#with a side of shitty tommy hagan

[steddieprompts]

part 2 of this thing

The rest of the night the two sat on the couch, ate icecream and watched shitty comedy movies. Steve finally got Eddie to watch Major League and Eddie had to admit it was his favorite sports movie so far.

Eddie fell asleep on the couch as usual and Steve covered him with a blanket before heading to his room for the night.

They didn't talk about the situation with Tommy after that night. In all honestly Steve was happy to see the back of it as well as Tommy himself. Seeing him again was such a violent flashback to the person he was before... he didn't like thinking about it. He hoped Tommy loved New York so much he never stepped foot in Indiana again.

Of course Steve could never be that lucky.

It was a Monday night and the apartment was sweltering.

"I thought Daryl said he fixed the AC?" Steve said, fiddling with the knobs on the unit.

"Daryl says alot of things" Eddie's voice echoed from where his head was stuck in the freezer.

"Let's just go to the movies. At least their AC works," Steve grumbled.

Eddie pulled his head out of the freezer. "I'm in." He agreed and grabbed his wallet off the counter as he followed Steve out of the apartment... before shoving the handful of icecubes he snuck out of the freezer down the back or Steve's tucked in polo. His screech was so loud old lady Laski stuck her head out of her apartment to yell at them.

"Sorry, Muriel!" Eddie said through his cackling before they shoved their way out of the building.

Inside the theater the air was crisp and cool.

"Genius, Stevie," Eddie said, flipping his hair over the back of the seat and sliding down until his ass was almost off the seat. "I gotta pee," he announced and immediately stood back up. Jesus Christ he heard Steve mutter. "You want popcorn?"

"Nah. I'm good." Steve hummed as he closed his eyes.

After the bathroom, Eddie went to the concession stand and got himself a popcorn (large, because he knew Steve would steal some) and Steve a Sprite with extra ice.

When he turned away from the counter he nearly dropped it though. Across the room, just coming in the door, was Hagan.

Why was he still here? Shouldn't he be back in New York by now?

Eddie decided to ignore him... and the other guy he was with, some jock type Eddie faintly recognized from high school. He headed back towards the theater doors, but he wasn't as inconspicuous as he hoped.

Before he could get into the theater, Tommy sidled in front of the door.

"Well look who it is," Tommy smirked at him. "Out without your little body guard?"

"Body guard? Who, Steve?"

"I know he was lying to protect you. I can't figure out why." Tommy said, taking a threatening step toward Eddie.

He had about enough of this.

Eddie mirrored Tommy, taking a step forward and getting obnoxiously close to his face.

"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," Eddie said his name like he felt so so bad for him, "Steve, the love of my life, is right in there." He tilted his head towards the door, "And believe me, he wasn't protecting me the other night, he was protecting you."

Eddie stared him down for a second before suddenly sticking out his tongue and making a guttural hiss. Tommy startled and jerked back into his jock friend. "Enjoy your film... and try not to think about what's in the dark." Eddie said sweetly before slipping into the theater, but not without hearing Tommy mutter "Freak" as the door closed.

Eddie hustled back to their seats, nearly spilling half the popcorn on the way.

"Steve!" He whisper yelled as he came down the row. He didn't really need to whisper, though, as the only other people in the theater were a couple teenagers in the back. "Steve!" He said again as he plopped down in his seat.

"What? Is that for me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got you a Sprite, Tommy is here." Eddie said all in one breath. Steve nearly choked on the sip he took. "And I might have talked to him."

"Eddie..."

"And I might have lead him to believe that I cursed him or something. Hissed in his face."

"Wha... why?"

"He called you my body guard. Oh, and you're the love of my life now."

"Body gu... wait. awww you love me??" Steve said, sickly sweet and batting his eyelashes.

"Madly, darling," Eddie replied in his worst trans-atlantic accent. Steve chuckled.

"He seriously said I was your body guard?"

"Yeah he thinks we're pretending."

"Well fuck him."

"That's what I say," Eddie grumbled. He didn't like being called a liar even when he was one.

At the back of the theater the door opened and Steve peaked behind him through the seats and low and behold... Tommy Hagan.

"It's him," Steve grumbled.

"Huh?" Eddie asked, distracted by the movie previews.

"Tommy." He turned to Eddie. "You haven't suddenly developed boundaries in the last five minutes have you?"

"No, why?"

Steve surged forward, pressing his lips to Eddie's and cupping his jaw. Eddie made a surprised noise before pressing back, his hand finding Steve's waist, fisting his shirt.

After a few seconds Steve pulled back, meaning to look over at Tommy to cement the deal, but he got... distracted, watching Eddie's eyes flutter open, seeing how they danced over Steve's face as he processed.

"I see what the big deal is now," He finally said. Steve let out a soft chuckle, still enraptured by Eddie... and wasn't that a thought.

Eddie looked over Steve's shoulder, picking Tommy out in the dark, the light of the screen highlighting him. Slowly Eddie wiggled his fingers at him in a little wave.

Steve finally looked back at him, just in time for Tommy to storm out of the theater, his new cronie following behind.

"Wow," Eddie mused, "That worked surprisingly well." Eddie looked back at Steve, "You think he's jealous?"

"Dude!" Steve whined before sliding down in his seat.

"Think Tommy wants a little King action?"

"If you don't stop, I'm leaving you here and you can walk home."

Eddie cackled, settling down as the movie started.

But Steve couldn't concentrate. Kissing Eddie was... nice. To be fair, Steve hadn't been with anyone in a while but... that wasn't entirely the reason. He felt something he hadn't felt in a while. As cliche as it sounded... he felt a spark.

Maybe Eddie had felt it too.

The movie went by too fast but when they stepped back outside the sun had set and the heat had dissipated. Tommy was no where to be found.

As they drove home, Eddie was strangely reserved. They talked about the movie, about going to work in the morning, but the conversation didn't take any wild turns like they usually did. Steve didn't even have to scold Eddie for sitting sideways in the seat.

When they got back into the apartment Eddie didn't flop down on the couch or root around in the fridge, just said he was gonna head to bed before going into his room. Steve looked at the clock. It was only 8:30.

He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't. He brushed his teeth, changed his clothes, sat down and turned on the TV, but he couldn't ignore how strange it was. And it wasn't hard to guess why.

He shook out his shoulders before he knocked on Eddie's door.

"Yeah?" Eddie called from inside, Steve could here him quietly picking at his guitar.

"Can we talk? Please?"

The guitar stopped and Eddie opened the door, already in the ratty black Sabath shirt he usually slept in.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry... but I'm not."

"About what?"

"Kissing you like that. I should have... given you more warning."

"It's alright, Steve, I'm not mad."

"Maybe not, but something is wrong."

"It's fine, Steve, don't worry about it."

"No," Steve's hand shot out as Eddie tried to close his door. "I'm sorry, Eddie. I just... Please just talk to me, okay?" His hand dropped from the door, but caught Eddie's fingers on the way. He tangled them together before asking softly, "please?"

Eddie looked at their hands before saying "What is this?" He looked up at Steve taking a steadying breath, but it barely got rid of the tightness, the wobble. "What...?"

"Eddie, I know how this started but I can help but feel maybe... I dont know. I think there's something. Maybe we've been ignoring it."

"Are you fucking with me, Steve? Because I can't..." Eddie hated how his throat was closing up with fear, with hope.

"I'm not, I promise you," Steve stepped forward, tightening his grip on Eddie's hand, "I've never felt so at home with someone, so happy, and kissing you... Eddie. I can't let this go unless you tell me to."

Eddie swallowed, swallowed again, until he got enough courage to lean forward, softly, gently, and pressed his lips to Steve's for the second time that night.

The kiss was soft and gentle until he felt Steve smile against his lips and he couldn't hold back. He felt himself laugh as he pressed forward, Steve pulling him back until they hit the wall across the hall, laughing when it took Steve by surprise. They broke apart, Steve peppering kisses up Eddie's cheek to his temple.

"You uh," Steve said through a smile, "You want to go out sometime?"

Eddie threw his head back as his happiness and relief burst out of him in a laugh. "Yeah, sweetheart," Eddie smiled at him. "Let's go out."

[loguine-linguine]

Ok hear me out!!!

Steve is a musician who sings pop music and posts on TikTok. He’s kind of a C-ish list celebrity (definitely a bit of a nepo baby) and his music is poppy and catchy. It’s the kinda stuff that you can immediately tell is coming from someone who is actively holding things back/ isn’t writing from any truth. Mall music at its purest form. Then one day with no announcement Steve drops a double sided album that is like GOOD GOOD pop music. It’s also noted very quickly that the pronouns in all the songs have definitely switched to he/him. People freak out and he starts charting for the first time in his career. Kinda Chappell Roan-esque situation where he skyrockets to being a queer pop icon very very quickly.

He starts doing interviews. He shows up to these interviews in outfits aren’t dramatically changed from what he usually wore (polos, jeans, bomber jackets, 80s jock vibes) but it’s all just much more camp. The cropped shirts are shorter, the jeans are tighter, and the colors are all suddenly pastel. He has also started wearing makeup (not heavy makeup but it’s definitely a lipgloss, eyeliner, mascara, highlight/blush on the tip of his nose type situation). He shares that he dropped his old producer (who he had been set up with by his father) and that he’s now working with his best friend Robin. He comes out as gay, talks about his struggle with comp-het, and proudly shares that he is super excited to contribute to the growing movement of music that is being written by queer people, for queer people. His TikTok also blows up.

This is when Tommy Hagan first starts showing up. Tommy is an actor who is pretty well known for doing teen drama TV shows (like Riverdale type deals). He introduces himself to Steve at some sort of industry event right after Steve gets big and pretty quickly starts showing up in his TikTok videos. It comes out that the two are dating pretty quickly after that. They date off and on for about a year and a half. Tommy is a shitty enough boyfriend that even Steve’s fans don’t like him. He stands him up for dates, embarrasses him at events, says rude and dismissive things about his music, etc. Robin (who is also kinda famous by proxy/writes her own music now similar to Billie Eilish and Finneas) absolutely hates his guts. Publicly. They finally break up officially after Tommy cheats on Steve with an actress named Carol who is on a show with him. It gets exposed by the tabloids and Steve finds out by seeing a photo of them making out on one of those celebrity drama TikTok accounts.

Eddie is also getting famous around this same time. He’s the lead for Corroded Coffin and also starts acting occasionally in horror films. He doesn’t really pay much attention to other celebrities or the drama that goes on. He was never into that kind of thing before the band took off so he doesn’t see why he should now. Eddie and the rest of the band are at an awards show of some sort and the others make fun of him the whole time. He can’t stop staring at this absolutely beautiful man sitting at a table near them. “The guy is wearing a slutty little lace shirt, the tightest pants in existence, and has skin that looks like honey and caramel had a child Gareth you really can’t blame me honestly.” Steve and Eddie don’t officially meet until the after party where they immediately hit it off.

A few months later Steve announces a new album and releases a single. It’s just Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter but gay and clearly about Tommy.

The music video comes out and people loose their minds. It’s the same sort of video as what Sabrina Carpenter just released for Please Please Please with the stunning outfits and the whole bad boy thing. Steve spends the whole video in dresses and skirts. There’s even a corset at one point. The bigger freak out is the fact that the Barry Keoghan equivalent is Eddie and its a hard launch of their relationship that fans had absolutely zero clue was even a possibility because why would horror/metal man Eddie Munson even know Steve Harrington???? Robin and the Corroded Coffin guys think the whole thing is hilarious. Eddie and Steve are so so happy :)

[lovebugism]

Okay soooooooo

How bout something like King Steve picking on shy!reader, then later finding out she has a shitty home life plz

ty for requesting!! this can be read as a prequel to this fic — steve comforts you when he accidentally makes you flinch (enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, cw for brief mentions of abuse, 1.8k)

Sitting alone at the Hellfire table, you feel a little like fishbait. 

Your spot in the very back of the cafeteria is normally full and loud — with Dustin’s bickering, and Eddie’s laughing, and Gareth’s stupid jokes — but they’re not here now. They’re off getting their trays while you sit in wait for them (and the cold fries you’ll ultimately steal from Eddie’s plate). It leaves you perfect prey for circling sharks.

You hear laughter from behind you, over the sounds of the bustling lunch room. You’re certain they’re laughing at you — ‘cause you always think someone’s laughing at you — but you try hard to ignore it. You disregard the subtle pang of anxiety in your chest and stick your nose in your book, eyes flitting across the words without reading any of them.

Someone flumps down at your side then, where Mike usually sits. The overwhelming scent of spiced cologne stings your nostrils. With watering eyes, you look beside you. At Tommy fucking Hagan.

“Hey, Wallflower,” he greets like it’s normal — like he hasn’t spent the past four years pretending you don’t exist. You think he only calls you Wallflower now because his friends have been doing it for so long they don’t remember your real name.

The boy props his elbow on the table and puts his chin in his fist, trying hard to hide his boyish beam and accompanying laughter. He fails.

You cower at his presence, all but shrinking into yourself. “…Hi?” you reply in a tiny voice.

“How’s it hangin’?”

“...Fine?”

“That’s great!” he answers instantly, like he hadn’t heard you at all. “You see, my friend Steve, over there— you know him, right?”

You don’t bother to look where he’s pointing. Of course, you know Steve The Hair Harrington. You don’t think there’s a single person in Hawkins who doesn’t.

You nod in response.

Tommy’s smile widens. “Well, he’s got this massive crush on you,” he confesses, choking back a laugh halfway through. “I mean, he talks about you all the time.”

You know he’s lying. And not just because he’s grinning so hard that his eyes are crinkled and his freckled cheeks are turning pink. You’re almost certain Steve Harrington doesn’t even know who you are. He never had a reason to. Why would the King of Hawkins High ever stoop so low to know someone like you?

You glance at him over your shoulder, a couple tables down from you. He’s almost magnetically pretty. You couldn’t ignore him if you tried — with his pretty hair and his pretty eyes and his pretty smile. His golden cheeks flush as all his friends start poking fun at him. 

He rolls his eyes and scoffs a laugh you can tell is forced from here. He doesn’t think any of this is funny. You can see it on his face. But he isn’t trying to stop it all from happening. You’re just collateral damage, really.

You turn back to Tommy with a disbelieving look in your eye.

He continues to ramble despite it. “He was just a little nervous coming up to you, that’s all. So I thought I’d do him a favor and slip you his number. You know, as his wingman and all.” He tosses a folded-up index card onto the pages of your opened book. “You should call him tonight— It’ll make his day, I swear.”

He pats you a little too hard on the back before he goes. His laugh echoes over all the rest when he sits back down at his table. You watch them over your shoulder as they fall over themselves to crack jokes about you. 

