#but leave it to steve to blow billy's brains out

[kurokoros]

actually really messed up over the way that Steve Harrington is a character that's desperate to be wanted by someone and the narrative repeatedly punishes him for it. he's a very metaphorical and literal punching bag each season, but it's Steve so it's always a haha funny in hindsight moment or whatever trauma he goes through simply isn’t addressed afterwards.

like, it's implied that his parents aren't around much and/or they have an unhappy and unhealthy marriage (his mom has to follow his dad on business trips to make sure he isn't cheating, which happens often enough that his friends can joke about it). his friends sucked and he obviously didn't agree with or like some of the things they did, but at least they paid attention to him so it was something. he has a reputation for serial dating (or at the very least sleeping around) by the beginning of his junior year in high school. S1 has Nancy blow him off, lie to him, and then spend the night with Jonathan Byers in her bedroom, leading him to believe she’s cheating on him (and despite the audience knowing that’s not technically the case, there’s no denying that the scenes between Nancy and Jonathan were meant to imply romantic chemistry between them). in S2, drunk or not, Nancy is extremely cruel in the way she blames him in part for the death of her friend and calls their entire roughly year long relationship bullshit (which she never really apologizes for), after which she disappears for several days, leaving their relationship ambiguously over, only to show up again a few days later with the new boyfriend she spent over a year pining for. S3 he pours his heart out to Robin just to be rejected when there were totally different ways to work her coming out scene into the plot that didn’t involve spending x number of episodes hinting towards them as a couple just to pull a bait and switch for the audience. and then in S4 Steve is both insecure about his friendship with Dustin, who has more in common with Eddie than he does with Steve, and he has several different people telling him that he's still interested in Nancy and that she's also interested in him (Dustin, Robin, Eddie), only to have his heart kind of broken all over again when she goes right back to Jonathan. 

and that's emotional pain on top of getting beaten or otherwise attacked every season. though arguably justified, in S1 Steve is slapped, punched, and shoved around. during his fight with Billy in S2, Steve is beaten to the point of being knocked out cold for an undetermined amount of time between roughly 10-30 minutes. this is treated like a joke in S3, but considering the number of blows he took to the head there should have been a very serious concern over him having a concussion at best and trauma to the brain at worst. S3 is the same, but the focus on him feeling “like [his] eye is about to pop out” implies ocular trauma. he’s then drugged and nearly has his fingernails ripped off as a form of torture. finally in S4 his bare back is dragged across the ground, he’s strangled, and he has chunks of flesh ripped out of his sides, which I can’t remember being addressed at all after the group returns from the upside down. 

that’s a lot to go through in the ~2.5 years that Stranger things covers. and what’s worse is that I can’t remember a single time where a character asks if he’s okay

#the way the fight with billy in particular is turned into a joke is just... really upsetting to me #steve tried so damn hard to protect the kids #and afterwards he's treated like an inconvenience for them to deal with. or him being beaten is made into a joke #steve harrington #stranger things #it's 4:30am as I'm posting this and I'm just EMOTIONAL

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

She honestly thought she was past this. Ogling at straight girls, kissing girls who would never want anything more from her than soft touches in passing.

Robin Buckley is an experience, never a commitment.

So when her eyes start following the frills of yet another skirt, she knows she’s fucked. First Tammy, who didn’t even know she existed. Then Vicky, who would kiss her soft and make promises she couldn’t keep. Then Nancy. Who never stepped over that line, who never insinuated that she would leave Byers save for one instant after graduation.

She’d grabbed Robin’s hand after they’d thrown their caps into the sky. Rubbed the soft pad of her thumb over her knuckles. Got this earnest look in her eyes, that girl next door sparkle that Robin was starting to fall in love with — and then she said it.

“I can’t.”

And then she was dropping her hand to wander off and get her picture taken by her awkward boyfriend who had caught an overnight flight just for the occasion.

Simple. Quick. Enough to tear Robin up for a matter of weeks thereafter, only able to come out of her prolonged stupor when Steve started inviting her out again.

He told her that was just how small town dating was. She told him he didn’t understand — couldn’t understand, because he wasn’t queer. Gave him the whole speech about how easy it is for him and his lizard brain to get dates with whoever he wants, and he gave her the customary eye roll.

A handful of parties later, Robin feels like she’s made some progress on getting over… well, everything.

Then, she feels like she’s taken ten steps back when she finds herself staring at Hargrove from across the room. It’s not so much Billy that has her eye, with his primped curls and tight jeans, but more so who he has dangling off of his arm like an accessory at all times.

And that’s when she finds a new feeling to replace her sadness, to fill that pocket of loneliness in her chest.

Hatred.

“I don’t get how you can hang around that guy,” she huffs. Blows a bubble and pops it, smacking her gum right in Steve’s ear as she leans over the counter beside him. “Didn’t he try to kill you on several occasions?”

Steve huffs. Stares at the clock above the door, counting down the seconds until it’s closing time. She can’t decide if he’s amused or annoyed.

“If there was any bad blood between us, do you really think we’d be going to the same parties?”

She holds her tongue for a moment. Long enough to pinpoint the soft smile on his face, to register the gentle lilt in his tone. So she leans completely into his side and crowds him further against the register, which earns a snort.

“Guess not.”

“Why the sudden loathing? I thought you were all about looking under the surface and whatever,” he teases.

He plucks at her bracelets absently just to hear them click together, and Robin feels her brows draw down heavily.

“Something about him just… I dunno, rubs me the wrong way.”

“Afraid he’s lobbying for the position of my best friend or something?”

“No.”

“Pissed that he graduated top of your class?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

Steve eyes her in complete silence for a moment. Gentle brown eyes darting all over her face as if the answer lies in her expression.

He apparently finds it there, because his eyebrows quirk upward and he grins.

“You’re mad that he has better game than you.”

Robin scoffs.

“I am not.”

“Yes you are, you’re pissed. Oh my god.”

She leans away enough to smack his arm, which only makes him snicker at her. He turns to face her with this particular expression, arms opening around her shoulders and squeezing — and then her sneakers are leaving the floor.

“No, no! Put me down, you behemoth!”

He swings her back and forth like a stuffed animal, only setting her back down when she actually starts to resist.

“Admit that you’re jealous and I’ll let go,” he says.

“Never.”

His grip only tightens and she exhales a strained sound, lolling her head back. If Keith were to see them right now, chest to chest like this, he would write them up for PDA.

“C’mon, the sooner you confess, the sooner you can—“

“I’m not jealous of him, okay?” Robin snaps. Maybe it comes out more harshly than she meant, because Steve’s arms go lax around her. She pinches her eyes shut and takes in a large breath. “I’m pissed at myself for crushing on another straight girl — who’s clearly only into the jock types, anyway. Story of my fucking life.”

She doesn’t look. Doesn’t open her eyes, afraid that the tears will spill if she does.

Her breath hitches when she’s pulled into Steve’s chest again. This time, his hold is gentle. All encompassing. He tilts his head against hers and she finally breathes and it’s shaky, but she finds it in herself to wrap her arms around his torso in return.

“Who is it?” he coos.

She swallows thickly. Sets her chin on his shoulder and presses her lips together.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” A large hand rubs soothing circles over her back. “I’ve had worse luck with relationships than anyone, you know I have no room to judge.”

And as true as that may be, it’s still hard to say aloud. Almost like subconsciously, she fears that saying the name out loud will jinx her luck. That she’ll have another Nancy on her hands if she does.

“Heather,” she whispers.

Steve goes still for a beat.

“Holloway?”

“Mhm. Stupid, right?”

Steve stays quiet. She sighs after a moment and leans away to wipe her eyes with the heels of her palms. One of his hands stays on her shoulder. Squeezes reassuringly.

“Honestly,” he begins. Robin braces herself for the worst. “I think she’s a little… abrasive. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go for it.”

“I like how you’re implying that I’m going to ask her out.” When he just stares at her, her jaw drops. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yeah, man, why not? You never know.”

She huffs a laugh at that.

“Because what if she’s the wrong person, Steve? Her dad is the editor of the Hawkins Post — my whole life could be ruined.”

At this point she can’t recall how many times she’s had this conversation with him. How many times she’s seen that look of exasperation, like he doesn’t understand why she would be so nervous about such a thing.

And how could he? Picture perfect king of Hawkins Steve Harrington himself couldn’t know how she feels.

He still has the audacity to roll his eyes at her.

“If you change your mind, I’m always down to wingman you,” he says, then glances at his watch. “We better go or we’re gonna be late.”

Robin sighs, long and dramatic, and Steve smiles as he pats her shoulder.

“Can I change at yours?” she asks. “I don’t wanna deal with my mom right now.”

“Thought that was the plan anyway.”

He fishes his keys out of his pocket, jangling them in front of her face like a toddler. She crosses her eyes and earns a laugh.

As silly as it is, she’s a bit hopeful on the way to this party. Steve is a lot of things, but never a liar. And it turns out he has pretty good judgment when it comes to people — he can say what he wants about Tommy and Carol, but at the end of the day, he still shows up when Tommy’s crying about his latest breakup. Still drives Carol to her favorite thrift shops when she’s trying to distract herself from getting back together with Tommy.

Still, it’s hard to look at Hargrove and see anything but the snarky asshole before her. And he’s not even doing anything, really.

Just standing there with a beer in one hand and his other down the back pocket of Heather’s jeans. Jeans, for Christ’s sake. Last time Robin checked, this girl only wore her finest Sunday morning clothes everywhere.

She finds herself staring over the rim of her solo cup from across the room, only tearing her eyes away when Steve nudges her with his elbow.

He pulled on this stupid flashy windbreaker before they left the house, and as awful as it is to look at, it suits him. Makes his smile look bubbly when he flashes his teeth at her. She knows that face. Oh no. Oh no.

“If i come back out here and you’re still being a wallflower, there’s gonna be hell to pay,” he lilts.

Just barely audible over the music.

Then he’s wandering off. Weaving between people, holding his drink above their heads so it doesn’t spill. Robin’s anxiety spikes and she’s not sure if she’s more worried about Steve or herself.

When Hargrove spots him, he smiles. Is easily lured away, leaving Heather to her own devices, probably with the promise of more beer or different girls. And things are a lot less intimidating, but simultaneously worse because of Billy’s absence.

Heather’s spirit doesn’t flounder. She just starts dancing in the nearest crowd when the music changes to something more upbeat, thrumming through the air and making picture frames rattle on the walls. She moves her hips. Jumps up and down and giggles when girls in passing join her.

It’s hard for Robin to tear herself away from the wall, but she does. Sets her cup on a side table as she crosses the room and— just throws herself into the mix.

There’s lots of giggling. Lots of hand-holding with random strangers, but when Heather notices her, she reaches out. Snags Robin’s hands and intertwines their fingers, pulling her so close that she can see the fading remnants of eyeliner on her lids. This song is way more girly than anything Robin would listen to by choice, but she can’t help but grin and squeeze Heather’s hands back while they dance.

It’s freeing. Makes her feel like she’s actually making up for lost time, makes her feel like one of the girls. But then the song ends. And Heather stops.

