowheart" Gale added quickly. "You never kn-"

Zenosyne hit the ground with a loud thud, and fell into a deep slumber.

"Know" Gale finished.

[fading2perfection]

about me!!

tw - ana blog 🩵dni if this triggers you🩵

i am online (almost) everyday and totally want to meet some buddies!! dont be afraid 2 talk 2 me!

*＊✿❀ stats ❀✿＊*

HW : 169 lb HEIGHT - 5’4

SW : 160 lb GENDER - female

CW : 144 lb BMI - 25.7

GW1 : 140 lb

GW2 : 130 lb

GW3 : 120 lb

GW4 : 110 lb

UGW : 99 lb

‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

my interests:

electric guitar, countless 70s-90s rock/metal bands (please ask me about them if u like those too😁😁😁), jackass, guitar hero, collecting cds, dvds, and cassette tapes, metalocalypse, beavis and butthead, juno, jersey shore, donnie darko, and lots of stuff like that!!!!

fav song atm:

•◉❁thx 4 giving my blog a peek!! ❁◉•

[cassorpa]

Andrew Palmer my beloved!

Oh Andy you beautiful guy. Lead guitarist of the Pit Fiends. Ricky Montgomery enjoyer. Gay. (Are those last 2 the same thing?) But how did he get here(all of the following content was created quickly and is subject to change).

TW// Alcoholism, Abuse, Suicide, Familial loss, Job loss, Absentee parents

The following is copied and pasted from my loreforge "History" section for Andy:

Andrew Palmer was born on the October 13th 2008. His father Ife(27 at the time) worked in blockbuster and had done so since he left high school in 1997. His mother Sandra(29 at the time) worked in a secretarial job in an office building indistinguishable from all the others. Ife was not a good husband and, as it turns out, he was an even worse father. He resented the fact that his wife earned more than him and worked less hours. As a result of this he spent most of his time in the Black Mule, a pub in Croydon, and would come home late in the night with a thirst for violence followed by an apologetic outburst of self-loathing and depression. He was not a good man. Things only continued to go downhill from here after Blockbuster closed on December 16th 2013. He drank more, and the stuff he drank was stronger than before. He came home so drunk that he couldn't even move with enough strength or dexterity to carry out his usual beatings. It took two months before he hung himself on February 8th 2014.

Sandra Kabelo was a strong woman and she returned to using her maiden name, Palmer, following Ife's suicide. Despite never being able to leave Ife, she managed to protect Andy as much as she could and following her husbands death she began working a second job to provide for her son but as a result she's almost never home meaning Andy can kinda do whatever he wants. As a result of this, for most of his life, Andy did something no kid his age never did… Studied. The absence of both his mother and father caused a large feeling of isolation in Andy's life that after a while he just accepted as normal. Despite this sense of normalcy he still felt something was missing and so he filled the hole with work. He worked day and night researching things he didn't even need to know. He learned all the flags of the world, all the capital cities. He read countless books from the classics all the way to comic books. He received the highest grades in his class, acing every test but still, after everything, he felt empty.

Andy met Felix on 5th April 2022, 2 years prior to main the story's beginning, when he was in Year 8 and Felix Year 10. They go to different schools in different parts of the city however both of them share the same favourite record shop: Historic Records. It's a small place but it gets a lot of business from the local scene due to its strangely wide range of stock; they always seemed to have whatever you were looking for, no matter how niche. They first spoke when Felix noticed Andy checking out the latest album from a small band from Croydon. They started talking and they immediately clicked. Andy was new to the alternative scene and as such didn't have many friends so Felix took him under their wing and showed them the ropes. The best venues, the hottest local bands, the best places to hang out.

A few months later Felix introduced him to Quinn and Sam, with whom they'd been friends for over 2 years by now, and the unlikely quartet of rebellious misfits decided to start a punk rock band called the Pit Fiends. They started off doing covers of popular bands such as My Chem or Pierce the Veil but after a couple months they'd decided to write their own songs.

After a while they released their first EP onto Spotify entitled "To Hell and Back" which dealt with such topics as the state of the UK government, the groups shared journey towards uncovering and accepting their queer identity and, last but not least, cheeseburgers. They started playing a few local shows, those shows where people pay five quid for a night of shit music and deadly mosh pits, with a set comprised mainly of covers with some original songs interspersed.

During his 9th school year and following some confusing and uncertain feelings towards Felix, Andy began to confide in Quinn about the possibility that he may be queer and crushing on his first real friend. This deepened the bond between the two bandmates and Quinn swore herself to secrecy, knowing that Andy did not wish to make his feelings known to Felix just yet.

One time during his 10th school year, Andy and Samantha found themselves stranded in Brighton following a concert that they had not told their parents about. They didn't consider the logistics of their return trip and as such had to spend the night huddled together beneath Andy's jacket on a bench in the train station. Despite the lengthy groundings they both received (and completely ignored) both of them hold it to this day as one of the coolest days of their lives.

Afterword

I also made piccrews for Sandra and Ife. I did consider the morality of making one for Ife considering he's someone's (fictional) dead, abusive father. However, I use piccrews to visualise how a character looks and keep a consistent design both in my head and on the page. Furthermore, I like when people include images of their characters in posts like these so this is for the people like me!!!

[peach-blossoms]

objectively drama is not great, plot is loose & generic and cgi is even worse (let’s not even begin to talk about to jing tian’s makeup artist needing to be fired). but for some reason i keep watching and heck actually kinda enjoying for the most part? which is a feat considering how often i started and dropped many dramas recently.

its silliness & humor works for me, and even some of the recent tragedy & angst got a few tears out of me (not that it says much cause im a crier).

this feels reminiscent of my time with Zhen Hun kinda situation where you got decent otp MCs who are in a totally different plane compared to the rest in terms of characterization & acting and that is somehow enough, for now, to keep going. that and my brain is so tired from work these days that i could use a band of xianxia simpleton misfits and their shenanigans.