Steve’s the only one not smiling. “Not cool, Tommy,” he mouths.

—————

Locker 148. The one right across from yours. Property of Steve The Hair Harrington. 

You shove the thick card with his number written on it between the slits in the metal. You’d carried it around all day, utterly unsure of what to do with it. You decided ultimately to return it, figuring he might feel a little better if a total stranger didn’t have his phone number.

You struggle to slide it through the thin gap, though. The paper gets caught halfway through, and you try to yank it back out again. The old locker moves with you, like it’s not completely shut but still somehow latched. 

You’re so in your own head you don’t hear the gymnasium door down the hall squeal open and shut again. Steve pants heavily and tries to recover from a ruthless basketball practice. He hunts for a water fountain and finds you instead.

“What are you doing?” he calls as he nears you, not malicious or unkind but genuinely curious.

Your heart lurches into your throat as you all but jump out of your skin.

Steve laughs, a pretty sound in the silent hallway. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” you assure with an averted gaze, though your frightened demeanor says otherwise. “I was just— I was trying to give you this.”

You hold the paper out towards him. He takes it with hesitant hands. “What is it?”

“Your number. Tommy gave it to me earlier, and I know it was just a stupid joke, so I… I thought you’d feel more comfortable if I gave it back to you.”

Something in Steve’s chest aches. He doesn’t understand why you would care about what might make him comfortable. It’s not like he ever gave you the time of day — or ever tried to stop his friends from being total assholes. As far as he’s concerned, you’re the last person who should give a shit about him.

“Oh. Right— Yeah… Thanks,” he stammers and shoves the thing into his pocket. “And I’m— I’m sorry about Tommy and everything. He can be a real douchebag sometimes. I didn’t… I didn’t tell him to bother you or anything—”

“I know,” you assure in a mousy voice. “Tommy gave me your number hoping I’d be dumb enough to call while your friends were over so you could all… laugh at me? I guess. He could’ve been a little more original, honestly.”

Steve cracks a smile. He almost laughs, but he can’t tell if you’re joking or not.

“I’ll talk to him later. Tell him to leave you alone—” He rambles and walks closer to you. You watch him with tentative eyes as he approaches. “—He’s a total dumbass sometimes, but he usually means well. Most of the time, anyway—”

Steve raises his hand suddenly. And, because you’re frightened by everything little thing, you flinch and stumble over yourself in the process. The lockers catch your fall, and you hit the back of your head. Hard.

“Shit— Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you squeak, holding the crown of your hair and squinting as your skull pounds.

Steve rushes to your side, then idles just ahead of you because he doesn’t know if you want him touching you. His brows pinch, chiseled features swimming with concern. His cinnamon eyes glitter with it, too. “I wasn’t trying to scare you—”

“It’s okay.”

“—My locker was just jammed. I was going to shut it.”

The metal door is open now, from where it wasn’t shut all the way and where you just smacked your head on it.

“I just wasn’t expecting it,” you assure in a tight voice, trying hard to ignore the sharp throbbing. “It’s fine. I’m fine—”

“You’re hurt.”

“It’ll go away—”

“Let me get you an icepack.”

“—I’ll be fine once I get home.”

Steve, feeling purely at fault and aching at how effortlessly you shrug him off, decides to approach you fully. He curls a warm hand around the outside of your elbow. A touch surprisingly gentle. “No. C’mon. Let me help.”

You don’t feel much like you’re in any position to fight him about it. Not with the world still swaying under your feet. 

Steve guides you the short distance to the empty cafeteria. Slow and kind and dreadfully patient. He sits you down, makes sure you’re still okay, and then rushes to fix you a makeshift icepack — a ziplock bag filled to the brim with chipped ice.

He sits at the chair beside yours, slightly askew so his knees bump your thighs. He holds the pack to the crown of your head and gazes at you attentively. You’re not looking back at him to see it.

“Does it still hurt?”

You shrug, eyes flitted to the wringing hands in your lap. “It’s fine. It just feels a little like I have a migraine.”

Steve winces. “I’m sorry.”

Your doe eyes peek at him from beneath your lashes. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I scared you.”

“Everything scares me.”

It’s a dumb joke. You mean it, but you still expect him to laugh about it. He doesn’t even crack a smile, though. He just keeps looking at you with that puppy-like twist to his features. The worry is evident in his face. 

“Do you wanna, like, talk about it or something?”

“About what?”

“Why you flinched.”

You freeze, breath hitching in your throat. No one’s ever noticed your incessant panic — outside of making jokes about it anyway. No one’s cared enough to ask about it, either. Steve Harrington is the last person you expected any kind of concern from.

You shake your head after a few long moments. “No.”

“You could,” Steve assures, suddenly shy. You didn’t know he could be anything other than totally full of himself. “You know, if you wanted to. I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t tell anyone—”

You scoff a disbelieving laugh.

Steve’s features swirl with hurt. You hate that it makes your chest ache. You hate most that he hasn’t stopped being soft with you. The hand holding the pack to your head hasn’t yet wavered, even though you know his arm must be tired now.

“I wouldn’t. ‘Cause I— I know what it’s like to… to have a bad home life or whatever,” he confesses, stammering hopelessly. He forces a laugh at himself. “Probably more than most people do, honestly.”

His admission takes you by surprise. It comforts you in a way you didn’t think someone like him could. 

Even still, you shake your head. “I— I can’t—” you murmur, clearing your throat when the words get stuck there. “I can’t talk about it…”

Steve nods, firm and reassuring. “That’s okay. You don’t have to, I was just… I was just saying, you know? I get it.”

You swallow through a tight throat, nodding wordlessly in response.

“Plus, you know, you have my number and everything… If you ever wanted to talk…”

You flash him a timid look and crack a quiet smile. “I gave it back to you, remember?”

“I’ll write it down for you again,” he promises with a shrug and a lopsided grin. It’s easier to ignore his aching arm and the ice stinging his palm when he’s looking at you. “For real this time.”

[dreamwatch]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Merry Christmas, Tommy Hagan

Prompt Day 15: Ornament | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Pre-Season 3, pre-Steddie, time jump, 90s established Steddie, protective Steve Harrington, Tommy Hagan is a idiot, good guy Steve,

I’ve never done a holiday prompt before, but this idea wouldn’t go away. It’s late, but hey, at least I posted it in December!

Steve’s had a shitty couple of months and Christmas can’t get here fast enough.  Tommy and Billy’s smug fucking faces are driving him mad, there’s literally no escape from these clowns. And if it’s not them then it’s Nancy and Jonathan parading around like they’re lovesick puppies, even if they do look embarrassed whenever he clocks them.

He gets to class as soon as possible, grabbing the back seat. It means fighting with Eddie Munson, but there seems to be something emanating from Steve that makes even the school freak back off. Eddie drops into the seat in-front of him instead, and for a second Steve feels bad about it; Eddie’s on his second go round, and if Steve was having to repeat senior year he’d want to hide at the back too, but right now his need it greater. 

He zones out, something that’s been happening with alarming regularity since getting hit in the head last month. When he looks up, Mrs Click is handing out slips for something.

“Please have your parents sign these and return them to me on Monday.”

Steve hears Tommy sniggering.

“Mrs Click, what should a student do if he,” Tommy inclines his head toward Eddie, “doesn’t have parents?”

There’s a ripple of laughter through the class, and Eddie’s ever bouncing knee comes to an abrupt halt. Steve gets an immense urge to punch Tommy in his fucking mouth.

Mrs Click cocks an eyebrow. “You know what I meant, Tommy.” She smiles sadly at Eddie and says quietly “Or guardian.” 

Eddie keeps his head down, eyes on his notebook. Steve feels pretty bad for the guy; even if he is a dick, he doesn’t deserve that.

Tommy puts his hand up. 

“Mrs Click, if our parents or guardians can’t sign, will you accept a collect call from a correctional facility?”

Eddie grabs his bag and storms out of the class, flipping Tommy off as he leaves. But the titters of cruel laughter linger as Tommy hams it up for Hargrove, courting favour at Eddie’s expense. It’s a snapshot of Steve’s life just a few months ago, and he doesn’t like it one bit. 

Steve’s about to climb into his car at the end of the day when he sees Tommy and Eddie going at it on the other side of the parking lot. He should stay out of it, he can’t stand either of these pricks, and he doesn’t need another concussion, but Tommy looks furious and Steve’s nosey. So he saunters over, hanging at the back of the crowd that’s gathered around them

“—fucking lie, man, I know it was you. Give it back!”

“I didn’t touch your shitty fucking car, Hagan.”

Tommy slams the side of Eddie’s van. “Give it back!”

“I don’t have it! And if you touch my fucking van again you’ll be playing basketball with one arm.”

Steve leans into the space of the girl next to him. “Hey, um, Ruby, right? What’s going on?”

Ruby looks at him like he just smeared shit all over her bike, and seriously, who the fuck is still riding a bike to high school?

“Tommy thinks Eddie stole the hood ornament off his car. Which I totally hope he did, Tommy’s a dick.” She climbs on her bike, and buckles up her helmet, shouting, “And my name isn’t Ruby, asshole!” as she rides off across the parking lot.

Eddie tells Tommy to go fuck himself, shoving past him to climb into his van before screaming out of the parking lot at a speed it shouldn’t be able to reach. Tommy seethes, red faced, as Carol tries to placate him, and then he notices Steve in the crowd.

“What are you looking at, Harrington?”

Steve gets a good look at the brand new red Chrysler E Class, now minus one hood ornament, and can’t suppress his smile.

“Just enjoying the view, Hagan.”

Suddenly, Christmas is looking much brighter.

December 1994

“Steve? Where’s the Christmas shit?”

Steve stands in the kitchen, hands on hips. Every god damn year they have the same conversation.

“Garage, box marked ‘Christmas Shit.’ Unless there was a second Christmas I didn’t know about, they’re in the same place I put them last year.”

“Har-de-fucking-har,” Eddie mutters under his breath as he heads out to the garage.

“Why don’t you just let me do it?”

“Because I can manage just fine.”

They don’t fight about much, but Eddie being babied, by Steve and Wayne, has been right up there. Steve worries, he’s never not going to, not after having his hands inside Eddie’s abdomen, but he’s getting better at stepping back and letting Eddie ask for help. Which he doesn’t do enough, but thats Eddie’s thing to work on. 

Still, he follows him out anyway, and together they start opening unlabelled boxes from years of moving around, things that were important enough to keep but not important enough to unpack. They end up spending an hour going down memory lane.

“What the hell is this?”

Steve leaves his box of random knick-knacks to get a better look at whatever it is Eddie found in the bottom of a dusty old box. 

“Holy shit,” he laughs. It’s a silver five pointed star in a pentagon and he absolutely knows what it is. “Do you remember the day Tommy Hagan accused you of stealing his hood ornament?”

It takes a moment but Steve can see the exact second Eddie catches on. 

“You did not!”

“I absolutely did.” He grins proudly at his boyfriend. “Asshole deserved it, too. What he said was fucking horrible.”

Eddie smiles at him softly, before wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. “Oh my god, even back then you were my hero.”

“Damn straight I was,” Steve says, leaning in for a kiss, only breaking away when Eddie tugs on his hand. “What?”

“Let’s go for a drive.” Eddie waves the ornament between them. “We’ve got one more gift to drop off.”

“Oh you’re evil.”

“You know it, baby.”

[steddie-island]

Alternative Payment Methods

@strangerthingswritersguild kinktober day 26: Consensual Non-Consent (CNC) Rating: E | WC: 1,579 | Tags: Public sex, face-fucking, roleplaying For full fic and complete list of tags see ao3!

Steve looked around for any signs of life. He didn't see anyone, didn't hear anything but the sound of his own feet crunching on the carpet of dead leaves. Eddie's picnic table came into view but the metalhead wasn't there yet.

Steve went to take a seat but before his ass could come into contact with the bench there were feet there. Eddie had practically appeared out of nowhere and slid up right behind Steve to take his place on top of the picnic table.

Eddie lounged back on his hands and let his knees fall open. A cigarette hung between his lips. It might have just been a shitty picnic table, but it might as well have been a throne for the way Eddie draped himself over the top of it.

And yet Steve was the one they'd called 'King'.

"Munson." Steve tugged his letterman jacket around himself with the hands he'd tucked aay into his pockets. "I thought you'd decided not to show up."

"And miss my chance to take money from King Steve?" Eddie grinned and plucked the cigarette out from between his lips. "In your fucking dreams, man."

Steve rolled his eyes and pulled the small roll of bills out of his pocket. "You can count it, but it's all there," he said. "…Where's your lunchbox?"

"I'm not a fucking idiot, I wasn't about to just get it out without the cash first." Eddie unrolled the bills and counted them out. With the cig hanging from his mouth once more and one eye closed against the smoke curling up around his head he looked more like the hardened drug dealer he tried to pass himself off as and less like the highschool senior selling weed to make ends meet.

If Steve didn't know better he might actually be intimidated.

"I told you, it's all there."

Eddie put the bills down against the table and shook his head. "This isn't enough, big boy."

Steve blinked at him for several long moments. "What? No, that's it. It's all fucking there—"

"The money's here, yeah, but your fucking croney stole some of my shit last time I met up with him," Eddie said. "I'm charging you for that, too."

It took Steve a second to realize who the fuck Eddie was talking about. "I'm not friends with Tommy anymore, I'm not paying for his shit!"

"Then I guess you're not getting anything today." Eddie tucked the money into the front pocket of his jacket.

"You're fucking kidding me—"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Eddie stubbed the cigarette out on the top of the picnic table.

"That's not fucking fair—"

Eddie barked out a laugh. "Do I look like I give a fuck about that, either? You and Hagan both have the cash, you can cough it up or you can fuck off."

Steve's hands balled into fists against his sides. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, trying to think of something to say that would make Eddie back down and either cough up the weed or his money.

"That was all the cash I had," he finally said with a wave of his hand. "So I can't pay for Tommy's shit right now even if I was willing to pay for it."

Eddie smoothed his hands over his thighs. "There are other ways to pay," he said. Steve could practically see Eddie's eyes darken even more as he leaned forward. One hand drifted up from his thigh.

Eddie was palming himself through his jeans. Those wide eyes were looking Steve over like he was a piece of meat and Eddie a starving man.

"Jesus— you're fucking serious, aren't you?" Steve asked, incredulous.

"Your boy Hagan's never said no."

Steve felt himself heat up all over and pushed the picture of Tommy on his knees out of his mind. "I'm not Hagan."

"No. You're not." Eddie was off of the table and blocking Steve's way back down the hill by the time Steve had so much as turned to leave. "You're a lot fucking prettier."