Her chest is rising and falling, stray brown curls clinging to her skin, and one of her hands slips away from Robin’s. Reaches up with a manicured finger and readjusts a messy strand of Robin’s hair for her, so close that the only air they can breathe in is from each other.

“You want a drink?” Heather asks. Too soft.

She squeezes Robin’s hand where they’re still linked and suddenly Robin’s face is burning red.

Oh.

“Yeah,” she says, throat suddenly dry.

Robin wonders if Steve really did know what he was talking about. He was at least half right, considering Heather doesn’t seem abrasive at all. Talk about bubbly and lighthearted. Downright approachable, even.

Then, before Robin can squeeze even another quarter of a thought in, she’s being hauled through the crowd with a gentle grip. They weave between partygoers quickly, only stopping when Heather bumps into someone.

The guy is huge. Has the Tiger’s letterman jacket on his shoulders and a scowl on his face when he turns to look down at her, and Heather— Heather fixes one right back and smacks his drink out of his hand. Red liquid pools on the shag carpet, but Heather keeps walking, side-eyeing him as they pass.

There it is, Robin thinks nervously.

When they make it to the kitchen, Heather lets go so she can ladle them some punch. Bouncing softly to the music as she does.

“You came here with Harrington, right?” she asks.

“Yeah. He’s kind of my ride everywhere.”

“Nothing going on there, then?”

Heather winks at her, like it’s some inside joke. Like she knows something that no one else does. Robin swallows thickly and tries to keep her hand from shaking when she gets handed a new solo cup.

“No.”

Maybe she says it too softly, because Heather just quirks a brow at her.

“Wanna go somewhere more private to talk?” A polished fingernail traces up and down Robin’s bicep and she practically shakes free of her bones. “Go find us a room, and I’ll meet you there. I gotta powder my nose.”

All Robin can do is nod. She watches Heather down the entirety of her drink and set the empty cup on the counter, stepping around her swiftly and disappearing somewhere.

Holy shit. This is happening.

Robin has to force herself to move again. She walks up and down various halls, opening doors and checking for any stragglers. The first five rooms are occupied, and while she initially thought that the sixth might be vacant, she finds herself to be wrong when she shuts the door and flicks the light switch on.

That stupid windbreaker is on the floor… next to a leather jacket.

There’s a startled gasp and some shuffling from the bed, and Robin’s jaw is immediately on the floor when she finally looks up.

Steve, once tensed up, now relaxes. Sweeps a hand through his already messy hair and leans back against the headboard. Billy doesn’t seem to share his feelings, shoulders still bunched and eyes wide where sits near the middle of the mattress, poised to run if he has to.

“Rob, what the fuck?” Steve sighs. “You’re supposed to be out there getting a number scratched on your hand or something.”

Robin presses her back flat against the door.

“What the fuck me? What the fuck you,” she huffs. Billy looks like he’s about ready to bolt until Steve sets a comforting hand on his shoulder. “How long has this been going on?”

Steve whistles. Looks off somewhere and uses his free hand to count on his fingers.

He takes long enough for Robin to sigh and shake her head, mumbling, “Jesus, never mind. Forget I even asked.”

“I wanted to tell you,” he says. Gestures vaguely with his hand. “Just didn’t want you to… I dunno. Get mad, I guess.”

“Why would I get mad?”

Steve glances at Billy, who’s still awkwardly sitting there, but looks a little more at ease now. That makes Robin sputter out a laugh.

“C’mon, Harrington,” she says. “You know I have no room to judge.”

The air feels lighter, less tense, when Steve smiles. It’s contagious, Robin’s lips quirk up, and she has to fight the urge to stride across the room and pull him into a hug.

She would, but he’s only half-clothed at the moment.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s a knock at the door, and Robin jumps away from it just in time for it to open. Heather slides in and shuts it behind her.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. And Robin tenses again, fearing the absolute worst. “Is that a hickey, Bills? You dirty slut.”

“If anyone asks, I’m telling ‘em I got it from you,” he snarks back.

Heather giggles. Grabs Robin’s hand and twists the doorknob.

“C’mon, let’s go find our own room. Preferably one without an infestation.”

Billy flips her off, but he’s smiling. Shifting closer to Steve on the bed. He’s smiling too, and Robin can’t help but spread a grin of her own as she’s guided out of the room.

Feeling like for once, things will be different.

That they’ll be okay.

#platonic stobin #buckleway #harringrove #platonic hollogrove #robin buckley #steve harrington #billy hargrove #heather holloway #my ultimate hc for Robin is that she has the worst gaydar known to man #Heather is simply That Bitch #I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while now #post s4 #except everything is Okay #ficlet #my writing

[thatharringrovehoe]

Thinking of a Steve who's a total virgin when Billy propositions him for a casual hook up. Like, all the king Steve bullshit? It was just that. Bullshit. Just alot of smoke and mirrors backed up by the rich boy benefits. In this AU he never even hooked up with Nancy when they dated. But Steve is crushing hard and Billy is so hot and his last relationship fell apart because he wasn't ready to get physical, so he figures 'Fuck it, I can do this'. Only when Billy pulls up to his driveway, Steve is a nervous wreck. He wants to have sex with Billy, he does! But he's so inexperienced and Billy is from California, beautiful and tan with a girl hanging off his arm every other night. Steve's pulse is thumping in his neck, palms sweaty enough he has to wipe them on his jeans every few minutes. When the doorbell rings, Steve jumps a foot in the air. And Jesus, Billy looks like sin when he opens the door, smelling like spicy cologne and leather and Steve is going to pass out. Billy starts to notice something is off about the time he pulls Steve to straddle his lap on the couch. He's shaking under Billy's hands, and not entirely in a good way, breathing just this side of panicked. And okay, Billy isn't an asshole, he can tell when someone has changed their mind. Doesn't want to sound like a bitch about the whole thing when he sighs.

"Look, no pressure Harrington. We don't have to do this."

Steve's eyes snap up to meet his, pupils blown out black but still looking scared.

"What? No! I want to, I swear! I'm just uh. Nervous. I guess."

And alright, that's fair, this is Indiana after all. Billy was already kind of expecting to take the lead tonight. Runs his hands soothingly across the tops of Steve denim clad thighs.

" 'S alright baby. We can take it slow."

Because underneath it all, Steve is obviously interested, the hard outline of his dick through his jeans a testament to that. But there still seems to be a piece to this that Billy is missing.

"Steve, you have to tell me what's wrong if we're gonna do this. I don't like being someone's regret in the morning."

A blush spreads across Steve's cheeks all the way down the collar of his pollo, ears a bright and telling pink. Steve looks to the side, chewing his bottom lip fat and red, hands clenched tight in Billy's shirt like a lifeline. He mumbles so quiet Billy wouldn't have even thought he'd spoken if he wasn't looking for it.

"Gotta speak up Bambi. Use your big boy voice."

Billy's hoping for levity, but the joke falls flat, leaving an awkward tension in the room that stretches and stretches.

"I'm uhm. I-... Fuck, okay, you can't laugh."

Billy can feel a smirk curling without his permission, but the look Steve shoots him makes him pause. Steve looks serious, jaw clenched and ticking. The "or I'll kick you out" goes unspoken but heavily implied.

"Alright pretty boy, scouts honor" Billy traces his finger in an 'x' over his heart. "I promise."

Steve takes a deep breath, and proceeds to shatter Billy's entire fucking brain.

"I'm a virgin."

Its like throwing a drum of gasoline onto a campfire, heat roaring from Billy's gut to the tips of his fingers and toes. He wishes his God damn dick had given him more time to say something appropriate, something sensitive, before it kicks hard underneath Steve's ass.

Billy doesn't even need a mirror to know that Steve isn't the only one blushing now.

"Okaaay. And that's...a problem?"

By the look on Steve's face, he sure seems to think so. Which definitely tracks, because why would a pretty thing like Steve Harrington want his first time to be with someone like Billy?

"I want to do this, Billy. I just. I don't know what I'm doing. I wanna make it good for you, but-... I'm afraid I'm gunna mess it up."

Billy can relate to that last part, considering he feels two seconds away from blowing his load with a virgin Steve Harrington in his god damn lap. He takes Steve's trembling hands in his own before he speaks.

"Steve, baby. We could literally just sit here and watch a movie and I'd be good with that. You're not gonna mess anything up."

Steve's back to biting his lip, looking at Billy with cautious hope from under floppy brown hair. It's unkempt from how much Steve has been nervously running his hand through it. Billy feels affection tingle through his chest in a sudden rush.

Steve shifts in his lap and it has Billy throwing his head back in a hiss, hitting the couch with a thunk. When he looks back up, Steve is grinning. It's a little wobbly, a little unsure, but genuine. He leans in slow, and when their lips connect it reminds Billy of eating pop rocks on the beach back home. Tingly and warm and so so sweet. Steve pulls back first, Billy leaning forward to chase the taste he knows he'll be craving until the day they put him in the ground.

"Take me to bed Hargrove"

Billy smiles something wicked, tongue between his teeth. In a flash, he's standing with Steve's legs wrapped around his waist, already on his way to carry Steve up the stairs.

"That I can do, pretty boy"

#discord blurbs #billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington #stranger things #Virgin Steve #that hoe writes

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

dear bob...

summary: talking to the dead while trying to be there for the living.

WC: 969, hehe

warnings: a quick mention of b!ood, but this is cleared of everything else.

A/N: I WILL SAY IT TILL THE END OF TIME BOB NEWBY DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT ENDING THE DUFFERS GAVE HIM!!!!!! *honestly most of these might not be my best works, so just bare with if you read them*

also had to use my birthday as the first date, duh. it’s my birth month.

series masterlist

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January 18, 1985

“Dear Bob Newby, Hawkins superhero.”

You were already getting choked up, but knew you had to push through.

“It’s only been two months since everything happened. Since Will’s episodes, they stopped by the way. Since you were at the lab, since the demo dogs, Dustin named them, since those creatures invaded the lab. Two months since you… anyway. Um… I’m still working at Radio Shack even though every day I step through those doors, I want to run back home. It doesn’t feel the same with you gone, besides I don’t have as much knowledge as you did.”

Your thumbs swiped over the black ink scrawled on the lined paper.

“Well, um in other news, Jonathan and I both have relationships. I’m not gonna go into it, but just wanted to let you know, we’re doing okay. But uh, mom, she’s uh… she says she’s fine, but I know she’s lying a bit. I hear her weeping at night, times when nightmares won’t get off my back and I head to the backyard for fresh air, I pass her room and faintly I hear the sniffles and occasional wet hiccup. It breaks my heart, ‘cause she deserved happiness, and you gave her that peace. I know she seemed hesitant at times, but she did love you, she loved the comfort you brought to our home. It was a nice change for once, no screaming or crying out of fear, but laughter and warmth. And I know Jonathan kinda seemed… guarded or just- what I’m saying is he’s just not used to trusting male figures, he’s- we’re all protective of our mom.”

You thought back to this morning, telling her you were gonna visit the cemetery. Asking if she would want to come with, seeing the hesitation in her eyes and body, how she stuttered out an excuse. She’s probably at work or just at home, sitting in the living room or laying in bed.

“I know you would want her to be happy though, want all of us to be happy. I hope she’ll get to be happy again, she was sad for too long and I don’t want to see her go through that again.”