(im only on ep 17 though so jury’s still out)

also i quite dig the ost here and enjoyed most songs and even went out to listen independently. like i mentioned in another post, it has a quasi old school tw-dramas / kdrama feel to it and its working

[roses-bel-air-darling]

For those who want to make a spiderpunk aka hobie brown playlist.

I have a couple of punk bands suggestions for y'all. Sorry for my music loving goofy self. I just wanted to share some suggestions for those who want to create a hobie brown playlist and don't know where to start.

Classic punk

*The Cramps

*The Clash

*The Misfits

*The Adicts

*Dead Kennedys

*The Sex Pistols

*Black Flag (Ok, how can you guys not add rise above? It fits hobie perfectly!)

*NOFX

*FEAR

*Subhumans

*Rancid

*The Damned

*Siouxsie and the Banshees (I know the band is literally one of the founding bands for goth music but the band's early years were punk)

*Fugazi (check out Ian Mackaye's band Minor Threat.)

*New York Dolls

*The Vandals

*The Stooges

*Ramones

*Blondie

*Bad Religion

Other bands with a hint of punk/a mix in between genres, or modern punk.

*No Doubt (Early albums)

*L7 (All female punk band)

*Against Me!

*The Distillers

*War on Women

*Debbie Harry

*The Cure

*Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

*Rage against the machine

*Joan Jett

*The Runaways

*Glenn Danzig or danzig (former singer of the misfits, had his metal band Danzig during the 80s-early 90s. Covered some of the misfits songs).

*Rollins Band (Former lead singer henry rollins from black flag band during the 90s)

*Green Day

*Blink-182

Not exactly punk, but are vocally anti-establishment and or anti-capitalist.

Ok. I gotta admit. These two are my favorite bands but I'm going try to not be biased here.

*Motorhead (despite being a metal band. Motorhead is embraced in punk culture. Due to lemmy's views on life and politics. He hates the British government, politicians in general and calls out their hypocrisy time to time in his songs, and the same goes with religion.) The band has a lot of albums. So here is some songs to add or give a listen.

-Eat the rich

-Org*smatron (Yes I understand the song name is a bit dirty, but the lyrics are the total opposite and it's one of the most badass songs I've heard.)

-Greedy Bastards

*Nine Inch Nails

(Their whole album of pretty hate machine, year zero and with teeth.)

*The legendary Johnny Cash. (Do I need to say more on this man? I know conservatives love him but if they actually read his lyrics. They would hate him.)

Banned/hobie would hate them

TW: SA

*The casualties (the front man is accused and outed for SA by a fan.)

*GG Allen (please don't... this man is the absolute scum of the earth.)

This is all I can think of and give some of them a listen or two.

[gay-strawberry]

i think andreil is a mix of mickey and ian (shameless) and dizzee and thor (tgd), theyre not as toxic and voilent to each other as the first ones but also not as soft and the second ones.

it makes so much sense to me because both of those pairs were my absolute favorite back in 2012 and 2016. and then when i met andrew and neil in 2020 i felt the same about them.

andreil has the whole "we both have a terrible past that doesnt allow us to express our emotions in a healthy way but somehow we are so good and perfect for each other" vibe that mickey and ian got going on (in my opinion andrew is mickey).

and then they also have the "we are misfits, soulmates, are you real ? are you a dream ? i am so i love with you, i wish it was just the two of us in the world" intimate vibe that dizzee and thor have.

[tw blood, drugs]

like, you can draw andreil like this and it makes so much sense it could be canon:

but this could also be canon:

thor just got released from prison and goes to dizzee's show to see him perform but dizzee has consumed some corrupted angel dust and hes like on a dream state. hes missed thor so much he literally thinks he is hallucinating when he sees thor. they have this conversation:

and you cant know if he actually halucinated that or if they really talked about it. then dizzee is unresponsive and they have to take him to the hospital.

anyways !! all this because i was thinking that in the scene where andrew tells neil "that doesnt mean i wouldnt blow you" i imagine move like u stole it by zz ward playing in the nightclub because thats the song thats playing when ian and mickey kiss in public for the first time

well bye ! some day i will tell you about how i think aftg its just dark haikyuu (i even have a ppt of who in the foxes would be in karasuno) because i cant consume any type of media without comparing it with my favorite things :D

[misfitcpia]

( layout ib : @/stcpidcupid )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‧ ｡.*✩彡 . . . MEET THE MEMBERS OF CARAVAL !

Are you a new Freak who wants to learn the CARAVAL members? Are you trying to pick a bias? Well, you're in luck! Here is where you can learn about our resident misfits!

( tw. mentions of drugs + alcohol, implied child abandonment + abuse )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‧ ｡.*✩彡 . . . YANG HYUNBIN, known professionally as HYUNBIN, was born as the oldest of three brothers on March 10th, 1997. When he was six years old, his father walked out on their family, leaving him to fend for himself and his brothers as their mother had become addicted to hard drugs and alcoholism and did nothing to care for her three young sons, going as far as to taking out her anger on them daily. Hyunbin became the sole parental figure of the three, and growing up, he made sure that he and his brothers had nothing less than what they needed. Meanwhile, he was scouted by Yuehua Entertainment in 2012 at the age of fifteen and trained for two years, and as soon as he graduated from high school in 2014, he debuted in the boy group UNIQ. However, he soon left both the group and Yuehua in 2015, stating that he had been mistreated and cheated out of his money by the staff there. He ended up signing with STARBORN CREATIVE later that same year, and after two more years of training, he debuted in CARAVAL in 2017.