Eddie crowded closer, so Steve had no choice but to back up towards the picnic table. The bench hit the back of his knees and Steve found himself falling back onto it.

"If you're good enough, I'll even give you your money back," Eddie said, still smiling down at him. "Might forgive Hagan's debt to me, too."

Steve licked his lips nervously as Eddie lifted one ringed hand to caress his jaw, then up into his hair.

"What do you say, big boy? You want to really earn it?"

"I…" Steve bit down on his lower lip. Eddie was hot, and getting free weed for sucking the guy's dick didn't exactly feel like a hardship. "Yeah."

[theycalledmebaby]

LOVERS AND FRIENDS

| steve harrington x fem!reader | 18+

-END OF THE ROAD

summary: flashback to the first time Steve Harrington made you cry.

warnings: angst.no smut. typical middle school bullying? mention of shitty dads. not edited.

series masterlist | series mixtape(coming soon)

October 2002

7th grade, end of the school day. Boys II Men’s “End of the Road” plays on the radio, sending chills down your spine. You’re trying to keep your composure as your mom asks how your day was, battling back tears. It’s a cruel twist of fate that this song is playing right now. Not only is it the end of your friendship with Steve, but this was one of the few songs you both agreed on.

Growing up, your tastes in music diverged—you leaned toward hip-hop and R&B, thanks to your younger parents, while Steve Harrington was all about pop. Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, Britney Spears, Celine Dion—those were his favorites. Despite your differing tastes, you both shared a love for movies and cheesy drama TV series. Except during his weird Titanic phase when he made you watch it every weekend, or the fact he hated horror movies, which drove you crazy since you loved them.

Steve’s parents were strict about the media he consumed, while your mom, being younger and more lenient, wasn’t as restrictive. This meant Steve was always reporting back about your music choices or horror flicks, especially when Eddie Munson was around.

You met Eddie when you were eight—he was your mom's best friend’s kid, and since your mom often babysat Steve, the three of you were inseparable. Steve and Eddie got along well, but Steve’s jealousy over your friendship with Eddie often led to him tattling on your movie nights.

Yes, Steve Harrington, once a nerdy, goody-two-shoes tattletale, evolved into the King Steve everyone adored. But Steves's sensitive side, the one where he'd cry during The Lion King and learn Grease dance moves with you, was never truly hidden. He’d hold your hand during thunderstorms, kiss your scraped knees, and walk you to class every day, always reassuring you when you cried.

Steve was your first in many ways—the first best friend, the first boy to kiss you, but also the first to make you cry and break your heart.

The first time Steve broke your heart was when he started dating Nancy Wheeler in the second semester of sophomore year. That’s another story. But the first time he made you cry was in 7th grade when he called you ugly in front of all the 7th and 8th graders, including your crush, Tommy Hagan. Steve humiliated you on purpose.

Since last summer, after you told him Billy Hargrove asked you to be his girlfriend, Steve’s been a dick. You’re not sure why—he didn’t seem to dislike Billy back then, though he does now, thanks to their fight.

When Billy broke up with you, the first week of 6th grade, he did it in front of everyone at early morning break. He almost made you cry. And Steve sucker punched him. It was the first fistfight Steve had ever been in. Billy gave him a black eye. They both got lunch detention for a week and Steve wouldn't talk to you for a couple of weeks after that but said it was just because he was grounded.

 Since then he’s become a complete asshole to you, and you get it. He’s becoming more popular, you two have different interests, and that's okay. Friends grow apart, but you never expect this from him. For his words to hurt so bad. To embarrass you like that in front of everyone. Just like Billy did. Just like Eddie did that day at Steve’s party.

Fuck boys. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You hear your mom saying something to you, but you're too focused on the lyrics. 

Although we’ve come to the end of the road, still I can’t go. Why does this stupid song have to be playing right now? You think to yourself as the tears stream down your face now. You couldn’t believe him.

You two had gotten into an argument in your last period and Steve commented that you are probably just obsessed with him and jealous. You blew up on him and said some pretty mean things and so does Steve. 

“oh get over yourself Steve Harrington, like I would ever want to be with someone as lame as you. Why don’t you go fix your stupid hair”

 “Yeah well, no one would ever wanna be with you, 'cause you’re crazy and.. and ..and ugly!  Everyone knows Billy Hargrove only went out with you 'cause he felt sorry for you!” No one wants to be around you! Thats why your  step dad never sticks around and...and why your real dad didn't stick around!

You didn’t respond. The tears in your eyes were evident, and the classroom fell silent as the teacher walked in. Thankfully the bell rang, and you grabbed your backpack, and left without a word when Heather and Robin called after you. It was all a blur.

Steve cried himself to sleep that night. You were once his best friend, and he had promised your mom he’d always take care of you. How could he say such things? He had always thought you were perfect—the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. The comment about your dads made him sick. He was ashamed and scared to apologize sooner, worried about how you’d react and fearing he’d get in trouble with your parents, who you hadn’t told, but he didn't know that.

You eventually forgave him, but things were never the same. You’d say hi in the hallways or chat online, but the closeness was gone.

That was the first time Steve Harrington made you cry. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last.

[steddie-fanfic-recs]

two bros chilling in the mall (ten yards apart 'cause we're not gay)

by Gues, peytra

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley & Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper Character: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Jim "Chief" Hopper, Jonathan Byers, Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Tommy Hagan, Billy Hargrove, Nancy Wheeler, Erica Sinclair Additional Tags: Pining, Slow Burn, (although hopefully not as slow as usual), Scoops Ahoy (Stranger Things), One-Sided Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington - Freeform, also known as this is a steddie fic written by two stonathan shippers, Implied/Referenced Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use Words: 91,993 Chapters: 34/34

Summary

Steve Harrington is just your average guy working a shitty part-time job in a stupid mall. Really! He's very normal, he promises. Just across the way, Eddie Munson works at Legacy Vinyl. He hates his job, his life, and most of all he hates having to see King Steve every single day. What could possibly go wrong? - Or, in which Steve falls first, but Eddie falls harder.

[steviewashere]

Return to Sender

Characters: Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove (A Warning in Itself), Eddie Munson (E.M.)

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

General Audiences (May Change, but Will Not be Explicit)

CW: Use of the word Queer (as a slur, from Tommy) mentioned briefly and not at all lingered on

Tags: Pre-Season 2, Rewriting Canon, Though Keeping to Main Canon Events (i.e. Steve getting roped into finding Dart, Billy smashing in Steve's face, The junkyard, etc.), Eddie Munson has ADHD, Steve is Self-Deprecating, Teasing Banter (sort of), Steve has Shitty Parents

This is Part 2! To read Part One, follow the link here!

-------- It dawns on Steve that trying to find somebody by their little hobby of drug dealing is going to be tougher than he thought. He can't just ask anybody. And it's not like he can make some bulletin board statement or put an advertisement in the newspaper. What would that even look like?

Local Teenage Boy Who's Seen Some Shit Is Now Seeing Cute Little Locker Notes! Looking For Inquiries About A Drug Dealer With The Initials E.M.! Will Give "The Best Sex" You've Ever Had a Run For Their Money as Reward!

Yeah, he can't imagine that looking very well.

Not for him. Not for the other person involved. And he doesn't want to lose these little notes that he now looks forward to every time he goes to grab an assignment or a textbook or his lunch money. Because, what he's still reeling about, the notes keep coming. With not a single sign of stopping.

Little things. Like telling him how amazing he looks in his new polo shirts, to not listen to the scoffing of Tommy Hagan—who keeps telling Steve that he looks like a "Queer little prep." (Which, Steve's not sure how he's been found out in that regard. He hopes Tommy can keep a secret. But, knowing the history they share, he definitely can't.) And there was one with the answers to the math homework he was doing last minute at breakfast in the cafeteria, which were all correct, and Steve found himself giddily smiling over the big fat letter 'A' on the header of his paper. So, the notes are getting to be more frequent. They're nice. He loves them.

The only question is:

How the fuck is he supposed to find this person?

He began with the, albeit, dumbest way first. Standing vigil near his locker. Watching for anybody that looks like they're about to leave a note. A few girls wander near, but they don't mess with his locker. No, they flock to the other side of the hall to mess with Billy's. He scoffed when they did. And while he was busy watching them, he noticed at the glance back of his own locker, a new note.

It wasn't a very long one. Just:

"Have a good day, man. Also, stop watching random girls. You look like a creep. -E.M."

Steve physically slapped himself on the forehead when he reread it. Of course he missed his opportunity. Because he was distracted with some other mindless thing. That thing not only being those girls, but also stupid fucking Billy Hargrove. He always manages to find a way to ruin Steve's day, even without physically doing or saying something. He grumbled with the note tightly in his grip and stomped away to his last class of the day.

Then, when standing by his locker proved to be futile, he lurked in the cafeteria. Watching the tables. For somebody who was nose deep in a slew of little slips of paper, scattered near their hands, a blue pen secure in their hand. But—

He was the only one truly alone at a table. And the crowds of people at the other lunch tables made him nervous. So, he stopped watching. Besides, everybody was too busy talking to one another.

His locker didn't have a note at the end of the day. He was bummed about it.

Steve came to the conclusion on that day, Random person doesn't want me to be lurking. Or at least, that's what it seems like. Either he gets caught doing something he shouldn't be doing, or he can't actually see anything. Because there's nothing to see.

Some of his other ideas fell through.

Looking through last year's yearbook. Asking a few random students in the hallway if they knew an E.M., but they only rolled their eyes and shoved past him. (He's not used to that. Being ignored by the people around him. Maybe with his parents, but school life is supposed to be different than his home life. He doesn't like that the two are now bleeding together.) He even attempted the phone book. But that was a bust. There were probably thirty names to go through. And he didn't know which ones were teenagers in high school. And he seriously didn't want to call each one and ask: "Hey, are you the person that's leaving notes in my locker?" What kind of creep would that make him? An obsessive one, probably.

At least the student obsessed with giving him notes isn't bothering tons of other people in the process. At least this elusive stranger has morals and values.

He's growing frustrated, though. The longer this drags out. But he just has to...wait. Be patient. See if he can catch his secret admirer off guard.

In the mean time, he attends his classes. The ones that hold all the information for him to graduate, but all the knowledge goes into one ear and leaks out the other. He falls asleep at his desks from time to time. And since he's no longer on the basketball team, his schedule is wide open for after school detentions. Great, he thinks as he holds the pink detention slip in his hand today. Because what I need is proof that I'm still a failure, no matter what I do.

But he swallows his pride. Well, what's left of it. Some meager crumbs and a couple laps of liquid bravery that paint his insides like dried acrylic paint. Shuffles over to his locker at the end of his fourth period. Stuffs his oversized backpack onto the hook. Rustles around with some textbooks—maybe he can attempt his math homework; attempt is a strong word. He'' probably just stare at it and doodle a few drawings in the margins, hoping for time to pass.

There's a white slip of paper wedged between two books.

"Tough luck, Stevie. Maybe you'll get a proper nap at home once you power through detention. Believe me, the pent up frustration will knock you clean out. -E.M."

Steve scoffs. Crumples up the little thing into an even smaller ball. Tosses it at the metal backing of his locker. And watches as it bounces down pathetically to the floor. Embarrassingly, he finds himself on the verge of tears. Could my senior year get any worse, he asks nobody. But groans aloud as he picks up the paper once more and pockets it instead.

Textbook in hand and a wrinkled homework sheet in the other, he's on his not so merry way.

When he gets to the detention classroom, he's the only senior in it. Well, other than that overtime senior, Eddie Munson. He takes his seat next to Eddie, near the back, a textbook and homework sheet dutifully laid out on the desk, and his eyes stubbornly locked to it. Just to make sure it looks like they're not talking. Because he seriously doesn't want to be the only one in here. Sure, there's what appears to be a couple sophomores spaced out on the left side of the classroom. A few girls that he recognizes from Nancy's school year, all huddled around each other and whispering not so soft under their breath. But it's just him and Eddie in the back right corner. And hopefully he doesn't get reprimanded, forced to sit somewhere else, he isn't sure he can take anymore awful shit in his day.

However, it seems like it can get worse. His calculus homework. It's not something he knows well, having cheated off of one of those locker notes. Sparing his life of cognitive embarrassment, having to prove himself to maintain his average 'C' grade for sports this year. I'm not getting accepted to college, why the fuck do I have to do this shit, he has to wonder. It's giving him a dull headache.

The problem that's getting him:

What is the integral of the function f(x) = sin 2x?

He wants to slam his head onto the surface of his desk until he's just a mound of bloody, pulpy meat. He's better with English literature, surprisingly enough. Even if the words move a little bit, it's better than whatever garbage he's looking at now. It's like the problem knows he doesn't understand. It's like it has teeth, gaining and baring and wanting to chop off his fingers. It's like—

Something taps on the corner of his desk.

Looking up from his paper, agitated and exhausted, he finds the eraser end of Eddie's pencil clacking against the wood of his desk. Growling, he asks, "What the hell do you want, Munson?" Adding, huffed and close to giving up, "I'm trying to do my homework."

Eddie just grins at him. "I know, dude," he snarks. "We're in Mr. Nelson's class together, remember? I've got the answers, if you want them."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right," he mutters. "Like you'd know. I know for a fact that you have an F in calc, why should I trust that you actually have the right answer?"

"Oh, that's simple," Eddie chirps. "I know my shit. Just don't turn in my assignments. You know—" He gestures vaguely at his head. "—I got that new diagnosis, ADHD. The thing that sort of makes you forgetful, or whatever? I know it, I'm just...Not on the money with turning it in on time."

"ADHD?" Steve can't help but asks, somewhat suspicious. "What does that even mean? Are you just making that up? There's no way—"

"Look," Eddie interrupts, voice short and firm, "do you want help on your homework or do you want me to explain shit that I know you won't retain? Because I could sit here and describe the whole thing, get you bored and distracted, and send you off on your way even more dumb and lost than when you entered in here. Or...I could tell you the answers and make you look better in front of Mr. Nelson and your basketball team."

Steve huffs. "I'm not stupid," he argues, voice weak. "And besides, I'm not on basketball anymore. So..." He sighs, defeated. His eyes fall back to his blank homework assignment. And he can feel his eyes begin to burn from embarrassment. Maybe I am stupid, he thinks, Maybe I'm no better than some super senior. "Can you just show me what to do, without making fun of me? I get that I was a jackass in the past, but this week has been rough. I just need to get through the end of it." He knows that to his own ears that he sounds like a petulant, begging little kid. And knows, too, that it's not a good look on him. His dad doesn't like it. Coach didn't like it. Mr. Nelson and Nancy Wheeler and Tommy Hagan and...Nobody likes it when he sounds like this. When he's a sight for sore eyes, down on his luck, ready to just curl up in a ball and melt into the floor.