The wind whistled through the trees, leaves waving in the background.

“I should… I should head back. I’ll try and see if she can come next time.”

You picked up your paper and tightened your scarf along your next, the bruising completely gone now. Loose strands of hair were played with the wind as you stood, taking a quick look around the quiet grounds.

With a hand placed atop the hard stone, a quiet “happy new year” goodbye, you left the ghostly grounds.

…

January 19, 2:15 AM

A nightmare.

A nightmare where Steve died at the hands of Billy. Every time you tried to intervene some force would hold you back, making you watch with leaking eyes and snot leaving your nostrils. And just before Billy makes his final blow, Steve would look your way, battered and bloodied face, but you can still make out his loving gaze and the faint hint of a smile on his lips. Then you just stared as the light left his eyes, then Billy would make his way to you, and you awoke before it got any further, but you got the gist.

Steve didn’t spend the night that day, so you weren’t saved by his warmth and comfort or an arm thrown over your waist as you buried your face into his neck. You were only greeted by the dark and coldness of your quiet room, shadows making you jumpy. 

So you felt the shrinking room behind, wanting to call Steve, but you didn’t want to bother him especially since your relationship was still known. So instead of calling Steve you’ll just head outside and smoke something, hoping that will quell the nerves firing from your brain.

As you made your way down the dark hallway, you heard it again.

You heard the quiet sniffles, the moans of pain. She was crying again. And you hesitated outside her door, wondering if you should enter, but you both need comfort tonight if no one else can give it to you.

With a slow turning of the silver knob you pushed the wood door inch by inch, trying to stop the creaking from growing too loud. Her room was dark except for a small lamp on her bedside table, only shining Joyce in the yellow glow.

“Mom,” you whispered into the quiet night.

You saw as she tried to fix her appearance, wiping away any traces of tears, running a tissue under her nose, tucking her bangs behind her ears even though they slipped back into place. You took a step at a time, door closing behind you and leaving the both of you in a moment of privacy.

“Hi honey. Are you okay?” You could hear the rough edge in her voice.

You knew she would push you away if you mentioned anything about her, it’s something almost everyone in the Byers picked up from her, always putting others before yourself. So instead of coming to her as a friend, a shoulder to cry on, you went to her as a daughter, someone in need of comforting.

“I… I had a nightmare… about Steve, but I don’t want to bother him.” You wrung your hands together.

She held her arms out and open, “come here, baby.” And you walked to her bed before crawling into her arms and resting your head against her chest, her arms wrapping around your shoulders in a firm hold.

“I’m here, baby. I’ll always be here for you.” A soothing stroke to your hair.

“I’ll always be here for you too, mommy.” You whispered into her clavicle.

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

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*strike through means tumblr can’t hide your account, sorry*

#The Byers Harrington Story #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things series #stranger things self insert

[fizzigigsimmer]

Steve is a struggling superhero trying to gain entry into The Defense League, where the top tier superhero’s work together to save the galaxy. But his powers are unruly. He’s kinda like the hulk only instead of going smash, when he loses control of himself he spits out solar energy. He can cause a lot of damage if he’s not careful, and his origin as a hero is pretty messy. Rich boy doing penance: it’s been done. He’s not even president of the club (that’s Tony). Steve’s gadgets aren’t nearly as cool as the tin man’s but Dustin and the rest of the nerd squad certainly keep him in the most unique gear. The indestructible bubble gum actually does adhere itself to any surface. He had to buy a new laundry machine, but he certainly can’t fault them for imagination.

Steve may be a third string hero, but he must be doing something right because he’s already got an arch nemesis. ‘The Hurricane’ blows in about once a month to terrify Saturday afternoon shoppers and trash the downtown in the name of anti-capitalism or whatever, and Steve seems to be the only one who can stop him. The Brain? Turns out her cloaking ability doesn’t hold up to torrential rain. Freeze Frame? Won’t get near the guy after Hurricane picked him up and blew him right into the giant fish tank at Bob’s Seafood. Prism (Robin to those in the know) was done with him from the moment Hurricane started playing rock music from the city alert system whenever he started a rampage.

“He just wants attention. He’s your problem Steve because you give it to him.”

He didn’t put any thought into it at first. Then Hurricane starts showing up every couple weeks instead of once a month. Then it progresses to once a week, and now twice in the same week. It’s troubling… also annoying as fuck because Hurricane always shows up at the worst times, and he just talks so much. He talks more shit than even Billy Hargrove, the super critical and overly suspicious personal assistant (read babysitter) his father stuck on him to make sure Steve isn’t running the Hawkins branch of the company into the ground. The guy’s got his nose so far up Steve’s business that Steve’s 90% sure he is a corporate spy, he just hasn’t found the proof yet.

But he can’t focus on the problem of Hargrove with an overgrown super baby throwing tantrums to Metallica every five seconds. When Hurricane attacks for the third time in the same week, Steve has had enough. He calls it in and leaves before the others even confirm they’re on their way. He knows better than to rush in without backup but he’s so sick of this bullshit. He’s gonna put a stop to this once and for all. He takes the nerd mobile (as Robin likes to call it since Dustin and the other kids in R&D are always coming up with excuses for more test drives) and arrives on the scene in a cloud of smoke and screeching tires.

Jesus he’s going to have to have a talk with the kids about why his car needs to spit flame out the back. The smoke is so black and thick! Though it does look cool (he’s got to admit) when he emerges from the dark cloud, his cape fluttering behind him in the wind.

The sky is an ugly purple overhead, thunder booms and lightning cracks, and the wind whips around them like a twister, tossing droplets of water in every direction. In the center of it all, the eye of the storm, is the man who started it all.

“Hurricane!” Steve shouts to be heard over the howling wind and the super villain's manic laughter.

He turns. Glacial eyes spark with life when they recognize Steve. And it is Steve he recognizes, not just the costume. Cause the one time they thought to send in a fake to do this, Hurricane literally fed the poor guy to the fishes. Blew him so far away they had to fish him out of Lake Michigan.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Pretty Boy?” Steve’s so done with him he doesn’t even bother reminding him that his name is Photon Blast.

“Yeah yeah it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.”

Hurricane laughs like a lunatic. Because he is a lunatic. And the sky crackles with lightning.

Right about now, usually Steve’s backup would be sneaking into place in order to spring a trap on Hurricane while he’s distracted; only Steve didn’t wait for them so there is no backup.

“Brave of you to challenge me alone.”

“Man, what are you talking about?” Steve huffs and Hurricane blinks at him in obvious surprise. He presses on, “Have I ever come at you alone? We banter, we fight, I let you pin me, and just when you think you’ve won, my team appears and you get captured. It’s the same shit every time.”

“Your prison cells can’t hold me!” Hurricane growls, eyes narrowing in Steve with rage like he thinks he’s being insulted.

“Yeah no shit. This is the third time we’re doing this.” Steve rolls his eyes, fists his hands on his hips. Taps his foot. “What gives man? You need a hug or something? A cuddle buddy?”

He’s expecting Hurricane to explode. Is ready for it. Aching for it if he’s honest, because it irks him that he never really beats Hurricane no matter how many rounds he ‘wins’. When the guy keeps breaking out of custody like it’s nothing and coming back, it feels like Steve’s trapped in a game with rules he doesn’t know. So he’s ready for a fight but what happens is worse.

“Are you offering?” Hurricane asks.

Steve stares at him, his mouth dropping open. Did he hear that right?

“What did you just say?”

The whipping rain parts for the leather clad villain and he saunters towards Steve. The fang of some poor creature dangles from his ear and his teeth glint in a sharp smile as he stops in front of Steve.

“I asked if you’re offering.”

“No fucking way dude!” Steve snaps without, thinking and immediately regrets it as the sky booms with thunder.

“Too bad. I give great hugs.” is what he hears before a gust of wind slams into him, so strong it smacks him right into the side of a parked car.

Steve groans. Partly in pain. Mostly in misery. This guy is fucking insane and for some reason, he’s obsessed with Steve and like only Steve.

This is his true penance, he thinks as he struggles back onto his feet before a small tree comes hurtling at his head like a toy carried on the wind.

Oh well, all the greats have their villainous groupies. Stark has too many to name. Wayne has a clown and Steve has a walking storm.

“You finally ready to put up a real fight Pretty Boy?” Steve’s personal pest in bondage gear calls out to him as the hero is reaching for his utility belt. “Or are you still playing around with toys?”

Steve pauses, chest heaving with anger, fighting for breath. He reminds himself that he can’t use his powers because they’re too unstable. People could get hurt and he’d never forgive himself if that happened again. But he’s so tempted.

Because Steve’s not nearly as good as he tries to be. Hurricane is laughing again, those eyes cutting into Steve… and all he wants in the world is the chance to show him what real power is and shut him up for good.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #this is for the lols #whenever people call Billy a villian this is all I see #he would be exactly this bad at being a super villian #he gives no shits about anything but Steve’s attention #superhero!au

[platypanthewriter]

Self-Rec Tag Game

Tagged by @cherrydreamer​!  Thanks so much!  😭💕

Five Fave Fics I’ve Written

Strangest (185k and slowly wrapping up) my first Harringrove fic.  An epic I started in rage over the end of S2, where they don’t leave Billy in the Byers’ house, and he wakes up in the trunk of Steve’s car.  I’ve spent the most time on it, it’s my baby, this is my comfort read.  Romantic, darkly funny, two boys learning to survive and grow.

Birdwatching for Dummies (24k) was an ask off Tumblr after I asked for prompts (”Steve sees Neil abusing Billy”), and I always end up loving things that force me way out of my comfort zone and make me problem solve.  Steve and Max are trying to contain some Upside-Down hijinks in this one, and Billy gets drawn in fast--trying to figure out what’s going on, why Steve Harrington is lingering around, and why he’s gentle.

Rebirth (3k) Another hard one for me: a SHORT fic!  Max-centric, time-travel/Groundhog Day fix-it for S3, where Max realizes the only way to stop her brother from meeting the Mindflayer...is keeping him from trying to meet Karen WHeeler...by making sure he patches things up with Steve Harrington.

Between The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea (10k) Another “try to do something difficult (for me)” prompt, this one was “more introspection”.  Billy sees Steve at loose ends at a party after Nancy dumps him, and ends up blowing him in the bathroom, and Billy’s brain is not a good place to be.  They keep meeting, and eventually it gets easier.

The Keg-King of Elfland's Sword (68k) The first time I really tried to create a whole fantasy world.  This fic is broken (I got a lot of feedback on it, tried to fix it, and copy-pasted everything wrong) so I wouldn’t suggest reading it at the moment...but I love it anyway, and one day I’ll buckle my hard hat on, ready my red pen for battle, and go back to fix what I broke.

That’s my five favorite (probably??  It depends!) Harringrove fics, at least today!  @ihni​  @magniloquent-raven​ @mourntheantagonist​ @lazybakerart​ @tbehartoo​ @ anyone who reads this, what are yours, or do you have a new five faves since you did this??

#Harringrove #tag games #favorite fics #I'm peterqpan on Ao3 #💖💕💖💕💖

[neonponders]

Here’s part 1 and the soulmates comic that inspired all this.