STAGE NAME › Hyunbin

FULL NAME › Yang Hyunbin

BIRTHDAY › March 10th, 1997

BIRTHPLACE › Daejeon, South Korea

NATIONALITY › Korean

ETHNICITY › Korean

TRAINING PERIOD › Four years (Two under Yuehua, two under STARBORN)

POSITION › Leader, Lead Vocalist, Sub Rapper, Visual

REPRESENTATIVE ACT › The Ringmaster

FACE CLAIM › Chae Hyungwon (MONSTA X)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‧ ｡.*✩彡 . . . BAE YOUNGHO, known professionally as SAGE, was born to a tech company CEO on May 16th, 1997. As the eldest sibling, he was expected to be the heir of the company to step in their father's position. However, both brothers decided to pursue their dreams as idols and auditioned for STARBORN CREATIVE in 2015. Youngho trained for two years before debuting in CARAVAL.

STAGE NAME › Sage

FULL NAME › Bae Youngho

BIRTHDAY › May 16th, 1997

BIRTHPLACE › Gwangju, South Korea

NATIONALITY › Korean

ETHNICITY › Korean

TRAINING PERIOD › Three years

POSITION › Lead Vocalist, Lead Dancer

REPRESENTATIVE ACT › The Tightrope Walker

FACE CLAIM › Park Junhee (A.C.E.)

( tw. implied harassment ) 

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  ‧ ｡.*✩彡    . . .    ADACHI KEIKO, known professionally as REMI, was born on October 18th, 1997, in Yokohama, Japan. She grew up listening to SHINee, Arashi, and Morning Musume, which gave her the dream to become an idol. In 2014, when she was seventeen, she traveled to South Korea with her family to audition for Duble Kick Company, and was accepted and able to participate in the survival show Finding Momoland. After the finale of the show, she placed third place, debuting in the final group Momoland in 2016. However, she ended up leaving both the group and Double Kick Company in January 2017, stating that she had been harassed by the staff. Double Kick Company denied these claims, and refused to pay Keiko back what she stated were her 'life savings to her dream.' She disappeared from the public eye for almost two months before resurfacing as a member of CARAVAL.

STAGE NAME › Remi

FULL NAME › Adachi Keiko

BIRTHDAY › October 18th, 1997

BIRTHPLACE › Yokohama, Japan

NATIONALITY › Japanese

ETHNICITY › Japanese

TRAINING PERIOD › Two years

POSITION › Lead Vocalist, Sub Rapper

REPRESENTATIVE ACT › The Knife Thrower

FACE CLAIM › Minatozaki Sana (TWICE)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‧ ｡.*✩彡 . . . SONG JAEHAN, known professionally as JAEHAN, was born as an only child on March 20th, 1998. Growing up, he originally wanted to be a teacher like his father, but later decided to become an idol when his friends dragged him to see a dance crew busking on the streets in 2012. In 2014, he auditioned for Cassiopeia Media and was accepted, training for three years before debuting in CARAVAL.

[ T̨͈͗̌ͥHͥ̽ͣ̃̔I̍̅̀̎̊S̵̙͕̀̃ I̍̅̀̎̊S̵̙͕̀̃ A̷͙ͭͫ̕ L̸̖̽̌͂I̍̅̀̎̊Ḛͭ̉̇͟.T̨͈͗̌ͥHͥ̽ͣ̃̔Ḛͭ̉̇͟ T̨͈͗̌ͥR͉̜̎͡͠U̠҉̷̙ͦT̨͈͗̌ͥHͥ̽ͣ̃̔ Hͥ̽ͣ̃̔A̷͙ͭͫ̕S̵̙͕̀̃ B̩͎͍̾ͅḚͭ̉̇͟Ḛͭ̉̇͟N̺̻̔̆ͅ C̵͉͋̔͞O̖̼ͩ͌͐M͉̅ͮ͒ͤP̧͕̒̊͘R͉̜̎͡͠O̖̼ͩ͌͐M͉̅ͮ͒ͤI̍̅̀̎̊S̵̙͕̀̃Ḛͭ̉̇͟D̶͔̭̪̻ A̷͙ͭͫ̕N̺̻̔̆ͅD̶͔̭̪̻ Hͥ̽ͣ̃̔I̍̅̀̎̊D̶͔̭̪̻D̶͔̭̪̻Ḛͭ̉̇͟N̺̻̔̆ͅ B̩͎͍̾ͅỴ̛̖͋͢ S̵̙͕̀̃T̨͈͗̌ͥA̷͙ͭͫ̕R͉̜̎͡͠B̩͎͍̾ͅO̖̼ͩ͌͐R͉̜̎͡͠N̺̻̔̆ͅ C̵͉͋̔͞R͉̜̎͡͠Ḛͭ̉̇͟A̷͙ͭͫ̕T̨͈͗̌ͥI̍̅̀̎̊V̘̪͆̂̅Ḛͭ̉̇͟. ]

STAGE NAME › Jaehan

FULL NAME › Song Jaehan

BIRTHDAY › March 20th, 1998

BIRTHPLACE › Seoul, South Korea

NATIONALITY › Korean

ETHNICITY › Korean

TRAINING PERIOD › Three years

POSITION › Main Rapper, Lead Dancer

REPRESENTATIVE ACT › The Fire Breather

FACE CLAIM › Kim Taedong (OMEGA X)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‧ ｡.*✩彡 . . . KWON CHANGYU, known professionally as CHAN, was born to a small family with a younger sister on February 26th, 1998. Growing up, he developed a love for producing music, as his parents used to be a producer duo under SM Entertainment before getting married. He found a small part-time job at STARBORN CREATIVE in 2014, working as an assistant for only a year before deciding to change career paths to become an idol instead. Having watched and secretly practiced dance in his free time, he passed, training for two years before debuting in CARAVAL.