He drags a hand quickly over his eyes, trying to wipe away at the wetness barely coating him. Sniffs back whatever emotion is still souring his throat. And keeps his line of sight pointed downwards. “I—Never mind, you probably don’t want to help some jerk. Especially one that just made fun of whatever you…whatever you said. God—“ He chuckles something deeply self-deprecating. “—You were right. Can’t even fucking remember what you just said. Can’t remember how to do math. Can’t remember…My head hurts and I’m tired and this just sucks. I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to come off so shitty,” his voice strains, though spits. Guess wiping my eyes did nothing, he notes, watching something wet drip down onto the desk.

“Steve,” he can hear Eddie breathe. “It’s fine, dude. I didn’t take any offense. Nobody knows about my shit, it’s fine. I was just giving you a hard time.” Steve looks up briefly at that. “I don’t even know why, if I’m being honest. You seem like you’re better, but maybe I’m wrong?” Eddie shakes his head. “Just let me see your paper. Act like you’re studying your textbook, I’ll do your assignment.”

“How am I supposed to learn if you do it for me?” Steve asks wetly.

“You’ll learn, I’m sure of it. Just give it here.”

At the end of the detention period, his homework is completely filled out. It looks correct, better than what Steve could ever possibly do. He has to go to the bathroom, stops inside, erases some of the correct math and fills in with his own scratchy handwriting, goes through his whole restroom routine, and returns to his locker.

Only to find another note.

“See? Detention wasn’t that bad, you survived! Now, take a nap at home. Relax. You’ll be alright. Senior year will be a breeze for you, I’m sure of it. -E.M.”

If only mystery person knew that taking roses to Nancy Wheeler leads to weird creatures that eat raw meat, tunnels and fire, and a beaten face.

If only he knew how to lick his own wounds. When he gets to his locker the day after him and Billy fight, he finds one more note.

“Okay, maybe I was wrong about this being a breeze. Meet me in the woods, picnic table, sit and wait for me. Think it’s time I show myself. Get you a friend around here. Someone who’d be willing to kill Hargrove if asked. -E.M.”

-------- Some Notes:

Did you know that ADHD was not an official diagnosis until the 1980s? So it's literally brand new here. Also, gotta get them to have a little bit of rivalry—something akin to a rivalry, at least, before they can be buddies and then lovers and then rivals again. Hehe, I love angst. <3

[collecting-stories]

Baby Hagan - Steve Harrington

Request: If you feel inspired to write for steve harrington I'd like to request something for him. Miss st so much and fanfiction is my only salvation lol // Request: What about hagan!reader? (I think that's Tommy's last name if i remember correctly). Reader always had a crush on steve, but she only got to really know him after his friendship with her brother ended. And like tommy is just a shitty brother overall

A/N: I feel like this whole fic is me going off on tangents or something but I sincerely hope that you like it! 

Stranger Things Masterlist 

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

You could remember, clear as day, the first time you knew that you were madly in love with Steve Harrington. It was the first day of sixth grade and you were finally in middle school. It felt a little surreal but you’d been planning since August. Outfit laid out on the bed, backpack ready with all the essentials, shoes picked out, hair style perfected. Your mom had even caved and agreed to let you were cherry lipgloss to school. All in all, it was a fresh start, even if you’d just be going to school with all the same kids you’d been going to school with for the last six years.  

But a fatal snag in your plan had almost ruined the best first school day you could ever have. It was just after the warning bell went off in the hallway, three minutes to homeroom and you were trying desperately to get your locker combination to work. Your stomach had been in knots all morning but you chalked it up to nerves, anyone would be nauseous on their first day. But just as your locker swung open you felt someone push up behind you, a jean jacket tying around your waist and your brother’s best friend squeezing your sides gently as he let go of you again.  

“Steve, hi…what, uh, what are you doing?” You looked at the jacket in confusion, turning to face him. Just beyond his shoulder, your brother stood on the other side of the hallway, laughing. “What’s the matter?”  

“Walk with me to the nurse?” Steve asked, nodding his head back toward the lobby and the nurses office.  

The confusion that had been on your face a moment ago slowly disappeared as you felt your stomach lurch again, the discomfort clear to you now. It was the first day of sixth grade and you had gotten your period for the first time. “Oh my god…oh my god, oh my-“

“It’s okay,” Steve reassured, putting his arm around your shoulder as the final bell rang, “let’s go.”  

Steve guided you to the nurse’s office, away from Tommy who hadn’t stopped laughing even as he headed to class. The jacket was unharmed, thankfully, and when the nurse came in to ask what happened Steve took as his cue to leave, though he left the jacket for you. The moment, though embarrassing, romanticised itself in your head. Steve Harrington, super cool even in seventh grade, had rescued you from total ostracism on the very first day of school like the hero knight he was. It was later that night while you were laying in bed, staring at his jacket on the bedpost, dreaming of the valiant rescue, that he stopped being your brother’s best friend and started being your crush.  

“Do my eyes deceive me or is that baby Hagan having some premium Milwaukee booze?” Steve’s voice cut through the late night silence of the grocery store parking lot and you looked up from the six pack of beer that was sitting beside you on the trunk of your car to where he was standing. The Shop’n’Bag was officially closed though the lights in the parking lot were still on. It was overcast, a little eerie, the moon was hidden behind clouds and you were trying to drown your sour mood in beer before you’d have to go home and torture your ears with the sound of Tommy and Carol making out all night long.  

“Would you like to partake?” You asked, pulling a can from the plastic holder and extending it to him. It’d been a while since Steve and Tommy actually hung out. Senior year, they’d dissolved their friendship over your brother’s bizarre need to kiss Billy Hargrove’s ass and Steve’s realization that your brother was arguably the worst person on earth, but you kind of missed Harrington.  

Steve took the beer, popping the can and then climbing up next to you on the trunk. The now-four pack of beer scraped against the paint as it was pushed back but you didn’t pay it any mind, taking another sip from your can. “So, what’s got you out here at night?” Steve asked looking over and meeting your eyes in the dim light of the parking lot.  

“Shitty date, what else?” You grumbled. As much as you imagined some alternate universe in which Steve would find out that you went on a date and suddenly realize his undying love for you, it hadn’t happened yet. “Is every basketball player in Hawkins a massive asshole?”

“Hey,” Steve looked mildly offended, “I used to be a basketball player!”

“Yeah? You also used to be a massive asshole.” You laughed, “you know I’ve known you like, all my life Steve? I remember what a dick you could be when you were friends with Tommy.”  

He grimaced around another sip of beer, you had a point, he couldn’t deny that. “Point taken. I’m not now though...we should hang out more often, I’ll prove it to you.”  

“How are you gonna prove to me that you’re not a dick? Like, help an old lady across the street or something?” You teased.  

“I have plenty of character references.” He replied, taking a sip of his beer and side-eyeing you.  

“Like...I’m gonna need written statements Harrington.”  

“Dustin-”

“Henderson? That kid is a dick too!” You laughed, laying back against the window of the car, “I used to baby sit him in eighth grade. Unless you’ve got Will Byers vouching for you, none of the brat pack are gonna suffice.”

“Okay, okay...Robin Buckley.” Steve replied, “and Nancy will tell you too. I’m fully reformed. Besides, you know I’m not a dick.”

You smiled, “yeah, I know, I just like pushing your buttons. Besides, Tommy’s not around to bust my ass for not ‘being nice’ to you. And I might be a teeny, tiny, bit drunk.” You said, holding your forefinger and thumb close together to signify how little you’d had. In actuality it was a bit more than that, you’d gone through two tall cans before Steve had come up.  

“Yeah, let's take these and get you home,” Steve slid off the trunk of the car and took the remaining four cans, opening the backdoor to put them in under the seat. You were still laying back against the car, watching him as he shut the door and came back over to you. “Keys?”

“I can drive.” You promised, holding up the keys to your car as if you were showing them off to him, the little disco ball Vicky had bought you as a birthday present glittering in the light.  

“I would feel better if I did.” He insisted, taking the keys with little resistance.  

You slide all the way off the car and stood up once your feet hit the ground. “We should hang out more.” You announced, going around to the passenger side of the car. “I mean, you and Tommy aren’t friends, so we should be.”  

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” Steve replied, waving his arms at you. “You’re the one who told me I was an asshole.”  

“I said all basketball players are assholes and you used to be a basketball player so...yeah. Whatever that conclusion was.” You said. You slumped in your seat, putting your feet up on the dash and staring out the window as Steve pulled out of the parking lot. Hawkins was pretty much dead at this point, everyone off the streets and home. The streetlamps felt dimmer than usual as Steve drove the familiar roads back to your house.  

Steve had spent almost every day from the moment he got his license until the falling out with Tommy driving the road from his house to yours. He could probably drive it blindfolded if he had to. It felt like just yesterday that he was driving to hang out with Tommy and Carol at your house, pulling into the carport behind your mom’s station wagon.  

“You know, I miss you coming over.” You mentioned, mirroring Steve’s thoughts as he parked the car.  

“Even though I’m an asshole?” He joked. Steve pushed the driver’s side door open and then came around to your side, opening it for you and helping you out.  

“Tommy’s a bigger asshole.” You replied, letting him help you stand up, “at least when you were around, he didn’t bother me so much.”  

Since Steve still had your keys, he flipped through the keychain, finding the one to your house and unlocking the front door for you to go in first. He handed the keys back over and hung in the doorway, the screen door against his back. “So...my car is back at the Shop’n’Bag...”

“Do you wanna come in Steve?” You asked, rolling your eyes at him as you stepped aside to make room for him to walk passed you.  

“I mean, if you insist.” He teased, walking into the living room.  

You weren’t sure if you actually did more than pass out on the couch after that. When you woke up in the morning you knew you were dressed in your pajamas and you vaguely remembered changing before carrying blankets and pillows into the den for Steve. When he suggested watching a movie you agreed, putting on Fast Times at Ridgemont High and taking one of the blankets you’d brought for him.

By the time you woke up, you could hear your mom in the kitchen making breakfast, the smell of coffee already emanating through the first floor of the house. Steve groaned, stretching his arms above his head from the awkward angle of half-sitting while sleeping.  

“Your mom still burns coffee.” He whispered, grimacing as he met your eyes.  

-

After that, it felt like Steve was at your house all the time. If he wasn’t working or hanging out with Robin (or even when he was hanging out with Robin), he’d show up at your house. He was more than positive that it would be weird, coming over again when he wasn’t friends with Tommy anymore, and he was surprised that it wasn’t. There were a couple run ins with your brother but not too many and he didn’t really find himself caring either.  

Instead, he found himself actually enjoying spending time with you. So much so that Robin would tease him about his ‘girlfriend’ when you weren’t around and ask when he was going to “grow a pair and ask you out” as if it was that simple.  

“Finesse Robin, this takes finesse.”

“Finesse?” She almost choked on her soda as she looked over the counter at him. He was sorting new VHS tapes on the endcap and she was stealing the fries she promised to leave for him, “what’d you buy a dictionary over the weekend?”

“Haha, very funny.” He mocked, “all I’m saying is, I’ve known her like...most of my life. I can’t just walk up to someone who probably thinks of me the same way she thinks of her brother and profess my feelings.”

“Okay, first of all...if she thinks of Tommy the way I know she thinks of you...I’d be seriously worried about her. And second of all, just tell her. God, why do you people draw everything out like this? You think if I could just walk up to Vickie and tell her I liked her I’d be sitting here mulling over her day in and day out? No way! I’d be tongue deep-”

“Nope! No. Thank you, moving on.” Steve snapped, his whole face turning red, “Like I was saying, I need something more compelling.”

“More compelling than telling her you have a massive crush on her that you never had before because you were too busy being an asshole to realize what an awesome person she was?”

Steve glared at her, “you know you really put things in perspective for me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah...I need new friends.”  

The peptalk from Robin didn’t get any more helpful as the weeks turned into months and neither did his own peptalks, usually consisting of some sort empowerment speech in front of his mirror in the morning. It always felt promising but then he’d roll up to your house and you’d walk out and all the things he’d practiced saying to his reflection would die on his tongue. How was he supposed to do this?  

It was embarrassing, if he really thought about it too long. The more time he spent with you, the more time he wanted to spend with you and the more he felt himself getting tongue-tied and flustered and all the things that Steve Harrington did not get. Especially not around Tommy Hagan’s little sister. He’d known you since you were five, he had memories stacked like books in his head of all the times you’d even remotely embarrassed yourself in his presence and yet, somehow, he couldn’t conjure up the image of you doing a single embarrassing thing ever.  

Instead, on pizza nights when the two of you (or three because even when he specifically told Robin not to show up she was somehow already at your house, claiming she wanted to see Steve embarrass himself) hung out, it was like everything you did was endearing.  

“Why are you staring at me?” You’re voice broke him out of his thoughts and brought him back down to earth, looking over at you from where you were sitting on the other side of the couch. How was it that Robin managed to be sitting between the two of you?

“What?”

“You’re like hardcore staring at me eating this slice of pizza.” You replied. You knew he wasn’t staring at Robin, simply because she was slumped against the cushions, practically molding into them as she stared at Jodi Foster with wide eyes.  

“I was just...wondering if the pepperoni was any good?” It came out sounding more like a question than a statement, the whole sentence clunky and awkward anyway. What was he even talking about.

You looked skeptical as you appraised him, eyebrow arched in question and frown on your face, “well you ate like three pieces of pepperoni so...guess that’s your answer?”  

“Right, right.” He nodded, quickly turning back to the tv. God, what was this movie about? He’d gotten it because you’d said it was a favorite of yours and for the life of him he couldn’t even remember what he was suppose to be watching. “So...this guy like, drives a taxi?”

“I mean, yeah. That’s the basic like...concept I guess?” You replied, almost laughing, “are you not paying attention?”

“Can we all stop talking?” Robin asked, sitting up further in her seat, “I’m trying to enjoy this movie and you’re both yapping at each other.”  

“He was staring at me!”

“I was staring at the pizza!”

“That’s weird! Why are you being weird?” You pushed.  

“I’m not being weird!”

Robin leaned forward, grabbing the remote off the coffee table and pausing the VHS, slumping back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. There was no use trying to enjoy the movie now.

“Oh my god, Steve, you’re being super weird. We’ve known each other forever, literally. I mean, you walked me to the nurse the first time I got my period. If that wasn’t weird for you, I don’t know why you’re being weird now.” You replied, insistent on the matter. You knew he was acting strange, he had been for a while now. The more the two of you hung out the weirder he was with you.  

“Note to self, revisit that story.” Robin muttered under her breath as she grabbed the pizza box and headed into the hallway and up the stairs to your room. She’d wait this out with some slices of pepperoni while you and Steve decided whether or not now was the right time to tell each other you were both majorly crushing on the other.  