I’d also like to thank the Harringrove community for giving me mutuals who enable the worst best part of me 💞 You’re all fantastic 💗

• • • • • • •

Steve’s teeth clenched as his shoulder blades hit the brick walls of the alley between the gymnasium and school building.

Their English class was only two doors down from an exit, and Billy Hargrove, of all people, gripped Steve’s jacket the moment he passed out of the classroom door, and hauled his ass outside.

Now Steve had a face full of California freckles that made the accompanying blue eyes look like tropical waters. Billy had been a menace ever since he got to this town, and all of Hawkins’ fields didn’t leave enough room for the both of them, apparently. Shoving Steve around during gym. Parking next to him like the noise of his frigging Camaro would eclipse the humble BMW’s existence.

Billy released him but stayed crowded in his space as he ordered, “Get a pen.”

“What?”

“A pen, Harrington. I know you have one.”

Yeah, I just failed a test with it, he thought bitterly, but he’d also been using it to talk to Billy Freaking Hargrove all morning. He pulled it out of his binder and bit the cap to push the end into it -

“OW. Don’t - ” Steve shoved him back a step, interrupting the zagged line Billy was scoring into his hand. Into Steve’s hand. “ - press that hard. Jesus Christ.”

He waved said hand in front of Billy’s face. “It’s real, all right? It’s me. It’s me! What? Did you expect to be taller than me or some - ”

Steve’s head knocked the brick this time when Billy shoved him back, fisting his shirt to the point of stretching the fibers

And kissing Steve’s mouth like he had the water in a desert.

Everything Billy did was aggressive, so he supposed this shouldn’t be much of a surprise, but 

But the stubble scraping against Steve’s chin sent sparks launching down his spine. Soft lips with a little edge of teeth, and Billy’s warmth radiating through their shirts into Steve’s chest...

He tried to lean forward, to adjust the kiss, to give his neck some space, but Billy caged him in. Steve’s nose pressed into his cheek and his hands found Billy’s denim jacket to get his own grip and shoved Billy back by his own kiss.

But the guy who doodled on his body, an artist who couldn’t eat cake and liked authors who waxed romantically - Steve’s special person - was a slab of muscle dressed in denim and leather. He held onto Steve’s front while his other hand framed his jaw and man-handled him back into place.

“Billy,” Steve tried. He stopped just shy of Steve’s mouth, like he intended to claim Steve’s oxygen as well as his space. “Gimme some space. There are bricks back here.”

Steve registers Billy’s pretty, long, long and pretty lashes moving before he sees the expression behind them. The look Billy has. Like he’s deciding between one type of aggression and another.

“You’ve been in my skin for years. You can handle some bricks.”

He starts kissing Steve again, and for all the good he’s giving, he gets spittle and laughter in return. When he finally retreats back to those millimeters of space, Steve giggles, “You’re so conceited, I swear to god.”

“I’m the same person I’ve always been.”

“I thought you were so sweet. Always drawing me things.”

“I have my moods.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Steve laughed breathily and pivoted his face before Billy could kiss him again. He wedged his jaw beside Billy’s neck and held onto the back of his jacket as he made the guy carry his weight.

“What are you doing?”

“Hugging you.”

“I always knew you were a sap.”

Steve smiled a little even if Billy did not see it. He leaned his head into Billy’s, feeling the soft pillow of his hair, the curve of his ear. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet you. I’m glad I did.”

Like Billy’s marking on his skin, Steve listened to his silence but felt his fingertips drawing on his backside.

And if Steve expected Billy to relax or be nicer to him

He was dead wrong.

Billy got worse.

Steve had been told more than once that he was needy, touchy-feely, thrived on attention, but Billy was something else. Steve woke up with a full rose drawn on his forehead. He was almost late to school from washing it off. Then Billy stole his lunch. Outright took Steve’s tray off the table and went who-knows-where; Steve had to get back to world geography class or he’d fail the class for too many skips.

Then came gym. Word had clearly spread that Steve and Billy were spoken for, and Steve had never witnessed teenage boys shower faster in his life. Steve glanced around, just now moving his soap bar over his arm while Billy smirked fondly at him from under his own nozzle. "For no reason, have you ever done anything sexy in public?"

"Ate a girl out during a homecoming game."

That knocked Billy's features down a notch, and Steve laughed, "I'm not blowing you in these disgusting bathrooms."

Billy scoffed and twisted his water off. "I guess it should've landed that you were a prude when you had to be somewhere without markings on your body."

Steve flicked his eyes at the ceiling, because Billy was hot - a fact he already knew, but now he had hours of experience writing all over that rippling skin. And Billy’s hair curled really pretty when it was wet.

Steve liked to practice decency, okay.

He did let his gaze drift and fall to land on him, though, when he replied, “I have standards. High ones. Maybe stop complaining and consider yourself fortunate.”

Billy lingered for a while longer, just absorbing that before strolling out of the communal shower.

Billy definitely got worse.

Grinding pens into his hand until Steve threw himself out of bed in the middle of the night to turn his light on and read: Come outside. Pool. 

And yeah, Steve marched his ass downstairs in his slippers and robe because it was his own damn house and he liked soft things. And because he genuinely didn’t know if Billy would or would not throw a rock at his window if he didn’t get dressed fast enough.

Billy had already found the control panel and turned the pool lights on. He took lethargic steps around the water as Steve slid the glass door closed and crossed his arms. “You know, I’m all for staying up late, but not for my sleep being interrupted.”

Billy ignored that to kneel down and wave a hand through the water. “Didn’t know you had a pool.”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve got a bed too. You wanna use it?”

Billy laughed and stood back up - to start removing his clothes. “I want to go swimming first.”

Steve exhaled tiredly and let his face fall into his hands. “Billy, why am I out here?”

He got his answer in the form of Billy gripping the sash around his waist. He didn’t undo it, but pulled so Steve’s hips lurched forward. “What’s under this?”

“My tired ass that wants to sleep so I can keep up with the new kid in Hawkins.”

Billy chuckled and slipped his hand inside the folds. Steve bowed a little against the cooler hand wandering his bare skin. Cradling his naked waist. “What’s he like?”

“The wrong kind of pain in my ass.”

He’d caught Billy off guard with that one. Billy coughed a laugh and his chuckles dwindled as he let his perusal of Steve’s body loosen the robe. Then he pulled Steve to him so his mouth could press slow kisses over the slope of his shoulder. Steve’s head fell back when those lips found the tiny moles on his throat.

Steve’s arms encompassed him and he felt the familiar, soft press of Billy’s ear against his cheek. “I’m tired.”

“I want to swim.”

“You’re already naked. Go ahead.”

“You can’t think you’re going back inside without getting wet.”

“And you’re not getting in bed with me before rinsing in the shower. We’re both high maintenance.”

Steve swam in the pool.

Billy wore his robe and slippers into the house.

They showered together and, to Steve’s delight, Billy snuggled in close without putting his damp hair on Steve’s chest. The latter fell asleep with a large arm over his diaphragm and ocean breaths in his ear.

Steve woke up to the wet sensation of Billy drawing on his chest with his markers. Instead of opening his eyes, Steve mumbled, “If you’re drawing more penises...”

Billy hummed with mirth. “Just some unicorns humping each other.”

Steve earned a yelp when he reared up and tackled Billy to the bed. He kissed him silly and tasted his soul mate’s skin in his own bed. He made Billy’s hair a fluffy nightmare by the time he was through, and licked and sucked all of his muscles into jelly before he went to the bathroom to relieve himself...

Two birds under his collarbones framed a script spanning over his chest.

I can’t say sweet things. But you are beautiful.

#harringrove #neonponders #ficlet #soul mates!au #i'm sorry for the lack of detail and plot #it's a wonder it got this long lol #but leave it to steve to blow billy's brains out #and not notice what is on billy's chest to gauge what he'd find in the mirror later #thank you so much for everyone's super sweet reception of part 1!

[yikesharringrove]

No Bad Things

Here is the first giveaway fic for my 2K follower celebration!

This is for @ariaaadne. I personally loved this idea and had a lot of fun writing it! Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

-

Steve’s vocabulary was the worst out of the three when he came to live with Hopper.

He knew he was called Three, and he could point out Eleven, and once Billy was in the picture, he could excitedly ask for Seven. He knew Papa and gone, and hurt. He knew bad and pretty. He responded when El called him brother. His eyes got all wide when he saw a toddler in a midday television commercial, and he spent the rest of the evening pointing at the blank screen and asking baby?

It took Hopper and Joyce breaking back into the derelict lab to find files on Hop’s two new charges to figure out why Steve only had a handful of words when Billy and El could stumble through basic sentences right out of captivity.

And Joyce brought a shaking hand to cover her mouth when they read through the file marked Number 003 and found that he had been brought to the program fresh from the delivery room.

Both parents labeled deceased.

Billy, like Kali, had been taken a little bit later. In his file, there was a newspaper clipping from the Indianapolis Star, a picture of a young boy with chubby cheeks and round eyes on the front page. Three-year-old William Hargrove Still Missing.

Underneath the image were words from his mother, a woman named Beth who was offering money for any information on the whereabouts of her baby boy.

Beth Hargrove was labeled deceased in the file marked Number 007.

So there it was. Billy had been given three years of a normal childhood. Where baby babble was encouraged and he was rewarded for every clunky sentence he could make. El had spent the most one-on-one time with Brenner in the lab, his own perfect pride and joy, and she understood more words than she had ever tried to say.

Steve’s powers were volatile. He could short out any electrical charge, including the ones in a human brain, and if his large file was anything to go by, he spent a significant amount of time locked by himself.

He didn’t realize that numbers are for counting, and got confused easily while learning them. He didn’t know the names of common objects and got so frustrated when he couldn’t describe his complex emotions, he settled for blowing out all the lightbulbs in the cabin.

El and Billy gave him his name, deciding he looked almost like Tom Cruise’s character in The Outsiders, and my name is Steve was the first grammatically perfect sentence Steve had ever said.

Hopper had made them all triple-decker Eggo extravaganzas for that one.

But for how far behind the other two he was, he was clearly the oldest.

Only a year was written in his file next to date of birth. 1966. Which put him close to two older than Billy, and five older than El.

Hopper had a nightmare when he tried to explain his age to him.

You’re nineteen.

No, Three.

I meant, nineteen years old. You’re nineteen.

But, I am Three.

Numbers aren’t names, remember. And you were Three. Now, you’re Steve.

Nineteen.

That’s right, you’re Steve and you’re nineteen.

And Three.

Well, not anymore.

Name is nineteen.

No-

He then had to use his and Steve’s fingers to count up to nineteen, only for Steve to leave the conversation more confused than he had been before, and tell the others that he was now called nineteen.

But through all that, it was Billy who became obsessed with age, and everything to do with it.

He would ask everyone he met how many are you? And Hopper thinks maybe it’s his own way of reconciling the number thing. Because everyone has a number. They all have an age. But their number is different from their name and you can have both and it all makes up who you are.

Billy was constantly fascinated by identity.

