#with a baseball bat full of nails!

[solarmorrigan]

Okay wait, so we've talked about how we want to see the nailbat back in S5, and I do want that - but do you know what I really want?

I want to see Steve using the bat and then getting knocked down. I want to see him drop it, ending up pinned and weaponless and vulnerable, if only for a moment

And I want to see Dustin, nearby because they couldn't keep him away from the fight if they tried, running in. I want to see him pick up the bat and I want to see him give it that same twirl that Steve does (the one that maybe he'd asked Steve to teach him, the one that maybe he's been practicing)

And then I want to see him beat the shit out of something with it, protecting Steve with the same weapon, the same way that Steve first protected him

I want to see him have the chance to save someone he loves

[megatron-fucks]

BIG spoilers for a megop WIP, also suicide mention

A touching hurt/comfort scene where Megatron nurses Optimus back to health after a suicide attempt. Except that Optimus is chained to the bed in a dark room, unable to move, for weeks with no interruption except when Megatron visits to hand-feed him and tend to his wounds.

[last-of-the-lot]

Wonder how fucked up the timeline is going to get again.

Love me some time jumping; I just wonder how far back we are going to get, who we are going to get, and where exactly on the map we are.

[morganbritton132]

Eddie’s live-streaming from the front porch where he’s sitting on their porch swing, playing guitar. So Eddie did not bring his followers into their neighborhood drama. Steve did.

You can see Steve pass in front of the camera a few times before you hear him loudly ask, “What?”

There’s a pause and then he’s like, “I can’t hear you!”

Eddie looks up and over towards the yard but he doesn’t stop playing. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in the conversation going on at all. His chat on the other hand are thrilled to be able to hear Dan say, “Got myself a ring camera. It records the porch and the driveway and sends the video to my phone if it detects movement. So if any vandalism happens…I’ll know.”

Steve: Okay…? And I have a gun

Eddie: *experiences twelve different flavors of ‘what now?’*

Dan: Is that a threat?

Steve: No. I thought we were both just stating facts about home security no one cares about.

Steve: You can go now. Bye.

Eddie, stopping Steve before he goes back inside: Babe, you don’t actually have a gun, right?

Steve:

Eddie: Stevie, you once almost took my head off with a baseball bat full of nails in your sleep. You did NOT buy a gun.

Steve:

Steve: Are you stupid? Why would buy a gun when I could borrow one from Nancy?

Steve: *goes inside*

Eddie:

Eddie: That didn’t answer my question, Steve!

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Father's Day

Was going to post this for the steddie microfic June prompt, but decided it's probably not Steddie-centric. Still sticking to the reqs though, just for fun!

prompt: "stuff" || wc: 483 || rated: G || cw: none

~~~

Everyone knows Steve’s house is free reign for hangouts, yet the Party’s collectively designated Sundays as alone time for the new couple. So it’s a bit of a surprise that someone’s knocking. 

The fact someone’s knocking at all is weird.

“Hey sweetheart,” Eddie shouts from the living room, “can you grab that? I think someone’s here.”

Steve opens the door to find Dustin and Max looking slightly shy, if he had to put his finger on it. Odd, especially for them. They’re holding gift bags filled with colorful tissue paper, Max’s blue and Dustin’s red.

Before Steve can invite them in, they surge past him towards the living room. So not too far off from normal, he thinks.

He trails after them and finds Eddie right where he left him– sitting on the floor, surrounded by DnD books and a notebook perched in his lap.

“Babe, what are the sheepies doing here? It’s Sunday,” Eddie asks. He’s smiling up at them, despite the interruption.

Of course they’re happy to see the kids– always are, always will be– but only these two could get away with showing up on Eddie and Steve day.

“We brought you something,” Max says, thrusting the gift into Steve’s arms. Dustin drops his onto Eddie’s lap, scattering his loose notes.

Curious, Steve looks to catch Eddie’s expression to find him already tearing into the gift. Steve sets his on the coffee table and digs out the colorful paper.

Inside he finds a plain, white coffee mug, except it’s been hand-painted with colorful paint pens. On it he finds a basketball, baseball, and a crudely drawn version of his beloved beemer. But on the front, the word “Dingus” is written in Max’s bubble font underneath a bloody version of his nail bat. 

His eyes sting with warmth, and he looks up at Max, whose cheeks are flushed red. Steve finds Eddie holding a similar mug covered in what he assumes are DnD monsters, along with some dice, and his precious Warlock on the front with “Metalhead” underneath.

“What is this,” Steve asks, choking on the lump lodged in his throat.

“It’s all stuff you like,” Max replies, pointing at the mug, choosing the easy answer instead of the real one.

”No– why?” Steve feels like he can’t breathe, his eyes almost full, and his heart racing.

“It’s Father’s Day,” Dustin says, sniffling and wringing his hat in his hands “and me and Max, you know, we don’t–”

“You guys taught us how to play basketball, so we could practice with Lucas,” Max interrupts. “And how to play guitar. And all of the Upside-Down stuff. You’re always here.”

Steve wraps Max up in his arms, dragging her to the ground next to Dustin similarly draped over Eddie. It’s not the six little nuggets Steve asked for.

But these kids– their kids– are so much more than he ever could’ve hoped for.

~~~

To everyone out there who doesn't have a father, your father is absolute shit, or you mom was both parents -- I hope you have as good a Sunday as possible.

[mrsshabana]

"𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲."

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟐: 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Your father owes a large debt to the most dangerous yakuza clan in the country. And unfortunately for you, they send their best collector to hold you for a ransom. But things get complicated, and Gyutaro can't resist the temptation to use you while he has you to himself. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, mafia au, bondage, spit kink, daddy kink, manipulation, violence, fingering, vaginal sex, rough sex, blackmail. ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.3k words

✧:･ﾟ→ Kinktober Masterlist

In less than 24 hours your life had changed completely. On your way home from your father’s company, a bag was placed over your head and everything turned dark. You don’t remember what happened after that, all you know is that you woke up a few hours later. Blindfolded and gagged, lying on a cold floor with your hands zip tied behind your back. At first you tried to stand up, but as soon as you put pressure on your foot you felt an unbearable pain that caused you to tumble down again. Something was wrong with your ankle. The adrenaline that filled you had distracted you from noticing it at first, but it feels broken.

“Awake are we?” A raspy, cold voice comes from across the room. 

Heavy footsteps get closer until your blindfold is taken off. And before you stands a man you have never seen before. He’s very tall with long black hair. His eyes are ice blue, and his stare is just as cold. He has strange ink like spots that cover his face and body, along with a full sleeve of tattoos on both arms. 

And that’s when you realize the gravity of your situation. This man has a blue spider lily tattooed on his right arm. A symbol that he belongs to the most dangerous Yakuza clan in the country, the Twelve Kizuki.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you,” he grins, showing off his crooked teeth. 

The intimidating man is wearing loose fitting jeans, a black wife beater, and combat boots. His nails are painted black and in his left hand he holds a steel baseball bat.

You cry and whimper under the gag as he peers down at you. 

“Don’t scream or you’ll regret it,” he says coldly as he removes the gag from your mouth. 

“P-please! Let me go!” you pant and cry, “You have the wrong person!”

“No Sweetheart, I don’t think I do,” he grins and kneels beside you, “You’re Y/N L/N right? The daughter of Mr. L/N, the CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company in the country?”

Your blood runs cold. What could the Twelve Kizuki possibly want with your father? 

“I-I don’t understand… What do you want from my family?”

His expression suddenly turns serious. “Your father borrowed money from us. I was sent to collect his debt. I gave him three days to give us what we’re owed or I’d take something precious away from him,” he looks you up and down, “And that’s why you’re here, sweetheart. All because your daddy didn’t wanna pay his debt.”

Tears begin to flood your vision when you hear the reasoning for why you’re here. You remember your father talking to his accountants about some financial troubles, but he assured you that everything was fine and that there was nothing to worry about. 

“My dad will come for me!” you insist, “He’d do anything to get me home safely.”

“That’s the hope,” he sighs and stands, “Name’s Gyutaro by the way. I’ll be looking after you in the meantime.” Suddenly his demeanor is less aggressive. 

His name sits on the back of your tongue as you wait for hours in that room with him. Mindlessly trying to pass the time while he waits for some word that your father has paid his debt and is eagerly waiting for his daughter’s return. In the meantime, Gyutaro bandages your ankle. 

“Sorry sweetheart,” he snickers as he wraps the bandage around your ankle, “You were giving me trouble when I first took you, had to make sure you couldn’t run away. You’re lucky I didn’t take your toes one by one.”

You gulp, knowing that his words are true. The Twelve Kizuki are known for their violence, so you feel grateful that all you were left with was a broken ankle.

It’s been over 24 hours by now, and surprisingly Gyutaro has taken decent care of you. Getting takeout for you from your favorite restaurant and even bringing a futon into the room so you’ll be more comfortable. He stays and has small chats with you every few hours, making sure you don’t go insane with boredom. He’s a scary guy, but you never would have thought a Twelve Kizuki member would show any kindness like he has.

By now it’s been over 36 hours and you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. But you’re awoken by a ping coming from Gyutaro’s phone. You open your eyes to see him reading a text, grinning devilishly. 

Seeing his reaction gives you false hope, “Is it my father? Is he coming for me?” You say excitedly.

“Unfortunately not. It seems he’s being stingy with his money,” Gyutaro walks over to where you’re sitting on the futon, “But I have an idea.”

Your heart sinks when you hear that your father isn’t willing to pay his debt to get you back. Gyutaro can sense this vulnerability and intends to use it to his advantage.

“We gotta make your dad think something real bad is happening to you. Then maybe he’ll give up the cash,” he continues. 

You instantly look at him with wide eyes, full of fear as you imagine what terrible things he is capable of doing to you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” he coos, “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ bad to you. We just need to make him think I’m doing something bad to you. Get what I’m sayin’?”

You nod with a sniffle, “L-like what?”

“There’s nothin’ worse than a criminal taking away a young woman’s innocence by force.”

You begin to imagine what he’s implying and it makes you feel sick. 

“You’d say we’ve gotten pretty close right?” he smirks, “Just have a little fun with me and I could send your father an audio clip or maybe a few photos for proof. That’ll surely send him running to us.”

Sex for your freedom? When you think of it that way, it doesn’t sound so bad. Especially since Gyutaro seems to be asking for your consent. He’s the one in control here, he could have just as easily taken you anyway. And you will admit, getting to know him over the past day and a half you have grown fond of him. Plus he has a unique appearance that you so happen to find very attractive too. 

Gyutaro places a hand on your thigh, looking at you with pleading eyes as you think it over. 

“Ok… we can do it,” you blush shyly as you agree to his idea. 

A sinister smile spreads across his face, “Perfect. Go ahead and strip your clothes, I’ll be right back.”

He briefly exits the room and you begin taking off your clothes. He returns with a bundle of rope in his hand. Taking in your nude form for a split second as it momentarily distracts him. He can’t help but bite his bottom lip at the delicious sight of you. Coming back to sit beside you on the futon, he undoes the rope and begins tying your wrists together.

“Wait wait! I didn’t agree to this!” You panic.

“How else will it be believable? Besides, I can’t risk you trying to run away.”

His voice is deceivingly sincere so you allow him to do as he pleases. Not that you had much of a choice anyway. 

After tying your wrists, he bends your legs and ties them so they stay bent, with your calf pressed against your thigh. 

“You look sexy as fuck,” he grins as he takes a step back to admire you. 

All you can do is blush and look away shyly, far too ashamed to admit that being tied up by him has already made you wet. 

He hastily removes his shirt and leans over you, slowly pushing you down to lay beneath him. “It’s not too tight is it?” His tone is suddenly caring. 

“N-no… it isn’t too tight,” you murmur, “Just please be gentle.”

He catches on to the shakiness of your voice and softly kisses you. Trailing down to your chin and then to your neck and behind your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you enjoy it,” he whispers into your ear.

He’s careful with your injured ankle as he grabs your thighs and pushes them apart, staring down at your soaked cunt. Cursing under his breath as he feels his cock twitch under his jeans. He can’t wait any longer, the desire to fuck you has been eating at him ever since he first kidnapped you. But he’s so glad he waited, it’ll be much more fun with your willing participation. 

You watch as he unbuckles and slides off his belt, the sound of it clanking to the floor makes your knees weak. Next, he unbuttons his pants and pulls them down along with his underwear to reveal his spotted cock. Fully erect and already leaking precum. It’s a lot larger than you were expecting, but deep down it makes you even more glad that you agreed to do this with him. 

Giving himself a few good pumps, he positions himself above you again and moves his hand between your legs - collecting your slick on his fingers and sliding his index finger inside of you. 

“Already so wet for me,” he whispers as his mouth finds its way to your breast, licking and gently sucking. 

He chuckles as you moan and squirm beneath him, “Like that huh? I knew you’d be fun.” 

“You’re not like the other women I’ve met,” he continues, “They act like they want me, but it’s only cuz they’re afraid. But not you… you actually like the fact that I’m a Kizuki, don’t you?” 

“Y-yes,” you can’t muster the strength to care about your shame when he’s making you feel so good. 

“Tsk,” he moves his digit along your walls, “I knew it. That’s why I liked you so much.”

“I like you too,” you say shyly, astonished that you’re admitting something like this to a dangerous criminal like him. “Please, fuck me Gyutaro.” 

His eagerness shows when he quickly removes his finger from your cunt, licking your slick from his finger, and aligning his cock at your entrance. 

“Beg.” 

“Wh-what?”

“Beg for me to fuck you,” he grins, “Take too long and I’ll just spray you with my cum.” He begins jerking off. 

“Please, please fuck me, Gyutaro!” You whine, but see that he isn’t phased by your pleas so you try again. “I want to feel you inside of me so bad! I-I’ll do anything!”

“Oh? Anything?” he smiles smugly, “Open your mouth.”

You’re so desperate that you obey his command without a second thought. 

Gyutaro hovers over you and opens his mouth, a long string of saliva dripping down his tongue and into your mouth. 

“Swallow,” he commands. 

As soon as you’re given the order, you close your lips and swallow. 

“Good girl,” he rasps, “You’ve earned it.” And with a sharp thrust, he’s shoving himself inside of you. You were so busy trying to please him that you didn’t even realize he was already prepared to slide into you.

Within seconds you’re filled to the brim, his hard cock invading every inch of your insides. 

“ Fuck Y/N,” he groans, “You feel so good.” 

All you can do is whimper and moan beneath him as he sets an aggressive pace. Continuously pounding into you, enjoying the way your velvet walls squeeze him.

There’s nothing you can do but make pretty noises for him. The rope around your arms and legs prevents you from moving. And he keeps a firm grip on your thigh as he abuses your cunt. 

Before he gets too carried away, he pulls out his phone and starts an audio recording. Then places it beside your head.

“You like that sweetheart?” he pants, “What a shame your daddy hasn’t come for you. Maybe if he doesn’t come for you, then you could call me daddy instead?”

“Mm hm,” you nod, about to respond to him but he digs his nails into you and thrusts harder, hitting your cervix with the head of his leaking cock. Eliciting screams of pleasure to escape your lips, no longer capable of speaking sentences. 

“You coulda had any guy you wanted. A gentleman with a good job and a respectable family,” he growls, picking up the pace, “But here you are being fucked by the lowest of the low. The ugliest bastard in the Twelve Kizuki. A murderer from a cursed family.” 

He begins cackling maniacally as he feels your thighs tremble in his hands. 

“C’mon sweetheart. Cum for me, I know you want to,” he grunts, clenching his teeth as he tries not to cum himself. 

After a few harsh thrusts, you’re left screaming his name and shaking within the confines of the rope tied around your limbs. Your gummy walls tighten around him, trying to milk him for everything he has. 

He can’t last much longer as the sensation of you cumming around him is too much to bear. He quickly pulls out of you and aims his cock towards your face. And with one pump from his fist, he’s shooting ropes of cum all over your face and chest. Sticky globs of hot white cling to your skin and roll down your breasts. 

“ Fuck ,” he curses under his breath as he grabs his phone, stopping the recording then snaps a photo of your semen covered face. 

Gyutaro grins as he looks down at you, satisfied with his work, before he pulls up his pants and cleans your face with a tissue. 

After being fucked senseless you need a few minutes to recover, shaking and gasping for breath as Gyutaro cleans you up. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Gyutaro sneers, “Your daddy isn’t coming for you. That text I got earlier was from him, he couldn’t give two shits about you.”

“Wh-what?” you begin sobbing, unable to believe what he’s telling you.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” his icy blue eyes glare at you, “Remember? You said I could be your new daddy from now on.”

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 18

part 1 | part 17 | ao3

“I’m sorry I’m sorry don’t hate me I’m sorry, did it work? Don’t hate me. Did it work?”

“Dustin,” Steve barks. Dustin looks up, eyes bright; he's hugging Steve so hard it’s like he’s trying to fuse his face to Steve’s rib cage through his shirt. Steve scruffs him on the top of the head, rubbing his knuckles over his dumb baseball cap in a way he hopes is reassuring, and wheezes, “Can’t breathe, bud.” 

The kid takes a hesitant step back, fists still balled in the fabric of Steve’s shirt like he might run away. Mike’s cowering behind him, hunched in on himself and nervously eyeing up the nail bat.

“So you’re... not mad?” Dustin asks.

“Oh, I’m fucking pissed,” Steve smiles sarcastically. “Hope you used that Butterscotch wisely, dude, because it’s the only one you’re getting for the rest of the year. Also, you can kiss your full candy bar trick-or-treating plans goodbye.”

“What? No!” Mike starts to whine, but immediately shuts his mouth when Steve glares at him. Then Eddie swoops in behind them, clapping a hand on both kids’ shoulders and nearly startling Mike out of his skin.

“And, uh, for obvious reasons,” he says in an acidic sing-song, “you’re both banned from Hellfire for the next month.”

“WHAT?” 

Oh, this guy’s good.

“Eddie, what the fuck?!” Mike pleads. “We’re just about to get to the manor’s secret passage!” 

“Yes, and what a shame that your paladin triggered a hidden trap and got stuck in a faulty portal for the next four sessions.” 

“Oh, my god! This is— this is—!” 

“Payback?” Eddie sneers.