“I’m not being weird.” He said, running a hand through his hair and then shaking it out, “I just...and I mean in school I was...and now...and you’re, you know. You know.”

“I literally don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Steve groaned, exasperated by the conversation and his inability to get his point across and the fact that he knew he was being weird. He was so painfully aware of it and he tried so hard not to be weird every day and it just never worked.  

“Listen,” he stood up, moving to stand in front of the television with his hands on his hips, looking more like your mother about to reprimand you and less like someone professing their undying love. “Listen,” he repeated, “I like you. A lot. And that’s weird for me okay. I mean, Steve Harrington,” he pointed to himself, “I was like...in highschool you know...and now. I mean, what, I work at the video store and I’m friends with a freshman and Robin?”

“Hey!” Robin shouted from the top of the steps, “you are lucky to be friends with me!”

“Sorry, I’m trying to do a thing here!” He shouted back.

“Not very well?” You laughed.  

Steve turned back to look at you, “look I’m just trying to tell you I want to date you.” It didn’t use to be this hard, was what he wanted to say. He used to know how to  do this, how to flirt and ask girls out and have them practically swooning over every word. Was it Nancy that broke him? Or the upside down? Or Billy stealing his top spot? Or everything bundled up into one?  

“So tell me you like me.”

“What?”

“If you like me so much, why don’t you just tell me.” You replied, “just because I think you used to be an asshole doesn’t mean I don’t like you. And just because we’re friends and I’m not swooning over your every word doesn’t mean I don’t like you either. I like you, a lot. I have since sixth grade Steve.”

“Seriously?” He felt surprised, he was sure he looked surprised. Whether it was just because you actually reciprocated the feelings he’d been agonising over telling you about or because you’d been harboring a secret crush on him this whole time, “so, you’ve liked me for like, years?” He asked, a smirk slowly washing away his nerves.  

“Oh my god,” you fell back against the couch cushions, grabbing a pillow to toss at him, “you are such an asshole!”  

“I’m just trying to get the facts straight here.”

“You know what, I liked you more when you were watching me eat pizza like a creep.”  

[ghostcombustion]

Rebound

Steve Harrington x F!Reader

A/n : this is my first time posting on Tumblr so don't be scared to give me some construction criticism

NOT EDITED

Summary : Y/n has been in love with Steve since they were children. Everything changed when Steve turns a different page and leaves Y/n behind. When they meet again, Y/n realizes her feelings never went away.

Mentions : depressive thoughts, one sided romance, heartbreak, suicidal tendencies

You hated to admit it but you had been in love with Steve Harrington since the first day you met him. As a kindergarten, you didn't fully understand what your parents meant by getting a divorce. For a hot second, your immature mind thought it might of been a good thing.

That was until your mother moved out. That's when it hit you that divorce wasn't a good thing.

Tommy Hagan, your neighbor, was one of the first to hear about your parents divorce and he wasted no time picking fun at you because of it. Every minute of every day, he bullied you non stop until one day you just went silent instead of arguing. The young boy stood their confused but still continued.

The next thing you knew, he was on the ground holding his eye and crying like a baby.

"That's what you get..... bitch..." You snarled while flipping her hair.

And that's when you saw him, Steve Harrington. Your heart fluttered as he laughed at the boy crying in the ground.

From that day on, you two were close. Constant playdates, lunch swapping and playing stupid made up games.

Everything was good until highschool hit. The two of you went two different directions. Steve started getting close to Tommy and soon was one of the most popular kids. His preppy style and love for sports brought him to the top of the pyramid.

On the other hand, there was you. Your love for grunge and singing songs on your guitar while occasionally rocking out with Eddie Munson or Jonathan Byers had brought you to the very bottom. You'd been classified as one of the freaks.

For a while, you didn't mind. Popularity never really mattered to you. It was a foolish thing to think that.

Slowly, you felt Steve pulling away from you. The constant excuses of being sick and grounded just broke you to bits. The one day, you just stopped. Why chase a guy who wanted nothing to do with you?

It was painful to watch your first love and your best friend fade into a different person. You spent endless nights crying in your pillow and wishing that he would someday change his mind and come back. There were multiple nights that you were lost in the though if you dying. And each time you thought of it, you'd imagine he would be there. Steve would be there and apologize for being a shitty friend and would show he cared.

But that was all a fantasy. A stupid fucking fantasy.

Unlike the other "freaks", you were never bullied. Tommy was scared of you and warned the others to stay away from you like you were a plague.

You helped in the search of Will Byers seeing as he was your friend's brother but ended up getting looped into a new world of things you wished you could unsee.

When Dustin Henderson came for you to help, you didn't hesitate and helped him with everything he needed. That included trapping an interdimensional dog in a storm cellar.

Before you had time to even breath, you were working with the one person you doubted you would ever talk to again.

His eyes staring into your own ignited a flame you thought had been blown out. When he stood by you, you couldn't ignore the way your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest. How when his hand brushed against his, your body just melted and everything would feel so right.

It was the night after everything had finally finished. The demodogs we're finally gone, the mind flayer had been defeated, and the gate had finally been closed.

To blow off steam, you went your own way. Not really wanting to be apart of the celebration at the Byers. Nobody protested when you left. They were just all so excited to have life return to normal.

Unbeknownst to your knowledge, Steve had filled you into the forest. It wasn't until you heard a large snap from behind you that you noticed.

You had heard from Jonathan that him and Nancy had sorta broken up. Not officially but both parties knew their time together was coming to an end.

"Why are you following me?" You questioned while resting your body on the side of a random tree.

Steve casually shrugged, "Just felt like it." He replies casually much to your dismay. His hand ran through his hair making your heart burn.

"I was thinking-- I dunno." Steve took in a sharp breath and began walking up to you. "Y/n..." He breathed while blocking you from leaving.

Your mind went blank and your body went totally numb as his soft lips pressed against your own. Of course you wanted to kiss him. You really wanted to fucking kiss him. Maybe call him your own and finally become what you always wanted to be.

Instead, a pit in your stomach grew and a single tear fell from your eye. You pushed him away.

"No." You said sternly while harshly biting on your bottom lip.

"what? No it's obvious you like me Y/n!" He reasoned and furrowed his bushy eyebrows.

You shook your head and sighed, "I do. I can't lie Steve. I've been in love with your for years but I not going to do this. I'm not going to be your rebound after Nancy."

The brunette in front of you scoffed, "A rebound?"

"Steve, it's been like two fucking weeks. You can't get over someone that quickly." You swallowed while trying to hold back the tears threatening to overflow.

"You're crazy..." He laughed while pacing back and forth. "You think I'd use you as a rebound? I thought we were friends!"

"We were friends!" You shouted. Your face scrunched up and you turned your head to the side. "We were friends until you blew me off to be friends with Tommy and Carol. And maybe we had something going on okay? A redemption of some sorts but Steve, you ruined it. I'm not going to let my feelings influence me into being a distraction for you!" A soft breath left your lips. "You can't use me as a distraction--"

"I can if I want!" He blurted out. Immediately his eyes filled with regret and he reached a hand out to you. "Y/n, I didn't--"

You smiled and shook your head, "Like I said, a rebound."

[metalheadcowboy]

Billy and Tommy pleaseeeeeee

“Christ,” Tommy huffed, back arching almost perfectly around the arm of his old beat up couch, sat against the back wall of his basement.

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Wasn‘t the first time Tommy had found himself caught between a rock and a hard place with Billy being the rock and the wood paneled wall on the other side of his couch being the hard place. But, it definitely wasn’t something that happened frequently.

It really only came into play when the Hawkins summer heat became too much for Billy to handle, when he got that bone deep itch and couldn’t find anybody else to scratch it.

It only happened when Tommy’s family went out for the afternoon leaving the two boys on their own and Billy got that telltale smirk on his face. When the blonde would openly palm the growing bulge in his jeans and moan like a fucking porn star until Tommy had no other choice but to take notice, turning his attention away from whatever shitty daytime TV show they happened to be watching.

But it didn’t usually end up like this, with Tommy on the receiving end at least, but he supposed Billy was feeling generous today, for once. Or maybe there was some sort of catch that Tommy hadn’t quite figured out yet. Either way, for the time being, he surely wasn’t complaining.

Billy might be feeling generous, but that didn’t mean he was any less of a tease. Kitten licking the outline of Tommy’s hard cock trapped behind a thin layer of white fabric, mouthing at his balls until he’s squirming and begging for actual contact.

”C’mon, Billy!” Tommy whined in the high pitched, crackley way he did when he got all needy and pent up.

“Patient, princess,” Billy mumbled against the soft inside of his freckled thigh before giving it a quick kiss.

Tommy’s legs were shaking where they rested, draped over Billy’s shoulders, ankles still attached by the stiff fabric of his jeans, toes curling inside his socks.

“You really do suck, you know that?” Tommy looked up towards the ceiling trying to hone in on the pleasure he was getting from this instead of the blue balls Billy was almost totally likely to give him.

“You wish, Hagan.” And, yeah, he really did wish. Wished that Billy would just fucking suck him off already before he came embarrassingly quick in his underwear like he was thirteen all over again.

Truth was, since Carol had had left for her ‘college visit road trip‘, as titled by her father at the beginning of the summer, he’d been pent up as hell. Waking up humping pillows like a bitch in heat, getting hot and bothered over sex scenes in movies he didn’t even blink an eye at before. It was rough. That’s why they came to this little agreement.

For as long as Carol was gone, he was allowed to get his rocks off with Billy. Per her permission of course. And that’s how they ended up here.

”If you don’t blow me right now, I swear I’m gonna fucking smother you, Hargrove-“ Tommy threatened through gritted teeth, looking down at Billy who was practically nuzzling his crotch like a cat.

Billy just looked up at him with a goofy, smug grin, “Kinky.” And Tommy had had enough.

He let out a rather loud, rather dramatic ‘ugh!’ before clamping his thighs shut, squishing Billy’s face between them. It didn’t cut of any kind of air, but it did make the younger boy look funny, and make his thighs itch because of the short stubble Billy had been growing.

“Give up yet?“ Tommy questioned, taking his chance to be the smug one now.

Billy just say there for a second while they stared at each other before finally giving in, “Fine, fine, you win,” he admitted in surrender, Tommy smiling like the damn Cheshire cat while he let his legs fall limp again.

Billy didn‘t break their eye contact as he leant forward, hand coming up to drag calloused finger tips up Tommy’s shaft, lips pressing a chaste kiss to the head of his prick.

The freckled boy‘s whole body twitched hard, drawing harsh shivers out of him along with heavy breathing. It was like Billy’s way of getting the last word before he gave into Tommy’s demands.

Tommy’s boxers were pulled down in one fowl swoop, Billy’s fingers curling between soft flesh and the elastic waistband until the other boys dick popped free and slapped against his abdomen, leaving a slick smear of pre on pale, spotted skin.

“Fuck,” Tommy hissed, losing the warm confines of his underwear and Billy’s mouth, instead getting the cool breeze from the mediocre fan sitting in the corner of the room.

“This for me?” Billy questioned, cocking an eyebrow as he looked up and down Tommy’s shaft

Tommy ran his fingers along the ripples fabric of the corduroy couch in an attempt to keep himself somewhat grounded and focused on not exploding the second Billy put his mouth back on him.

”Yeah,” He breathed loosely, submitting all too easily to the promise of Billy’s warm mouth.

And with that Billy stuck his tongue out, licking a stripe from Tommy’s balls to the head of his cock before swallowing him down like it was nothing. Because, compared to when he fooled around with Steve last winter, it kind of was, sorry Tommy.

The older boy swore in that moment his soul left his body, the moment Billy went down on him nothing else in the world mattered because it felt like heaven.

He let out a gasp that filled the whole room. Someow his lungs felt too full and yet breathless at the same time.

Even without a cocky look on his face, Tommy could tell that Billy knew he was good. Of course he did.

“Jesus, Bill,” he moaned, letting one shaky hand find its way into Billy’s perfectly styled curls. A bit of pride swelling in his gut when he didn’t complain about having his hair messed up. Billy simply looked up at him through thick lashes with furrowed brows before getting back to work.

It was honestly embarrassing how fast Tommy came, really. But how could he not when someone so beautiful was catering to him.

Right before be shot off Billy pulled off, allowing Tommy to paint the inside of his mouth with his cum while he pumped him through it, milking him for everything he had until he was wiggling and whining from over sensitivity, until Tommy had to pull him off by yanking at his hair.

Normally, Billy would have swallowed, but this time he got an idea, a gross idea, but when did that ever stop him?

he swished spit around in his mouth, collecting Tommy’s cum mixing with his saliva until he was sure he’d gotten most of it.

Tommy was exhausted, orgasm knocking all the wind out of him, chest rising and falling with every deep breath filling his lungs. Suddenly Billy’s thumb was pulling at his chin, opening his already lax mouth even wider.

He spat. The thick mix of cloudy cum and spit shooting right into the back of Tommy’s throat, giving him little time to be surprised before Billy was using the heel of his hand to shut his mouth right back up, placing his palm over his lips.

“Swallow.” Tommy just kind of looked up at the blonde with wide eyes, dumbfounded. He couldn’t be serious, could he?

”Swallow, bitch.” And Billy had a glint in his eyes that meant business. That’s when Tommy swallowed, jaw tightening, throat contracting to take down Billy’s spit and his own spunk.

Then Billy’s demeanor changed, eyes that were once so serious softened, the hand covering his mouth traveled to cup his cheek, “Good boy,” he praised, drawling one last whimper from Tommy’s lips as his firm knee lightly brushed against his sensitive, freshly drained cock.

”Now,” Billy moved on,”My turn.”

Of course.

[skullrock]

the captain

pairing: Steve x Hagan!Reader

request: Can I please request a fluffy fic where Steve falls for Tommy H’s sister? She stops by Scoops Ahoy to buy ice cream and they go all “Oh, it’s been a long time since we last saw each other” kind of? I love your writing so much 🥺

word count: 1.8k

warnings: Steve being Big Idiot, mentions of T*mmy H*gan 

a/n: tommy’s party by peach pit intensifies in my head 

===

“We’re out of sea-berry.”

Robin doesn’t look up from her book. “What?”

Steve grabs the empty container from the display case and nearly chucks it in her direction. “We - are out - of sea-berry.” He chucks it dramatically into the trash and throws his hat on the counter, then leans forward to rest his head in his hands.

“Steve, it’s just ice cream,” Robin says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I am having a bad day.”

Robin’s brows knit together. “Because we’re out of sea-berry?”