STAGE NAME › Chan

FULL NAME › Kwon Changyu

BIRTHDAY › February 26th, 1998

BIRTHPLACE › Gangdong, Seoul, South Korea

NATIONALITY › Korean

ETHNICITY › Korean

TRAINING PERIOD › Two years

POSITION › Main Dancer, Lead Rapper

REPRESENTATIVE ACT › The Juggler

FACE CLAIM › Lee Jinwoo / Xen (OMEGA X)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‧ ｡.*✩彡 . . . KARIS TSAI, known professionally as TRIXIE, was born as the middle child of three on January 23rd, 1999. As she was growing up, Karis participated in every pageant possible under her mother, as she had once been a beauty queen herself before marrying and giving birth. Karis, as the only daughter, had all of her mother's desires pushed onto her since childhood, never being allowed to be a normal kid due to vigorous training and dieting. While her brothers were allowed to go to school and have friends and do extracurricular activities, she was homeschooled by her mother, and even then, most of her studies surrounded the topic of beauty. In 2013, Karis and her family traveled to South Korea to participate in an international pageant, and Karis ended up being scouted by STARBORN CREATIVE as she was busking on the streets in order to gain public attention for the pageant. Against her mother's wishes, Karis dropped out of the pageant and auditioned for the company, training for four years before debuting in CARAVAL.

STAGE NAME › Trixie

FULL NAME › Karis Tsai 

TAIWANESE NAME › Tsai Baozhai

BIRTHDAY › January 23rd, 1999

BIRTHPLACE › San Francisco, California, USA

NATIONALITY › American

ETHNICITY › Tawainese

TRAINING PERIOD › Four years

POSITION › Lead Dancer, Sub Vocalist, Face of the group

REPRESENTATIVE ACT › The Magician

FACE CLAIM › Chou Tzuyu (TWICE)

( tw. mentions of a car accident, death, + bullying )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‧ ｡.*✩彡 . . . JEON SUMIN, known professionally as JINX, was born on October 29th, 2000. As the middle child of three siblings, as well as being the only girl, she was spoiled a lot by her brothers and parents. When Sumin was seven years old, his mother died in a car accident, when a drunk driver lost control of his car and ran into her mother's flower shop, killing her and two of her customers. Things went downhill for the siblings afterwards; instead of being understood and helped in school, they were bullied by their peers for being motherless, and the teachers did nothing to help. Sumin managed to escape the bullying by hiding with her older brother by hiding in the music room, where she was inspired to become an idol. In 2017, she auditioned for Pandora Labels and was accepted, training there for only three months before debuting in CARAVAL.

STAGE NAME › Jinx

FULL NAME › Jeon Sumin 

BIRTHDAY › October 29th, 2000 

BIRTHPLACE › Incheon, South Korea

NATIONALITY › Korean 

ETHNICITY › Korean 

TRAINING PERIOD › Three months 

POSITION › Maknae, Main Vocalist, Visual

REPRESENTATIVE ACT › The Clown

FACE CLAIM › Kim Jiwoo / Chuu (soloist) 

[okayhaneul]

it’s yaya again and i'm back with another updated intro ! this time, it's my boi haneul's turn. hit me up on @xojinnie​​ if you have any questions or want to plot.

— welcome to infinite entertainment! it's CHOI HANEUL, who is the SECURITY of SOLOIST #1. i’ve heard whispers that the 29 year old is pretty DARING but lowkey BLUNT. also, doesn’t he remind you of KIM TAEHYUNG?

ABOUT — PINTEREST — PLOTS

UPBRINGING

haneul doesn’t really remember his birth parents — but his birth certificate had him listed as born on may 20th, 1995 in busan, south korea. at the age of three, he was left on the doorsteps of a gorgeous house in the seoungbuk district after his parents were no longer able to handle the financial and mental burden of being parents. he never heard from them again.

the wealthy owners of the house ( the choi family ) took him in. his mother struggled with pregnancies in the past, and the two were desperate for a son of their own. haneul being left on their doorstep was a perfectly timed opportunity that landed in their laps. within the first year, they adopted him.

however, haneul's position as the crowning jewel was short-lived. two years after he found his way to the chois, his mother got pregnant. she gave birth to haneul's adoptive brother and suddenly, he was no longer of much interest to them. as he got older, he felt like the black sheep of the family, like some glaring mistake in otherwise perfection. the conservative friends of his parents treated him like the ugly stepchild. and it didn't help that his parents constantly compared him to his brother, the biological pure son.

in response, haneul began to act out. being abandoned at such a young age had already scarred his psyche, and now being ignored and treated as less then only made the matters worse. it seemed like he didn't quite fit anywhere in this world and he was tired of trying. if the environment he grew up in was going to treat him like a misfit, then he might as well play the part.

haneul was considered a naturally intelligent child but growing up, he spent more time getting into trouble than actually focusing in school. fights, destruction of property, wild parties. . . acting out seemed to be the only way he didn't feel numb to his new situation. as he got older and more audacious, his parents became crueler and more withdrawn from him, unsure how to handle his unruly behavior. in their mind, this insolent outsider was making their lives living hell — so they were simply returning the favor.

the main thing that was a comfort to haneul during his childhood and teenage years was music. he loved listening to it, loved making it, loved performing to it. he listened to songs about anger, pain, and hurt and suddenly, it felt like there was someone out there who understood him. it became his form of escapism.

after reaching his wit’s end with being stifled by his supposed "family", a sixteen year old haneul tried his luck at an audition to become a trainee at infinite entertainment. he wasn’t the best there was but he had enough passion, mystery, and visual to make it in. no longer wanting to deal with him, his adoptive parents willingly agreed to let him move to seoul to train and were quick to disown the young man the moment he stepped out of the door with his bags.