Dustin’s eyes are darting rapid fire between the two of them, and he elbows Mike in the ribs and hisses, “Dude, shut up before he kills us both for good!” 

“Oh, my god,” Mike says again, face twisting through all five stages of grief. 

“Oh, also,” Steve adds for his own amusement as he heads toward the stairs, “you two can clean all this camping shit up.” 

—

“You play a good game of Punish the Pipsqueaks,” Steve grins, walking side by side with Eddie. "That D&D ban? Ouch. Keep that up and the moms will start recruiting you for babysitting duty."

“Oh, boy!” Eddie smirks. “My dream finally realized.”

They get back to their cars, and Steve shivers a little, the cold finally getting to him now that he doesn’t have the fight or flight to keep him warm. He unlocks the bimmer and slides into the front seat; cranks up the heat, his hands impatiently hovering in front of the vents. 

Eddie catches the car door. “You’re really not going to punish them more?" he asks, leaning in, head cocked to the side. "I mean, no trick-or-treating sucks and all, but. Seems a little lenient, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, it does,” Steve agrees with a short laugh, “but see, the thing is, those two dumbasses are assuming that revenge is a dish best served cold, when actually?" He points at the house. "It’s a dish best served by Claudia Henderson.”

Eddie’s brows lift in question.

“I’m gonna call her tomorrow morning and say I caught them smoking at the bus stop.” 

“Jesus!" Eddie laughs. "That’s diabolical.” 

“And then I’m gonna suggest they do community service at the retirement home on Halloween instead of trick-or-treating, because Dustin’s weirdly afraid of old people.” 

Eddie's laugh turns to a cackle, all his teeth on display, and the car bounces on its wheels as he leans his weight against the door. “Oh, man," he exhales, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Remind me not to get on your bad side.” 

“Pretty sure we’ve only ever been on each other’s bad sides.” Steve’s joking, but Eddie’s smile slips a little, and Steve wants to take it back. Pluck the words from the fog of chilled breath hanging between them; tell him that they're not anymore, that they don't have to be again.

But then Eddie catches the bass line coming from Steve’s speakers and the grin comes back full force. 

“Hold the fuck on," he beams, nodding his head to the beat and hum-mumbling the melody as the words come back to him.

Following the footsteps of a red dawn dance, we are entranced. 

“Spellbound,” he sings, shaking his head in delighted disbelief. “I’m sorry, does Steve Harrington have a Siouxsie tape in his car?”

Steve’s face goes red. Fucking Robin. “If you’re about to talk shit about the music, I— I mean, I’m just the chauffeur, man, I don’t—”

“Relax. It’s not that, I just…” He raps his knuckles against the roof. Gives Steve a once over; smiles softly at whatever he sees.

“What?” Steve asks. Kinda likes how he has to crane his neck to look up at him.

“Nothing," Eddie murmurs, low and deep. "You’re just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Steve shivers again.

It seems to snap Eddie out of... whatever that was. “My bad, man,” he says, his voice back to normal volume. He apologizes for letting in the cold air and slips Steve’s jacket off, handing it back to him and shutting the door with a soft click, then he throws out a parting salute and skips off to his van.

Steve just sits there for a moment, feeling syrupy and dumb. Like there's whiskey in his chest, a full flask of it sloshing around behind his ribs.

His jacket smells like Eddie. Siouxsie croons in his good ear.

Spellbound, spellbound, oh-oh-oh.  

"Jesus Christ," he mutters as he cuts the music off. He drives home in silence, the song still ringing in his ears.

—

part 19

first half of tag list below the cut comment if you want me to add you to the next one

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[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whumpers! This is your two-week head start to the Two Weeks of Whump Challenge commencing on the 3rd of July!

[Image ID/More information under the cut]

Promptsforyourwhumpfic’s Two Weeks of Whump Challenge - July 3rd-July 16th

To celebrate six years and nine thousand followers, I have compiled a small whump challenge. 

For each day, you gave been given three items/ways to hurt your chosen character with. You can use just one, or all three for each day! This isn’t limited to writing, you can create gifsets/draw etc. There is no limit. 

For those posting to Tumblr

Please tag @promptsforyourwhumpfic and/or use the tags #TWOW or #TwoWeeksOfWhump. 

For those posting to AO3:

I have created the Two Weeks Of Whump Collection (thank you for recommending I do this @dollopheadedmerlin​!) 

You can tag me at @SurroWhump

Prompts list: 

1) Poker - Shock Collar - Ashes 2) Bio-Weapon - Isolation Chamber - Needles 3) Car Battery - Scalpel - Alcohol 4) Belt - Gas Mask - Cage 5) Broken Glass - Building Collapse - Necktie 6) Kitchen Knife - Gunshot Wound - Gag 7) Cyanide - False Imprisonment - Blindfold 8) Rope - Nails - Water Inhalation 9) Acid - Branding - Meat Hook 10) Rusted Metal - Phone Call - Hammer 11) Chains - Hanging - Muzzle 12) Baseball Bat - Coffin - Nail Gun 13) Mystery Pill - Gaslighting - Fishing Net 14) Barbed Wire - Scissors - Corkscrew

Remember: tag accordingly, especially when it comes to trigger warnings!

FAQ’S

Why just two weeks? I understand not everyone has the time/stamina to do a huge challenge, so I thought two weeks was a good compromise!

Miss a day? Don’t worry! It’s not the end of the world, you can always catch up in future. This challenge is not limited to these two weeks, if you’re finding this two months after its over, then you’re more than welcome to take part!

How much do you need to write/do for each day? As much or as little as you’d like. If a drabble turns into a full fic, brilliant! If you only have the time for a sketch that's fine too! 

Want to know more? Message me/send me an ask!

[dragonflylady77]

what's my name again?

Harringrove - Rating: M - 4309 words

A Billy Didn't Die Day fic and a present for @shieldofiron and @intothedysphoria because they love a bit of Amnesiac Billy.

Thank you to @spaceofentropy for the beta, as always. <3

It's also on Ao3!

It's a year since Starcourt. The last thing Steve expected was to find Billy fucking Hargrove on the side of the road one night. Not only is he alive, but he doesn't remember anything, not even his name. This new Billy is flirty as hell and Steve finds that he doesn't mind at all...

“Hargrove?”

He turned towards the voice, wondering if the guy was talking to him. He must have been because there was no one else around. 

He wasn't even sure where they were. 

The side of some country road, clearly, judging by the trees and the lone street light illuminating a busted phone booth.

Had he walked there? He couldn't see a car apart from the maroon BMW that the guy was standing next to. 

He took a good look at the guy. Thick brown hair that you wanted to sink your fingers into, big brown eyes, full lips, a long neck begging for a hickey… a well fitted jacket and light blue jeans that definitely highlighted his… assets.

Okay, so I’m clearly into men.

He licked his bottom lip and took a couple of steps towards the decidedly hot guy. He noticed the guy's hand tighten around something that was dangling loosely from his fingers, then the guy brought up a fucking baseball bat with nails on it and swung it a few times like he was warming up to use it.

“Woah, there, pretty boy, I know we only just met, but I promise I'm no threat to you,” he said, putting both hands up so the stranger could see he meant it. “I'd appreciate a ride, though, into whatever town is closest to here so I can figure out my next step with a cup of coffee.”

He had searched his pockets when he woke up on the side of the road and found nothing besides a couple of twenty dollar notes. He had no idea where he was, or who he was, which was not the best situation to be in.

“How are you here, Hargrove?” the guy asked, bat still raised. “I saw you die, man. A whole year ago, on the floor at Starcourt.”

“What the fuck? Clearly you have me confused with someone else.”

“You're telling me you're not Billy Hargrove? Because you sure as fuck look like him. And sound like him. And that's not possible.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. I woke up under that tree over there not that long ago and I have no clue where I am, or, more to the point, who I am,” he told the guy who immediately scoffed. “Okay, what’s your name then?”

“Steve. Steve Harrington. We were in high school together last year? You beat me up about a month after you arrived in town, when I was looking after your stepsister and her friends?”

“Yeah, Steve, my gut says that doesn’t sound like something I would do, not without a good reason. And I don’t remember having a sister.”

“Well, you just said you didn’t remember who you were, so…” Steve shrugged.

“Sure wish I remembered you, though, because you’re pretty fucking dreamy.”

Steve stood up straight and dropped the bat. It clattered on the road beside his feet. “Oh, um, I don’t… um, I’m not…”

“No need to fret, pretty boy, I meant nothing by it. If you just point me in the direction of the nearest town, I'll be out of your hair and on my way.”

“What? No. You can’t!”

“You don’t want to give me a ride and now you don’t want to give me directions… What the fuck do you expect me to do? I’d call a cab except I have no clue where I am and that phone booth has seen better days.”

“You can’t just walk back into Hawkins like nothing happened, Billy. You died . There was an article in the paper about you, with your yearbook photo. We had a fucking funeral for you, for fuck’s sake.”

“Look, amigo, this conversation is going in circles. I’m tired and I’d love nothing more than a hot meal and an even hotter shower. I have just enough for a shitty motel room, so if you’d be so kind as to tell me if I should go this way or that way, and you never have to see me again.”

“You can come to my house.” Steve blinked a few times, like the words coming out of his mouth had surprised him. 

“What?”

“You can come to my house,” he repeated. “My parents are away in Chicago, the fridge is stocked up and you can pick whichever guest room you want for the night. And tomorrow we can work out what happened to you.”

If Steve wanted him to be this Billy, he’d be Billy, especially if that meant a safe place to spend the night. The name kinda felt right anyway.

“You promise not to bludgeon me to death with your nail bat?”

“I promise. Get in the car, Billy. I don’t like this place,” Steve said, nodding towards the passenger side before he bent to pick up his bat.

Billy allowed himself a moment to stare at Steve’s ass before he walked around the car and got in. Steve shoved the nail bat in the boot before he settled behind the wheel and started his fancy car.

“Not sure what’s hiding in the forest, but that building over there gives me the heebie jeebies, Stevie,” Billy said, peering into the darkness at some rusted warehouse with a dilapidated sign. He thought he saw something move in the shadows and was glad when Steve turned the car around and took them away.

Billy let out a low whistle when Steve parked his fancy car outside an equally fancy house. “Jesus, pretty boy, you didn’t tell me you were loaded.”

Steve shrugged. “My parents are, not me. My dad’s pretty pissed that I didn't get into college and keeps threatening to get me a job at his company, but I’d rather stay here and work at the video store, even if it doesn't pay much, than having to travel all across the state selling vacuum cleaners.”

“Vacuum cleaners, ay? Sounds pretty fucking boring. And they’re letting you stay in this mansion for free?” Billy asked as he followed Steve into the house. 

“Nah, not quite. I mean, they still pay the mortgage but I have to pay for the utilities.” Steve led the way to the kitchen and made a beeline for the freezer. “Hot pockets, pizza or TV dinner?” He turned to Billy who was staring at him.

“A kitchen this nice and you don’t cook? Not even eggs, or like, grilled cheese?” Billy shook his head. “I’m disappointed, Steve.”

Steve closed the freezer, his eyes never leaving Billy.

“What? What did I say?” Billy was starting to feel a bit self-conscious. He wasn’t sure why Steve was suddenly staring silently at him. He didn’t think he’d made any major faux-pas and if he had, he could hardly be blamed for it. After all, he’d told Steve he had no memories.

“You, um, you keep calling me Steve,” Steve said so softly Billy almost didn’t hear it.

“Yeah, it’s your name, isn’t it?” Billy was the guy with the memory loss but Steve seemed to be the confused one…

“I guess I’m not used to it. You always called me Harrington before…” There was wonder in his eyes and it made Billy feel some sort of way he wasn’t too keen to explore when he was this tired and hungry.

“You want me to call you by your last name instead?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I, um, I like it.” Steve cleared his throat. “So, about dinner?”

“Oh, I’ll have whatever is quickest, if that’s okay. I’m beat.”

Steve nodded and threw a couple of hot pockets into the microwave before getting two sodas from the fridge and offering one to Billy, who took it gratefully.

“Thanks.” The cold drink made Billy realize how parched he’d been. He wondered when the last time was that he’d had anything to eat or drink before he woke up on the side of that creepy road. This amnesia thing was bullshit, if you asked him.

Steve sat with him while he ate and Billy asked him about that life he’d been supposedly living before he lost his memory. The reluctance of his host to answer a few of Billy’s questions made him wonder what Steve was hiding. Something bad had happened on July 4th the year before, leading to the destruction of the local mall, and the demise of this Billy guy Steve was adamant was him.

“I’m sorry, pretty boy, but I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Do you think we could pick this conversation up in the morning?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll get you a towel and some clean clothes. There’s a guest bedroom down the hall, third door on the left. The bathroom is the one before that. If you end up in the garage, you went too far.”

Billy went looking for the room while Steve retrieved clothes for him from upstairs. They said goodnight and Billy had a quick shower before he lay in bed, pondering on the surreal turn his evening had taken. He’d gone from waking up on the grass next to an isolated country road with no car and no ID, to staring at the ceiling on a comfy bed with soft sheets, and a belly full of food. 

He hoped the next day brought more answers.

*****

“Are you absolutely sure it’s really him?”

“Dustin, for the fifteenth time, yes, I am sure, okay?” Steve gritted out, trying not to scream. He regretted using the radio to tell the kids about Billy before he went to bed, because they’d all shown up bright and early. He kept repeating the same information, over and over, and none of them seemed to actually listen, or understand he didn’t know any more than what he’d already shared with them.

“But it’s not possible,” Mike said, a sour look on his face. “We saw him die. There’s no way he could have survived the injuries that the Mind Flayer infl—”

Mike’s eyes widened and he stopped talking, staring at the archway to the kitchen. Someone gasped, Steve wasn’t sure which of the kids, then they all turned around as one. It was a very Invasion of the Body Snatchers moment and Steve started laughing. 

His laughter died in his throat when he took in the sight of Billy Hargrove padding into the kitchen, stretching with a yawn. He was wearing the gray joggers Steve had left for him the night before, slung low on his hips, and nothing else. The scars on his chest and sides looked pink and gnarly and Steve winced at the sight of them.

He wondered what he was going to say to Billy about them when he asked, because he was bound to ask. Maybe he should just tell him the truth, even though he had no way to prove any of it.

Billy opened cupboards until he found the mugs, then helped himself to some coffee. Black, one sugar. He turned around, leaning against the counter and lifted his mug in greeting.

“Morning, pretty boy. Teenagers I don’t know. Thanks for the bed last night, I don’t remember the last time I slept so well.” Billy chuckled. “Then again, I don’t remember anything before you found me last night so…”

The kids all started talking at the same time, throwing out questions and theories that Steve tuned out automatically. He didn’t care how it was possible that Billy was back, or where he’d been in the past year. The fact was that he was back and he had no memories. 

Steve crossed the lounge and walked into the kitchen. He got himself some coffee before joining Billy by the counter.

“Hey,” Steve said, marveling at the smile that bloomed on Billy’s face.

“Hey, Stevie. Are they always this noisy and annoying?” Billy asked with a nod towards the kids.

Steve chuckled. “Uh huh.” The stray thought hit him, not for the first time, that Billy was attractive as fuck, especially when he smiled. He didn’t remember Billy smiling all that much before, at least not in the open and genuine way this new Billy was. He found that he liked it a lot. 

After the battle of Starcourt, Robin had asked a lot of questions and Steve had done his best to answer them. Some of the things she’d said when he’d explained his unwanted rivalry with Billy had prompted some serious soul searching.

For Robin’s eighteenth birthday back in March, they’d driven to Indianapolis and used fake IDs to get into a queer bar. Steve had ended up in a booth making out with a guy with a dirty blonde mullet and blue eyes, which had caused him a few realizations about himself. 

After long discussions with Robin during boring early afternoon shifts at Family Videos, the two of them had come to the following conclusions:

One, Steve was most definitely bisexual.

Two, he maybe had a type.

Three, there was a good chance Billy had been pulling Steve’s metaphorical pigtails

After the last twelve-ish hours, Steve was ready to add a new item to the list. Billy was definitely flirting with him, and Steve was into it. A lot.

“You know, they usually keep going for a while. I bet we could sneak out to go grab some breakfast and they wouldn’t even notice,” Steve whispered to Billy, his eyes on Dustin and Mike yelling at each other while Lucas and Will tried to calm them down.

Billy snickered. “You’re on. I better put a shirt on though…”

Steve made a show of looking down at Billy’s chest before he locked eyes with him. “If you must… Wouldn’t want you to get arrested for indecent exposure on your first day back from the great beyond, I guess,” he said with a wink that made Billy’s cheeks turn pink. “Come on,” he added before pushing off the counter.

With a nod, Billy headed down the hallway towards the guest room, which went unnoticed by the kids. Steve put both their mugs in the sink and grabbed his wallet and his keys as silently as he could from the bowl on top of the microwave.

He stopped in the archway long enough to get Will’s attention. “Just going to the bathroom,” he told the quiet boy, who nodded before his eyes moved back to Mike. 

Interesting…

A fully dressed Billy was waiting for him by the door to the garage. Steve looked back at the house as they drove off, but no one came running after them. 

“Are you sure it’s safe to leave those boys in your house like that?” Billy asked when they got out of Loch Nora.

“Yeah, they’ll get tired of arguing eventually and raid the kitchen for snacks.” Steve was over it, if he was really honest. He never signed up to be the unofficial Party babysitter, not that a bunch of fifteen-year-olds needed a babysitter. He sighed. “They’ll either be watching a movie when we get back or they’ll have left.”

“Kinda hoping for the latter, I have to say, pretty boy” Billy said, his gaze on Steve and Steve found himself agreeing.

“That makes two of us.” Steve smiled, feeling a little giddy when Billy blushed again.

“Do you think it’s a good idea for us to go out in public, on account of me being dead and all?” Billy inquired when they stopped at the intersection that would take them downtown.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m taking us to a diner about twenty minutes out of Hawkins. They have the best pancakes.” Steve took the turn that led out to the highway, flipping down the sun visor when the sun peeked through the trees and into his eyes. 

“You know, I’m still not entirely sure who I am, but yet somehow, I know I love pancakes,” Billy said, his frustration evident in his tone.