“It’s not about the ice cream, Robin,” he says, lifting his head to glare at her. “It’s about working at a shitty minimum wage job with this stupid hat and my arms hurt from scooping stupid ice cream for stupid customers.”

Robin puts her book down and sighs, hopping off the counter. She claps Steve’s shoulder and he bristles at the feeling. “Hey, slinging ice cream isn’t stupid.”

“Oh?” he asks. “In this - in this costume?” Steve tugs at his shirt. “You don’t think this job is stupid?”

Robin winces. “Spoiled,” she mumbles, and leans against the back counter. “How’s the girl thing coming along?”

Steve sighs loudly, dramatically, and leans against the cooler, back to the seating area. “How do you think?”

“I haven’t kept track today, but knowing your record, not good.”

“I give up!” he cries out, throwing his hands up. “I give up. The - the - God or whatever - wants me to suffer. I am fruitless.” He stares at the ground and crosses his arms. “My dad’s trying to teach me a lesson on being responsible and the universe is trying to teach me a lesson on being - I don’t know.”

“Not an asshole?”

Steve winces now, eyes trained on his shoelaces. “Yeah, maybe.”

Robin sighs, feeling some pity for the boy in front of her. “Look, you only have a few more hours, okay? Just make it til then.”

Just make it til then. Steve can do that, he thinks.

And then you come into the store.

Steve does a double take, looking up from the to-do list he’s reading for the fiftieth time that day. His brows furrow and he goes a bit slack-jawed, shocked to see you. He hadn’t seen you in forever - since junior year, at least. He hadn’t even thought about you; Tommy and all things related had been forcefully eradicated from his mind. But he knows you from anywhere - knows the freckles and hair, knows your smile. Knows the laugh you share with a friend before you walk into the store, alone, playing with your wallet.

Steve continues to stare with his mouth agape as you approach, and you also do a double-take. You remember Steve - of course you remember Steve. He was all you thought about while Tommy was close with him. You’d begged your brother two things your whole life - to stop being a dick and to get Steve to go on a date with you.

Of course, he did neither.

But you’re grown up now, more confident and less desperate for a date. Still, despite the growth, you’re completely smitten. Steve’s even cuter now, has grown into himself. His hair, salon-highlighted, bounces as you both make eye contact. You remember the moles on his neck, his hands, his eyes - god, his eyes, warm and brown and always kind even when Steve wasn’t. And he was kind, to you, at least. You could always see past the bullshit facade. You knew who he was, deep down. You knew him as a quiet boy at the pool, the one who said please and thank you to your mother, the one who shoved Tommy when Tommy was mean to you. He always wanted to make you laugh, no matter what. You just felt comfortable with him.

You realize at this point that you’ve stopped walking and you blush as your feet begin to work again.

“Look who it is,” you say, smiling widely. “The one that got away.”

Steve smiles despite not understanding the joke. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi, Steve.”

“Been a long time,” he says, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah.” You smile sadly. “Tommy wouldn’t tell me what happened. I just knew I wasn’t going to see you anymore.”

Steve stiffens a bit at the mention of Tommy, but he shrugs a shoulder. “Well, you know -”

“I do know,” you say. “I wish I could lose Tommy and Carol.”

“I guess I got lucky, huh?”

“Yeah, guess you did,” you say, eyes trained on his. “And I got unlucky. I missed you.”

Steve perks up a bit, but his brows twitch together. “You missed me?”

“I - yeah,” you stutter, blushing. “Yeah. You were always cool and nice to me.”

Steve’s smile widens and he leans against the counter, clasping his hands together. “Yeah? Well, maybe I missed you, too.”

“Really?”

“You were fun,” he says, “and I think we connected because deep down, we both hated your brother.”

“And Carol.”

“And Carol,” he laughs. “God, remember when they made me have a pool party? And you and I went inside and played Monopoly for hours while they made out at the pool?”

You laugh, too. “Jesus Christ, your pool probably has mono.”

“Probably.”

You both stare at each other a little longer before you clear your throat. “So - ice cream? What do you recommend? I’ve never been here.”

“Lucky you,” he says, straightening. “Well, we’re out of sea-berry -”

Robin sighs behind him and he turns to glare at her, not enjoying the audience, but whips back around to you. “But we have other flavors.”

“Oh, boy,” you say, your smile starting to hurt your face. “Lay ‘em on me.”

Steve takes you through each flavor, dramatically reciting what they are and what the selling point is, handing you a small spoon for each one. You really don’t care to taste them all, but you care about talking to him - you care about your fingers brushing every time he hands you a sample, how his eyes light up when he laughs, how dorky he looks and sounds.

“We also have sundaes and stuff,” he says, “which I can also attempt to sell to you.”

“Do you make this much of an effort every time you make a sale?”

“No, just for you.”

You both blush but the smiles stay, and Robin is nearly gagging behind Steve because it’s frankly disgusting to watch straight people flirt.

“What do you usually get?” you ask. “I think I trust your judgement.”

“I don’t give this place my money,” he says, “but when I steal, I always get the USS Butterscotch.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What is it called?”

“Look, I didn’t name it!”

You laugh. “I bet you didn’t pick your uniforms, either.”

Steve snorts. “No way, I’d pick something much nicer -”

“What, like a pastel striped polo?” Robin quips from behind him.

Steve whips around again and opens his mouth to retaliate, but you say, “I think it looks good on you.”

He turns to look at you, head inclined as if to say yeah, right. “No, I look stupid.”

“No!” you protest. “It’s really nice. The color is nice on you.”

Steve can’t stop the blush that creeps onto his cheeks, and he rubs the back of his neck. “You think?”

“Yeah,” you say casually. “And it really shows off your arms and legs.”

At this point, Robin gets up and walks to the back, leaving you and Steve alone. Finally.

“What about my arms and legs needs shown off?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. “Like you don’t know.”

“Like I don’t know what?”

“That you’re cute.”

Had Steve been drinking, he would have done a spit-take.

“I mean - like - uh. Like - you’re - conventionally. Attractive,” you add, anxiety gripping your veins. “Like. You know.”

Steve smirks. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” you say, leaning across the cooler to tug on his ascot. “You know you’re attractive. That was your one personality trait.”

Steve pouts. “Hey -”

“I’m kidding,” you say, pushing him a bit before leaning back to your side of the cooler. “I’d like a - whatever you said earlier.”

Steve whips his scooper out and twirls it in his hand before getting to work. You smile as you wait, watching him do everything very dramatically and with flair. He turns and produces the concoction to you, gesturing towards it theatrically before handing it to you.

“How much?” you ask, reaching for your wallet again.

“No way,” he says, crinkling his nose. “You’re not paying.”

Your shoulders drop and you frown. “Steve, come on -”

“It’s on me. I like to steal from this place.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Like Robin Hood.”

“Sure,” he says, not knowing who that is. “Like Robin Hood.”

“This better be good,” you say. “Because I’m not coming back if it sucks.”

“That’s too bad,” he pouts, leaning against the cooler. “I guess that means I’ll have to see you outside of work, then.”

You raise a brow and smile, grabbing the spoon in your dish. “Let’s see.”

You slowly take a bite. It’s actually pretty good, but you want to see Steve somewhere else.

“It sucks,” you say. “Worst thing I’ve ever had.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “I guess that means I’ll have to meet you at the movies tomorrow at eight?”

“I guess so,” you say, trying to suppress a smile. “What a bummer.”

Steve smiles fondly. “What a bummer.”

After a few moments of intense eye-contact, the bell at the counter rings, signifying Erica Sinclair’s entrance. Steve sighs and grits his teeth, looking back at you with a sympathetic smile. “I’m very glad you came in here.”

“Me too,” you smile. “Tomorrow? Eight? Movies.”

“Tomorrow, eight, movies,” he repeats, nodding, and you smile wider at how his hair bobs over his forehead as he does.

“Sailor Man!”

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles, sending you one last smile before going towards the register.

===

“That was so gross,” Robin scoffs. “You guys - ugh. For fifteen minutes!”

Steve smugly smiles at her. He walks towards her board and grabs her marker, dramatically drawing a ‘I’ on his side of the board. “I rule.”

“This time,” Robin says, unable to hide her smile. “This time, you rule.”

===

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[cockasinthebird]

Now I don’t know if you take requests, but If you do here’s an idea. What about Steve being the King Steve he was, but he’s very slutty one and lets guys fuck him a lot. He would be such a tease to Billy at a party, grind his ass on Billy’s cock on purpose while they’re dancing, because he really wants this hot Cali boy to fuck him senseless already and that’s exactly what happens when Billy finally makes his move and fucks Steve somewhere away from other peoples eyes (Wow this got long sorry!)

Dearest anon, Don’t ever feel the need to apologise for such a long message, especially not one as grand as this!!! Here you go, just grazing 9 pages with the last line, so this is long yes, and I will “warn” you that there’s an excessive amount of dirty talking, at least to my standards, and a bit rough play, but nothing severe of course. Enjoy!

Another Saturday, another unsupervised party in the distant Harrington Mansion, music pulsating so vividly that Billy swears he can feel it through the soles of his heavy boots as he walks between cars parked on the grass.

It doesn't take a fool to know that the high and mighty King Steve has issues with the solitude his house brings, nestled between grand trees, so distant from the rest of the town that there's never once been a noise complaint. That he has issues with the lack of parental attention, and instead seeks to fill the emptiness of his house with his loyal subjects; particularly his bed.

Which might be why Billy always shows up, or maybe not, but who's to tell. Everyone's always at these parties filled with alcohol that Daddy Harrington pays for unknowingly, so it would be weird if Billy wasn't here, too, right? At least he's content with thinking so.

Billy knows loneliness like Steve does, seeks the cure for it just as well, finding brief notions of it when he's got his dick buried in any hole really, his body flooded with liquor, his head pounding to the beat of shitty synth.

So here he is, looking for a saving grace, to have another night filled with sweaty, writhing bodies, stepping through the front door to King Steve's castle once again; having stopped counting how many times around 20.

Just like last week, there's people everywhere – every single junior and senior that knows what's good can be found here, perhaps even a few older drunkards that has nothing better to do in this shit hole town than to crash a high school party.

And just like each and every other time, it's overwhelming in the best possible way. All senses gets fulfilled the second he's completely inside;

Sweaty bodies bumping shoulders as he squeezes his way through the hall, guys patting his shoulders, girls bashing their eyes, and he can't help but grin all smooth and charming at the attention.

Tight jeans and short skirts, bulging muscles and exposed cleavages, all so pleasing to his wandering eyes as his peers twists and turns to ensure he sees it all.

Through the music he can barely hear it when one girl says, “Looking good, Billy,” or when a guy leans in to ask, “Can I get you a drink?” as he makes it into one of the living rooms.

With every breath he takes, a wild and intrusive mixture of perfumes and colognes and deodorants fills his lungs to completion, cheap and expensive alike, and it brings him to life.

All there's left now, is to taste a nice, cold beer, and his soul will be satiated, the checklist for a good party completed, and the festivities could truly begin. But when he turns in to the kitchen, it isn't the giant fridge he focuses on, or the girls passing by, giving him all kinds of bedroom eyes, or the impressive array of chips on display on the kitchen island.

No he sees the host immediately, Steve Harrington, leaning with his back to the wall. His jeans sit a bit more snug than usual, and his tee a bit higher up; not exactly a crop-top per se, but just short enough to expose a gorgeous, wiry trail of hair dipping beneath his pants.

His face is turned towards Tommy Hagan who stands awfully close for that to just be a friendly conversation, and there's no doubt in Billy's mind what they're talking about, if the way Steve's eyes sliding up and down is any indication, or the way he bites into his lower lip.

There is no hiding why Steve is so popular, or why he remains on the top even though Billy managed to beat his keg stand record with ease. Hadn't been any hiding the way Steve leered at him at Tina's Halloween party either.

The first week in Hawkins Billy had caught Steve twice doing the most salacious things, that Billy to this day, 7 long months later, still think about daily.

Steve, on his knees in the showers of the boys locker room one Monday after practice, probably nearly drowning under the water with his mouth wide and stretched around some teammates cock. Even now Billy can recall the way he was moaning and gagging passionately; hears it louder in his mind than the music of the party.

Steve, underneath the bleachers during third period, skipping class to fuck hard into some blonde bitch who struggled to keep quiet as she stood bent forward, arms wrapped around one of the supporting beams for the seats above. And he can still see Steve's lewd expression as he caught Billy staring, Steve's mouth slipping into a sly smirk, eyes dark and heavy as he kept their gazes locked, cumming with the most enticing groan.

Of course that wasn't the last time he saw Steve like that.

Sometimes Steve was the one bent over, against a tree or knees in the grass. Billy has passed by that brown BMW bouncing and wiggling by the side of the road indiscreetly plenty of times. And at almost every party he's attended, he's watched Steve go in and out of rooms with anyone really.

One time he followed along, peeked in through the crack in the door, and watched from start to finish as Steve laid on his back on a desk, hands firmly around his neck, some dude balls deep inside of him.

But with one blink, Steve turns his head and looks directly at Billy, as if he knew the other was watching. And he tilts his head aside, allowing for Tommy to kiss and suck his way down the exposed neck, Steve's lips parting from the smile into something more comfortable.

Billy keeps staring, intently. Walks to the fridge, blindly reaches in to grab what he's hoping is a beer can, then leans against the counter; scarcely ever blinking as to not miss a single second of the show.

And it is ardently clear that Steve enjoys having an audience, enjoys performing. Eyes heavy on Billy, Steve lifts up his right hand in a slight fist, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he simulates giving a blowjob.

Something which Billy can't help but snort at for some reason, despite how the suggestion courses through him rapidly, and Steve seems to find that equally as humorous, as he laughs quietly.

He then grabs Tommy by the chin and guides him off of his sensitive neck. Steve says something that might sound like, “Not tonight,” which wipes Tommy's lustful grin right off. And when Steve looks towards Billy, Tommy's gaze follows right along, and now the freckled guy looks downright pissed off.

Billy stares with a strong intensity, daring him to try anything, as Tommy walks right by with a clear scowl, jaw tense and hands curled by his sides. But he manages to make his way out the kitchen without as much as a word.

When Billy turns to look for Steve again, he finds him standing right by his side, hip against the counter.

“Hi,” Steve purrs.

“Hey,” Billy says and lifts up his beer to take a sip, but Steve is quick to snatch it from his hand, to then drink from it slowly, eyes locked together.

Steve gives a little satisfied hum and licks his lips clean, a gesture that at this short distance sparks inside of Billy's chest, lighting him up.

“What's his problem?” Billy asks and nods in the direction of where Tommy had marched off. “Thought he was dating that Perkins girl.” He tries to play it cool, pretend he's above knowing who's who here, despite the fact that Carol has flirted with him enough times to need more than two hands to count on.