He liked any kind of counterculture he saw. People that were different from everyone else. He followed Jonathan like a lost duckling, and the first time he saw a real-life metalhead, complete with ass-length hair, denim vest covered in patches, and big leather boots, Billy acted like he had found fuckin’ Jesus Christ himself.

He started growing out his hair, and listening to loud music. Hop had to get headphones for him because the wailing guitars gave him a headache and made Steve nervous.

And last time Steve had gotten nervous while Billy blasted Metallica, he had made the speakers in Billy’s old boombox short out so much, Hopper’s surprised the damn thing didn’t explode.

It did catch fire, though.

Not the finest evening in the cabin.

And once he discovered what in the fuck a birthday was, he couldn’t be stopped.

It was Joyce that first clued him in.

Hop had brought his three kids over to Melvald’s to “help” him run errands.

El liked getting to see Joyce and the rest of the world outside of the cabin, Billy liked getting to flick through the magazines, and Steve liked the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights.

She was telling Hop about Will’s birthday coming up in a few months, and how she had already ordered a whole set of paints from the sale advertised in the Sears catalog when Billy’s ears seemed to perk up.

“Birthday?”

Joyce had grinned at him.

“Every year, we celebrate the day the people we love were born. We have a party for them, and get them gifts.”

And Billy’s eyes had lit up, and Hopper could feel the excitement rolling off him in waves as his temperature skyrocketed.

“Hey, cool it,” Hopper warned as the magazine in Billy’s hand smoked dangerously.

He put it down next to the rack and made a show of doing his calming breaths.

“Everyone has a birthday?”

“Yeah! It’s every year on the day you were born,” Joyce filled in.

“Yours is, uh, June 29th.” Hop was acting like he didn’t have the date seared into his brain since he found the kids’ files eight months ago.

“El?”

“September 6th.”

“Steve?” Billy was looking so gleeful with these little bits of information he was getting.

“Well, that one, I don’t actually know.” It made Hopper feel like shit.

The little printed year on Steve’s file genuinely kept him up at night.

It made him fucking furious that any of his kids were treated like lab rats, but the fact that no one even gave a shit to write down the day the baby they stole was born? It made his skin crawl.

Billy looked confused.

“But, you know he’s nineteen.”

Hop sighed.

“I know that he was born in 1966, which was nineteen years ago. But I don’t know the day. Sorry,” he added when Billy’s face fell.

“Steve doesn’t have a birthday?”

“No, Sweetie. Everyone has a birthday.” And Joyce had that look on her face that she always gets when she’s coming to Hop’s rescue. “Maybe you could pick one for him! Like you did his name.”

The magazine at Billy’s feet burst into flames.

-

Hopper didn’t try to understand Billy and Steve’s relationship.

Steve had been first on the scene.

Shortly after the lab had been shut down for good last year, the Hawkins Police Department had received a phone call from Katherine Alderson about a feral-looking child going through her garbage in the middle of the night.

Hopper had gone home long enough to put El in the car before checking it out.

Steve had forced the batteries in Hopper’s flashlight to explode when they first caught sight of him, and Hopper had no doubt in his mind that he would’ve gone on the attack had El not called him by number-name.

They found Billy a month later, when Hopper was driving El home from the Snow Ball.

Hopper caught sight of a bonfire in the woods near the cabin. His plan was to go out and investigate, tell the person to clear out, that it was private property, when El came darting out from behind him and, once again, called Billy by number-name.

Hop will never forget the look on Billy’s face when he saw El, his eyes filling with tears as he stumbled towards her in the snow, desperately calling Three? Where?

Safe, El had told him, and if it hadn't been getting ready to blizzard that night, Billy probably would’ve burned down the entire forest.

He and Steve had hugged for a long time when Billy was brought to the cabin.

Hop had been mortified a few weeks later to find Billy and Steve kissing on the couch.

He was flustered, and asked if they understood what kissing was, and Billy had said El told, and Steve had said love, so really, it’s not that Hopper doesn’t understand their relationship, it’s just that he doesn’t really know how or when.

And what he doesn’t understand, is how to set boundaries when the two had always shared their room in the cabin, and if he should give them the talk when he knows nothing about how two guys get it on, and if that would even be a good thing, or if it would just give them ideas.

But, anyway, Hopper would definitely say that they’re close, and Billy tends to get completely obsessed with anything having to do with Steve, so to say that Billy took his job of picking out a birthday for Steve seriously,

Would be the biggest fucking understatement in history.

Billy had purchased not one, but twelve calendars of years gone by at the second-hand store, and had spent every day for the past two weeks at the library looking up everything that happened on the specific days he had chosen in old copies of The Hawkins Post.

He told Hopper he wanted Steve's birthday to be a good day.

No bad things happen because Steve is a good thing.

Which meant that Hop had somehow been roped into looking at arrest records and crime scene data to make sure Steve’s hypothetical birthday would happen on a day where nothing majorly criminal happened in Hawkins.

Billy wouldn’t even let Steve celebrate a day where one person had gotten a speeding ticket.

No bad things!

Which actually meant the possible birthdays narrowed down quite quickly.

There were sixteen days in the past twenty years where not one thing of record had happened in Hawkins. No speeding tickets, no parking tickets. No ambulance calls, or kitchen fires.

Not even a goddamn cat stuck in a goddamn tree.

Then it was up to Billy to look at each of the days in his outdated calendars and decide which one felt the most Steve to him.

Any of the days in May, June, July, and August were crossed out. Billy’s only explanation was Steve isn’t summer.

Spring months met the same fate.

And finally, Billy had it down to four possible days.

So he took to repeating the four days over and over under his breath.

October 2nd, February 21st, November 13th, December 10th.

Over and over again.

Until finally, finally, Billy accosted Hopper outside of the cabin as Hopper was coming home from work to let him know that their secret mission had been a success.

“Birthday is December 10th.”

“So, in three days.”

Billy nodded excitedly, holding up three fingers.

“Party. Birthday party for Steve.”

“In three days.”

Hopper sighed as Billy nodded vigorously.

And then Billy was pushing past him and getting into the passenger seat of the truck Hopper had just gotten out of, glaring daggers at Hopper and saying

“Joyce will help.”

“Kid, we can’t just show up at her house and force her-”

“Joyce. Will. Help.”

A scrubby bush by Hopper’s left foot began sparking and smoking dangerously, and really, that’s fucking unfair.

Hopper heaved himself back into the truck and took them to the Byers’ place, repeatedly slapping Billy’s hand away from the switch that activates the sirens and lights every time Billy said fast.

Billy shot like a bullet out of the truck when they reached the house, and Hopper apparently needs to have another conversation about manners with the kid as he opened the front door right up without knocking and rocketed inside.

Joyce was pleased to see them, though, and looked nearly as excited as Billy when he explained that Steve’s birthday was in three days.

“So, we’re doing a surprise party, then?”

“Surprise party for a surprise birthday.” Hopper wasn’t being a crabass, despite any looks that Joyce was giving him.

“Surprise?” Billy asked, looking back at Hopper.

“Something you didn’t know about before it happened.”

Billy grinned and nodded back at Joyce.

“Surprise.”

It took an hour for Billy to decide that the party would happen at the Byers’ place. Hopper would bring his three charges under the guise of dinner over there, when everyone Steve knows, mostly the Byers and the rest of the kids, would jump out and surprise them.

They would have pizza, and Billy insisted on a cake with black spotted decorations since Steve watched 101 Dalmatians nearly once a week.

And then Joyce brought up gifts and Billy nearly had an aneurysm when he couldn’t think of what he should (make Hopper) buy for Steve.

Joyce has learned from Hopper’s example and keeps a fire extinguisher on hand so the table was only a little bit singed when Billy finally calmed down.

Billy and El were so excited the three days leading up to the party that Steve was actually beginning to get anxious.

Joyce had suggested they explain the concept of a birthday to Steve before the party so that he understood what the party was all about, and Billy, like everything with this process, had taken that job very seriously.

He had spent nearly half an hour explaining it to Steve.

Half an hour with Hop close at hand to act as a walking dictionary for the words either weren’t sure about.

I have a birthday?

Everyone has a birthday.

When?

Surprise.

Surprise?

Billy had eagerly told him what Hop had said only a few days before.

Something you don’t know about before.

-

“El! Steve!” Hopper called from the doorway.

Billy was bouncing around outside waiting for the other two to come out.

Everything was set at the Byers’. All the kids were already waiting, and Billy’s gift had been meticulously wrapped with Joyce’s help and waiting to be opened.

The drive was quiet.

Steve preferred listening to the thrum of the engine and the static of the radio.

Billy took off through the Byers’ front door, slamming it closed behind him.

The doorknob was hot when Hop took it, and he gently pushed Steve in before him.

Steve was frozen as everyone called out their unison surprise! and he read the banner stretched across the wall above the couch.

Happy Birthday, Steve!

There was a jarring crack of every lightbulb in the room blowing, scattering glass everywhere. It echoed throughout the house as Steve shorted out the circuits running through the house.

And then he was crashing into Billy with a hug so tight it looked as though he was slowly squeezing all the air right out of him and all he could say was my birthday. My birthday. and Hopper’s almost certain that he was crying into the shoulder of Billy’s t-shirt and he’d be lying if he said the whole thing didn’t make his own eyes feel a bit wet.

Steve spent several moments studying each gift that was given to him after unwrapping them.

The kids had pooled together their loose change to get him a series of instructional tapes about wires, telephones, and car batteries. Joyce had found him a kit to make his own electrical circuits.

Hopper’s face got hot when Steve gave him an overlong hug after opening the stuffed tiger he had gotten for him.

It was the same as the one he had seen pictures of in Steve’s file.

The same one that Brenner had taken away and given to El as some form of punishment.

Billy was actually trembling when he gave Steve his gifts, and Hopper saw, out of the corner of his eye, Joyce’s hand tighten on the fire extinguisher.

The first was a walkman. A brand new one that Billy had made Hop shell out some serious cash for at the RadioShack downtown.

Billy put the headphones over Steve’s ears and pressed play on the tape he had made already loaded into the thing.

And Hop thinks if the lightbulbs weren’t already shot, Steve would’ve blown them again.

Because Billy had spent hours recording and compiling a tape of Steve’s favorite electric sounds. The humming fluorescents in Melvald’s, the whirring fan in the cabin, the buzzing of the power lines behind the high school.

He even left some of the tape blank for Steve to listen to the battery of the walkman, and the gears turning the blank tape.

“One more,” Billy said softly, pressing the small box into Steve’s hand.

This was a gift Hopper had to supervise the making of.

But Billy was calm and serious when he made it.

It was a small wooden pendant, and Billy had carefully burned the design of a simple flower El had found in a book onto the front. The back, he had burned the letter S.

“So that you remember. You’re Steve.”

“Pretty,” Steve whispered at it, and Billy preened like a damn peacock. That was about the highest compliment Steve could give something.

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

#yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #dad hopper #experiment steve harrington #experiment billy hargrove #el hopper #jim hopper #joyce byers

[vendettaparker]

No Time To Die [P.P]

“Was I stupid to love you?

Was I reckless to help?

Was it obvious to everybody else

That I’d fallen for a lie?” - Billie Eilish (No Time To Die) 

Summary: After learning the horrifying secrets your family kept from you, you became what they feared the most. 