Steve reached across the central console and picked up Billy’s hand in his, slotting their fingers together. “I’m sorry.” He turned his head briefly to smile at Billy then put his attention back on the road, giving Billy’s hand a light squeeze. “If your memories don’t come back, we’ll just have to make new ones.”

“Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t do this. Don’t answer a question with a question. You skirted around a bunch of stuff last night when you were telling me all about how I allegedly died, and now you’re holding my hand and talking about making new memories together. What the fuck is happening?”

Steve sighed. He spotted a service road and slowed down so he could get off the highway. He drove until they were out of view and parked next to a copse of trees. He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face Billy, who was sitting in a similar fashion. He took a moment to gather his thoughts and decide where to start and what to tell Billy.

“The truth, please,” Billy said and Steve nodded.

“Over a year and a half ago, you moved here to Indiana from California, with your dad, your stepmom and your stepsister, Max. I’m not sure why you moved over here from there, there were a few rumors at school about it, but they were all as stupid as each other. I do know that you were angry about it, and you took it out on Max, and to a certain degree, me.”

“Okay, so how did we go from that to this? Because I vividly remember you telling me last night I beat you up at some point early in our acquaintance.”

“I did say that. And I remember you saying that you wouldn't have done it without a good reason.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you were right, though I didn’t realize it at the time. By that, I mean when you showed up looking for Max, and found her alone in some stranger’s house with me and those boys you met earlier, I probably shouldn’t have antagonized you, or thrown the first punch.”

“Oh.”

“I also since learned some unsavory things about your father that went a long way to explain why you reacted the way you did and beat the shit out of me. But that’s all water under the bridge.”

“Are you serious right now?” Billy balked.

“As a heart attack. Anyway, around that time and also later, some really bad shit happened, involving an alternate dimension, flower-headed creatures with lots of teeth, and possession by a huge monster made of people.” Steve chanced a glance at Billy to find him staring with an odd look on his face. “Long story short, me and my friend Robin were tortured by Russians but we managed to escape, then you sacrificed yourself to save all of us, and potentially the world.”

“Okaaaay. Alternate dimensions, creepy monsters and Russians in Indiana. Got it. That still doesn’t explain this.” Billy gestured between the two of them.

“Um, I did a lot of thinking, after, and Robin made me realize a bunch of things about myself.”

“This Robin your girlfriend, then?” Billy seemed upset by the idea.

“What? No!” Steve shook his head vehemently, so there wouldn’t be any doubt in Billy’s mind. “We’re just friends. And I’m totally not her type.”

“Pretty boy like you is everyone’s type, Steve.”

The turn of phrase was so familiar, it hit Steve in the gut. He wanted to reach into the past and slap himself for being so oblivious. “Even yours?” he asked, hopeful and not caring about sounding desperate.

Billy laughed and Steve was once again astonished at the difference between this Billy and the one he remembered. 

“Especially mine,” Billy replied, sobering up. His gaze dropped from Steve’s eyes to his mouth.

“Billy?” Steve whispered when Billy didn’t look up again.

“Yeah?” Billy glanced up then, and Steve grinned at him.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too, pretty boy, me too.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he yanked Billy to him or if Billy climbed over, but next thing he knew, he had a lap full of amnesiac boy. He grappled for the handle on the side of the seat and slid the seat as far back as it went, moaning loudly when Billy straddled him properly. Then Billy’s mouth was on his and it was everything Steve had dreamed about and more… Billy kissed with his whole body and Steve couldn’t get enough of it. 

He wrapped his arms around Billy to keep him close, not that Billy was likely to go anywhere, if the way he buried his fingers in Steve’s hair was any indication. Billy tightened his fingers, giving a little tug that made Steve’s dick jump. The second Steve leaned his head back, Billy left his mouth to nibble along his jaw and down his neck.

Steve let out a keening whimper when Billy started licking and sucking on a spot at the base of his neck. His hand flew to the back of Billy’s head and he bucked his hips, groaning when he felt Billy’s half-hard cock press against his. There was fire running through his veins at the thought of Billy marking him where everyone could see.

“Oh fuck, Steve… you feel so go— fuck !” Billy pulled back all of a sudden, his breath coming in harsh pants, his hands dropping out of Steve’s hair as he sat upright. He banged his head on the roof of the car when he moved off Steve and fell back into the passenger seat. He was white as a sheet, his arms curled over his chest, his knees up to his chin.

“Baby, you okay?” Steve asked, concerned at the sudden change in Billy. He wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure it would be well received. 

“I remember…” Billy’s voice was shaky and he wouldn’t look at Steve. “I remember everything. Oh God!”

He was out of the car and running into the woods before Steve had a chance to move. Steve took off after him, not even bothering to close his car door in his rush to catch up to him. 

“Billy! Wait!” Steve kept his eyes on the red dot ahead of him and kept calling out for Billy to stop. He came to a clearing with a rocky outcrop and stopped to catch his breath, noticing the heaving form of the boy he was looking for huddled beside a boulder.

He approached slowly, careful to make some noise to alert Billy to his presence. “Hey, Billy, it’s me, it’s Steve.”

Billy lifted his head from where it was resting against his knees. His eyes were red and his cheeks wet from tears. “Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” he asked with a voice rendered husky from crying.

Steve let out a relieved chuckle. “Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.”

“I don’t know, Stevie, you seemed pretty keen a minute ago in that fancy car of yours,” Billy replied with a small chuckle of his own.

Steve dropped down in front of Billy, close enough to be touching but not daring to yet. His confidence was bolstered by the glimpse of Billy’s usual bravado “Yeah, I was, until the boy I like ran out on me,” he said with a smile.

“Oh.”

“Can I touch you?” Steve asked, moving closer when Billy nodded. He wrapped his arm around Billy’s shoulder, reassured when Billy leaned into him. “You scared the shit out of me, running off like that. What happened?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Suddenly everything came back to me, every horrible thing I did, all those people… God, Steve, how can you stand me? I can’t stand myself after what I—”

“Baby, no. That wasn’t you. The Mind Flayer controlled you. It made you do those things. It’s not your fault, you hear me?”

“You really mean it?”

“That it wasn’t your fault? You bet.”

“No, the other part.”

“Oh, that? Wasn’t that obvious? I really like you, Billy Hargrove. And I’m glad you’re back from the dead, or wherever you were this past year.”

“Pretty boy, I have no fucking clue what happened to me.”

“What do you wanna do now?”

“I can’t stay here, I know that much, because where the fuck would I go? I died. And there is no fucking way I’m going back to Cherry Lane.”

“Oh, well, you wouldn’t be able to, anyway. Your dad left a bit after your funeral. Susan and Max moved into a trailer at Forest Hills because the house was in his name and they couldn’t stay there.”

“Well, that’s just peachy, isn’t it?” 

Steve tightened his hold on Billy. “You can stay with me. Or we could…”

“We could what? What are you plotting in that brain of yours, pretty boy?”

“I have some savings, and a car. If you wanted, we could, I don’t know, go to Cali. Or somewhere else. Anywhere.”

“You’d want that?”

“More than anything, if I’m being honest.”

“But your life is here. I don’t want you to end up resenting me, Steve.”

Steve cupped Billy’s cheek and pressed their lips together for a short kiss. “My only friend here is Robin, and she’s off to college in the fall. I’m sick of spending my days off driving a bunch of ungrateful teenagers around. Also, I’ve spent a whole year without you, and it sucked. So if you want me, want this, I’m all in.”

Billy pounced, bowling Steve over onto the soft grass with a wide grin. They rolled over a few times and Steve was still laughing when Billy pulled him down for a kiss. 

The pancakes could wait. The damn kids could wait.

The universe had given Steve sunshine back and he was going to bask in it for the rest of his life.

[metalhoops]

Remember this post? 

They were in the belly of the beast. 

The Creel House stood resolute, tinged the colour of a freshly heal wound, reopened. The same sickly red stain of The Upside Down sky, brown boards blue-hued from strange smokes and cinder. Part of Eddie felt like he’d seen the house before, in some half-remembered nightmare. Deep in the back of his brain, where all strange primal fears were housed, there was a spot saved for the decaying manner. 

By all rights, Eddie shouldn’t have been in the house. If they’d followed the original plan, he’d have been on the roof of the trailer. It’d been Wheeler, of all people who’d changed things. She was a smart girl, too damn smart for her own good in Eddie’s opinion. She’d pointed out all the ways their plan could go wrong and as much as Eddie wanted to redeem the Munson name, he didn’t want to walk into a death trap if he could help it. 

Nancy was right. That didn’t change the creeping sense of dread he felt whenever he looked her way. It was like one of Vecna’s vines had made a home in his stomach and was creeping up towards his mouth each time the girl did something impressive. Eddie had the sneaking suspicion something was swaying his feelings towards her. Something with light brown hair, who had entered the Creel house brandishing a baseball bat like a medieval sword. 

Jesus H. Christ. Seeing Steve Harrington wield the tetanus trap of a baseball bat, full of splintering wood and rusted nails wasn���t a sight he’d ever pictured living to see. 

Drifting in from the wasteland beyond the open door, Eddie could hear his amps playing ‘Master of Puppets’ on the boom box they’d borrowed from the Harringtons’. The poor little player had never gotten the taste for good music. Eddie had to admit it was a good idea. 

He, Steve and Dustin set up the trap. Once the bats began to swarm the trailer the two older boys boosted Dustin up and out of the portal, much to the kid’s protest. They then snuck around the back of the trailer, while the girls waited in the woods ahead. Nancy had her sawn-off trained on the swarm. Robin had her Molotovs. Range weapons, waiting in the wings. He and Steve were the best at evasion. If this were a campaign, he’d say they made a pretty balanced party, all things considered. 

The interior of the house was worse than Eddie expected. It was filled with rotted vines and ash, making the air smell of must and mildew. Eddie’s brain kept telling him to turn tail and run, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. 

He shifted his shield from one hand to the next as they moved deeper into the house, channelling his nervous energy away from his feet. One misstep and their distraction would be for nothing. Their plan was a house of cards. One gust of wind and the whole damn thing would blow over. If Eddie screwed up Red, along with everyone else in the Creel house, would be dead before the world had time to end. 

Steve took the lead up the stairs like Eddie knew he would. He had a hero complex Eddie couldn’t unpick. Once everything was over, he had questions about what the party had seen the last three times they’d decided to dance with the devil in the pale moonlight. There was something about Steve Harrington he couldn’t put his finger on. Sure, trauma could change a person, Eddie was learning that lesson the hard way, but the man charging up the stairs towards their inevitable death in too-tight pants and an army jacket had some explaining to do. 

He wasn’t sure who’d done it in the end. Whose foot made first contact with the blackened tendrils, the dominos fell too fast to pinpoint an epicentre. Nancy's body jerked one way, while Steve was sent skyward. His back hit the walls of the house with a sickly wet thud, a mass of undulating vines threatening to swallow him whole. Robin was on the floor at the foot of the steps, hacking away at the vines with an axe. Eddie was pushed against the bannister, all the air fleeing his lungs. This was how he would die. 

The sound of distant wings grew ever louder as Eddie’s vision began to blacken around the edges. 

In Eddie’s fading vision, he watched as a sliver of light glinted off something overhead. The axe fell like a guillotine, too close to Eddie’s head for comfort. He was free. He took greedy gulps of air, his eyes making contact with Buckley’s. She looked as shocked as he did, like a nocturnal animal caught in floodlights.

They didn’t have time. Robin was off, desperately hacking skywards at the vines still ensnaring Steve. He’d managed to wedge the bat between the vine and his throat. Rusted nails dug deeper into the black mass as it attempted to constrict, but it also buried the nails deeper into Steve’s flesh. 

Eddie ran to help Nancy, her lips blue as her fingers blindly grasped for the shotgun that’d landed just out of reach. Nancy was smart, but like all people, the fear of death made her dumb. A bullet to the jugular wasn’t going to fix this. 

Eddie tried to slide his fingers between the vine and her throat, to relieve some of the pressure. His fingers kept slipping, sticky with sap or blood. He didn’t know. He wished he had a knife as he tried to untangle the vines from ensnaring her body. There was nothing more he could do. He had to sit and wait as he felt the fight begin to fade from her convulsing body. He listened distantly to Robin’s slew of curses as she hacked at drywall. For each vine cut from Steve’s body, there was another waiting to ensnare him. 

Life-or-death situations had a strange way of bringing one's true feelings to the surface. Eddie crouched beside Nancy, his hand clawing at the vine encircling her throat, watching as her panic-ridden eyes flickered across his face. He noticed her hand twitching up trying to pry the vine from its hold on her throat and Eddie’s arm. She was so weak he hadn’t noticed her attempt. He ran a thumb absentmindedly back and forth across her knuckles, trying to soothe her. 

“Hey, no. Hey. You’re fine, Wheeler. You’re okay. Slow breaths, alright? You’ve got this,” he muttered hating how uncertain he sounded, how strained his voice was. 

He didn’t hate Nancy. He’d hate himself if he let Steve’s chance of a storybook ending die in his arms but Christ that was a lot of pressure. 

He crouched there until his fingers turned white and an axe descended upon the vines, cutting them both free. Wheeler gasped, taking deep shaky breaths as she squeezed Eddie’s hand, locking eyes with Buckley over his shoulder. She schooled her features when Steve came into view. His throat wept blood but he was upright, which was more than Eddie could’ve hoped for. 

The vines began to retreat for a reason they couldn’t discern. The group rushed to the second-floor landing, as the swarm of bats descended upon the house, rushing in through the open door. Eddie watched as something shifted in Steve’s stance. He twisted the baseball bat in his hands, familiarising himself with the weapon before taking a few practice swings. 

“Keep going. I’ll hold ‘em off,” Steve spoke. 

Eddie knew it wasn’t a good plan. He knew what happened to the people who stayed behind. Steve had warned him about playing the hero. Eddie wasn’t going to let him have all the fun. 

He held his shield aloft in front of himself, trying to see how much of his body he could brace behind it. If this were a campaign, Eddie knew fighting something that nasty on your own would be akin to a death sentence. 

“I’m staying. Even the odds,” Eddie spoke, as though two boys fresh off the heels of adolescence taking on a swarm of hundreds of unearthly horrors was in any way shape or form, even.  They just had to hold them off until Vecna was dead. The hellscape couldn’t survive without him. Cut off the head and the rest would follow. 

If they had more time, maybe things would’ve gone differently. Maybe they would’ve come up with a better plan, but there was no time. Robin looked poised for an argument or a thought-out speech but Nancy cocked the shotgun and dragged her forward. She knew the silent promise that came with goodbyes. 

The boys were faced with a black mass of writhing wings. They found a rhythm with ease. Steve swung his bat in a perfect arch, sending any unfortunate hell spawn in its wake flying into Eddie’s waiting shield, empaled on the jagged nails. 

Eddie was surprised at how easy it was to find something akin to peace at that moment. He and Steve knew how to move around each other, and how to anticipate each other. They watched the other’s back and oftentimes found themselves back-to-back. Steve’s broad shoulders were grounding where they pressed into Eddie’s. It was the world's strangest game of baseball. With Steve at his side, the horror of the moment seemed to fall away. 

They worked better together than Eddie could’ve imagined and lasted longer than he’d thought. Yet, they couldn’t hold out much longer. The room smelled of rotted iron and Eddie’s sides throbbed. He was too hopped up on adrenaline for the seriousness of the situation to take hold, but one look at Steve in his periphery let him know they were both in bad shape. 

The boy was covered in blood. The wound in his side was torn open once more. Someone could trace their movement by the bloody footprints littering the floor. 

They were dying. 

Eddie tried not to let the enormity of the situation swallow him whole. 

“Hey? How’s it going in there? You killin’ the son of a bitch or just admiring the view?” Eddie screamed above the beating of wings. When a response didn’t come, Steve and Eddie exchanged worried looks. 

“Rob?” Steve yelled, casting a glance through the doorway. 

The moment of distraction left him wide open for a bat to swoop, wrapping its twisted tail around Steve’s arm and tugging him upwards. Eddie acted fast, grabbing Steve’s ankle, and pulling him back to the relative safety of the rotting boards, bloated and warping from the mingling blood and black, bat ooze. 

“I can’t find the lighter,” Robin’s voice called at last. It must have fallen from her pocket when the vines attacked. Shit. 

Eddie plunged his hands into the depths of his jacket pocket and thanked the god he didn’t believe in for his habit of chain smoking in times of crisis. He’d brought another lighter. 

“Watch my six Stevie, I’ve got one,” Eddie called, rushing into the room leaving no space to argue. 

Nancy had slung the rifle over her shoulder and had taken Robin’s axe, making short work of the few bats that’d managed to sneak past his and Steve’s defences. 

Eddie ran to Robin’s side, noticing how the girl’s eyes swelled at seeing him. He was definitely in bad shape then. Her hands trembled as she held out the bottle. Time and time again, Eddie tried to light the cloth. It wasn’t working.

Nothing was working. Panic finally took hold of Eddie. They were going to die. He wished he could say he made peace with that knowledge, but he couldn’t. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie mumbled as the lighter continued to dull and spark. 

“What’s going on? I’m coming in,” Steve yelled as he appeared in the doorway barring the opening as best he could, trying to hold the flimsy wood as it buckled beneath the bats' weights. 

Steve’s eyes shifted over the scene, assessing the situation within seconds. 

He charged forward, taking the bottle from Robin’s hands, and letting the rag fall to the floor. 

“Nancy, get ready to shoot,” Steve called as he stalked closer to Vecna’s dangling body. A look passed between the two. The glance told Nancy everything she needed to know.

“Eds, lighter,” Steve called over his shoulder extending his hand. Eddie blinked, tossing it to Steve. 

Eddie would remember what happened next for the rest of his life. Whether that life lasted for minutes or decades, it didn’t matter. There was no such thing as a perfect moment, but what followed was as close as they could come. 

Steve took a deep swig of vodka, filling his cheeks with the bitter liquid and held Eddie’s lighter aloft, the small flame illuminating Steve’s features, a final spark of warmth amongst the blue-grey walls and ash of the house. His hands dripped blood, what was left of his skin was pale from the loss of it. 

Steve spat the alcohol in a perfect arc, through the flame, breathing fire over Vecna’s body, catching the dark wizard alight. Steve was a fallen king turned dragon. A higher kind of nobility. Breathtaking, unearthly, and dangerous. 