“Him and Carol loves to play this little game where they flirt with others at parties, get all excited at the thought of being unfaithful, then find a place to bang it out.” Steve offers Billy what's left of his beer, which is less than a half, and much less than what Billy needs to keep somewhat calm right now.

“So you and Tommy never...” he trails off, hoping that the insinuation is clear enough.

And judging by the way Steve smiles something so suggestive might just be enough of an answer, yet he says, “Wouldn't you like to know?” And watches how Billy's mouth opens to take a sip.

Neither of them talks as he empties the can. Billy watches how Steve is almost admiring the view; the bob of his Adam's apple, the way his shirt is unbuttoned nearly all the way, the tight fit of his jeans. And Billy wants to say something, a slight quip about enjoying the view, or if he sees something he likes, but it's redundant, because who doesn't like what they see when they look at Billy Hargrove, Keg King.

The tense silence between them gets interrupted, when some drunk girl shouts, “Steve!”

She's got dark hair, a low cut blouse, and an impossibly tight leather skirt. Pretty enough, Billy would say, but he can't remember her name; too many cows around here for him to bother learning what they're all called. It's only important that they know his name, yet it's Steve she calls for and reaches out to grab his hand.

“Steve come on,” she coos and sways even when standing still, “You owe me a dance for doing your essay!”

Steve doesn't resist when she starts pulling him along, just turns to Billy with a certain grin, and says lowly, “Duty calls.”

Admittedly, Billy is kinda impressed with just how easy it is for Steve, or rather, how easy Steve is.

And maybe he spends the next hour thinking about that, as he walks the party with a fresh beer in hand and a searching gaze, always keeping a lookout for where the host might have sneaked off to.

When he stops by the dining table to assist in a victory of beer pong, he's thinking about how often he's seen Steve in compromising positions, rarely ever with the same person twice in a row, but always with such a euphoric expression.

Or when he's standing with a gaggle of girls, charming his way into their hearts, and hopefully their panties, he's thinking about how Steve pays others to do his homework with the pleasure of his company, and how Billy got an A on his history test last week, and how he knows that Steve struggles with that especially.

And when he walks into the other living room that has been designated as a dance floor it seems, he's thinking about that happy trail being exposed whenever Steve raises his arms too high, the way his hair moves fluidly along with the motion of Steve's lively expression, the way his hips goes from side to side in rhythm to the music, and the way his grin twists something so delicious when almond eyes catch angelic blues staring.

Without missing a beat, Steve prances through the crowd; the flow of his body uninterrupted and damn near beautiful as he makes his way to still before Billy's motionless stature, and they share similar smiles as Billy looks at Steve with hooded eyes and something darkening the calm skies in his eyes, tongue out to wet his grin and Steve's appetite.

You Spin Me Round plays louder than Billy's thoughts, and Steve turns his back to him, dancing, arms up, making the shirt expose his dimples of Venus, and Billy finds himself wanting to grab on to the swaying hips, press his thumbs into where the skin dips in the small of Steve's back.

Billy's not much of a dancer himself, but he still sways slightly to the song, shoulders pumping to the rhythm of the least detestable song that's been played so far tonight. All the while he stares at Steve putting on quite the sweaty, twisting, swirling show, and it wouldn't be hard to believe that it is all for the enjoyment of Billy only, despite how others occasionally shoot jealous glares at the pair of them.

He doesn't even notice it when Steve takes a step closer, having once stood a respectable distance away, now so close that Billy can smell perfume on him; whether it's Steve who's gone diving in his mothers drawers, or from girls having been all over him tonight, is an uncertain factor, but he smells good. And perhaps Billy takes a step forward, the movement of Steve enchanting, but the Keg King would absolutely deny it. Deny that there's someone in town who can so easily bewitch him with barely any effort. Deny that he's not in control of this attraction no more than magnets are to metal.

But when there's contact between them as Steve accidentally grazes against Billy with his ass, it becomes increasingly difficult to sustain plausible deniability, and his salacious little smirk falls. And as Steve continues to flow with the rhythm, he meets with Billy's crotch again, this time with more accuracy- more force, and Billy chokes back a, “Fuck,” that wouldn't have been heard no matter what here. When it happens again and again and again, Billy feels heat drain down to pool near his gut, and with every timid grind against his swelling flesh, it ripples through him, like rain breaking surface tension, a fever pulsating.

And this time he takes a definite step forth, pressing himself into Steve's confident movement, who pushes back against him, hips circling around, plump cheeks pressing deliberately into the noticeable bulge now, and although Billy can't see Steve's face, he would bet money on how he's undoubtedly smiling at the attention.

Enough is soon enough, and Billy grabs on to Steve's hips with near brutish force, stopping the irritatingly erratic motion and pulls him as close as possible, so that hopefully Steve can feel just how hard he is.

He leans forward, lips at the shell of Steve's ear, as he growls, “If you don't stop what you're doing, I won't be able to hold back.”

Steve turns his head as far as he can, ass flush with Billy's trapped erection, and shows just how eager he is for that little promise; mouth not turned up in a smile, but hanging wide open as he pants out, “Then don't.” Honeyed eyes drowning in black, lashes fluttering as he gives a tentative roll of his hips, causing Billy to lurch forward, grinding into the friction with a stuttering notion.

Behind a locked door, Steve's desk slams against the wall as he lands on it, Billy shoving at him, tearing off his shirt and dipping down to kiss rudely and bite along the exposed shoulder. Steve with his legs spread wraps them around Billy's firm hips and draws him closer to feel just how eager he is, too, as if the way he's moaning wasn't enough proof of that.

Steve yanks at golden hair to guide Billy up for a desirous meeting of lips, when Billy pulls away to hiss out, “You taste like pussy,” almost in wonder.

“Didn't think you'd mind that,” Steve chuckles then drives his slick tongue into Billy's mean mouth, feels how he sucks it all in, groaning at the mix of spit and booze and pussy that lingers. “How you want me, big boy?”

It takes Billy a second to understand he's being spoken to, as alcohol and his own unadulterated lust mixes in his system, making him grind all animalistic into the spread of Steve's thighs, like a fucking dog humping a leg.

“On your stomach, in bed,” he breathes out wetly and licks his lips to savor what's left of Steve there.

With a hand spread out onto his chest, Steve pushes Billy away, so that he can move off of the desk and step around the hulking, panting stature of Billy's burning hot body. There's a not-so-subtle chime of Steve's belt, his zipper going down a joyous melody, and honestly Billy shouldn't be this surprised to find out that Steve is going commando tonight, and perhaps he always is.

Billy doesn't move at first, paralyzed by the gorgeous curve of Steve's naked ass, how long and perfect his dick is, and he understands now why girls flock to him the way they do. Each and every mole across pale, lean skin the landmarks of a treasure map guiding you down between his legs.

And Steve crawls on to the bed, his knees just on the edge of the mattress, his back turned to Billy still, and he bends over, cheeks spread to expose his tight hole. Moves his right hand down between spread legs where his leaking erection hangs lonely, starts stroking it with slow pulls that brings out fresh moans, while his left hand goes past parted lips; two fingers knuckle deep as he sucks on them, tongue slipping between to get them proper wet and dripping.

“I want you so bad, Billy,” he whines once he's removes his fingers from his mouth. Leads them behind himself, presses both inside with ease, voice stuttering as he pumps them in and out. “Every since I saw you at Tina's party, ahh, when you knocked me off my throne, beat my keg stand record- fuck-” Fingers speed up for a moment, then slows down again, teasing himself- teasing Billy. “I've- I've never felt so defeated, so... alive.”

Billy feels his underwear stick where he's leaking, untouched, but the performance that of a lifetime, and fuck he wishes he had a camera – convinced Steve would be into that, into being filmed like this. He's heard rumors about certain Polaroid pictures circulating school, but he hasn't had the chance to see yet, although that only makes this all the more sweeter, to see King Steve in all his glory afresh.

He tugs his shirt off over his head, unbuckles and unzips, moving closer with a hand down to massage his painful, throbbing cock. Knows that Steve is watching him as he leers at his entrance begging for more, clenching something so unsatisfied at his own two fingers. Without warning, Billy slicks up his own fingers with spit and plunges them inside along with Steve's own two digits.

“Fuck, ahh!” Steve cries out and arches his back, “Your fingers are so thick.”

At a pace set by Billy, they dive in and out, stretching him together, and Billy sees it fit to spit right on him, lubing him up a bit more and moves faster as he intently listens to how Steve is moaning and calling out for more, harder, deeper.

“Jesus Harrington, you're so fucking insatiable...” Billy looks down at where Steve's eyes are closed tightly, knitted with pleasure, mouth wide open to let out all these delicious noises. “Such a slut,” Billy drawls, and is convinced that Steve's ass clenches a bit tighter at that word. Slut. “So hungry for my fat cock, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve whines and nods profusely, opening his eyes finally to catch cold waters meeting his gaze immediately. “Please,” he begs.

And as Billy pulls out his fingers, so does Steve, who brings both hands down to clutch at the bed sheets, his breathing shaky with anticipation, his prick drooling all over the blue covers.

“Lube and condoms in the top drawer, there,” he pants and points to the bedside table.

Where Billy is quick to yank it open and grabs both in one hand; his other continuously stroking himself through the trunks that are suffocating him, knowing that if he didn't keep that barrier of fabric in place, he'd blow far too soon from just the sight of Steve being so damn horny and needy.

“Can't wait to fill you up so good, princess,” he huffs as he slips on the condom.

Steve shakes his ass in a taunting manner with a lazy smile, and Billy can't help but laugh lightly at it, then brings his hand across one cheek, and-

“A-ah!” Steve moans out and presses his face deeper into the duvet.

And the grin that cracks across Billy's handsome features is awfully telling.

“I'm gonna fuck you so hard, baby, you won't be able to walk or sit straight for month,” he growls and licks his lips. “When I'm done with you, no other guy in Hawkins will be able to make you cum as good, won't satisfy you the same way I do.”

The cap of the lube pops open, and Billy slicks up two fingers, then promptly pushes them inside to lather Steve's ass up, who whines impatiently and moves his hips against the broad digits.

“Please, Billy,” voice all pathetic, “Just fuck me already.”

“Mmm patience,” Billy coos as he removes himself again, “Don't wanna hurt you by going in too dry.”

He covers his steely erection in a spirited amount of lube, excessively so as he strokes himself through the condom, and then goes to line up with Steve's fluttering hole, gasping, aching to be full. Pushes inside with nary a hint of kindness, bottoming out in one headlong swoop, leaving Steve moaning out long, and Billy grabs on with both hands to quell all motion between them, as he revels in how tight Steve is, how he's sucking him in.

“Oh fuck, Billy,” Steve keens and tries to move, but stern hands keeps him locked in place. “You're so big.”

“Yeah, I know,” Billy chuckles out like rumbling thunder in his chest.

Hands move off of Steve's hips to go grab two fistfuls of soft ass, where he spreads the cheeks as far apart as they can go, as to get a good and proper look at how his girthy cock is sunk deep inside, watches how the rim clench around him with a hunger to be thoroughly fucked. And at a pace menacingly slow, Billy pulls out, feels how every muscle clings to him like he's the most important thing in the world right now, and Steve whines as if it's true, too.

He keeps his stare there, watching with great interest as he moves till just his fat head remains inside, then shoves right back in, receiving the most vivid and alluring cry of his name from Steve's pretty pink lips.

“Billy- fuck, ah-” Steve moans with no inhibition as Billy sets a brutal pace of pulling out just to snap his hips back against Steve's exposed ass.

Skin slaps louder than the music downstairs, accompanied well by the squelching of Steve's dripping wet hole and his lascivious singing of praises and curses; the bed concurring with slight creaks. Steve arches his back in the most gorgeous curve, a pose with his plump ass raised with such expertise it shows just how often he's found himself like this, yet still calls out as if it's his first.

“Shit, princess, harrh, for being such a slut you sure keep tight,” Billy groans out as he slams his veiny cock into the most fantastic velvet heat.

A warmth that stirs perfectly at the base of his dick, waves of it washing down his thighs as he continues to chase his own high with the most ferocious will.

He bends forward, driving himself as deep as physically possible, and brings one hand down onto the back of Steve's neck, squeezing and pressing him into the bed.

“Yes- yes! Ah-” Steve croons like a bitch in heat, eyes rolling back, hands seeking for something to grab on to.

And Billy barks a laugh at how lost Steve becomes, how indignant and uncontrolled his voice becomes.

“You like it rough, huh bitch?” Billy growls like a wild hound, baring his canines and licking across the sharpness there, his thrusts rapid. “Like it when a real man fucks you?”

“Yes,” Steve chokes out, oh so pliant and dazed.

“Mmnh, hah, feel so good inside baby, sucking me in- my thick cock splitting you open.” Billy grazes his teeth across where he can reach on Steve's shoulder.

The response a whine, high pitched and erotic, and Steve reaches for himself-

But his wrist is quickly grabbed by Billy's other hand, pinning it above Steve's head; now most of Billy's heavy body weight pressing onto his neck, and his body tenses tighter.

“Fuck, ah,” Billy grunts as he feels muscles clasp around him like a vice. “Why don't you show me how beautiful you look cumming on my dick alone?”

“Billy,” Steve moans in a telling way of how close he is, and of how helpless he is. “I'm- I'm close-”

“Yeah you are.” Billy grins and bucks his hips all cruel and ruthless; wants Steve to remember this, to maybe be a bit sore after, cheeks red and ass puffy, throat sore from overuse. Want hims to know that absolutely no one else is ever going to make him nearly scream like this. “You're such an easy little whore, Stevie.”

“I am, ah- shit-” Steve admits readily, mumbles something more in agreeance, but all Billy can make out is his own name being called for again and again in tandem with his girthy cock hitting all the right spots.

It barely takes more than that before Steve's cumming; shooting hot and white all over his expensive sheets, body tensing up to a choking point that pulls Billy closer, the tightness unparalleled by any pussy he's ever been this deep in.

“Fuck that's hot,” his voice dripping with lust thick as honey.

“Don't- don't stop, please,” Steve's voice barely there, fucked out and hoarse, body going limp as he whines at the delicious overstimulation.

“Oh yeah, pretty boy? Want me to-” Billy gasps as he can barely manage words as he slams hard against Steve's worn ass, desperately clenching around him, and he stands up fully, plants his feet and digs his nails into fleshy hips. “-Want me to use you? Like a fucking toy?”

“Yes! Yes, Billy, fuck me-”

The wet slapping of skin in perfect harmony with Steve moaning a whole ballad, brings Billy to his blinding climax, forcing a stutter to his hips as he slams home hard enough for Steve to move up the bed, and he calls out with no restraint as his throbbing cock pulsates and kicks; draining him of all heat and energy into the condom buried deep in Steve's desirous hole.