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Swearing, manipulation, fucked up morals, explicit character deaths, so much fucking angst, typos 

a/n: hey guys! so, incase you guys couldn’t tell already, i am a huge billie eilish fan. and her song No Time To Die is one of my favorites, so of course it gave me some fic inspiration. this fic can get pretty dark, so i highly advise reading with caution! i hope you enjoy and as always comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was strange, to say the least. Watching as your family cowered in fear of you. Oh, how they practically trembled when you rose from the rubble of the Tower, holding Fury’s head your hands like a trophy. 

They deserve this, you told yourself over and over again. Like a mantra constantly replaying in your head. They deserve this. They did this to themselves. Little by little, every rational and loving part of you chipped away and got lost in the breeze, leaving behind the hatred and bitterness that was clawing its way out of you. 

They deserve this.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Damn it!” Sam slammed his cards on the table as you laughed and collected your winnings; fourteen dollars and a ring pop, courtesy of Peter. 

“Sorry Sam,” you smiled, “you snooze, you lose.” 

“Are you sure mind-reading isn’t another one of your little tricks? It seems like you show us something new each day.” Steve chuckled, restacking the cards as you opened your ring pop and began sucking on it. 

You shrugged and popped the sucker out of your mouth, “Wouldn’t you like to know, sunny boy.” 

Peter nudged you, “Weather boy, babe, it’s weather boy.” 

You nodded, “Oh, right. Weather boy.” You smirked at Steve proudly. 

Steve look at Sam curiously while you and Peter fist-bumped. 

“I don’t even know,” Sam held his hands up in defense, “and I don’t even wanna know.” 

“Let’s play another round,” You suggested, already placing another dollar in the middle of the table. 

“I’d love to, kid,” Steve said, “but Fury’s here for the monthly meeting. We’ll play when we get back.” 

Sam and Steve stood up to leave, leaving you pouting on the couch. Every month, without fail, since Tony had adopted you, Fury had come by for a team meeting. Everyone always assured you that it was just boring formalities, but something always told you there was more to it than that. The team always acted differently when these meetings were about to happen. Tony, a man who hated any unnecessary work, even had carefully curated notes for these meetings, not that you’d ever seen them.

The real kicker was that you were never allowed to attend. You were always told you’d be bored, or that it was no place for little girls. 

It’s so boring, kiddo, Tony would say, I wanna blow my brains out every time I see that one-eyed cretin. 

“Okay,” You sighed, snuggling next to Peter, “I guess we’ll just watch a movie until you get back.” 

“Actually,” Sam frowned, hating what he had to do, “Peter is needed for this one.” 

“What?” You shot up, “That’s not fair! I’ve been on the team way longer than he has!” You cried, causing the lights in the room to short circuit and flicker. 

“Shhh, calm down, kid,” Steve hushed, looking up to the lights, “Fury just wants to talk to the kid is all. He already knows you, no need to get upset.” 

“But—” You looked helplessly at Peter, “I never get to go.” You said dejectedly, “You never let me go.” 

“One day, babe,” Peter said, giving you a kiss on the cheek, “just sit tight, I’ll try to leave early, m’kay?” 

You took a deep breath, willing the lights to return to normal, “Okay,” You sighed, “I’ll just be in my room, I guess.” 

Peter frowned when he heard the crack in your voice and reached out to hold you, but you’d already slipped past him, down the long hall into your room. 

“You know,” Sam said, a statement not a question. 

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “but that doesn’t mean I agree with it.” 

“You might after this meeting.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Nice of you to finally join us, Parker,” Fury said as the boys finally walked in, “from what I hear, you’ve learned the truth about (Y/N).” 

Peter nodded, “Yes sir, but I—”

“Save it,” Fury cut him off, “I already know the noble speech your about to give me. I’ve heard it hundreds of times from this one,” he pointed a thumb at Steve before continuing, “just trust that what we’re doing is what’s right. More information will come in time, and you’ll see that, as usual, I was right.” 

Peter just stared Fury down with an angry passion, but being the epitome of respect he was, he curbed his tongue as Tony went over the new notes from the past month.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Is the meeting done yet, Fri?” You asked as you skimmed through the recommended section of Netflix. 

“No, Miss Stark, the meeting has only been going on for five minutes.” The somewhat robotic voice of Tony’s AI answered, “Is it an emergency? Would you like me to request an end to the meeting?” 

“No, I just might die of boredom is all,” You sighed, finally settling on watching The Lorax. You waited a moment as the movie began and the theme song of Thneedville rang out from the TV, “I just wish I was included more.” You said, not really particularly to Friday, but like the trusty AI she was, of course, she responded. 

 “You seem sad,” She noted, “would you like to talk about it? Or perhaps I could book you an appointment with the team therapist?” 

You scoffed, “Am I even part of the team? I mean, I go on missions, I train, I do my part. I just—” You sniffled a bit. You’d never really vocalized how it felt to feel so… excluded. It was like there was some twisted joke that everyone was in on but you. “It’s like the second it’s not about saving the world, they don’t need me.” 

“They need you, (Y/N).” Friday said softly, her program for empathy beginning to kick in, “you are a very important part of the team.” 

“Then how come I never get to go to the meetings?” 

That was the one question that never really got answered. Even Friday seemed to brush it off, “You’re special, (Y/N),” She said, “you’re family.” 

“Whatever,” You mumbled, realizing that as smart as Friday was, even she couldn’t—or perhaps wouldn’t—provide you with the answer you were looking for. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“She’s not a weapon!” Peter yelled, “She’s a human being! She’s just a kid!” 

“She is the most dangerous person on the planet!” Fury yelled back, slamming his fists on the table, “She wiped a town out when she was six! Six years old, and already the most wanted HYDRA operative in three countries!” 

“She didn’t know—” Bucky tried. 

“And she will never know,” Fury concluded, “she’s too important to jeopardize not having her on our side, and she's too dangerous to get attached to.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter narrowed his eyes at Fury. 

“You know damn well what that means, Parker.” 

“No, I want to hear you say—”

“It means we have to terminate her if she’s ever on the wrong side of the battlefield,” Tony revealed, his voice laced with devastation. Of course, Fury caught this. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on the kid,” He scoffed, but Tony just looked away. “Damn it, Stark. That’s why we picked you as her guardian, I vouched that you’d be able to get the job done if it ever came to that.” 

“I know,” Tony snapped, “and I will.” 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter scolded, “She’s your daughter!” 

“She’s a weapon, Pete,” Tony corrected, “a weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy.” 

Peter was about to protest, but Steve placed a hand on his shoulder. As Fury continued the meeting, Steve motioned over to Tony’s hand, tucked slightly behind him. Soon, Peter noticed it too; his fingers were crossed. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Hey,” Bucky nudged your shoulder as you sat anxiously in the jet, your leg bouncing up and down with nerves, “you okay, kid?”

“Just nervous,” You shrugged, “I haven’t fought—well, not since HYDRA. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” 

“Don’t worry,” Bucky offered you a small smile, “you’re a good kid. You won’t hurt anyone.” 

“Do you remember?” You asked Bucky, gripping onto his jacket as he was about to walk away. “Do you remember hurting people?”

Bucky nodded solemnly. 

“I don’t,” You said, “maybe it’s better that way?”

“It is, kid. Trust me.” Bucky said, giving you a pat on the head, “we touch down in three minutes, be ready.” 

Fury was the one who wiped your memories. You’d always thought it was the trauma that did it, but no, it was only man. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The meeting ended much later than usual. Sometimes it was an hour, maybe even two. But with all the arguing between Peter and Fury, the meeting was stretched to three. So by the time he finally came up to say goodbye to you before heading back to his apartment, you were already cuddled up in your comforter, fast asleep. 

Peter was jittery. He was angry and sad, and so so disappointed all at once. But seeing you curled up under the covers, your arms wrapped around your pillow that they would wrap around Peter’s torso, he was at peace again. 

“Hey, baby,” He whispered in your ear, hoping that maybe his words would filter into your dreams, “I gotta go now, but I love you. I’m sorry it took so long.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “Goodnight, gorgeous.” 

Peter quietly slipped out of your room. In the hallway, Tony was already waiting for him. 

“You won’t really hurt her, will you?” Peter asked hesitantly. 

“No,” Tony shook his head, “you’re right, kid; she’s my daughter. I could never hurt her. I promise.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Peter said sternly, in a manner he’d never spoken to Tony in before, “you know how much I look up to you and respect you, Mr. Stark, but I love her. I love her so much. I won’t forgive you if something happens to her.” 

“I wouldn’t forgive myself.” Tony agreed, giving Peter a pat on the back, “Now hurry home, May told me to send you on your way.” 

Peter nodded before scurrying off. 

Tony sighed as he made his way to his room, finally ready for some shut-eye. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Peter,” you giggled as Peter pressed kisses all over your face, “stop it, you goof.” 

“I can’t help it,” Peter whined, “I missed you so so so much.” 

“I was only gone for a few days—”

“On a deadly rescue mission in the Amazon.” Peter interrupted, “I was worried sick the whole time.” 

“You always worry,” You pointed out. 

“Only when it comes to my pretty girl.” 

“Ew,” You scrunched your nose up and cringed, “too cheesy.” Peter playfully shoved you aside before beginning to pout, “but I still love you,” You said in a singsong voice, bringing his face back to you for a kiss. “And I missed you too.”

Before you and Peter could continue your lovefest, Bruce waltzed in to ruin the moment. “Ah, (Y/N), there you are!” He said, clapping his green hands together. 

“What do you want?” You deadpanned. 

Bruised rolled his eyes, but proceeded, “I left some of my files downstairs in my computer in the basement lab, and I really really need them for my meeting with your dad. That's in… thirty seconds. Could you please run down there, email my files to my phone or to your dad, and then, maybe clear my search history too if you get the chance?” 

“Ugh, fine,” You groaned, getting up from the couch, “but if I find anything incriminating on there, I’m sending it to myself for blackmail.” You raced to the elevator before Bruce could protest. 

The lab in the basement was like Bruce’s personal little playground, only it wasn’t all that little. It was more like a large parking garage-type place, with machines, monitors, and tables strewn about. Bruce spent so much of his time holed up in the lab that it even had a sleeping cot in the corner along with a mini-fridge. 

You went up to Bruce’s main desktop and began searching for the files he needed when something on his desk caught your eye. It was a black flash drive with a tiny neon green post-it note stuck to it, Audio from monthly meeting + notes, put in (Y/N)’s file —Bucky. 

 A file for you? You held the small flush drive in your hand and reread the note to make sure you were seeing things correctly. You looked around the room to make sure nobody was coming down the hallway, before popping the flash drive into the side of Bruce’s computer. As soon as it was in, you played it. 

She’s not a weapon! She’s a human being! She’s just a kid! Peter. Who wasn’t a weapon? You? 

She’s the most dangerous person on the planet! Fury’s demanding voice continued as you pulled up your file in Bruce’s computer. Hundreds of audio logs, thousands of notes, and a few new’s articles. The Devil of the United States they called you. Each story detailed atrocities that you didn’t even know you committed. 