As Nancy littered Vecna’s body with bullets, Eddie kept his eyes trained on Steve, his heart in his throat. Eddie wasn’t one for sudden affections. His heart was an alley cat, wary and distrustful by nature. Yet, despite everything, Eddie fell in love with Steve at that moment. His heart soared straight past ‘crush’ and on through to adoration. Maybe it was the blood loss but with Vecna’s dead body on the floor at their feet, he knew at that moment, his life would be inextricably connected to Steve’s. 

The boy shot him a smile over his shoulder, his lip bloody, vodka smattering his chin. The room smelled of kindling. 

The girls rushed to Steve, taking turns embracing him. The sound of bats at the door had finally stopped. It was over. They’d won. 

Eddie watched on helplessly as Steve rested his forehead against Robin’s, holding the girl close, his face contorting in pain. Robin muttered a string of incoherent words just loud enough for Steve to hear before pulling back. 

Nancy was next. Their hug was less feverish, more familiar. Nancy’s chin rested on Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s hands gripped the back of her shirt as they had a hundred times before. They looked good together. It made Eddie ache. He looked away. 

When he looked back, to his surprise Robin had scooped Nancy into a too-tight hug, blathering about how petrified she’d been and how amazing Nancy was. Much to his surprise, Steve was looking at him, his arms open in offering. 

The others were close. They had gone through hell together. Eddie was the outsider. It felt strange being offered a place amongst them, but he didn’t know when he’d get another opportunity, so he strode forward letting Steve’s arms encircle his body. 

It wasn’t the kind of hug he’d expected. It wasn’t feverish, like Robin’s or as solid and steadfast as Nancy’s. Steve clung to him, his hands gripped at Eddie’s forearms, as though trying to map out the uncharted territory before pulling him closer. His hands snaked around Eddie’s body, finally finding a home, clutching at the shirt fabric around his shoulder blades.

Eddie didn’t know what to do with his hands, finding them slipping beneath Steve’s jacket, just above his waist. His head found its way to Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s did the same. He could feel the boy’s heart pounding. He smelled of sweat, blood, and alcohol. 

“You’re a total badass, Steve Harrington.” Eddie gasped. His breath was hot against Steve’s ear. The boy chuckled, causing a shiver to run up his spine.

“I don’t know, Munson. That’s high praise comin’ from a hero,” Steve spoke.

“I’m not-,” Eddie began, but Steve wasn’t having it. 

“Take a compliment dude. You went to Mordor,” Steve spoke in the tone of a man who still didn’t know exactly what ‘Mordor’ was. 

Hawkins’ golden boy, trying to ‘speak nerd’ to him wasn’t quelling any of Eddie’s feelings. 

“Yeah well, next time we go somewhere let’s make it nice. Check out The Rockies, The Grand Canyon, maybe California.” 

Later Eddie would blame the blood loss for being so bold. 

Steve pulled back, just far enough to look at Eddie’s face. To his surprise, Steve shot him a goofy grin. 

“I like the sound of that.” 

[solarmorrigan]

Bats, and What to Do With Them

For the @steddie-spooktober day 14 prompt: Bats Rated: T | Words: 756 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, Steve Harrington has absent parents, at the very least, Steve Harrington deserves nice things, and Eddie will give them to him Divider credit: @saradika

The first time Steve holds a bat, he is four years old, and his dad has signed him up for tee ball.

To be perfectly honest, Steve isn’t entirely sure what’s going on. It’s bright, there are a lot of other kids milling around, everyone seems to be shouting about something, and Steve is apparently supposed to be doing something with the bat in his hands.

When he finally does figure it out—when he hits the ball and it actually goes somewhere—his dad whoops from his spot in the crowd, and Steve glows. His dad isn’t around much, doesn’t have much time to play with Steve, but he’s here now, and Steve wants to make him to stick around. He runs when they tell him, and hits the ball when he’s supposed to, and he does his best to make his dad proud.

Tee ball becomes Little League, becomes the Hawkins Middle School team, becomes junior varsity in high school, but by the time he’s sixteen, Steve has given up on baseball. His dad had stopped coming to his games a long time ago, and Steve’s realized it will take a lot more than hitting a ball to make his dad proud.

Still, the feel of a bat is familiar in his hands when he swipes it up off the floor of the Byers’ living room. The weight is a little different, a little off-kilter with all the nails hammered into it, but Steve can adapt. He’s hit smaller targets than the thing he’s aiming for, but it’s never mattered as much that he lands a swing as it does right now.

He doesn’t even have to think about it; muscle memory takes over as he winds up, aims for the flower-petal head full of teeth that’s about to kill his friends, and swings for the fucking fences.

Later, even though the bat had been Nancy’s, and it had been Jonathan who’d filled the thing with nails, it stays in Steve’s possession. They both think that it’s best in his hands, and Steve doesn’t disagree. It comes in handy, after all, less than a year later when Dustin comes barreling into his life, bringing demodogs in his wake.

And a couple of years after that, when Steve actually has a moment to consider it, he almost wants to laugh. He’d had a bat in his hands again, and he hadn’t even had to think; he’d simply gathered all his strength and swung.

The fact that the bat had been a monster, rather than of the baseball variety, had apparently been irrelevant. Steve is well-trained by now; he knows what to do with bats.

At least, he’d thought he did.

But now, there’s a bat sitting on his pillow, and he’s at a loss.

It’s purple and black and fuzzy and stuffed – a little plush toy. Steve picks it up carefully, looking it over, and it looks back through green plastic eyes, giving Steve a little fang-toothed smile.

“Hey, Steve, have you– oh, you found him,” Eddie says, walking into the bedroom breaking into a grin has he finds Steve standing by the bed, still staring down at the bat.

“Yeah.” Steve says, looking up at Eddie with furrowed brows. “What’s it doing on my pillow, though?”

“He’s for you. Obviously,” Eddie teases. “Saw him at the store and it made me think of you, so I brought him home.”

This is clearing absolutely nothing up for Steve. “Why would this make you think of me?”

“Well,” Eddie says slowly, coming up beside Steve to sling an arm around his waist and pull him close, “you’re the man who handles the bats, right? So: a bat. For you. I thought he was cute.”

It is cute. Steve likes it, but he feels like maybe he shouldn’t. He hasn’t had a stuffed animal since he was maybe six or seven, when his dad had said that he was too old for them.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” Steve asks, the toy still cupped carefully between his palms.

“Hold him. Cherish him. Raise him as your own,” Eddie says, holding an entirely straight face for about five seconds before he’s smiling again, teasing Steve. “It’s a plushie, Steve, you don’t have to do anything with it. Just… enjoy having it.”

“Oh,” Steve says.

It’s a bat. Just for him to have. Something soft and sweet with no expectations attached.

And Steve guesses he can learn something new, when it comes to dealing with bats.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Someone is eager to see Mafia Mamma and that someone is me. So anyway.

When a twenty-two year old Steve Harrington gets the call, he isn't in the best spot in his life. Sure, he survived all the Upside Down crap, but his parents finally had enough of his so-called trauma ("the earthquake was bad, Steven, but you can't let that influence your life forever! It's like you're not even trying!"). He didn't get to college and his love life is abysmal, but hey, at least he does something useful now - he's training to be a paramedic and he lives in a small, old flat, regularly calling Robin and his gaggle of kids and hanging out with Eddie whenever possible. So maybe it's not the best spot in life, but it's his.

Well, apparently his great-uncle that his mother never really talked about died and asked that Steve takes over the family business in his will. Family business that is in Italy. Cool.

Look, Steve likes first aid, saving lives and all that, but, after the second shared joint with Eddie, admits he's curious. No one said it has to be forever, but maybe it would help him to try something else for a change. Eddie absolutely approves, squeezes Steve's shoulder, but - a little sadly, it seems to Steve - admits he's going to miss the only person who went through all the shit and stuck around. He even jokes he'll hide in Steve's suitcase and will go to Italy with him. "You know, somewhere far away from the Satanist rep. Well, Vatican is there so that's not ideal, but maybe with no murders and levitation this time, I'd just pass as the weird American?" And without thinking, Steve blurts out: "Come with me."

They land in Italy with almost nothing, Eddie with a beat up backpack and his guitar ("not even death or other fucked up dimensions will us part, Steve!"), Steve with a sports bag full of clothes and graduation pics of his kids plus Robin and Nancy, and his trusted hair spray. He really, really wanted to take his spiked bat, but apparently that would be a hazard on the plane. Go figure.

And of course, the "family business" is full of black suits, guns, rapid Italian threats and on top of that, the other families know that the old head of the family is gone and they smell the blood in the water. Especially when the new leader is barely an adult who looks more like a model than a criminal. And his friend who looks like a criminal? That one looks more like a petty thief or vandal than an actual mafia member. Now is their time to strike.

Turns out, that wasn't the best idea. Not when the doe-eyed metalhead grabs the nearest chair and smashes it repeatedly over the assailant's head while yelling "I-DID-NOT-SURVIVE-BEING-CHEWED-ON-TO-DIE-TO-A-FUCKING-BULLET-YOU-MOTHERFUCKER!" while the new boss reaches for the nearest lamp and, like a bloody ninja, renders three assassins unconscious, then setting down the bloodied rod (goodbye, lamp shade and light bulb) and tells his advisor that he wants a baseball bat, a hammer and a bunch of nails. For...reasons.

They gradually settle in. Steve excels in keeping his family in line by adopting his best mom pose, hands on hips, while sternly uttering "What did we say about excessive violence, Francesco? Hm? If you start there, what do you do when you need to escalate? Why do you start with the worst? And they call me dumb." When his bodyguard cocks his gun and asks who called him dumb and where do they live, Eddie snorts into his coffee. (also Steve later apologizes to Francesco for calling him dumb, but also adds that rules are made to be followed, especially those that save a lot of blood and pain)

As for Eddie, without the academic pressure he becomes and unstoppable language student. He's like a sponge, being semi-fluent while Steve struggles with basic phrases. They study together and Eddie begins feeling more confident, takes up more languages and slowly starts functioning as Steve's interpreter and teacher in one. Also a bit more, when they have to evade another assassination attempt and Steve finds himself laying on top of Eddie, on the ground where he pulled him to save him from a nasty punch, and no one comments on it when they get up a few seconds too late, their lips and faces red.

Eventually Steve becomes fluent as well and that's when Eddie experiences the best time of his life - when they walk together in a market, bodyguards giving them just a little bit of privacy, and someone spits on the ground behind them - "stupid American." But before Eddie can react, Steve throws a bitchy look at the offender and says in perfect Italian: "and you look like a poorly shaved goat, yet I'm not judging."

Eddie howls in laughter and nudges Steve's side. "Careful, Stevie. I might think you don't need a teacher anymore."

Steve wraps his arm around Eddie's waist. In here, surrounded by the bodyguards and his family, he can finally do that. "Maybe not. But I'll always need a boyfriend. Wanna apply?"

[steddieas-shegoes]

saturate me, i can't get enough

rated e 4,066 words cw: please read full note below the cut in regards to terminology used in this ficlet/warnings A really big thank you/shoutout to @patchworkgargoyle for proofreading this and giving me a few great suggestions to make sure this was absolutely perfect for @steves-strapcollection's birthday! Also available on ao3.

This labor of love (and smut) is for my favorite transmasc Steve truther, Gerry. I am so grateful for your contributions to this fandom, and I am even more grateful that you welcome me into your chaos (Tig threads I'm lookin' at you 👀). While I may still not think my writing could be a gift to anyone, let alone a talented writer like you, I will just be positive that you'll enjoy this for what it is which is soft and tender fuckin'.

A VERY SERIOUS NOTE FOR EVERYONE ELSE: I am very much a cis woman. I spoke with Ger before even starting on this because I wanted to make sure he was comfortable with me even attempting to write transmasc Steve. I am using masculine and feminine terms for lower anatomy that he uses in his own fics and his own life with his express permission to do so. If you think this might be a trigger for you, please don't read. I wrote this specifically for Ger, and realize that it may not be for everyone. Taking care of yourself is the most important thing!

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If Eddie had known what exactly he was getting into when he asked Steve on a date, he probably would have done it a lot sooner.

He tugged on the silk ropes around his wrist, just tight enough to keep him in place on the bed, but still loose enough that he knew he could pull out of them if he had to.

Steve refused to tie them any tighter.

“Need you to feel safe with me, Eds,” he’d said with a soft kiss to his lips.

As if he could feel anything other than safe with him. As if he hadn’t spent the last five or so months falling in love with him, learning what makes Steve Steve, figuring out how he could fit in Steve’s life.

Somehow, Eddie ended up naked first, tied up in his own bed, breaths heavy with anticipation of what was to come.

And he had very little idea of what was to come.

He’d already been surprised at how quickly Steve took charge of their date, their first kiss, the torturous ride back to Eddie’s apartment where Steve’s hand just brushed against his cock every minute or so.

Now, he was at Steve’s mercy entirely.

Just the thought of Steve leaving him like this while he touched, and kissed, and bit every part of his body was enough to have him leaking.

“Can’t believe how good you look like this,” Steve groaned from his spot between Eddie’s legs.

Oh, his shirt was off.

Finally.

Eddie whined as he saw Steve’s one and only tattoo, a baseball bat with nails sticking out of it, on his left side just under the scar from his top surgery.

He wanted to trace the outline with his tongue, maybe mark it up so that it wasn’t just black ink, cover him in purples and blues that would take days to heal.

But he wouldn’t be able to do that now, not with his hands tied above his head and his legs spread wide enough that he couldn’t get leverage to pull himself up or Steve down.

Next time.

“Steve, please,” Eddie begged, though he wasn’t sure what he was begging for at this point other than touch.

“Sorry, baby. You’re just so distracting.”

Eddie knew he was blushing, could feel the heat on his face and neck, on his chest.

His hands were sweaty where he had them clenched into fists, somehow already overwhelmed before even being properly touched.

Steve’s fingers glided across his chest, pausing to pay attention to his only nipple, laughing to himself when Eddie jumped.

“Sensitive? Maybe this one got all the nerves from the other one being gone,” Steve smirked as he leaned down to flick his tongue over the soft, pink flesh of his one remaining nipple.

It was like an electric shock, a fire burning through his veins and Steve’s tongue was the match that lit it.

He arched his back, chasing the feeling as far as he physically could, pouting when Steve pulled away.

“Hey,” Steve touched his cheek, smiling when Eddie relaxed into the touch. “I know we’re moving fast, but I kinda wanna take my time with you. Is that okay?”

Eddie nodded, thankful that Steve said it first.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of going as far as they could as fast as they could, not at all. Eddie would be happy with anything.

But taking their time?

He would take all night.

“Wanted this for so long, baby. You have no idea,” Steve whispered, breath hot against his lips as he leaned back in.

“Me too,” Eddie’s voice trembled.

Steve’s palm settled against his chest, no doubt feeling how hard and fast Eddie’s heart was beating, but not saying anything about it.

Eddie could feel his pulse in his fingertips, in his toes, in his hair.

“You like being tied up?”

Eddie nodded, biting his bottom lip between his teeth and letting his mind drift to thoughts of being like this hours.

“You want me to do what I want? Not let you pick?”

Eddie didn’t even care about his teasing tone, his knowing smirk.

He wasn’t asking for an answer, he was asking for control, and he already had both.

“I think you want me to take over, ride your face maybe? And then your cock?”

Steve was spot on.

Eddie couldn’t count the amount of times he’d pictured that exact scenario in his head. Just last night, while he was cooking dinner, he thought about the way Steve would taste, how he would look while Eddie took him apart with his tongue, his fingers.

He hadn’t even gotten to picture his cock inside him when the fire alarm started beeping to let him know he was burning his supper.

“Yeah, that’s what you want. Don’t even have to say it, I can see it all over your face,” Steve teased.

He could only imagine.

Steve got off the bed, shushing Eddie’s whines with a quick kiss to his forehead.

“Just getting everything else off, Eds.”

It was said to calm him down, but it just caused him to cant his hips upwards, seeking any type of friction on his leaking cock.

Steve’s eyes never left him as he stripped his jeans and boxers off in one fell swoop, his feet stepping out of the pant legs as quickly as he could without tripping.

He joined him on the bed again, settling between his legs and staring down at him, eyes holding so much affection that Eddie wasn’t sure what to do with it, where to put it all.

When they made eye contact, Steve smiled softly down at him.

“You okay with this?” He asked, wanting to be sure before they got too carried away.

“More than okay,” Eddie nodded. “Wanna taste you so bad, Stevie.”

“I can make that happen.”

Steve untied one of his hands from the bedframe, but didn’t let it touch any part of him yet.

“This is only so you can tap out if you need to. You’re not allowed to touch anywhere except my leg. Three taps if you need to stop, okay?” Eddie nodded. “Show me.”

Eddie waited for Steve to climb up a bit, straddle his chest, the warmth between his legs enough to make him forget for a moment what he was supposed to be doing.

“Eddie. Show me,” Steve’s voice was stern enough to grab his attention again, and Eddie focused on making his shaking hand tap his thigh three times. “Good boy. You can keep your hand there if it’ll help you remember, but no moving unless it’s to tap.”

Eddie’s head felt cloudy already, something he so rarely experienced with anyone, something he hoped he’d get to keep experiencing with Steve from now on.

Steve shifted back down for long enough to leave a kiss on Eddie’s lips, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth as he let out a laugh.

“I can feel your heartbeat between my thighs. A bit excited, aren’t you?” Steve teased him again, but Eddie wasn’t complaining. If anything, it just made his heartbeat louder with anticipation at what he was about to get.

“Need you,” Eddie managed to say.

Steve didn’t wait any longer, scooting his body up so his pussy was level with Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie groaned, lifted his head an inch so he could be even closer.

He needed it, needed him. He couldn’t wait any longer to get a taste.

Eddie’s tongue lapped at Steve’s hole, the only part he could reach at the moment, but it was enough.

Steve let out a long moan, gravelly voice letting out a long “yes” as he rocked his hips forward to get Eddie’s tongue inside.

Eddie closed his eyes and let himself be surrounded by Steve.