As adrenaline seeps out, exhaustion comes in and he slumps forward, shoving at Steve's shoulder to keep him in place as he twitches and goes soft. Chest heaving, curls sticking to his neck and forehead, thighs sore from a good days work. He rubs the space between Steve's shoulder blades with a firm thumb, who hums pleasantly between equally exhausted pants.

But Billy has to pull out, takes off the condom and ties it neatly, before collapsing next to Steve on the bed.

And Steve rolls on to his side, rests his warm palm on sweaty pecks, smiling all satisfied and admiring the view of Billy's spent dick. “You did good, tiger... think you can go another round?”

Billy snorts abruptly – he can barely keep his eyes open right now. “Are you serious?”

Steve climbs right on top of him, landing with his own impressive cock side by side with Billy's vastly shorter, but definitely thicker, dick. He rocks back and forth all lazy like, sighing with a definite promise of more.

But Billy winces with a sharp inhale and reaches down to stop the motion of those pale hips on top. “Fuck- stop! I'm spent, go find some other hole to fulfill your needs.”

“Hmm...” Steve thinks about something, but climbs off never the less. “I'm gonna give you fifteen minutes, and if you're still to weak after that I can easily find someone else.”

He's quick to get dressed again, leaving Billy to feel, yes, weak and perhaps a bit piteous, sprawled out on King Steve's bed, a mess of sweat next to a pool of semen, yet Steve steps up to him and leans down.

“But,” he coos softly and smiles just so, “If you ever want to do this again, or something else, I can make room for you in my busy schedule.”

And Steve kisses Billy on the lips, making the poorer guy immediately desire more, but as Steve pulls away again, Billy continues to feel defeated and impossibly exhausted.

The last thing he notices before dozing off is the bedroom door closing.

[catharrington]

I may have scrolled down and see that promp list and... you know 😍. So can I ask for bodyswap & kegboys?

I have never never written body swap au before so bare with me!!!

@livedsomanylives thanks so much for the ask!! and here is a link for the list my ask is always open for more!

***

Steve woke up but it didn’t necessarily feel like he woke up, he was sure he was still dreaming. Laying down on his stomach, head slightly turned to the side, he saw a gaudy poster of a three headed Cerbus looking thing growling back at him. Steve blinked. Mostly sure he didn’t hang a poster on the back of his door while he was sleeping.

Then the door shook, rocked on its hinges, with a mean knocking noise. “Get the Hell up! You are not going to make Max late again because you were curing your hair!” And then more words were said but rushed and under the mans breath. Steve didn’t recognize the voice, but he sure was starting to get a grasp on the location.

He wasn’t sure how it happened but he must have slept over with Billy, maybe sleep-walked and climbed through his window sure, sure. Steve lifted himself and spun around to find the bed empty. He sat up and looked around and found the whole room empty. Except for him.

Steve hesitantly, reminding himself to take steady breaths, started towards the closet and small mirror set up there. He looked at his reflection, and Billy looked back.

Omg, he thought. It’s like a shitty sci-fi tv show. Steve felt Billy’s cheek and the beard trying to grow there, then across Billy’s head of tight curls, then he cupped one of Billy’s meticulously crafted abs. Then Steve stopped himself.

Don’t be a pervert, he sighed almost out loud.

“Hey, jerk, are you awake?” That was Max’s voice and Steve barely had anytime to consider how fresh weird this was before she busted the door open.

Steve blinked back at her, standing in only flannel pajama bottoms in front of the mirror, and she glared back at him, arms crossed and ready for school. School, Steve almost choked on the idea.

“Earth to Billy?” she shook her red hair.

“Get out!” Steve gasped, finally able to use words in this foreign throat, he turned to her and fluttered his hands in a wild motion, “get out, get out!”

She closed the door to his sputtereing, thankfully leaving Steve alone in his spazzing.

Just a minute later he comes out, now wearing a long sleeve shirt and maybe clean jeans he found on the floor while tugging on a denim jacket. Steve knew he looked crazy but he dressed with his eyes closed.

“About time,” the same man, Billy’s father, growled out. Steve kept as far from him and the breakfast table as possible. He shimmied across the kitchen counters making a bee line for the door.

“Max, let’s get going... to school.” Steve almost couldn’t finish his sentence listening to another voice come out of his mouth.

Thankfully, Max jumped up and lead the way to the Camaro.

This, I think I can handle, he slid into the driver side of the Camaro and whistled. Running his hands up the steering wheel, before twisting the key and listening to her roar to life. Steve wasn’t noticing; well he was ignoring, the way Max was judging him from the corner of her eyes.

Steve’s plan was simple; just drop Max off and find Billy. Well, find his own body. When he pulled into the high school parking lot he thanked the gods for not making him work too hard.

There Billy was, or rather Steve was, leaned on the side of his burgundy BMW, wearing the same faded tshirt he wore to sleep with a pair of jeans slapped on, and nawing the end of a cigarette like it owed him money. Oh, ding ding.

Steve pulled up right next to him, already ruined with the idea of Steve Harrington out for everyone to see smoking in the parking lot. Trying not to remember the way he went to bed in that shirt, and only that shirt on.

“Hey, man,” Steve started as he climbed out of the Camaro, but that’s as far as he got before another’s voice interjected.

“Oh my god,” Steve turned to look and Billy stopped short his rage march over to look too. And there was Tommy, freckles the same as the night before; newly painted pink with a blush.

Billy caught his eyes with a worrisome flick, reading the same Steve felt, he knows and he knows something about it.

“Oh my god,” Tommy repeated. This time higher pitched as Billy shoved him hard into the steel blue metal of the Camaro.

“Spill it, Hagan. Obviously some really twisted shit is going down and I don’t like it.” Billy drawled the words low but loud into Tommy’s face. Steve was a little weirded out by watching his own body shove around his best friend, got even more weirded out when he noticed Tommy’s pink blush double.

“Spill what ever the fuck you know. You hear me, freckles!” Billy yelled in Steve’s voice.

“Yeah yeah, I just don’t know how to reply!” He tried in vain to shove Billy off, but the feral fighting spirit of Billy coupled with the inches Steve has on Tommy meant he didn’t budge. “Okay!” Tommy threw his hands up, looking between them two.

“Alight, I’ll tell you.” Tommy surrendered. Steve let his eye contact drop and didn’t really mean to focus on the way Tommy was straining hard againt the front of his jeans. Oh, that’s interesting.

Billy kept him pinned; let up just a little but didn’t move away. Billy didn’t style or even brush Steve’s hair this morning. Steve at least tried to finger comb Billy’s mane into something presentable, but Billy didn’t even try. So Steve’s hair was wild in all directions and unhinged. He looked angry, or fucked out... one of the two.

That idea sent a shiver down Steve’s spine.

“I did this. Last night.” Tommy started quietly, word by word. “I found a book in my basement, in my grandmas old stuff. And it was like... it promised to make...,” he trailed off.

Billy wasn’t satisfied. He shoved his arm, Steve’s body’s bony elbow, right up to Tommy’s throat. “You used a book? Are you some sort of black magic devil fucker? Some creepy Evil Dead shit?”

“What?!” Tommy squeaked.

Steve finally decided to step in. He pushed against his own body to relax a little, pulling his taught arms away, having Billy’s muscles helped with that. Billy sneered like a pissed lizard but he backed off Tommy.

“Just let him finish.” Steve said softly, and the weirdness of Billy’s voice being that soft coming out of his mouth was not ignored by anyone. Especially Billy himself who blushed a little, squirming in the hold Steve kept on one arm.

Tommy rubbed his throat, didn’t make eye contact again, but continued. “It was supposed to make you guys... get over yourselves.” Billy’s little excuse me?! From the side was kept in check by Steve’s hold on his arm. He leveled him with a sharp glare before turning back to Tommy.

“What does that mean?” He asked, super confused.

Tommy rolled his eyes. He shuffled, bit his lip, eyed up Steve’s body coiled tight ready to attack him again, before he continued. “You guys like each other. It’s so annoyingly obvious, like the worst kind of obvious. I just wanted to... help?”

Steve let his grip lax on Billy, and Billy stopped trying to claw his way out. They kept touching the other. Then slowly turned and saw matching wide eyed stares. This is not exactly how Steve wanted to confess, like telling your crush while he’s snarling pissed off and trapped inside of your own body you like him isn’t exactly romantic, holy shit. But he gave a weak smile anyways.

“It wasn’t that obvious, don’t be dramatic,” Steve was clutching onto the one shred of standards he could keep.

Billy sputtered a little, his tongue swiped out to lick his lips, but he gave a weak cocked smile. And shrugged. “I mean,” he was holding his smile; then he blinked a few times and the anger was back, “hold on, you fucking cursed us?”

Tommy backed himself into the side of the Camaro this time to get away from the anger in Billy’s voice. “It’s temporary! Totally, totally temporary! But- I can reverse it. I think? With my grandmas book.” Tommy was talking to his own shoes, nervous and blushing, and Steve noticed still quivering in the front of his jeans. Those jeans must be uncomfortable.

“Then let’s go,” Steve offered. He pulled against Billy’s arm towards the Camaro. Sliding the cold keys into his hand. Then flicked his eyes up to Tommy’s.

Billy was hesitant but he took the cue. Only stopping to fake lunge at Tommy once before he got in the drivers seat. Steve walked after him, he stopped to drag a hand over Tommy’s shoulder in a comforting way. Before he grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and walked him to the passengers side.

“Let’s get this all sorted out in your basement, right? Then maybe if you don’t mess anything else up I’ll show you how thankful I am for all this soul revealing revelations shit.” Steve muttered.

Tommy couldn’t hide the smile on his face as he was shoved into the back seat and they speed off away from the high school.

[therogueheart]

Robin Buckley spends so much of her time trying to make sure Billy Hargrove isn't looking her way it takes her longer than she'd care to admit to realize it was never a concern to begin with. He's already far, far too busy staring at someone else.

Billy looking Steve's way is nothing new. Billy might've curb-stomped Steve's crown into scrap metal and spat on it but he still looks at Steve like somehow, one day, he might pick it up again. Put it on and find it still fits.

Billy looking without actively trying to make Steve look back, though...

That's new.

Maybe it started before then, but the first time Robin notices is the assembly to announce a charity drive for Hawkins' youth club. They play a little ditty, a little pep tune, and then sit in bored dispassion, uncomfortably centre stage. And she shouldn't, she knows she shouldn't, but her gaze roams, tries to find Steve Harrington, and—

And she's not the only one looking.

Billy's two rows behind Steve, unmissable in a baby blue, silk shirt and Billy clearly missed the memo its a button-up. It matches his eyes, annoyingly, brings out the brighter hues of blue. Makes the fact he's staring at the back of Steve's head utterly, impossibly unmissable.

Really, the only reason Robin pays any mind to it is because she knows, intimately, the way Billy is looking at Steve. That moment of indulgence, allowing yourself to look because they're not looking back, they're not going to see you looking.

Huh, she thinks.

After that, that break of the dam, there's no ignoring it. Billy's almost always looking at Steve, for one reason or another, in one way or another.

And for some reason, Robin's always looking at Billy.

Billy who angles his body when he pulls books from his locker, across-away, across-away, across-away flicks his gaze at Steve, shielded by golden ringlets that form blinkers on either side of his eyes.

Billy who stares when Steve's on the court and he's been benched for an elbow to Dougie Warren's nose. When she's supposed to be looking at her sheet music but instead she's looking at the way Billy bites his lip as Steve jumps. Licks over the sting as Steve rakes a hand through his hair, triumphant in a clear-shot basket.

Billy who doesn't eat a fucking thing, one lunchtime, because Nancy Wheeler strides up to Steve's table and sits and doesn't go away even when Steve's expression pinches a little, and Billy's so busy boring holes into the side of her head his bulk-boxed mac'n'cheese deconstructs on his tray, destined to be flippantly tossed in the trash thirty minutes later.

At assemblies Billy is somehow, always, sitting behind Steve. Never directly, there's always at least one person between them, like a buffer, but he's always there when he isn't right out on the court with him. Always staring, pretending to be zoned out whenever Tommy gets bold enough to nudge him in reproach for a lack of acknowledgement.

Safety, she thinks. Billy watches from where he knows he'll be safe. Puts someone between them because that's safe too. Whether he thinks it means Steve won't notice him or he's tempering the urge to touch, she doesn't know.

It happens again, and again. Home games. Hallways. The lunch hall. Always Billy looking, never Steve looking back.

It changes the day before graduation. They've hired a band for tomorrow, so its their last hurrah, one last performance before they're unleashed on the world and shuttled into shitty-wage jobs with all their youthful embrace for life sucked out of them.

Billy's easy enough to spot in the crowd. Primped and preened even more than usual, as if this was ever anything he'd make an effort for.

There's nobody between him and Steve.

No buffer. No safety net. Steve Harrington is mere inches from Billy's spread knees, one too-far lean away from being cradled between thighs she envies in the quiet dark of her thoughts.

And Billy.

Billy...

Twice, Billy reaches for him. If not for where she was sat she wouldn't see it and she doubts even Tommy Hagan, pride of place at Billy's right, sees it from his perch.

But during the height of an empowering speech by some bubblegum blonde cheerleader about the future and taking life by its balls, Billy hasn't looked at her even once. He's been staring down at Steve, jaw working like he's chewing words, and then—

One hand, barely visible by Steve's arm, shifts forward. Ring adorned fingers stretch, Icarus reaching for the sun, but evidently they burn before they make it. Billy's hand falls, he scowls, flexes his fist.

During the monotone farewell of the Principal, Billy reaches again. She'd have missed it if she wasn't looking. And this time, this time... Billy's fingertips brush the sleeve of Steve's jacket. The barest touch, one Steve doesn't so much as blink at, and Billy lets his hand fall again. Looks away, to the floor.

Its strange, really. How almost a year later she still remembers, above all, the way Billy had looked after that last touch. How he'd softened, backed off. Bitten his lip like if the words on his tongue escaped it would end them all.

She remembers those moments when they're drunk at Steve's magazine print-out house, hours after they're finally sent home, days after they watch Billy Hargrove die so they can live.

"Y'know," she slurs, head on Steve's thigh, staring up at the smooth-finish ceiling. "Maybe... Maybe Tammy never looked at me back. I know. Its cool. But at least... At least I had it better than Billy."

Because Steve Harrington had finally looked, finally looked back at Billy, but Billy?

Billy'd had to die for it.

Wait if robin was in band this whole time was she ever at an assembly or basketball game and saw firsthand billy staring at steve when he thought no one was looking…. I want THAT story