 And then you saw it. The first report on you, written by Tony. The asset is secure at location one. Memory wipe is complete. Papers of possession are complete. 

She’s too dangerous to get attached to. Fury spoke, getting collective hums of agreement in return. 

She’s a weapon, Pete. A weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy.

“Hey, kid, what’s taking so long with those notes—” Tony froze when he heard the audio playback, She’s a weapon, Pete. A weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy. And again, She’s a weapon, Pete. A weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy. And once more, She’s a weapon, Pete. A weapon that if we lose possession of, we have to destroy.

The shift in the air was so tangible, Tony could feel his breath being restricted. “Kid, it’s not—”

“I’m a weapon?” You spoke, barely above a whisper. 

“No, that’s not—” 

“I’m an asset.” 

“(Y/N)—”

“I’m just another job to you!” You yelled, bursting all the lights in the room out, one by one. 

“No, you’re not!” Tony yelled, “You’re my daughter! I love you!” 

You finally turned around to face him, hot tears were streaming down your cheeks and your hands were shaking, “No you don’t,” You protested, “you fear me. You all do.” 

“We love you, (Y/N). You’re family.” 

“You took my past away from me. You said you’ll kill me. Are you gonna kill me?” 

“I won’t. I’d never hurt you, (Y/N). I’m sorry, please, kid. Just hear me out—” Tony begged, but he was cut short when you held your hand up and the breath was stolen from his throat. 

“You can’t trick me anymore.” 

Tony writhed and clawed at his throat, but then it clicked for you. This anger and confusion was warping your mind and manifesting itself into uncheck aggression. You lowered your hand and finally, he could breathe again. You looked at your hands in fear, “I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

“It’s gonna be okay, kid,” Tony said, slowly backing away. “We’re gonna be okay.” 

Every room had one. Tony said they were only for the worst of the worst emergencies. In truth though, the red button on the wall wasn’t for any outside danger. It was installed when you moved into the tower.  

“Dad?” You took a step towards Tony, and in a moment of fear, he hit the button. Red lights began flashing and the entire tower shifted as vibranium shields rose over every window. 

“Red Alert. Red Alert. Asset is aware.” The mechanical voice of the alarm system rang out. “Lab 5, sublevel 2.” 

You looked at Tony with the most heartbroken expression he had ever seen. “You do fear me, don’t you?” 

Before Tony could answer, Vision phased through the ceiling and stunned you. Until all you saw was darkness and all you felt was complete and utter betrayal. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Don’t hurt her!” Peter fought against Bruce holding him back as Vision came back up with your body. “Mr. Stark, what happened?”

“She found out.” Tony said simply, “Was Fury contacted?” 

“He’ll be here in ten minutes,” Steve informed the team, “what happens now?” 

“Damage control,” Sam said. 

“No—” Peter began to protest, but Tony held his hand up, shushing the boy. 

“We’re not killing her.” He stated sternly. “We can still salvage this. We just have to explain—” 

“That won’t be easy,” Wanda chimed in, “she may be unconscious, but I can still hear her thoughts. They’re… dark, to say the least. The only one who may be able to get to her is Peter. She has no thoughts on him right now. It’s chaotic, though. Violent even.” 

“I’ll do it,” Peter said without a moment's hesitation. Where is Vision taking her?” 

“Her room is able to double as a cell. We installed a special lock on the door, it’s power resistant.” 

Peter nodded and made his way to your room so he could sit by your bed while he waited for you to wake up. “Hey!” Steve called to him as he walked away. Peter turned back, “Red button is behind the painting, press it if you need any backup.” 

“She isn’t a monster guys,” Peter snapped, “I’ll be fine.” 

He walked away and the moment he was out of sight, Tony left out a deep, shaky breath. “He doesn’t even know the half of it.” 

“Her file—her entire past even—” Natasha sighed, “more red in her ledger than I’ve ever seen.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You woke abruptly, jolted awake when the shock of the stunning you received no longer left you unconscious but was still coursing through your veins. For a moment, a happy, blissfully ignorant moment, you forgot why your bones suddenly ached. You thought it was just a bad dream. Until Peter rushed up to you and wiped the tears from your eyes. 

“It’s okay,” He hummed, shushing your crying. You hadn’t even realized you were crying, “it’s gonna be okay.” 

“You knew.” You said softly, the realization hitting you with another wave of nauseating anger and sadness, “you knew all along.” 

Peter froze as the guilt rendered him stiff, but he just shushed you again and pressed a kiss to your head. 

You pried yourself away from his arms, “Are you scared of me too?” 

“No,” Peter said immediately, “never, (Y/N). I love you.” He reached out to hold you again but you flinched away. 

“Nobody loves me.” You realized, “It was all a lie. They were never on my side.” 

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” Peter tried, “we love you, I swear it. We all love you and want what's best for you.” 

“I’m not even a person to you!” You snapped, the rage personifying itself as a force that launched Peter off your bed. “I’m just a weapon.” 

Peter stood up from where he’d fallen, “No, (Y/N), don’t say that—”

“It wasn’t real, Peter!” You yelled, “It was a lie, all of it! Did you even love me? Did any of you even care about me?” 

“It was real,” Peter persisted, “my love was real—is real!” 

“They’ll kill me now, won’t they?” 

“No, I’m not going to let that happen.” Peter assured you, “Mr. Stark would never—”

“What if they’re right? What if I am a monster?” 

“(Y/N)—”

“I need to get out of here,” You decided, “Peter, you need to let me out. They’ll kill me. If Tony won’t, Fury will.” 

Peter looked at the door and contemplated his options. On one hand, he trusted Tony not to hurt you. You were his daughter, and even though your relationship didn’t start like the average father-daughter relationship, he loved you all the same. On the other hand, Fury was not as easily swayed, and from the commotion, he could hear sifting down the hallway from the common room, he didn’t have much time before Fury burst in. 

“I can’t,” Peter finally said, “but it’ll be okay, Mr. Stark will—” but he was cut off by the crashing of glass. The long floor-to-ceiling window was shattered and you were presumably falling now. Your room was in the penthouse, aka the 93rd floor. 

Peter raced to the edge of the window and was fully prepared to jump out and save you, when your floating body flew back up towards him, and then past him. 

“You couldn’t even save me,” You said disappointedly. “Or maybe you just didn’t want to.” 

The tears were more prevalent than ever in your eyes. They were glassy and seemed to glow in the dark of dusk. You tried to hold in your sob, but it was useless and as you cried out, a blast of energy shot out of you and shook the tower. 

“She’s just a kid!” Tony yelled, ready to punch Fury, but Steve was holding him back, “She’s a child!” 

“She is a monster!” Fury argued back, “Must I remind you why we did this in the first place? The town in Maine; gone! Three thousand people dead!” 

“She didn’t know,” Bucky tried, “and you wouldn’t let her. If you—if we would’ve just been honest with her at the start—”

“It’s too late for that now,” Fury said gravely as the tower began to shake, “much too late.” 

“You did this,” Natasha said to Fury, “if anyone dies, it’s on you.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

In a fit of rage, you blasted through the windows into the common room. The sheer force of your body hurling itself through the windows knocked most of the Avengers down. Once the dust settled, you set your sights on Fury, who was already back up, gun pointed at you. 

“You,” You seethed, “you did this.” 

“(Y/N), I’m gonna need you to stand down.” Fury spoke gruffly. 

“Or what? You’ll kill me? Wasn’t that the plan all along? How is me standing down going to stop that?” 

“I won’t ask again—” 

“No,” You agreed, “you won’t.” 

You looked at the rest of the team, all of their expressions laced with fear. After everything you had done. After all you’d been through together, every single one of them feared you.

And then there was Peter, just now running into the common room. He looked at you with the most sorrowful expression. 

“Please don’t,” He tried, holding his hand out for you. 

“I’m sorry,” You said softly, a small bubble of regret trying to rise its way out of you, but you shoved it down, and you brought the tower down with it. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Hey, dad!” You smiled excitedly when Tony entered the training room. 

“Hey kiddo,” Tony chuckled, ruffling your hair, “what’re you doing down here?” 

“Look,” You whipped your head around and focused on the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. One by one they flickered before shutting off, “I woke up this morning to all the lights in my room busted out.” 

“Wow,” Tony nodded, impressed. “So what’s that now? Power number five?” 

“Four,” You said proudly, turning all the lights back on, “maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll wake up tomorrow and be able to fly.” 

“Fly?” 

“Yeah, I think it’d be freeing.” You shrugged, “Wanda was flying the other day, it looked really cool.” 

“You could always use one of my suits if you wanna fly.”

“I know, but it wouldn’t be the same as doing it myself. I just need to work on it more.” 

“I hope you’re not gonna be throwing yourself off roofs or anything,” Tony eyed you suspiciously. 

“No,” You chuckled, “I’ll start small, maybe Wanda can help me.” 

“You come up with a new power nearly every day,” Tony smiled, “I’m sure you’ll master flight soon enough, little bird.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

As the tower fell in a cloud of ash and dust, Wanda shielded her team members the best she could, save for Vision, who was already flying above the rubble, and Fury, who was nowhere to be found, but whose grunts of pain could be heard by Peter as the building fell out from under his feet. 

When the dust had settled, and the whole team was on the ground, beaten up and bruised, but alive, they called for you. 

“(Y/N)?” Tony called, “(Y/N)!”

“Where did she go?” Peter limped to Tony, “(Y/N)!” 

“She’s still around,” Wanda said softly, “I can hear her thoughts.” Her eyebrows furrowed and her nose scrunched as she listened for what you were thinking, and then, she gasped in horror, covering her mouth. 

“What?” Steve grabbed her shoulder, “What is it?”

Wanda pointed a shaky finger to the cloud of dust surrounding the wreckage around them. “S-she just—” but she didn’t even need to get the words out when your silhouette appeared from the smoke. You were standing tall, victorious even, and as you walked towards the group, they finally saw what had Wanda so shaken up. 

In your hands, held out in front of you like a trophy, was the severed head of Nicholas Fury. The blood covered your entire torso, hands, and arms. You walked slowly, as each individual team member got a good look at what you had in your hands. 

You could practically smell the fear on them. Natasha screamed and Wanda cried out. 

“What—what have you done?” Steve gasped. 

You dropped the head and it rolled over, tapping Peter’s gym shoes. He looked down and saw the last look of complete terror overtaking Fury’s eyes. He turned and vomited. 

You looked at your blood-soaked hands and then back at your family’s faces. And then you did the unthinkable. You smiled. You chuckled even. You chuckled at the irony of it.

They lied to you in an attempt to keep you on their side; to keep you sane. But their lies caused the exact thing they’d always feared. And that was the biggest joke in the world to you. 

“I’m sorry,” You giggled, “it’s not funny, I know.” 

“(Y/N)...” Bucky sighed, stepping forward. 

“Stop,” You held your hand up, holding his breath captive, “don’t get any closer.”

Bucky wheezed and held a hand to his neck, trying to claw a breath out. 

“Stop (Y/N),” Tony demanded, “you’re hurting him.” 

You dropped her hand and looked at Tony incredulously, “like you all haven’t hurt me,” You said sarcastically. “You lied to me. You betrayed me. You used me! My entire life, you used me! My memories are gone; you stole them!” 