His slightly musky smell, the sweat that was rolling down his thighs, the surprisingly sweet slick dripping from his pussy, all of it was better than Eddie could have possibly imagined.

The noises got louder as Steve adjusted himself directly over Eddie’s face.

He pulled away just enough for Eddie to catch his breath, but Eddie didn’t want to catch his breath.

“Need your cock, please,” Eddie begged, not caring if he was breaking an unspoken rule, not caring if he suffocated for it.

But he didn’t get in trouble. In fact, he got exactly what he wanted when Steve settled back down, his dick rubbing against Eddie lips in silent instruction.

Eddie opened his mouth wide, stuck out his tongue, and moaned.

“God you’re so good,” Steve grabbed Eddie’s hand on his thigh, squeezing as he rocked back and forth, taking things slower than Eddie expected him to.

Eddie whimpered, letting out what little breath he had as Steve rested more of his weight on his tongue.

“You made me so wet just laying there, all tied up for me, hng,” Steve groaned.

The hand squeezing Eddie’s moved to the headboard, giving Steve just a bit more leverage to bear down and chase his own release on Eddie’s tongue.

Eddie could feel his fingernails digging into Steve’s thighs, but he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, stop unless Steve made him.

He could feel slick and drool dripping down his chin, his cheeks, his neck, probably making a mess of his hair and the pillow under him, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Steve was making low groaning noises now, his pace getting faster every few thrusts back and forth.

Eddie opened his eyes, wanting to try to see what Steve looked like from this angle.

He wasn’t disappointed.

Steve’s head was thrown back, his arm muscles straining as he held onto the bed, leg muscles and stomach tensing as his pleasure started to crest.

The flush that Eddie had barely gotten to enjoy before was now covering his hairy chest and his neck, a few drops of sweat dripping to his stomach.

Eddie hoped he could lick them up after Steve came.

Steve let out a loud whine and one of his hands fell to Eddie’s hair, his fingers tugging at his roots in a way that reminded him he had no control over any of this.

Eddie decided to take matters into his own hands the best that he could, curling his tongue into a sharper point so that on the next thrust, Steve’s dick was given more pointed pressure.

“Fuck!” Steve yelled out. He looked down at Eddie, hair flopping into his face. “You wanna suck it, baby? You can if you want.”

He sounded so close, breathlessly framing his own wants as something Eddie wanted. And Eddie did want those things.

He was starting to realize he wanted everything with Steve.

It should have been a scary thought, especially when this was just the ending of their first date, but instead of worrying about it, Eddie used all the energy and muscle he could to lift his head up and start to suck on his dick.

“That’s it,” Steve panted, holding Eddie’s head against him, not giving him a chance to move away again. “You’re so good, baby. Gonna make me cum so hard, fuck.”

Eddie started to nod, and the extra movement seemed to set Steve off.

He felt Steve’s thighs clench, then loosen, then clench again, his hand tightening in Eddie’s hair, and a long moan left his body.

Eddie moaned too, and the vibration sent Steve over the edge.

Steve slowed his pace, but didn’t get up, letting Eddie slowly lick along his folds, gathering up the slick dripping out of him.

When Eddie’s tongue brushed over his cock again, he flinched, but let out a huff of a laugh.

“Sorry, baby, you got me so oversensitive already. You’re too good at that,” Steve said, still trying to catch his breath.

“Good at what? Being used?” Eddie managed to ask, voice hoarse.

Steve looked down at him as he moved down to settle against his stomach instead.

“Good at being good for me,” he finally said, seriousness ruined by the hint of fondness in his tone and smile.

“Always wanna be good for you, Stevie,” Eddie admitted.

Steve looked at him for a moment, searched his face for any sign of him lying or being too sex-drunk to be realistic.

But whatever was on Eddie’s face must have shown him that he was serious.

“Yeah, baby. I think you could be,” Steve leaned down to kiss him, licking into his mouth like he wanted to taste himself on Eddie’s lips and tongue, like he wanted to know what they tasted like together.

Eddie felt his cock pulse, felt the tug in his stomach that let him know he was probably much closer than he should be just from eating Steve out for five minutes.

He didn’t have time to be embarrassed though; Steve was moving down his body further, reaching a hand back to touch his cock.

“Wait!” Eddie leaned his head away.

Steve pulled his hand away and looked at him, frowning as he took in the panicked look on Eddie’s face.

“I just, um, I’m close. Like, pretty sure if you touch me, I will cum all over your hand and probably never be able to look you in the eyes again.”

Steve snorted out a laugh.

“What’s wrong with that?” Steve asked, slowly tracing his fingers across Eddie’s waistline, not even looking as he got closer to his cock.

“I…I don’t know?” Eddie admitted.

And truly, he had no idea why he shouldn’t cum. That was the goal of this, and Steve was making it pretty clear he didn’t mind if he did, might even prefer if he did.

The only thing stopping him was that he didn’t want any of this to end.

“Eds, you’ve been so good for me, I kinda want you to feel good, too. Unless you really don’t want to-”

“No! I do!” Eddie ignored the way Steve was trying to cover his laughter. “I just thought you wanted to ride me.”

“Ohhhh. I see. You’re being selfish.”

Eddie’s mouth snapped shut, teeth audibly clacking together.

No one had ever called him selfish in bed, not even jokingly.

But Steve’s tone wasn’t joking. His face wasn’t joking.

“I guess you think I don’t wanna see you squirming because I’m wringing the third orgasm from you in less than an hour? Is that it?”

“Uh…”

Steve clicked his tongue.

“I planned on you begging to stop soon enough. Unless you want to stop now? Seems like it might be hard to go to sleep like that, though.”

Steve’s brow raised as he glanced behind him for a moment at Eddie’s red and dripping cock, then looked back at Eddie.

“No, please don’t stop. I…can I be inside you?” Eddie was desperate, and didn’t care if he sounded like it.

“You wanna cum inside me? Fill me up good, make sure I feel who I belong to?” Steve asked as he slowly moved back further, his hand firmly grasping the base of Eddie’s cock.

Eddie whined, bucking his hips up, but not making the contact he needed.

“You can if you promise to clean me up after,” Steve’s hand slid up Eddie’s dick slowly, the pressure not nearly enough to satisfy him, but enough to make him whine.

“I promise. Please,” Eddie nodded, his one free hand making a fist in the sheets while his still tied up hand tugged on the binds.

Steve didn’t respond with words, just sat back and guided Eddie’s cock along the inner lips of his cunt, moaning at the sensation.

“So warm,” Eddie groaned.

“Gonna get me all wet again, baby,” Steve rocked his hips slowly, teasing the tip along his folds and against his entrance. “You’re leaking worse than I am.”

Which may be true at this point. Eddie had spent enough time licking up as much of his mess as possible.

Steve sat down on his cock with no warning.

He hissed, clenching his fists and curling his toes to fight off the impending orgasm.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the way Steve’s pussy sucked him in, clenching around him in a way that left him shivering and panting.

“Good?” Steve asked, smug grin the only thing keeping Eddie from losing it completely.

“Yes, yeah, so good, fuck,” Eddie threw his head back, arching his back as Steve slowly lifted himself up and dropped back down.

Fuck, Eddie wasn’t gonna be able to hold off. He’d just have to live with the embarrassment.

Steve reached up to untie his hand, grabbing his wrist and massaging it in his own hands as he moved his hips in circles.

“Wait, you didn’t-”

“Yeah, I did.”

“When?” Eddie knew his brain hadn’t been working for a while now, but he was certain his eyes had been. Steve hadn’t stretched himself on his fingers this entire time, and going from just Eddie’s tongue barely breaching his entrance to suddenly sitting on his cock, no matter how wet he was, had to be at least a little painful.

“Bathroom when we got home,” Steve shrugged.

Steve had been fingering himself in the bathroom not even an hour ago. Without Eddie. Without even making a noise.

God, Eddie was so fucked. Literally.

“You okay, baby?” Steve asked, smug grin back in place as he guided Eddie’s hands to his own hips. “Think you can do this part or do I have to do everything?”

Eddie gripped his hips, hoping his fingers would leave bruises, and let himself have this. It may only last for another minute, but he was going to make it worth every second.

He lifted Steve up, then dropped him down, smirking at the loud yelp Steve let out.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard later, this is just a preview,” Eddie growled out.

“Promise?” Steve gasped as Eddie shoved his hips up as he pulled Steve down.

“Swear. Every night you want me to from now on, Stevie,” Eddie slowed his thrusting, felt the tension building in his abdomen.

Steve groaned as he placed his hands on Eddie’s chest and started lifting his hips up on his own, clenching as he moved up Eddie’s cock.

He quickened his pace, little whimpers leaving him every time his ass met Eddie’s thighs.

“You feel so good, Stevie, gonna cum,” Eddie whined as his thighs clenched.

“Yes, yes, please. You’ve been so good, Eds,” Steve nodded, not pausing for a second.

Eddie’s eyes closed without his permission, Steve’s words hitting him right in the chest, making his breath leave him in one long, drawn-out moan.

Steve didn’t slow down, lacing his fingers with Eddie’s and pushing them backwards onto the sheets as he rode Eddie through his orgasm.

“Kiss me, please,” Eddie begged, opening his eyes to look up at Steve’s flushed face. Sweat was beading along his hairline, bangs flopping into his eyes.

Steve’s lips hovered over Eddie’s, not quite making contact, but close enough for their breaths to mingle together, for the small whimpers Eddie was unintentionally letting out to be swallowed by Steve’s hungry tongue as it grazed against his own.

Eddie was coherent enough to pull one of his hands loose, reaching up to cup Steve’s jaw as he chased his second orgasm of the night.

“Can I?” Eddie asked, moving his hand down his neck, tracing a finger along his collarbone. He looked up at Steve’s wide eyes, felt his pace slow to a stop.

“Can you…?” Steve asked, breathless as he tried to figure out what Eddie was trying to ask him.

“Can I touch your cock? Want you to come on mine.”

Eddie felt Steve clench around him, his cock almost over sensitive enough for it to be painful.

“Yeah, I’m close,” Steve admitted, pulling his other hand away to sit back so Eddie had easier access to his dick.

He was dripping, and Eddie’s cum was leaking from his hole now that he’d stopped moving and Eddie was starting to get soft.

Eddie’s fingers gathered up as much as they could, gliding down to where his cock was still inside him and away a few times, just to tease.

“Eddie…”

“Sorry, sorry. Just like touching you,” Eddie smiled up at him, at the way Steve’s back was arched, at the way his thighs were trembling with the effort of holding himself up.

Steve grabbed his wrist and guided his hand to his dick, impatience finally taking over.

“I like you touching me too, but if I don’t get to come again soon, you won’t touch me again for the rest of the night,” Steve snarked.

Eddie loved him.

He didn’t hesitate to curl his fingers so his knuckles rested against the sides of his dick, still teasing, but at least where Steve wanted it now. He didn’t move for a moment, wanted Steve to be desperate enough to rock forward.

“Eddie, please,” Steve whined.

“Look who’s begging now,” Eddie teased. “You’re so hard, sweetheart. Should’ve told me you were this close earlier. Would’ve taken care of you.”

Steve whimpered, shaking his head as Eddie’s knuckles started dragging up and down his dick.

Watching Steve fall apart above him like this, making him fall apart, especially when he’d been the one in control all night, was making Eddie feel unstoppable.

This was all he ever wanted: making Steve feel good in any way Steve wanted or needed.

Eddie started jerking his fingers faster, watching as Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Fuuuuuck,” Steve groaned, shifting his hips up for more pressure, for anything else he could possibly get.

“That’s it, Stevie. Wanna make you feel good. Wanna be good for you.”

And just like Steve’s words had done for Eddie before, Eddie’s must have been the final straw for Steve.

Steve’s thighs shook as he came, his fingers digging into Eddie’s shoulders as he fell forward, trapping his hand against his pulsing dick.

“Hmm,” Steve moaned out as his grasp loosened, leaving half-moons in Eddie’s skin.

Eddie knew he would be hard again soon. At this rate, he wouldn’t be surprised if he got hard while still inside Steve.

But Steve’s eyes opened, and Eddie somehow fell further.

“I don’t wanna stop,” Steve whispered, leaning in to kiss along his jawline, letting his teeth gently brush against his chin before pecking his lips.

“I’ve got perfectly good fingers. Or…” Eddie leaned up to kiss him, smirking when he felt Steve grind against him. “You could also fuck me.”

Steve’s responding groan was muffled by Eddie’s chest, a laugh immediately following.

“As much as I would love to, and will as soon as I have energy, I was thinking maybe we could just…stay like this?” Steve looked up towards the end, a pink blush coating his cheeks unlike anything Eddie had ever seen on him before.

Steve didn’t get embarrassed or nervous, he didn’t get flustered, at least not where others could see him.

He was Mr. Charming, the smoothest guy around, the one who always knew how to respond in a flirty situation.

But right now, all Eddie saw was vulnerability, his eyes mirroring back the love Eddie felt but hadn’t put into words.

“Like this or on our sides?” Eddie whispered, not wanting the moment to be broken.

“Like this for now.”

Eddie gave a single nod, not mentioning that they should probably clean up a little, or the fact that Robin would be home soon and the bedroom door was wide open.

Steve kissed his chest before he settled with his head in the crook of his neck, breath hot against Eddie’s pulse point.

Eddie’s cock was hard again inside Steve, but both of them ignored it, savoring the feeling of finally having each other.

Steve was asleep quickly, and Eddie let his mind wander as he traced his fingers up and down Steve’s back.

This first date felt a lot like the beginning of a long future.

–

When Eddie woke up the next morning, his cock was in Steve’s mouth, and Steve already had two fingers in his hole, lube slowly dripping between his cheeks.

“What a way to wake up,” Eddie moaned.

Steve pulled off of him, already smirking, lips red and glistening with spit.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Stevie. Keep going,” Eddie’s voice was rough from sleep.

“You got it, baby.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Cause You Had Nothing Better to Do (AO3)

Carol Perkins/Barbara Holland || ~10k, complete || Part of the Steddie Upside-Down AU, but can be read as a stand-alone with some background info: Barb never died, Steve gets possessed by the Mindflayer instead of Will. || hut/comfort || Angst and Fluff and Smut || developing relationship || getting together || falling in love || mutual pining || porn with plot || smut || fingerfucking || frottage

Smut begins 6k in, the beginning and end is outlined with red asterisks (***), for skipping purposes.

I get this ache - and I, I thought it was for sex, but it's to tear everything to fucking pieces. -Ginger Snaps, 2000

***

There’s a fucking bat full of nails clutched between her palms and Carol Perkins swears she just coughed her entire fucking heart up onto the broken down bus Barb had just ditched her on. Barb’s shoulders have always been broad, jaw firm, eyes flinty, but Carol’s pretty sure there’s a fucking monster out there, and all the other girl’s got is an abandoned tire iron. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Dustin mutters under his breath where he’s hunkered down beside her, staring out the window with wide, adoring eyes as a high school junior walks out to face death like it’s any other Tuesday.

“She’s insane,” Max whispers, but even her usual bitchiness is tinged with a level of hero worship that Carol cannot live with.

These are all fucking kids, and she’s what, four inches taller than the shortest of them? How is she supposed to protect any of them no matter what deadly, suspiciously blood-splattered weapon Barb pushes into her hands?

“She’s awesome,” Dustin says, grinning gummily like this is cool to him.

“She’s going to die,” Carol hisses, unimpressed by how shrill her voice comes out. If she’d known letting this little twerp get into her car would lead to this, she might’ve shoved him out on his ass.

The thought’s punctuated by the meaty thwack of Barb’s crowbar connecting with something Carol’s pretty sure isn’t the dog Little Red��s been insisting it must be. Then, Lucas shouts out, “another one, two o’clock!” from his vantage point out the top of the bus, and there’s another one. 

“She’s going to die,” Carol says again, despairing, even as she tightens her fingers around the baseball bat, takes a deep breath, and heads toward the door. “Don’t leave the bus.”

“What are you doing?” Wheeler whines, but she doesn’t care. The kid’s a twerp, and besides, there’s something three seconds away from leaping at Barb’s back.

The door squeaks as she wrenches it open, loose on hinges that haven’t been oiled in years. She wastes precious seconds yanking it closed behind her, and for what? The flimsy piece of metal and glass isn’t keeping anything out. But Barb had told her to watch the kids, and she’s abandoning her post. So, she closes the door and prays to a god that’s never called her back that the piece of shit holds.

“Behind you!” Carol calls, and Barb turns, crowbar arching with her momentum and smacking the thing directly in its horrible face.

The first one’s still circling Barb like a vulture, though, so Carol runs and stands at her back, covering all sides.

“What the hell are you doing?” Barb spits, but she backs up a step until she’s pressed against Carol.

She’s short enough that her head hits the solid plane of Barb’s back, and she feels small, suddenly inadequate in her body, and she hates it.

“Saving your ass?” Carol says, voice cracking as she finally gets a clear look at the thing that’s definitely not a dog.

Its paws are all messed up, like human fingers that never quite grew all the way, and it’s naked and hairless, glistening in a way she hasn’t seen outside of plucked chickens at the grocery store. Its mouth’s a furled pucker, almost funny to look at until the thing opens up to shriek in her face and she catches sight of what looks like hundreds of canine teeth, each pointing directly at her.

Carol can feel her mouth moving, but she can’t hear her own voice past its shrieking, can’t parse her thoughts as she clenches the bat and swings with all her might into its gaping maw.

The hit of the bat doesn’t seem to do much, but then the nails get stuck in the fleshy bits of its mouth between all those teeth, and when she yanks it free, the thing yowls and skitters back on its impossible legs.

Something black and oozing splatters across her, obscuring her vision until she reaches blindly up to her face and rubs it off with the sleeve of her cardigan. It’s viscous and sticky against her skin, and even as she keeps her bat raised, she shudders at the feel of it dripping off her hair and beneath the collar of her shirt.

She doesn’t notice she’s lost track of Barb until the other girl’s back slams into her hard enough that she barely locks her knees in time to stay on her feet. They press against each other, Barb’s warmth the only thing shoring Carol up and keeping her on her feet as that thing starts scurrying back toward her, mouth open wide with an inhuman shriek.

She swings again wildly, missing entirely, but it still shuffles back a few feet at the remembered pain of nails rending flesh.