TRAINEE YEARS AND DOWNFALL — drugs & alcohol tw

haneul just wanted to focus on the music. that was all that mattered to him. but upon becoming a trainee, he soon realized that he was giving up something he loved dearly: his freedom. there were so many restrictions. no drinking, no tattoos, no anything. it all became so suffocating and reminded him of the oppressed home he'd just left behind. with every rule added, he had a stronger desire to break them.

so, he did. he partied hard. he got tattoos in hidden places the staff couldn’t find. he snuck out every night. soon enough, haneul got the reputation as the trainee to "watch out for". he was known as being too careless, too arrogant, and too selfish. all that mattered to him was what he wanted. his desire to rebel quite frankly pissed off his potential future members. here they were, granted with an opportunity of a lifetime, and han was operating like a complete lost soul.

truth was, he simply didn’t know where he belonged. he knew it wasn’t with his family. he thought it would be here, surrounded by music. but it didn’t seem to matter where he was, han felt empty. and he was beginning to realize, maybe he didn’t belong anywhere. the realization was depressing as fuck. to cope with it, haneul partied way too hard one night and ended up having to be transported to the hospital after being found passed out by a peer.

after being treated for a non-fatal overdose, haneul was promptly kicked out of infinite as a trainee. he was nineteen at the time, eight months from debuting. since he would no longer debut and was in breach of his trainee contract, he now owed the company approximately 335 million won for the loss and for his expenses while being trained. infinite offered him a chance to work on the staff side of things. 50% of each of his paycheck would be returned to the company as repayment until the debt was paid. essentially, the offer was for haneul to do a shit ton of labor at a very minimum wage.

haneul initially refused to swallow his pride. he told the company to go fuck itself and told them he’d find another way to pay them back. however, his now tainted reputation followed him around seoul. no other idol company wanted to take in a flight risk and even the regular every day jobs weren’t fond that he had a record. realizing he’d be royally screwed either way, haneul reluctantly agreed to the initial offer from infinite.

A CHANGE — drugs & alcohol tw

after losing something that was so important to him, haneul spiraled out of control at the start of his twenties. his new job with infinite involved a lot of unglamorous grunt work, which was overwhelming and exhausting. that paired with the stress of his debt made things hard for him mentally. despite the terrifying incident he experienced, the young man continued to turn to drugs and alcohol as a way to deal with the shitstorm that had become his life.

due to a mere random encounter, the darkness in his life offered a beacon of light in the form of kim seonhwa. they met on new year's eve at a party and there was a pretty immediate connection. the two began to date and eventually fell in love, experiencing a lot of firsts with one another. it could have been considered an ill match: the problem child and the darling idol. but the truth was, seonhwa saw haneul for exactly who he was. she never once tried to change him, and she never once judged. it was a feeling he'd been searching for ever since he was an angry, vulnerable kid. she inspired him to try and be better.

unfortunately, it didn't prove to be enough. haneul was truthfully far too unhealed to be in such a serious relationship. his reliance on substances and immense self-loathing hindered him from growing in the relationship. seonhwa was also getting more popular and far busier and the combination of issues led to things crumbling after a year and half together.

completely and utterly at rock bottom, haneul began to work out in his free time as a form of therapy. the adrenaline kept his mind off his dark thoughts. he took up activities like boxing, taekwondo, and swimming at the shitty (but free) recreation center next to his tiny apartment.

as time passed, he began to mature and reform his behavior. his wild, cocky tendencies tapered down into more brooding, sensible ones. he stopped turning to drugs and alcohol as a salve and instead, his vices became cigarettes, weed, and the thrill of a tattoo needle.

the biggest downside was that during his worst, haneul pushed everyone who cared about him away. so even though he was finally in the healing part of his journey, he didn't have many people to help him through the lows or share his wins with. he accepted that this was the consequences of his actions, though it didn't help with the self-loathing part of his personality. he didn't want to be alone. not really. but he tolerated the idea that maybe that was what he was meant to be.

infinite took notice of haneul's emotional and physical improvement and realized he would be better used on the security side of things. he was offered a promotion to become a bodyguard for the company's newest idol set to debut — fujiwara somi aka michelle.

initially, haneul and somi butted heads. in his mind, she was purposefully trying to make his job harder. the truth was though they hated to admit it, the two were quite similar — both blunt and liking things their way. it was no surprise they had a tumultuous start to their time together. however, with years came a better understanding of one another and now, haneul would do anything to protect her. she is the little sister he never knew he wanted. he takes his job very seriously and always treats it as a top priority.

shortly after turning twenty-five, haneul completed paying off his debt owed to infinite. the company, impressed with his loyalty and maturity over the years, offered him a full-time salary and promotion to become head of michelle's security. though he holds extremely resentful feelings towards infinite, he chose to accept the offer for the sake of continuing to work with somi.

while haneul has long redeemed himself in his professional life, his personal life remained a bit of a mess. ten years had gone by since he last spoke to his family. he never once committed to another serious romantic relationship, instead preferring flings that he could detach from easily. and his tendency to be a workaholic and isolate himself during his off hours meant that he didn't have many friends to turn to.

TOUR

the 2022 infinite world tour, however, forced him to confront the mistakes and people from his past. with nowhere to escape to but in a hotel that everyone shared, haneul had to learn to make amends and prove that he's better than he once was. the time on tour not only gave him a chance to rekindle a relationship with seonhwa and former friends of the past, but also ushered in the growth to open his heart to new things and people.

despite the long, excruciating nature of the tour, haneul ended things on a rather high note. he unintentionally established himself as the company's "dad slash big brother". as one of the oldest around, he ended up being a person that others could turn to for protection and blunt advice. and in return, he was taught that maybe he doesn’t want to be as alone as he’s made himself for years.

CURRENTLY

though tour is wrapped, haneul still continues his duties as head of michelle's security. the only thing different now is that he comes home to seonhwa at the end of the night. the two of them have recently moved in together and have adopted a puppy, who haneul loves.

now that he is in a far more evolved era in his personal life, haneul now turns that feeling of unsettledness towards the future of his career. being a bodyguard had never been his endgame, or even his plan to begin with. and he's struggling to figure out what he's actually passionate about. in the meantime though, he still dedicates himself to the task until he can figure out what's next for him.

TIDBITS

personality: daring, blunt, stoic, wary, protective, intense, sardonic, evasive, intelligent

aesthetics: messy curls, the scent of amber, cigarette butts, tattoo sleeves, bruised knuckles, black coffee, blazing eyes, sharp wit

is annoyingly always viral on twitter and tiktok for being michelle’s “hot bodyguard”

can speak five languages in varying levels of mastery, thanks to his former wealthy upbringing

can play the guitar and has an affinity for songwriting and producing, but hasn’t tapped into those skills ever since he left the idol industry

love language is acts of service ! will grumble about how fucking annoying the ask is but he’ll do it anyways

has approximately 25 tattoos

he’s got a heart, i promise. it’s just buried within a wary, introverted exterior to protect himself. but if you’re one of the chosen ones, you’ve got a grizzly bear dad at your service

FOR REFERENCE

personality overview

map of haneul's tattoos

more tidbits

[mindful-of-ideas]

Inspired by the song C’mon by Panic! At The Disco feat. Fun.

If I should die tonight / May I first just say I'm sorry / For I, never felt like anybody / I am a man of many hats although I / Never mastered anything But I am ten feet tall / I've never felt this tall since the fall Nobody seems to know my name So don't leave me and sleep all alone Maybe stay lost on our way home

A/N: I mention some books but the references are pretty obvious or not that important. I’ll add explanations in the tags (: Also, this was kind of a struggle to write, I don’t know why. I hope you still like it.

TW: Alcohol (it’s Misfits, what did you expect)

You were standing by the river, partially hidden by some trees and bushes. On the other side, sharp rocks were blocking any access. If the morning had been cold and damp, the sky was now clear and the sun was warming up your skin gently. You couldn’t tell if it had been since you had started university or since that freaky storm hit the town, but you hadn’t quite felt like yourself during the past weeks. Not that change was necessarily bad, but the transition period was scary. You felt like a traitor to yourself, like an impostor in your own body. And there was nothing you could do than embrace it, which was easier said than done. Even knowing that, you couldn’t help but worry and overthink everything you did and said. Yet today seemed promising. You could just enjoy the sun and the beach and a good book. No better way to escape reality.

You were about to sit down when you heard a scream coming from the rocks. Seconds later, a tall lanky guy came rolling down the rocks. Too stunned to say anything, you watched him pick himself up awkwardly before losing his footing and crashing into you. You lost your balance and landed in the water.

“Sorry,” mumbled the guy, quickly glancing over his shoulder.

“Yeah, right,” you said trying to get up.

“Here, wait,” he said extending a hand, “how ungentleman of me!”

He was smiling though you could have sworn that just moments before he looked as if he was going to break down.

“You’re not wet,” he said pointing down at you.

“I’m sorry?” you asked finally getting up.

“You’re not wet…”

“See, it sounds like you’re saying I’m not wet which is either very weird or just… creepy.”

“It is weird, you fell in the water and look, you’re not wet.”

“That’s,” impossible, you were about to say. But as you looked down, you could clearly see that your jeans were dry.

“See,” he said, “not wet.”

“Can you just stop saying the word ‘wet’?” you said letting out a sigh.

This didn’t make sense. How could you be completely dry when you just fell in the water. No one could do that… unless they were…

“I’m Nathan by the way,” he said once again extending his hand.

“Y/N,” you said, shaking his hand reluctantly, “where did you come from exactly?” you asked gesturing vaguely towards the rocks.

They were a good few feet above your head and while there was a path up there, it came nowhere near close to the edge.

“Some guy was chasing and I ran all the way to here but can we talk about the fact that you’re not wet. Is this like your power or something?”

“You… my… what?” you asked now more confused than ever.

You took a few steps back. This guy was definitely weird and maybe just a little bit too weird. And what was he talking about, powers? That would explain how you were still dry, but it didn’t make any sense.

“You know what, I think I might just go,” you said.

“No, what? You think I’m weird!” he said, but you had already turned away from him, “for all I know you’re the weird one, all alone in some… recluse part of the river!”

You picked up your bag when small rocks tumbled down to your feet. You barely had time to look up before a man came sliding down the rocks. He was tall with broad shoulders and quite scary. Scarier than whoever that Nathan guy was. Which, speaking of, screamed behind you. You went back to him, hoping to ask for an explanation but the man followed right behind you.

“Do something!” Nathan screamed as he hid behind you, grabbing your shoulder.

What could you do? Nothing. There was nothing you could do. Yet instinctively, you put up your hand to protect your face. As you did, you saw water come out of the river and follow the same path, a few inches in front of your hand. A wave crashed, full force, into the man, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“That was so cool,” said Nathan behind you.