Both the things circle them now, hemming them in. Carol matches Barb step for step as they spin in tandem, trying to keep each in their line of sight. Carol’s arms feel like leaden weights as she holds the bat upright, trying to mimic Tommy’s stance during his brief stint as a baseball benchwarmer.

“We’re fucked,” Barb mutters, and Carol finds herself inexplicably laughing as she keeps her eyes trained on the thing’s absence of eyes.

“Always thought it’d be Steve at my back when I died,” Carol says, grin more a baring of teeth than a smile.

“I thought it’d be Nancy,” Barb replies, voice strained.

Carol wants to turn and see the expression on her face. She knows the way Barb’s eyes go flinty and hard when she’s insulted, or the way she smiles when Munson says something endearingly stupid. She wants to know what her mouth looks like when she’s facing death down.

But they’re still circling, a dance where if even one of them falters, they both go down, one after another. So, she keeps staring down her prey, and when one lunges, she swings.

Her shoulder’s wrenched with the swing, but when she pulls the nails free from its flesh, the circle’s bigger now, those things giving her and her bat a wider berth.

“I’m not so bad though, huh?” Carol asks, and she’s still smiling, not-blood splattered against her teeth. She licks it off without thinking and gags at the taste—seaweed gone off.

Barb snorts. “Speak for yourself,” she replies, back pressed once more against Carol’s. “You’re the worst person I know.”

Carol laughs, braying and sharp in the quiet of the junkyard. She opens her mouth to reply, but then Lucas shouts, “there’s another one, six o’clock!” and she screams instead, wordless and enraged.

They can’t take three of these things, can’t even really take two. So, when she feels Barb swing her crowbar, she swings her own bat, spins wildly, grabs Barb’s wrist and bolts toward the bus faster than she’s ever run in her life.

“Go, go, go!” Dustin’s shouting, door propped up and body half out the open door against all of her orders, as if his wild gesturing will somehow make them faster. “Come on!”

Carol shoves past where he’s partially obstructing the door, tripping to safety. She falls, knees hitting the metal floor of the bus hard enough that she can feel it in her jaw. She lets go of Barb’s wrist, but not quickly enough to stop the other girl’s downward momentum. Barb ends up sprawled along Carol’s back as Carol lays there stunned, the children scuttling around them to secure the now-closed door of the bus.

The not-blood’s cold enough that she can tell herself that’s why she’s shivering. Barb’s body heat against her back is almost shocking. She wants to sink into it and let this nightmare play out without her. But something connects with the bus hard enough to shake it, and Barb jerks her up, leaving her seasick on dry land.

Barb rushes to the door, and Carol watches, stock-still as it crumples like wet tissue paper against the thing’s claws. Barb beats the shit out of it, glistening with sweat as she raises her tire iron and brings it down, again, and again, and again.

The kids rush past her to huddle in the back, and Dustin’s got his stupid walkie-talkie out, his voice begs for assistance that they all know isn’t going to come in time. Carol shivers as he says, “we are going to die!” with a fierceness beyond his years.

Carol stands, an island in the middle of a horror movie, waiting to be eaten alive. The slut always goes first, and there’s been writing on the boy’s bathroom wall for years.

Barb will protect the kids. Carol can just stand there, waiting for the inevitable final breath to fill her lungs.

But then Little Red screams, and Carol’s bolting for the back of the bus without thought, bat raised high in her shaking arms. They rip the fucking emergency exit at the top of the bus wide open, and one of those things is slinking through, chittering brokenly.

It’s too far up for her to reach, but Carol swings anyway, violently back and forth like she’s got a torch and she’s trying to light the thing aflame. It shrieks, saliva dripping down onto her face. She screams back, loud enough that her vocal cords protest and crack. 

It closes its mouth and looms down at her, silent and menacing before turning its head like a dog scenting the air and disappearing from view entirely.

The bus is silent in its wake as they all stand, listening to the braying of these monstrous things grow farther and farther away.

Carol turns to Barb, a compass pointing true north. Barb’s already looking back. There’s black ooze splattered across her dorky glasses and the swell of her cheek, and she’s still clutching onto her crowbar, mouth a firm line.

Carol trembles beneath her gaze, a shiver running down her spine. The moment elongates, neither of them blinking. Like this, it’s just the two of them—no monsters, no children to protect, nothing but the absence of warmth where Barb’s back should be pressed up against hers.

She doesn’t want to take her eyes off Barb. It’s absurd; they’re not even friends, barely acquaintances, but it’s like the past however the fuck long its been with the other girl pressed up against her back has hollowed out a spot within her.

If she can see Barb, they’re both alive. If she can feel Barb, everything is fine.

“What happened?” Lucas asks, and his voice breaks up the quiet moment.

Barb looks away first, turning back to what’s left of the door to peer out into the junkyard. Carol watches, unmoored without Barb’s eyes on her, Barb’s back against hers, Barb’s skin beneath her fingers.

The door rattles as Barb swings it open. It clangs against the side of the bus with the momentum of her swing, hanging loosely by the one hinge it's still attached to.

From her vantage point, Carol can’t see past the broad plane of Barb’s back to what’s outside. She’s still got her crowbar in her hand, but she lets it hang loosely at her side as she leans out of the bus.

Dustin leans into her space, peering around her into the junkyard. “You guys scared them off,” he says, turning to smile up at Carol as if she’d done anything aside from scream and flail.

“As if,” Carol scoffs, rolling her eyes, but there’s a bubble of warmth unfurling in her chest as the kid just keeps smiling gummily at her.

“They all left at once,” Barb cuts in. She steps out of the bus, and Carol’s heartbeat kicks up as she loses sight of her entirely. Carol rushes after her, almost bowling Wheeler over in her haste to keep the other girl in her line of sight. Barb’s looking into the rapidly darkening forest. Carol can just barely hear the monstrous howls of those things, drifting toward them on the wind. “They’re going somewhere.”

And that’s how Carol ends up tromping along the woods with Barb, a gaggle of kids trailing behind them. For such obnoxious dweebs, they’re being shockingly quiet right now, their whispers barely carrying to her ears.

Barb’s not saying anything at all, but she’s using the tip of her crowbar to push branches out of their way, holding each one back long enough for Carol to clear the obstruction before letting it swing back, unimpeded.

“Can’t believe monsters were what you were all hiding from me,” Carol says, cutting through the suffocating silence. “I thought you were all fucking or something.”

Barb snorts and elbows Carol gently in the ribs before stepping back away, maintaining their carefully cultivated distance. “You really think it’s more likely that I’d willingly sleep with Steve Harrington than that there’s monsters?” She says it like it’s absurd. As if monsters with more teeth than hair hadn’t just tried to eat them.

“I don’t know,” Carol replies, biting her cheek against a laugh, "he did always have a thing for bitchy redheads.”

“Fuck off,” Barb replies, but she’s suppressing her own laugh now, Carol can tell.

Carol watches the way the edges of her lips tug up, like she can’t help herself. She’s so caught up in watching the other girl, that she doesn’t notice the root Barb had already stepped neatly over until her foot’s caught on it and she’s sent sprawling in the dirt.

The twerps all snicker, but Barb doubles back immediately and bends down toward her, hand outstretched. Carol takes it.

“You okay?” she asks. Barb’s hand engulfs hers, enclosing it entirely in her warm skin as she pulls Carol back to her feet. Carol stares up at her, breathless beneath the weight of her big, brown eyes. “Carol.”

Carol shudders, then nods, squeezing Barb’s hand, not looking away from her face.

“You’ve got a little…” Carol says, gesturing with her free hand to her own cheekbone. Barb lets go of her hand to swipe at her own cheek, missing the black ooze entirely. “Here, let me.”

Carol reaches across the space between them. Before she makes contact, Barb flinches, leaning away, so Carol pauses, hand hovering in the air between them. Only when Barb leans incrementally back toward her does Carol let her fingers settle against Barb’s cheek. Most of the stain brushes off, staining her fingers black, but there’s a cluster of stubborn, partially dried flakes still staining Barb’s pale cheek like invasive freckles.  

Carol smooths her fingers gently over them, reveling in the warmth of a living body beneath her hands. Barb shudders, so she does it again before pulling the sleeve of her cardigan down over her fingers to use its abrasive cuff to scrub the rest free.

“Thanks,” Barb murmurs, barely audible even in the quiet of the night. Carol pulls her gaze up from pinkening cheeks to meet Barb’s eyes, hand still raised to her cheek.

She gets lost in Barb’s brown eyes, watching, almost hypnotized as her pupils dart all over Carol’s face like she’s looking for something. Carol doesn’t know what it is but finds herself hoping she’ll find it there.

Barb leans closer, a blotchy red high on both of her cheekbones. Carol gasps, just once, entirely lost, but then Mike fucking Wheeler interrupts the moment with a whiny, “can we go?” and Barb immediately leans back, averting her gaze.

Barb turns around without a word and continues on. Carol’s at a standstill, hand still raised, cupping the air like she’s still holding Barb’s cheek in her palm, even as she watches the other girl’s back grow smaller in front of her.

“Hello?” and it’s Dustin this time, pushing at her back. “Let’s go!”

“Watch it,” Carol hisses but she follows Barb’s disappearing back further into the trees.

***

Things keep happening. Barb should be used to it by now, after last year’s Upside-Down debacle, but it’s worse this time. She’s somehow ended up in charge of Mike Wheeler and all his shithead friends.

Even with her brother in the thick of things, Nancy’s conspicuously absent. Jonathan, too. Last year had been bad. But she’d had backup, and a plan.

Now, she’s just stumbling around in the dark, Carol Perkins trailing behind her close enough that she keeps kicking her fucking heels every other step. Barb makes a valiant effort at being mad about it, but it all blusters out before she can get a real steam going.

Her cheek’s still warm where Carol had cupped it.

Barb clenches the tire iron more firmly in her hand and picks up the pace, Carol hot on her heels.

Any warmth flees the farther they walk in. The sound starts small, then grows the further in they go. Each step is a struggle. Nancy would investigate – she’d follow the sound to its source, no matter what it takes, all in the name of answers.

That’s what she’d done when Steve had been missing. But Steve’s back now, and Barb’s steps are faltering.

It’s like the Demogorgon all over again – these things’ shrill calls travel straight to her nervous system, sending signals to her feet to flee. Before she can, she’s breached the trees.

There’s a cliff face in front of her so she stops, holding her arm up to halt any of the kids before they go stumbling off the edge. 

It’s too dark to see much. Still, they all squint down, trying to catch sight of where the monstrous screeching is echoing up, ricocheting off the cliff’s face. Dustin whips out a flashlight, trying to shine it down to the ground, but the beam of light is swallowed up in the darkness, illuminating nothing but air.

“I don’t see anything,” Dustin says.

Barb rolls her eyes just as Carol says, “no shit.”

Lucas, inarguably the best of the bunch, lifts his binoculars from where he’d left them dangling from a string around his chest and squints through them.

“It’s the lab,” he says, leaning forward like that will somehow make him see more clearly. “They were going back home.”

“Let me see,” Barb demands, holding her hand out beckoningly toward him until he pulls the binoculars from around her neck and places them in her waiting palm without complaint.

She presses the eyepieces hard against her glasses, trying to get them close enough that her eyes focus. Once the image becomes clear, it takes her a minute of swinging them around until she focuses on the target.

She can’t see much past the fluorescence of their security lights, just the edge of a building ensconced in trees. But the sounds are converging on that point, and it sounds like a lot more than three of them.

“Shit,” Barb says, stunned into inaction.

What’s there to do? The place is going to be fucked, and they’ve got two close-range weapons between them.

But then Mike Wheeler peers around her and says, “isn’t Will in there?” in the smallest voice she’s ever heard.

Dustin swears and begins hailing another code red. Barb doesn’t turn away from the lab, afraid that if she turns her back, they’ll all converge on a different single point, and it’ll be them.

“I read you,” Will’s crackling voice comes through Dustin’s walkie talkie. “What’s the situation?”

The sound of fireworks cracking off one after another sounds in the distance. It takes her a moment to realize they’re gunshots. Then the screaming starts, barely audible from this distance. How could anyone be in there and not know the situation?

Is Steve in there with him?

Is Eddie?

“Demodogs are converging on the lab!” Dustin yells over the cacophony those things are making. Demodogs? Is that what they’re calling them? “I repeat, Demodogs are converging on the lab!”

“Hop’s at the lab!” Joyce’s voice comes through, just barely audible like she’s talking from far away.

Barb thinks she should care about the way Joyce’s voice cracks. Chief Hopper’s mostly a good guy who doesn’t deserve to be eaten by a Demodog. As if anyone does. But Joyce said he was at the lab, not we.

“There an adult with ya?” And that’s Uncle Wayne.

Barb sighs with relief, finally turning her back on the lab and shepherding the kids back the way they came, while they all squabble over the walkie talkie.

That’s Eddie and Steve accounted for. If they were in trouble, no way in hell would Wayne leave them alone.

They run to the car on Wayne’s orders, and Barb floors it to the Byers house, Carol in the passenger seat, the kids arguing in the back. Then she’s fighting the Demodogs again, this time with Wayne at her side, Carol hunched over her best friend.

Barb doesn’t feel safe again until the Demodogs are dead, and she’s hunkered down in the back of an unmarked van, Carol pressed tight against her side, like there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

The bat feels right in her hands, like it fits the grooves in her fingers perfectly, even after all this time without it.

She might never let it go again.

It’s a struggle not to get out of the van and beat Billy Hargrove’s face in with it, but Carol Perkins is rolling around on top of him, fists flying, and someone’s got to watch her best friend while she’s busy.

She keeps Steve behind her, bat raised in case that creep takes even one step toward them.

Her palms feel bare when Max snatches the bat out of her hands, wielding it against her own brother.

Things happen fast after that. The de-possession of Steve Harrington leaves her breathless and shaking in clothes soaked through. She huddles into the passenger seat of the van and watches Carol drive.

She’s not a good driver, a little too fast, taking curves too wide, but with her best friend passed out in the back seat, Barb can’t blame her. It’s not until they’re parked and climbing out that Carol whispers into her ear, “I don’t have my license.”

Barb’s laugh is too loud, undercutting the somber mood surrounding them. Carol nudges into Barb’s side, looking pleased enough that she kind of wants to strangle her.

They’re separated once they reach the hospital. Barb endures the doctor’s examination with as much grace as possible, staring at the closed door of her exam room as they bandage her minor scrapes.

Carol had been much worse—a bruise already swelling up the side of her face, cuts on her palms, god knows what else hiding beneath her clothes.

It doesn’t take long for them to set her loose. She peeks through the open door of Steve’s hospital room, but Carol’s not there, it’s just Ms. Byers and Will sitting dociley at Steve’s side as he slumbers on.

Placing her vulnerable back to the wall, Barb drops to the cold linoleum outside his door to wait. Her head tips back, eyes closed as she listens to Will and Ms. Byers quiet voices.

Something nudges Barb’s leg, and her eyes shoot open. Carol’s peering down at her, the toe of her shoe pushed up against Barb’s thigh. The palm of one of her hands is wrapped in white gauze, and there’s something shiny lathered across her swelling cheek.

She’s still covered in Demodog blood and dirt. Barb doubts she looks much better.

“What are you doing?” Barb asks.

Carol snorts. “What am I doing? You’re the one on the floor.”

She holds out her hand, palm open and beckoning. Barb takes it without thought. Carol attempts to pull her up, almost going down herself until Barb raises to her knees by her own power.

Once she’s up, Carol doesn’t immediately let go. Barb trails fingers soothingly over the gauze on her palm as Carol peers into Steve’s hospital room.

“Have you heard anything?” Carol asks.

Barb shakes her head before realizing Carol isn’t looking at her. “No.” They both stand there for a moment, staring at Steve Harrington’s sleeping form, hand in hand. “We should go home.”

Carol whips her head around, a mean snarl on her face. She looks half-feral, cardigan ripped and stained, hair plastered to the side of her head, the only clean thing on her the pristine white of the gauze on her hand. “What?”

Barb squeezes her hand, resisting the urge to shush her like she’s a spooked horse. “We need to rest—”

“But—”

“—and Eddie’s not going to leave,” Barb continues, talking right over her, “so someone needs to be ready to relieve him when he drops.”

Carol continues glaring for a second before rolling her eyes with a muttered, “boys.”

Barb’s hand itches to reach out when Carol drops her hand. She doesn’t, just takes two quick strides to catch up with Carol as she starts off down the hallway without a word.

“Wanna call your parents?” Carol asks. “We’ll need a ride.”

Barb grimaces. Her Mom will be worried by now, and it’ll only get worse if she strolls in covered in dirt and unexplainable grime. She’s not ready to face her suffocating care.

“Think I’d rather walk,” Barb mutters.

Carol’s lips quirk up, and she grabs Barb’s wrist, fingers like a brand on her skin as she pulls her along. “Come on.”

She’s pulled to the van where they’d abandoned it in the parking lot. She doesn’t protest when Carol pushes her into the passenger seat. 

“I thought you didn’t have a license,” she says, already buckling her seatbelt. 

Carol does something Barb can’t quite grasp to the dangling wires of the van, and the engine sparks back into life. She looks back to Barb with a wild grin, not bothering with her own seatbelt before backing out of the space and peeling out of the parking lot. 

“I think we’ll have bigger legality issues if we get pulled over.”

Barb hums, watching the trees and houses blur past. They’re not going in the direction of her house. She can’t bring herself to care. Just the thought of walking through her front door makes her shudder. Wherever Carol brings them, it’s bound to be more peaceful. 

“We could’ve walked,” Barb replies, not looking away from the window.

“You would’ve dropped.” 

She’s probably right. Even seated, Barb’s legs feel shaky with fatigue, and the bumps and bruises on her body ache with every movement. Barb sighs, slumping further into her seat as the miles pass by. 

Carol pulls into the driveway of an unfamiliar house. They both sit, staring up at it for an endless moment before Carol pulls at the dangling wires and the engine cuts out, leaving potent silence in its wake. 

She shuffles into the back to grab the bat from where Max had abandoned it after whatever the hell they’d done when they’d taken the van for a joyride. 

“Come on,” Carol orders before jumping out of the van and jogging up to the front door with energy Barb can’t understand.