But there was no time to talk about what had just happened. You grabbed his hand and started running.

You ran. And you ran, and you ran, and you ran, all the way to the busiest street in the city. It was now the end of the afternoon and there weren’t many people out, yet you needed to be in a crowd to feel safe. As you reached the corner of the street, where a pub faced a corner store, you finally stopped running.

“Dude! That was so cool! Is that what you got? Like water powers?” said Nathan excitedly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, “and I think this time I’ll go, for real.”

“How about I invited you for a drink,” he said pointing behind him at the pub, “I mean, you’re still holding my hand after all.”

Surprised, you let go of his hand and wiped your own on your pants. This day couldn’t get any weirder. Having to run away from some man-in-black kind of made the top of the list. Though, thinking that you could have superpowers was up there too. Could he be right? That you had some kind of power? You tried remembering what made you feel different these last few weeks. Somehow, it all went back to that impostor feeling and, strangely, to the books you’ve been reading First, there was Lord of the Rings, and for a good few days you felt taller, just like the elves were taller than humans. Then, there was this floating sensation that made you feel sick for weeks after reading Mr. Vertigo. Now, it was those water powers that you got after reading Percy Jackson.

“So?” he asked, bending sideways to look at your face and cutting short your reflection.

“Sure,” you said, snapping back to reality, “but you owe me some explanations.”

At least you thought you wanted explanations.

As you step into the pub and aimed for the closest table. But Nathan grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the back. You sat down at the booth not wasting a second before drilling him with questions.

“So who was that guy?” you asked, “Why was he chasing you?”

“Hold on!” he said, “Don’t you want a beer first? Garçon!” he called.

But the waiter walked past him without even looking.

“Can I at least know a little bit more about who saved me first?” he asked, “put aside the fact that you probably drown the guy, you still didn’t run away when he came running at us. That’s impressive! I want to know more about that Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes. How could you tell him more about you when you didn’t even know yourself. Still, you took note of the compliment. If Nathan had seemed cocky at first, he might turn out to be good at heart. Just like he seemed curious about you, you realized you were curious about him.

“You don’t think I actually drown him, do you?” you asked.

The waiter passed by again and you asked for beers and nachos.

“So, who are you,” Nathan asked, ignoring your question.

“I’m Y/N… I told you, didn’t I?”

He seemed exasperated.

“I know that, I mean who are you, what do you do, what do you like?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, “I’m a student… I don’t do much apart from that.”

“Summer just ended! You must’ve done something fun?” he said.

You didn’t really know what to answer. But you noticed the absence of pity, something you were becoming more and more familiar with, in his question.

“Well, me and my friends saved the world!” he said, seeing you weren’t saying anything.

He leaned back in the booth, arms crossed behind his head.

“What…” you said, not really believing him.

“Yep!”

“And how come, everyone, doesn’t know about this?” you asked still doubting him.

“Don’t know… we wanted to stay anonymous,” he said.

“Right…”

“We did, I’m telling you! Me and my friends, at the community center, we saved the world. We’re like superheroes… no vigilantes, that’s cooler. We’re like vigilantes!”

You laughed. Whether or not this was true didn’t really matter to you. What did matter was that you were having fun. The conversation moved on easily as you talked about summer, school, friends, dreams and thankfully not about family. You couldn’t believe it went you glanced behind Nathan and saw that it was dark outside.

“So those powers of yours, what are they?” he asked suddenly.

“I… I’m not sure actually,” you said, without much confidence.

He shrugged, indifferent.

You had spent the whole evening being what you believe to be your truest self. You weren’t going to start lying now, but his reaction did hurt a bit. Somehow, you wanted him to like you, to be interested in you. And that’s all it took for the doubts to come crawling back. What if you actually hadn’t been sincere with him? What if you had convinced even yourself that the mask was who you really were?

You shook your head lightly.

“So, who was the guy chasing you?” you asked right after, hoping this time you would get an answer.

“Mehh, some guy, nothing to worry about sweetheart…”

“I’m not your sweet-”

“Your power is cool, but not as cool as mine!”

It seemed like he was avoiding the question.

“You’re not gonna ask what it is? Well, I’m immortal,” he said, a big smile plastered on his face.

You frowned.

“Yep, that’s right, baby. This body, unkillable. It will stay young and strong, just like it is now, forever.”

“But how-”

“Shhh, I know you’re impressed,” he said moving forward to press his finger to your lips.

You swatted his hand away.

“Kids, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” the waiter said, pointing at the clock behind the bar.

“Right, sure,” you said, getting up and grabbing your bag, maybe a little bit too quickly.

Part of you just wanted to get out. You were convinced you had just ruined the whole evening by not being true to him. But part of you really didn’t want this night to end. This was the most fun you had in weeks, and thinking about it, this was one of the rare times you actually didn’t worry about who you were. At least for a while.

You wait as Nathan put on his vest and headed outside together.

“I guess this is where we say goodbye,” you said, looking up at him.

“Y/N?” he said, looking down and ruffling his hair.

“Yeah?”

“I… nothing actually,” he said, sitting down on the curb.

He looked sad. Not that you pitied him, on the contrary, it was a sadness you thought you could understand. You sat down by his side and waited for him to speak again.

“It’s just… if I should die tonight…”

You have him a worried look.

“Not that I will!” he added quickly, “or that I want to! I mean I couldn't even die, you know, the whole immortal thing… Anyway, I, first, just want to say I’m sorry, because I… this whole evening… I never felt like anybody… I…”

“You felt like you were playing a character of yourself in a play?” you suggested.

“Yeah, something like that… how’d you know? You noticed?” he asked, slightly worried.

“No, let’s just say I don’t always feel like I’m truly myself… apart from tonight, except…”

“Except what?” he asked.

You looked up at him, though he was looking at the ground.

“Nothing…” you said.

You didn’t know what else to add but felt like you didn’t have to add anything. In some way, this silence seemed to be healing you both.

“You know,” you finally said, “there was a moment during those last weeks when I truly felt like I was taller…”

“Because of your power, right?” he said smiling weakly.

“I don’t know, maybe… that’s not the point. The point is that I felt like I was taller but that didn’t last… at least not until today. Those few hours spent with you, I’ve never felt this tall, this important, since the storm. Even if, just like you, I ended up doubting if I had truly been myself.”

Another silence, though this time, you could tell Nathan was thinking about something.

“I lied,” he finally confessed, “All of it, all of the important stuff at least. I am immortal, I did kind of save the world but nobody seems to know my name… and those guys at the community center… I don’t know if they really are my friends… I…”

You tapped his shoe lightly with yours, trying to get his attention and keep him from spiralling down like you, yourself, had done many times before. It didn’t seem to work too well and so you went and grab his hand. Just like you had done earlier today but this time more gently.

“You know, it’s only 1:00 am on a Friday night,” you suggested, “you still have time to tell me the truth, if you want to.”

For someone who didn't have much confidence, you sure sounded like you had some now. Weirdly, you felt comfortable talking about the fact that you didn’t know who you were made you feel more like yourself.

“Maybe…” Nathan finally said.

“Maybe?”

He got up, and just like before, offered his hand.

“I just don’t want to spend the night all alone, so let’s figure out something to do,” he said.

“Maybe we’ll stay lost on our way home,” you said smiling and taking his hand.

[dreamsoffantasty]

━━ ❀         𝕴𝖈𝖔𝖓 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝕳𝖎𝖗𝖊    𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒 ( 2021 ) 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊         ❀ ( lyrical meme appreciation to Icon for Hire, with some of my favorite songs. please feel free to change the pronouns as you see fit  ! some of the lyrics changed to fit better for RP purposes. )      

                         TW: dark emotional theme may present.

𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄

❛ I'm rough around the edges. ❜

❛ Mistake me for pretentious. ❜

❛ I get stuck in my head, it's not personal. ❜

❛ I've been strong for too long. ❜

❛ Sometimes I forget why I'm trying. ❜

❛ I'm just a statistic. ❜

❛ Just another tragic misfit. ❜

❛ Ship that cliche to the clinic. ❜

❛ Then they put me in a box. ❜

❛ Slap a label on the top, tape me up and ship me off. ❜

❛ I'm someone else's problem. ❜

❛ They call me damaged. ❜

❛ I let them think what they like. ❜

❛ They call me difficult. ❜

❛ 'Cause I don't fit in the lines. ❜

❛ I didn't get this far without any scars. ❜

❛ I'm not brittle. Well, maybe just a little. ❜

❛ I'm not brittle ❜

❛ If I get defensive. ❜

❛ Don't say I'm oversensitive. ❜

❛ I have a tendency, to snap on people telling me " You fit inside this box we built We know you better than yourself ". ❜

❛ They're lying. ❜

❛ They call me damaged I let them think what they like. ❜

❛ They call me difficult, 'cause I don't fit in the lines. ❜

❛ I tell myself keep breathing, don't lose focus. ❜

❛ I'm alive, I'm not a diagnosis. ❜

❛ Keep breathing, don't lose focus. ❜

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐋𝐄, 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃, 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃, 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐓

❛ You thought you broke us. ❜

❛ Don't tell me that you didn't hear. ❜

❛ Gonna make you notice. ❜

❛ Yeah we're just getting started here. ❜

❛ Oh my god what's happening ? ❜

❛ I'm feeling kinda dangerous. ❜

❛ Now look who's laughing. ❜

❛ You don't wanna play with us. ❜

❛ Take our punches, hit the floor. ❜

❛ Gonna take a little more. ❜

❛ Pick our battles. ❜

❛ Dressed for war. ❜

❛ Even when they all say odds are million to one. ❜

❛ Funny we already won. ❜

❛ Second that you think we're done. ❜

❛ Coming like an Icon. ❜

❛ Been knocked out, been beat down. ❜

❛ Ain't nothing you can tell us now. ❜

❛ Struggle, succeed, rewind and repeat. ❜

❛ Bring the pain, we're not fazed. ❜

❛ We know it's coming anyway. ❜

❛ Can't even hate us. ❜

❛ When we're just who you wanna be. ❜

❛ We're what you made us. ❜

❛ Gotta love the irony. ❜

❛ Take our punches, hit the floor, gonna take a little more. ❜

𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄

❛ I've been underestimated my whole life. ❜

❛ Play it on the quiet side. ❜

❛ I'm not shy. ❜

❛ I'm the flower painted on the wall. ❜

❛ I'm the number that you never call. ❜

❛ I've been waiting in the shadows way too long. ❜

❛ Saving up my punches while I bite my tongue. ❜

❛ I'm about to strike, gonna leave a mark. ❜

❛ Take a seat, the show's about to start. ❜

❛ You won't see me coming. ❜

❛ But you're gonna know when I show up. ❜

❛ Gonna make your head spin, make you listen. ❜

❛ You will know my name. ❜

❛ From the shadow to the spotlight, from the background to the front lines I'm a fire about to ignite, out of nowhere, gonna hit you in your blindside. ❜

❛ Feeling like a viper, finally shed my skin. ❜

❛ Bet you didn't know I had it from the outside in. ❜

❛ Counting down the hours. ❜

❛ Careful where you are. ❜

❛ Watch your back. ❜

❛ I'm a fire about to ignite. ❜