Barb follows Carol inside. 

***

Carol closes the front door behind them both. She pushes her face against the closed door, sighing as the silence of her vacant house falls over them both.

“Carol?”

She lets herself droop against the door for a second more, tired beyond what words can convey, before dropping the bat beside it like a discarded umbrella. It thunks ominously against the hardwood. She hopes the wood scars.

When she levers herself back fully upright and turns to face her guest, Barb looks just as exhausted, the drooping of her eyes amplified by the round lenses of her glasses. They’re covered in mud and blood, both red and black, so Carol turns without a word and leads the way toward the bathroom. 

When she opens the door, her Mom’s clothes are discarded on the floor, and there’s remnants of make-up all over the sink. Carol looks down at the proof of her Mother’s existence and feels nothing at all. She bends down to grab a clean towel from beneath the cupboard and places it into Barb’s waiting arms.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” Carol says quietly, shuffling past Barb and closing the bathroom door behind her.

The separation cuts, so she hurries into her bedroom to rummage through her dresser for something suitable to wear. Barb’s bigger than her, both tall and broad, so she digs through her drawer until she finds a sufficiently oversized shirt and a pair of Steve’s sweatpants.

She stares down at the bundle of clothes for a moment before pulling out a cozy pair of socks as well.

The bathroom’s unlocked when she makes it back, shower already running, so she opens the door and puts the pile of clothes on the toilet. But when she turns back to the door, she can’t bring herself to leave.

She closes the door and jumps up onto the counter to wait.

Barb’s glasses are abandoned beside the sink. Carol picks them up gently, holding them up to her eyes to peer through. Barb’s eyesight must be atrocious, because even looking through them for a moment leaves her queasy.

Without getting off the counter, she turns sideways on her perch to run them under warm water. When the stubborn black stains persist, she uses her fingers to gently smooth hand soap over the spots. They slowly disintegrate under her ministrations, leaving black drips in the basin of the sink.

Carol turns off the water and wipes them dry on the cleanest part of her shirt.

That done, she stares at the closed curtain, waiting for Barb to emerge so she can have her turn.

It doesn’t take long before the shower shuts off entirely, bathroom quiet aside from the dripping of the leaky showerhead. Barb must know she’s in here because her hand reaches out to snag her towel from the rack without pulling back the curtain, and when she finally opens it, the towel’s wrapped securely around her body.

She’s still dripping, hair a curly wet mess atop her head.

Carol gazes at her, transfixed. Barb tends toward long-sleeved shirts and full pants, so the freckles are a surprise. They travel down her shoulders, fading until they disappear entirely beneath the towel. Her skin’s pale aside from the mottled bruises on her knees, and she’s full of soft, rounded curves.

Carol’s fingers twitch against the porcelain lip of the counter as she stares thoughtlessly at the sliver of Barb’s thigh that shows in the gap where the drapery of the towel doesn’t quite close.

Barb clears her throat, and Carol raises her eyes back up to her face. She looks strange without her glasses, eyes somehow smaller in her skull. “I brought you clothes,” Carol says, not looking away from her.

Barb’s eyes flit around the bathroom until they catch on the clothes folded neatly on the closed toilet lid. She nods, stepping carefully over the lip of the tub, now dripping on the linoleum of the bathroom floor.

Now that the shower’s free, Carol’s skin damn near itches with grime. She slips off the counter and slides past Barb, her shoulder brushing Barb’s arm. She hopes none of the filth on her body transfers to Barb’s clean skin.

Carol slides the curtain closed before stepping out of her clothes and tossing them onto the floor, piled atop Barb’s own discarded attire. She stands there, naked and chilled straight through, listening to the sounds of Barb shuffling into clothing Carol hopes will fit her.

She waits for the sound of the bathroom door opening. It doesn’t come.

The water’s already hot when she turns it on. Her shoulders drop immediately, all that tension she’s been collecting in her spine for days sloughing off by increments. She shoves her whole head under the stream.

It stings against her bruised eye, but she doesn’t care, too relieved to watch all that grime swirl down the drain. Only once the water runs clear does she fumble for the shampoo and soap, sudsing everything up until her skin’s squeaking.

She half-assedly smears conditioner through her hair but doesn’t let it sit long. Barb’s too quiet out there.

There’d been a half-assed attempt to keep her bandage dry, but they’re sloughing off her palm by the time she’s done. She wads them into a ball and tosses them into the corner of the tub to be dealt with later. 

She follows Barb’s lead and grabs her towel before opening the shower curtain, more for Barb than for propriety's sake. No need to add more traumas to the day.

Barb’s sitting on the toilet lid, polished glasses back on the bridge of her nose, hair toweled off but still wet and uncombed. The shirt’s slightly loose on her, but Steve’s sweatpants are just a smidge too tight around her ass and thighs.

Her eyes are closed like she’s been dozing, but they’re clear when she opens them at the sound of Carol’s voice.

“You good?” she asks, waiting until Barb nods to make her way out of the bathroom, dripping steadily on her Mother’s precious carpet on her way to her bedroom.

Carol doesn’t close the door, so Barb follows her inside. She pulls out her pajamas – the fuzzy set of shorts and long-sleeved shirt covered in cute little bears – turning her back to Barb to cursorily dry herself and slip them on without undergarments.

When she turns back around, Barb’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in front of her, already looking her way. They look at each other in the bright light of Carol’s room. She feels stalled out, overwhelmed to the point of inaction by the few things she needs to do before she can crawl in beside Barb.

Barb clears her throat. It clicks dryly, and Carol’s fingers clench in on themselves. “Where am I sleeping?”

Carol stares down at her from across the room, feeling stupid and slow as she tries to make her brain think. “Right there,” she replies, gesturing half-heartedly at the bed Barb’s already perched on. “Climb in, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

Carol turns without waiting for an answer, each step she takes away from Barb twinging with danger until she’s damn near running to the kitchen.

She gets the bread out of the breadbox by rote, pulling peanut butter from the cupboard and strawberry jam from the fridge and laying it all down near the silverware drawer.

She makes them both the way she likes them—crunchy peanut butter spread thick, jam meticulously pressed all the way to the crust’s edge. They should eat a real meal, but Carol’s repertoire starts and ends with sandwiches, and even cutting a slice of cheese sounds insurmountable right now. So, peanut butter and jelly it is.

It's a struggle to balance the plate stacked with both sandwiches and a couple of waters already, but she still goes back for the bat, bending to squeeze it in the clutch of her armpit, hoping the nails don’t gouge her as she rushes back to Barb.

Barb’s eyebrows raise when she sees the bat, but she doesn’t comment from where she’s already beneath her pink paisley sheets, glasses lined up neatly on her bedside table. Carol loosens her hold and lets it drop harmlessly on the carpet at the foot of her bed, black flaking off where it’s caked onto the nails.

She’ll have to find somewhere else to hide it in case either of her parents poke their heads into her room.

She’d slept with a comfort stuffed animal until she was twelve and Tommy’d made fun of her. Now he’s stuffed beneath her bed, watching over her the only way she’ll allow. The bat’s a new kind of comfort object, but maybe she can put it under her bed with Mr. Rabbit, both watching over her from different kinds of threats.

“You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?” Carol asks, already sliding into the bed beside her and putting the plate in the space between their legs.

Barb reaches out to grab one of the water bottles from Carol’s hands, and chugs it to the dregs. Carol watches her throat work, enraptured. She only answers once she’s wiped the water from her mouth and picked up one of the sandwiches.

“Nope.” She takes a big bite out of the sandwich, and then continues around her mouthful, “thanks.”

Carol follows her lead. There are crumbs everywhere, neither of them bothering to eat over the singular plate. Something ravenous opens within her as she eats, the queasiness of malnutrition fading into a need to be filled.

She’s still hungry when she finishes, but just the thought of walking all the way back to the kitchen feels like an insurmountable journey.

Carol drinks her water and lays down on her back, staring up at the harsh overhead lighting. Clearly sensing the same issue, Barb stumbles out of bed to flip the light switch. Carol watches her stand there, stationary in the darkness of Carol’s room.

Carol reaches her arm out to pull the chord on her bedside lamp, letting its diffuse light filter through the room. Barb’s shoulders slump with the force of her sigh. She closes the bedroom door and crawls back into Carol’s bed.

When Carol reaches back over to turn the light off now that Barb’s ensconced in the safety of her bedding, Barb grabs her forearm, halting the movement. She can feel the warmth of Barb’s body pressed all against her back, over her shoulder, around her arm.

“Leave it on,” Barb asks, breath ghosting over the back of Carol’s neck.

Her breath shudders out of her, and she drops her hand. “Sure.”

The light’s dim enough not to blind them in the night, but when Carol flops back onto her back, she can just make out the popcorn indents of her ceiling. Barb doesn’t move back, so they’re pressed together, shoulder to thigh.

Carol holds her breath, afraid that any movement on her part will break the spell and Barb will scoot back to her side of the bed properly. Instead, Barb trails her hand down, fingers brushing lightly over the skin of Carol’s arm until she reaches her hand. Carol flips her hand over, palm in the air, fingers open just enough for Barb to slide hers in.

Her wrist’s at an awkward angle, so Carol scoots closer until her arm’s got enough give to twist. Barb rubs her thumb against the back of Carol’s hand, and her breath shudders out of her on a sigh as she slumps further into Barb’s side.

She rubs her bare foot against Barb’s calf, toes getting caught in the loose fabric of her sweatpants. It’s like in the forest all over again, she wants to get closer, closer, closer, until she can feel Barb’s heart beating within her ribs.

Proof of life.

She wants to slide her hands beneath Barb’s shirt and feel her soft skin give beneath her fingernails, taste it beneath her tongue. She’s still hungry, and tired, and Barb’s alive beside her.

She feels Barb pull on her hand, a barely perceptible nudge to get her closer, and Carol can’t stand it anymore, all the space and clothing between them. She twists further, thigh over Barb’s lap and levers herself up with the hand not still clasped in Barb’s own.

When she looks down at her, Barb’s lips are parted, and she’s already gasping, eyes half-lidded as she looks up into Carol’s own. She squirms a little on the bed, gaze dropping down to Carol’s lips.

She grasps the invitation with both hands, brushing their mouths together gently. When Barb makes no move to buck her off, she swings her leg more firmly over the other girl’s waist, and deepens the kiss, sucking Barb’s bottom lip into her mouth and biting down until she writhes beneath her.

Her face aches as she opens her mouth wider, but she doesn’t care. Carol loses herself in the paisley pink sheets full of crumbs, a beautiful girl beneath her, bathed in the dim light of her bedside lamp.

 ***

Barb’s damn near suffocating on Carol’s breath. She breathes it in greedily, makes no move to pull away as Carol drags her tongue against her gums. She opens her mouth wider, following the trail Carol’s tongue leaves with her own until they brush against each other.

Her hands are clutching at Carol’s hips hard enough that it must hurt as she tries to drag the other girl’s body even closer. She can feel Carol swivel her hips, grinding against Barb’s waist like she can’t help herself. Barb uses the grip she has on her hips to make her grind against her again, and that’s what makes Carol pull her mouth away with a gasp.

She’s panting like a dog in heat, lightheaded with oxygen deprivation. Barb opens her eyes and immediately groans at the sight of Carol, head thrown back, tangled wet hair partially blocking the look of ecstasy on her face. Her sleep shorts are riding up indecently high on her thighs, bunching at the crotch with the friction of her movements.

The hem of her shirt’s askew just enough to show a thin strip of the pale, unblemished skin of her stomach. Barb trails her hands up without thought, letting them clench at Carol’s waist instead. They look huge against her, almost connecting in the middle when Barb squeezes. She pushes her fingers up further until they disappear beneath her shirt entirely.

Carol’s ribs are bony beneath her grasp, contrasting with the soft give of the flesh of her breasts where her thumbs just barely brush against the bottom of them. Her eyes dart up to Carol’s face, and their gazes lock.

Carol’s lips are swollen from kissing and wet with saliva, and her pupils are blown until her eyes are all black, fathomless in the low light of her bedroom. She doesn’t look away until she’s reaching down with sure fingers to the hem of her shirt and pulling it off in one, quick movement.

She’s not wearing a bra. Barb knew that, but the sight of Carol’s nipples still shocks her into stuttered breathing. They’re a darker pink than Barb’s own, verging on brown. Barb’s fingers twitch against Carol’s ribs, thumbs trailing a line against the underside of her small breasts, transfixed.

She might’ve stalled out there for hours, barely breathing if Carol hadn’t covered both Barb’s hands with her own and slid them up until her nipples were covered by the palms of her hands. Barb’s eyes dart back up to Carol’s face to find her eyes closed, as she bites her lip hard enough to blanche it white.

Her breasts are small enough that Barb’s hands hide them from view entirely. She experimentally squeezes them both. They feel nice in her hands, but Carol doesn’t even twitch. So, she trails the fingers of her left hand down the curve of Carol’s waist until she shivers. She adjusts her right hand until Carol’s dusty nipple peaks through the gap between her pointer and middle finger, then squeezes tight.

Carol shudders as her nipple perks up. Barb switches hands and does it to the other, harder this time until Carol’s hips twitch in an abortive movement to grind against her waist. Encouraged, Barb squeezes Carol’s hip, letting her nails dig into delicate flesh as she guides Carol’s movements into a dirty grind.

She groans, bending forward to lick into Barb’s mouth like she can’t help herself. Barb moves both hands to her hips, trying to pull her impossibly closer as she opens her mouth wide.

Barb’s squirming beneath her, too turned on to stay still as she’s consumed. As if sensing her need, Carol shifts on top of her, until she’s straddling Barb’s thigh. She grinds against it, her knee just barely brushing against where Barb’s wet in her sweatpants. Barb writhes, trying to get any pressure.

Carol grabs Barb’s knee almost harshly as she yanks it up and open. Still straddling her other thigh, Carol grinds forward, dragging her clothed cunt against Barb. She can feel it now, the rough drag of her sweatpants against her swollen labia. She shudders with it, letting her thighs spread wider, giving Carol a bigger space to work within.

Carol shifts her hips, changing the angle of her thrusting until Barb groans as pressure’s finally applied to her clit, closing her eyes in pleasure. Carol’s manicured nails dig into the meat of Barb’s thigh, holding her stationary as she grinds against that same place until Barb’s breathing is ragged.

When Carol starts making these delicious little moaning sounds, Barb opens her eyes, desperate to get a look at her. There’s pink high on both of her cheeks, and she’s looking down at Barb like she wants to eat her alive.

Barb might just let her.

She’s shuddering with every breath. Barb wants to taste the air coming out of her mouth, let it slide onto her tongue and swallow it down. Her breasts are shaking with the pressure of her thrusting, the erratic expanding of her lungs. The blush is traveling down her neck, splattering her chest with red. She wants to run her tongue along the edges of it, see if she can feel the heat of her pooling blood.

She wants to taste and touch everything, carve it all into her sense memory to get off to during lonely nights to come.

Carol grinds against her just so and her head tips back, eyes closed against a moan of her own.

She wants to stay here in this moment, feeling the steeped pleasure of a beautiful girl taking what she needs from her. She’ll take what she’s given and be happy with it, no better than a pillow to be rubbed off against.

But then Carol’s nails rake hard against her inner thigh and Barb cries out, the feeling of it zinging straight to her core, back arching up off the bed with the heady feeling of it.

“Look at me,” Carol demands, voice raspy with exertion.

Barb’s eyelids flutter open. There are red nail marks along her thigh, Carol’s fingers pressed into the end of them hard enough that her flesh flexes and gives beneath the pressure.

She digs her nails in again, blanching Barb’s pink skin white as she hisses, “at me.”

Barb’s eyes dart to her without conscious thought, following her command, like Carol’s holding a string, puppeting her around with her every fleeting whim. There’s no other choice when Carol’s telling her what to do in that tone of voice.

Her pupils are huge and black, irises not visible with her lids at half-mast. They close almost entirely once Barb meets them, and like that was all she was waiting for, Carol throws her head back and grinds against her once, twice, thrice, before shuddering on a long, drawn-out moan as her orgasm wracks through her.

Barb gasps as she watches Carol shiver, collapsing against Barb’s raised thigh like it’s the only thing keeping her upright, hair covering what must be a spectacular look on her face. Her breasts are rubbing against Barb’s inner thigh with every shuddering attempt to breathe.

She’s never been this turned on in her life.  

Barb slides her hand beneath the too-tight hem of her sweatpants, threading her fingers through her pubic hair, and pressing her middle finger into the edge of her clit. It’s a dry slide, but she rubs it again, and again, and again, too revved up to do anything else.

She’s too lost in sensation to notice what Carol’s doing until her hand’s wrapped around Barb’s wrist and she yanks it out of her pants. A horrible whine bursts out of her throat as she tries to buck up into fingers that are now pinned to the pillow beside her head as Carol looms over her looking fucked out and rabid.

Carol looks into her eyes, and Barb has a second to wonder if this is just a thing for her before she feels Carol’s small hand slide into her sweatpants and press directly into her clit with unerring accuracy. She throws her head back into the pillow, back arching until Carol uses her weight to push her into to the mattress.

She presses against it for a few more seconds before sliding her fingers down through Barb’s folds. She whines at the loss until Carol presses one of her fingers into her, and she loses all her breath entirely.

She’s fingered herself before, but her hand always cramps before anything ever comes of it, and the angle’s just off enough that she gives up before anything starts to feel good.

Carol has no such compunctions. She presses her finger in, deeper than Barb’s ever managed. She fucks it in and out a few times, slow and concentrated, before she pushes another finger in along with the first.

It doesn’t feel like much more than pressure until she thrusts back in and her fingers curl.

Barb gasps, arching up against Carol as she continues to thrust into her, unerringly hitting that spot inside that makes her toes curl. The sounds her cunt’s making in the quiet room are loud, a wet schlicking sound with each press of Carol’s fingers that might embarrass Barb if she could focus past the heat building within her.  

It's deeper than anything she’s ever felt before, a pressure building in her abdomen and creeping into the rest of her until she’s a live wire. It’s too much. She tries to close her thighs against the feeling, but Carol’s between them. Barb clutches onto the sheets beneath her as Carol squeezes her wrist, pushing into her more firmly as Barb writhes against the feeling of being consumed. 

She’s on the edge of something, an abyss she’s not sure she wants to fall into. She’s thrumming, electrified as Carol takes what she wants from her.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

But then Carol twists her arm, fingers still thrusting within her as she presses the heel of her hand down, rubbing harshly against her clit, and Barb seizes, entire body locking up with the power of her orgasm as she comes all over Carol Perkins’ fingers.

Sparks fly beneath her closed lids as the feeling goes on, and on, Carol’s hand working her through it between her locked thighs. She’s lost in it, gone to the sensation for a timeless moment.

Carol continues fucking into her until Barb feels her body go lax, thighs splaying without anyone holding them in place. Aftershocks twitch through her limbs as neurons misfire, sending her muscles spasming.

The sound Carol’s fingers make as she pulls them out is embarrassing, made more so as Barb feels her wipe off the excessive wetness onto her pubic hair. She cracks open her eyes just in time to watch Carol stick her tacky fingers into her mouth and suck.

Barb throws her arm over her eyes and groans with breath she doesn’t have to spare as Carol laughs, pressing the warmth of her body into Barb’s side. 

***

“This never happened,” Barb says, shuddering in the aftershocks, neck red with exertion.

Carol tucks her face into Barb, sinking into her until her blooming smile is hidden in the armpit of her shirt. Her whole body’s tingling, from her thighs all the way up to the roots of her teeth. She bites down on the buttery soft material beneath her, grinding her molars into it until Barb shoves her off.

Her arm’s still covering her face, hair a riot of red curls atop her head. Carol wants to smooth them back, tuck them behind her ears even if they spring back up. But, Barb’s pulling away, still flushed from sex, so she asks, “can it never happen again a few more times?” in the hopes of making her laugh.

She just groans, but her forearm lowers enough for her to glare at Carol, and that’s progress in and of itself. Carol grabs the softening with both hands, walking her fingers up the underside of Barb’s arm until the offending hand is slapped away. 

“Aren’t you still dating Tommy?”

Carol’s dangling fingers curl into a fist, eyes dropping to her stupid fucking duvet cover, no longer able to meet Barb’s fierce glare. The truth is, it hadn’t been like this with Tommy since they’d lost Steve. The truth is, she’d forgotten Tommy even existed while she’d been lost in Barb’s eyes, and had been happier for it. The truth is, there’s a vacant spot on her back where Barb’s is supposed to be pressed, and her hands feel empty now if she’s not clutching a bat full of nails, and it’s been two fucking days. 

The truth is, Carol’s not sure she can unravel truth from fiction anymore.

She’d followed a kid to a junk yard to fight fucking monsters, poured boiling water on her best friend to de-possess him, and fucked a girl who’s name she hadn’t even known last year. 

Reality was stretched to the point of breaking. 

But, it’d all started to coalesce back together between Barb’s thighs. She’s not ready to let it fall apart again.

Carol rolls onto her back and stares at her stupid popcorn ceiling, fingers fisted around the empty space where Barb’s hand should be. As Barb regains her breathing, the silence settles between them like a third, stilted lover in her bed. 

She’s not ready to share.

“Tommy and I haven’t really worked since Steve left,” she tells the ceiling. Part of her, a stagnant, wounded part, will always want that time back, when it was just the three of them being unrepentant assholes together. But those times have been gone longer than she’s been willing to admit. It’s time for something new. “It was only a matter of time.”

Barb makes a little humming noise, like she’s listening but doesn’t know what to say, so Carol does what she’s always done best: talks. “You know, it’s weird. We barely know each other, and I think if you left right now, I’d spend the rest of the night clutching the baseball bat to my chest and hiding in my closet.”

Barb clears her throat, says, “it was like that last time.” When Carol looks at her from the corner of her eyes, she’s lowered her arm, and she’s staring at the ceiling, too, shoulder to shoulder. “With Nance and Jonathan.”

Carol snorts, already knowing the answer as she asks, “what, you fucked them, too?”

The blush on Barb’s cheeks that had finally been receding, returns with vengeance, painting her face and neck a splotchy red. Carol still wants to lick it, so she swivels her head away and stares back at the ceiling, hand still clenching on empty air. 

“No,” Barb whispers, soft and private just before she feels her fingers ghost over Carol’s fist. 

She loosens it just enough that Barb can pry it open. Carol shudders as Barb’s fingers thread through her own, caressing the delicate flesh between them until they’re linked– Barb’s hand dwarfing her own in its hold. 

Carol squeezes, and Barb squeezes back as they stare up at the ceiling in silence and think of their sins. She’s coming up empty, though. She’d do it all again to feel Barb’s hand in hers.

“You’ll break up with your boyfriend?” Barb asks. 

Carol smiles, letting go of Barb’s hand just long enough to flop back against her chest, this time turned toward Barb like a flower to the sun. 

“This your way of asking me to go steady?” she asks, flicking her eyebrows up suggestively.

“Fuck off,” Barb says, but it sounds tender, and she wraps her arm around Carol’s naked back and pulls her closer. 

She’s still laughing as she reaches up to press her mouth to Barb’s, soft and lingering, all heat sucked out of the moment. Barb’s lips move against hers, gently enough that Carol inexplicably feels as if she might cry. 

When the kiss breaks, she stays close, breathing in the air that Barb expels. People look weird from this angle, proportions skewed with perspective, but she can see all the freckles on Barb’s nose, each of her pale eyelashes, the ruddy complexion of her cheeks.

She leans down to lick a stripe up Barb’s cheek, mapping out the warmth of her blush as Barb laughs and tries to push her head down and away while keeping her arms clutched around Carol’s waist. 

“Stop that!” Barb cries, but she’s laughing. 

So, Carol bites Barb’s cheek, just once, face aching with the width she has to open her mouth. Barb’s skin tastes clean on her tongue, fragile beneath her teeth. When Barb pushes her again, Carol lets her jaw relax. 

She tucks her face into Barb’s neck, teeth tingling once more. Carol brushes her nose back and forth against Barb’s soft skin, eyelids heavy tucked into the darkness of her body.

“We should go to sleep,” Carol says, wondering what time it is, but unwilling to turn around and take a look at the glowing red numbers of her alarm. 

This has been the longest day of her life, and she’s a little afraid to let it end.

“You’re the one fooling around.”

Carol smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate skin of Barb’s neck before replying, “I think that was both of us, dear.”

Barb wacks her in the back in response, but immediately starts rubbing up and down her bare skin after. Carol melts, boneless at the feeling of Barb’s warm hands, like a spooked horse being soothed. 

She can hear Barb’s heartbeat beneath her head, feel the expanding of her lungs with every even breath. There’s no room for silence to settle between them. This moment is too loud. 

“Will you go with me?” Carol whispers, lips brushing against Barb’s skin with every word.

“Of course,”

Carol smiles again. Her mouth’s going to start aching against the strain, unused to utilizing those particular muscles this frequently. “I didn’t even say where.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Barb replies. Her fingers trail up Carol’s back to play with her hair. It’s tangled enough that Barb’s fingers immediately get stuck, so she begins delicately unpicking the knots. “I’ll go anywhere, as long as it’s with you,”

Carol’s still fucking smiling. It feels wrong, somehow, to let this warmth in. Steve’s in the hospital, burns on his back that she put there. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen when he wakes up, doesn’t know, not really, if he’ll wake up at all.

But those are worries for tomorrow. She can’t bring them into this moment. Won’t. It’s too fragile already. 

So she says, “let’s go to bed,” and presses one last kiss to Barb’s neck. 

They squirm futilely, attempting to get Carol’s comforter up and over their bodies without getting off of it. It would’ve been easier to stand, but they’re safe, and warm, and Carol’s reluctant to create even the smallest space between them. 

They don’t turn out the light. 

Thank you @queenie-ofthe-void for the beta editing! As always, you make everything I write so much better <3

[scoops-aboy86]

I imagine that if Eddie could do magic, he would (as a young teen and therefore a dumbass with a poor grasp of the possible repercussions) try to cast a love spell to make Steve fall in love with him. It's the start of his sophomore year; Steve is just an incoming freshman who no one's really noticed yet, but Eddie is instantly smitten with the impeccable hair, the soulful hazel eyes, and that cute dazed look on his face he gets whenever surprised.

Does he dare even try to talk to Steve? No. Eddie already has zero social standing as a weird nerd who lives in a trailer park and Cannot Sit Still to save his life—which on other people would make them funny class clown material, but for some reason on him makes teachers angry and classmates roll their eyes. Just talking to Steve, Eddie is sure, would be a disaster. And even if he could, chances are Steve is straight and at best Eddie would eventually get punched in the face for admitting his feelings for the other boy.

So. Witchcraft. Chant chant chant, a possession of Steve's dropped in a bubbling cauldron, a blown out candle, and boom.

Only Eddie muffed the spell. Instead of Steve falling in love with Eddie, everyone falls in love with Steve. The spell isn't even strong enough to cause obvious problems; all the girls want him, all the boys want to be him, but there aren't, like, mobs forming over the guy's affection (or lack thereof). Eddie resigns himself to (a) being shitty at magic and (b) never getting Steve.

From Steve's perspective, his whole life changed overnight. Suddenly he's on the map at Hawkins High in a big way. He makes varsity basketball as a freshman, and at the same time is allowed to join the swim team despite the conflicting schedules. Girls are falling over themselves to go out with him. And it's great!

For a while. In some ways.

It gets him his parents' approval right up until November of 1983, when he starts to realize that maybe he hasn't really learned how to build a real relationship with someone, because all he knows is dates falling into his lap and girls looking for the social status that comes with bagging King Steve. That prowess on the basketball court doesn't mean very much when monsters crawl out of the walls and all he has to hand is a baseball bat full of nails. That a girl died in his pool because of a party he threw and him and his friends doing stupid teen shit like shotgunning beers. That the friends he's had since he became King Steve are, actually, pretty much all assholes.

After that first brush with the Upside Down, Steve stops trying to be popular. He stops throwing house parties, drops swimming, stops funding the basketball team's beer and weed purchases, and really tries (with Nancy's help) to buckle down and study.

But the spell is still in effect, so even with all that, everyone still wants a piece of him. He still goes to parties, and whenever Nancy isn't free to tag along there are always girls trying to hang off him, no matter how many times he reminds them that he's already seeing someone. Eventually he gives up, and while he doesn't cheat (he might have dated around a lot, but never with overlap; he is not his dad) he stops putting in the effort to shoo them away.

(Eddie, meanwhile, watches all of this from the sidelines and kind of hates the person he thinks Steve is now. He's not entirely wrong, because the popularity did go to Steve's head for a long time, and there are plenty of ways in which Steve's really isn't a better person for it. But Eddie also isn't close enough to see who he's trying to become now, and he's also still a little bitter in nursing his own bruised heart.)

After breaking up with Nancy and falling in with the Party, Steve starts to get even more frustrated with his lingering popularity. The rest of his senior year is still all girls fawning over him and guys being jealous (sometimes with a nasty edge to it now, like Tommy and Billy). On top of the nightmares left over from encounters with demogorogons and demodogs, it really brings out Steve's bitchy side. He stops dating, stops going to parties, stops trying to achieve in his classes in favor of coasting (and hating that all his teachers let him do it, while picking on kids like Eddie who are actively trying and just not very good at it).

One day, Eddie finds King Steve at the picnic table in the woods, looking to buy weed. Steve doesn't bat an eye when super-senior Munson names his price (double what he usually charges, but it's not like Steve has ever bought directly from anyone before so it's not like he'd know), and says that if it helps him sleep he'll start buying regularly.

Suddenly, Steve is in a slightly better mood at school all the time. He still brushes pretty much everyone off and only hangs out with middle schoolers, but he's nicer about it.

And he starts going to parties again. But he doesn't dance, and he doesn't drink all that much. A lot of the time he doesn't even stick around very long. He'll turn up and people watch, bopping his head in time with the music if it's a song he likes, and park himself by whatever food the party has to offer. Chips, popcorn, the occasional pizza—nothing extensive, most of the kids who come to these parties are there for the booze and the makeout opportunities. Sometimes Steve buys from Eddie if he's there, offers to share joints with him that Eddie, still wary, turns down. When the food runs out, Steve leaves.

See, the weed definitely helps him sleep. It also gives him the munchies, and Steve has sort of gotten into the habit of just... eating. It's not like his parents are around to notice, and Dustin and the other kids don't care as long as he springs for extras so they can have some too. No one at school would dare say it to his face, and somehow it still doesn't manage to fully tank his slightly flagging reputation, but Steve is definitely starting to put on weight.

Then he graduates, and... nothing. King Steve drops off the map.

For everyone except Eddie, anyway, because Steve still buys. And Eddie has started to relax his no-smoking-with-Steve policy lately. Between the weed and the public eye no longer pinning him in a spotlight, Steve has become an incredibly chill dude. He doesn't even mind that he didn't get into any of the colleges he applied to (or any of the ones his parents insisted he applied to either, but that's a more clear-cut relief), something he confides in Eddie around the time they start hanging out outside of sales because his dad is demanding that he get a summer job. Pros include more money for weed (although Eddie has relaxed his prices as well), but cons include less free time. Steve says Eddie can visit him at work though, and he'll hook him up with freebies and discounts.

Visiting Steve at his Scoops Ahoy job is both a visual treat for Eddie and how he finds out that he's basically Steve's only friend his own age. Those shorts, man, and even with the extra weight Eddie still thinks Steve looks great. Everything that first attracted him to Steve (the eyes, the slightly comical dopiness, and the hair, regardless of the little sailor's hat) is still there, plus big hands, broad shoulders, an endearing grin, and just... Steve.

Maybe, Eddie realizes, if he'd never done that spell at all, he could have gotten to know Steve like this years ago. He never feels like Steve's last choice when they spend time together, and definitely doesn't mind that Steve seems to forget how much space he takes up these days and always sits a little too close, whether it's on the picnic table bench or on the couch at Eddie's trailer or in a Scoops booth. Steve is goofy and sweet and a little lame, but he brings his own snacks and lets Eddie talk straight through the Star War movies and the animated Lord of the Rings film, reeling off every bit of trivia and his own personal opinions he can. Every now and then, Steve even goes out of his way to ask questions about d&d and listens to the answers.

Forget smitten, Eddie Munson is in love.

(… Okay, I thought about it some more, here's part 1. Now tagged as #love spell no go au. And there's also a part 1.5, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11.)

[iwaasfairy]

bones and all +hq! (anyone) just something super fucked up with lots of blood 💋🫀

this was so sexyyyy idk I’m very into gross icky blood stuff rn

tw murder, gore, yandere

Red coats the walls. It splatters out into grasping hands with each brutal blow, baseball bat full of nails shattering the bone below it until the whining dies down. Along with the frantic screaming, and you sink to your knees at the sight. Within seconds, your housemate has been reduced to a heap of meat and bone and sinew, leaving her coppery tang in the air. Your legs have buckled, and now you’re on the cold floor, there’s nothing you can do but watch and shake.

The blood pools under her legs, because those are intact -upper body too. But gunk and brain matter is spilled on your floor, and the puddle of red gains surface the longer you stare, trying not to hurl your guts out. If you could look away you would. If you could run, you would. A low puff of air sounds, before the invader turns on his heel and stares you down. “There she is.” It’s faint, almost apologetic in its delivery. He pulls the mask down his mouth as he wipes the back of his hand over his face.

Your hands shake uncontrollably in your lap, and the stinging in your face surges through your bones. Atsumu.

“Ya missed my entrance,” he’s got a grin on his face - but his eyes are so blown out it’s hard to believe it really is him. For a few moments, he looks entirely, sickly unfamiliar. Not long enough to give you time to collect yourself before he approaches though, dragging the bloody bat along with him. “Sorry ‘bout yer little friend. Came at me with scissors… The bitch’s almost as wild as you are when yer upset.”

He has a frown on his face when he looks back, but the slightest curl to his lips doesn’t slip. His hands come up to hold onto your shoulder as he sighs. “So,” he lets out a soft hum, and then thumbs along your cheek with his hands still stained, bloodied as he touches you, “r’ya ready ta go?” You can’t help but feel bad. Even moving your eyes up to look at him feels like it’s taking all the energy you have.

This is all your fault. Atsumu came for you. You’d signed the papers and found a friend to live with, and you had hoped that would’ve been enough - but you didn’t think… you- Nao tried to protect you, and now she’s gone. There was a time you would’ve trusted Tsumu with your life. “Y-you,” your throat locks up when you say it, and the wobbly vision gets too much, spilling over, “wh-what did you do? Why?”

The blond barely pulls up his nose, before giving you a look. “Didn’t ya hear me? I came in through the window an’ she came at me. Couldn’t be helped.” The way his hand is still around the makeshift weapon somehow doesn’t convince you of his perceived innocence. Almost as soon as you think that, he follows your gaze, and slowly starts chuckling as he realizes the same thing. “Baby doll…”

You scramble. Atsumu drops the bat to crash himself into you and grab at your arms, but one well aimed kick onto his knee has him wincing, and it gives you just enough time to get up and dash towards the door. That also means running through the pool of liquid slowly drying on the floor, but your vision’s so blurry that you don’t even register it. You slip as you slam the door behind you and Tsumu curses— your heart’s pumping so hard you don’t hear it.

Not until someone gets a fistful of your hair and yanks you back so hard you think your scalp might come clean off. Until you land in the cold gravel and a foot pushes into your soft throat. Tsumu’s able to make it out narrowly before your vision starts blurring at the edges, and you claw at the limb for air. “Samu, ya’ll hurt ‘er.” As soon as you get a tiny bit of leeway you’re grabbing at the skin and hacking up spit, painfully tight airways burning.

Osamu only glares back at the blond. “‘I got it covered, Samu. Don’t be a bore, Samu,’” he mocks, before crossing his strong arms over his chest. “Yer sloppy, ‘n lucky I was ‘ere ta stop ‘er.”

“Yea, yea,” the other man sighs, before he crouches by you and lovingly brushes your hair away from your face. “Yer cute when ya try so hard, y’know. Gets us going.” He snickers, then raises a brow. “Samu won’t admit it but it gets him goin’ too. But next time ya get caught… we’ll take one of yer fingers. That’s only fair.”