“We were trying to protect you!” Steve yelled, “We loved you.” 

“(Y/N), please,” Wanda begged, “we’re sorry.” 

“You’re not,” You frowned, “but you will be.”

You held your hand up, ready to deliver another blow, but Peter stepped in front of them, “(Y/N), stop!” He held his hands out, “This isn’t you. Please, just listen to us.” 

“This isn’t me?” You repeated, “Did you or did you not all say that I was a weapon?” 

“We did, but (Y/N)—”

“Did you steal my past from me?” You interrupted. “Did you use me? Try to keep me on your side by lying to me?

“We did!” Tony yelled, “but we were wrong (Y/N)! I’m sorry. I’m sorry we lied to you.” Tony stepped towards you and held his hands out, “we’re sorry, little bird.” 

“You’re not,” You said as tears began to fill your eyes, the impact of what you had done finally catching up to you. 

Tony nodded, “We are. We love you, (Y/N).” Tony gave you a small smile as he got closer, “Come here, please (Y/N).” 

You lowered your hands and caved, “I just wanted to be a part of your family; a real member.” 

“I know,” Tony nodded, gripping onto your shoulder as you sobbed. “You are (Y/N). You’re one of us.”

You rested your head on Tony’s shoulder as he held you, “That’s all I ever wanted.” You whispered, relaxing in Tony’s arms. 

And then you felt it. The sharp sting in your neck soon turned into a burning pain. You pulled away and held a hand to the side of your throat, feeling the blade that was lodged in there.

“No!” Peter screamed, running towards you, but Bruce held him back, “No! You promised! You promised, Stark!” He screamed, using all his energy and strength writhing in Bruce’s grip. 

“Shhh,” Tony sat down and cradled you in his lap as he cried, “it’s okay.”

You choked on blood as it filled your lungs and splattered across your lips. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony cried as you sputtered out unintelligible words, “it’s okay, little bird.” He shushed you before pressing a kiss to your head. 

The rest of the team was frozen in shock. Steve held Natasha close as she cried in his arms and Wanda was on her knees, muffling her cries in her hands. 

Bucky was on his knees too, numbly watching the scene before him. 

Peter was still shaking in Bruce’s arms, crying out to you. “(Y/N)! Let me go! (Y/N)!” 

You looked at Tony, just before your eyes glazed over and uttered your final words. Mouth filled with blood you looked up at Tony and whispered, almost too quietly to catch, “I’m sorry.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

✧tags & moots✧

@a-daydreamers-day @aayaissaa @peni5parker @theonly1outof-a-billion @holland-styles @tomsoxytocin @peterbenjiparker @itscaminow @slut-for-steve-rogers @bradtomlovesya @petrsipdeyparker @sophiaparkerbarnesjewishdelis @runawaywithmyghost @hallecarey1 @vavilip @bi-lmg07 @micaelaf05 @cloudyfeel @ptersmj @princessofguineapigs @spidernerdsblog @spideyspeaches @justapurrcat @harryhollandsgirlfriend @hollandlover19 @annathesillyfriend @scarletspideyy @celestialholland @loveaffaire @sinisterspidey @arlo-sanders @selfcarecap​ @pogueslandia​ @tomshufflepuff​ 

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#peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #spiderman x avenger!reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x stark!reader #spiderman x you #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #spiderman fluff #spiderman smut #spiderman angst #peter parker blurb #peter parker oneshot #peter parker series #spiderman blurb #spiderman oneshot #spiderman series #tom holland peter parker #tom holland spiderman #tom holland smut #peter parker fic #spiderman fic

[none-but-y0u]

harringrove roomate au where billy has a bad day bcuz of some leftover trauma from star court and hes laying in bed all day and steve feels so bad but he doesn’t know how to cheer him up but he desperately wants to

steve finally comes up with an idea and draws a large bath with candles and incense and bubbles (bcuz he’s always trying to give billy small pieces of the childhood that was stripped away from him)

and so he gets billy in the tub to help soothe his scars. puts on some classical music bcuz yes billy its okay to take a break from heavy metal every once in a while. and so while he’s doing that, steve decides to take things one step further.

goes to billy’s room and strips off all the blankets, sheets, and pillows and stuffs them into the wash. adds the bleach and detergent (bcuz the first thing billy taught him when he moved in was how to correctly wash whites). sets the timer and walks away.

upstairs, he checks in on billy who’s lying back, head resting on the curve of the tub eyes closed, a soft content smile on his face, and the candles are lit up around him and the incense is blowing smoke through the air and the dimmed lights surround billy’s head in a slight halo, and steve’s heart just catches bcuz he’s never seen billy look so at peace before and those feelings that have been fighting it’s way to the surface ever since he said billy could move in with him are starting to make a lot of sense right now.

he’s staring, mouth slightly widened when billy’s eyes open. he gives steve a confused look, and steve racks his brain for an explanation before settling on asking billy if he needs help washing his hair. it’s a genuine question ofc, but he’s not expecting billy to say yes so when he nods at steve to come over, he slowly walks over, praying all the way that it’s too dark for billy to see the heat rising to his face.

it goes as well as expected when you’re washing the hair of a boy you just realized that you might be (you are) in love with. steve drops the cup into the water a total of three times, accidentally brushes against something two times, and somehow falls in love all over again one more time.

after, his sweater is soaked, and if anyone walked in right now, they’d think some questionable things went on. steve leaves (well billy kicks him out so he can change) and goes to check on the washer. everything’s done, and nothing leaked so it’s pretty much a success if he does say so himself.

opening the dryer, he tosses in the comforter and goes to shut it, but then he looks down and sees his drenched sweater.

and his heart is in the right place but sometimes he forgets important things like not putting red things with white things. and he’s just focused on making sure billy is comfortable and feels taken care of and he why not just dry everything now to save time and energy. so he pulls off his damp red sweater and throws it in the dryer with the rest of the white sheets and blankets. resets the timer and walks away.

steve finds billy still in the bathroom. he’s standing in the mirror, hand shaking as he grips the lotion. every few seconds he tries to bring his fingers to his scars, but he can always stops, inches away from it.

steve makes the first move this time. clears his throat before walking in. billy drops his gaze, shame clear on his face. steve ignores it, prying the bottle from billy’s hand. he pours some onto his hand and looks up into billy’s eyes.

they’re red and there’s slight tear tracks running down his face. steve tilts his head, asking and billy nods, granting.

slowly, he brings the lotion to billy’s scars, starting with the farther ones before working his way in. it’s a slow and quiet process save for billy’s quiet gasps every time steve brings the cold lotion to billy’s chest. it’s surprisingly unerotic but incredibly intimate and personal.

steve finally gets to the main one. the starburst in the middle of billy’s chest. right next to his heart. he’s just brought his fingers to bily’s chest when billy’s hand moves. he covers steve’s hand with his and this time steve’s the one taking the deep breath.

he meets billy’s eyes and billy’s biting his lip like he wants to say something...

and then the dryer buzzer goes off and whatever moment was happening ends as quickly as it started.

steve leaves in a hurry. mostly so billy can finish getting dressed but also because he doesnt trust himself not to blurt out how much he’s in love with billy.

when he gets to the dryer, that thought goes out of his mind...because everything is pink. cursing, he grabs everything and heads back upstairs trying to figure out how he’s going to explain it to billy.

steve shuffles into the room, head down and a sorry on the tip of his tongue. but billy takes one look at the pile of pink items, grabs steve’s slightly less red sweater, and slips it over his head. he turns his head up at steve, a small grin coming onto his face and steve’s mouth goes dry.

steve goes to stutter out something but billy’s crossing the room, mumbles a thank you, pretty boy, and presses a kiss to his lips.

it’s quick and steve’s eyes are open the whole time in shock, but it’s so soft and billy smells like lavender and honey and he can feel both of their hearts bursting in their chests and steve feels like he’s home

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #fic #harringrove drabble #or the one where steve tries to take care of billy #but billy takes care of him #fanfic #stranger things #comfort #harringrove au #harringrove fic #for me and everyone else who struggle with laundry no matter how many times they do it #my writing

[strangerthings4theories]

Mirror Images: Billy And El Are Reflections Of Each Other

As you read this post, hold the following concepts in your mind: yin and yang in Chinese philosophy. The Light Side and Dark Side in Star Wars. The real world and the Upside Down in Stranger Things.

That, my friends, is the level of thematic significance the Duffers are giving Billy and El. And it’s my top reason for believing Billy will come back.

Why?

El is arguably the main character of the show. Any character who’s linked to her so profoundly will be a Big Fuckin’ Deal.

You cannot, CANNOT, create such a consistent dynamic by accident, which tells me that...

...the Duffers have huge intentions for Billy. He will become more significant to the show, not less! If you think he’ll return just for flashbacks or memories, you’re not thinking big enough.

Buuuut I’m getting ahead of myself. First let me show you what I mean when I say Billy and El are mirror images. It’s pretty mind-blowing...

1) The broad strokes of Billy and El’s lives echo each other: their family backgrounds, their traumas, and their journeys in the show.

>>They’ve suffered under abusive fathers. In fact, in S2 they have encounters with their fathers in back-to-back episodes - El with Brenner in episode 7, Billy with Neil in episode 8. 

Both fathers are likened to the Mind Flayer in the power they wield over their children. In episode 7, El’s hallucination of Brenner tells her she has a “wound... growing and festering” (my paraphrase), a clear reference to the tunnels of the Upside Down. Kali, as the creator of the hallucination, is trying to tell El that he is the source of the wound, and El won’t heal until she’s confronted him. 

In episode 8, the title card “The Mind Flayer” opens on Neil driving back to the Hargrove house, implying he’s the real Mind Flayer in Billy’s life. As I’ve argued elsewhere, Billy won’t heal either until he’s confronted Neil.

>>Billy and El lost their mothers because of their fathers. Brenner fried Terry's brain with electricity for daring to defy him. Billy's mother left for an unknown reason, but we’re led to believe she couldn’t take Neil’s abuse anymore. The way she's presented in Billy's memories leads me to believe she has since passed away.

Billy and El are both devastated by their losses. When El tells Billy at Starcourt, “[Your mother] was pretty,” she’s trying to tell him she understands.

>>Billy and El have “adopted” sisters, Max and Kali. Max represents Billy's better nature; Kali represents El's darker nature. In the same season where Billy constantly insists Max isn't his sister - thereby rejecting her - El finds Kali and embraces her. This symbolizes Billy and El’s complementary journeys: Billy is learning to accept his light while El is learning to accept her darkness.

>>Billy and El are wounded and angry because of what’s happened to them. In S1 El worries she's a monster, and in S2 she nearly kills a man in her anger, only to stop herself at the last second (against the wishes of Kali, her darker nature). Billy lets his rage define him. He's turned into a bully over his teen years, and in S2 he nearly kills Steve. Max (his better nature) stops him.

>>Billy and El are viscerally connected to the Upside Down.

The Upside Down is pursuing El. We’re not sure why yet, but their predator/prey dynamic is the main source of conflict in the show. Brenner says to her in S1, “It [the Upside Down] is reaching out to you ‘cause it wants you. It’s calling you. So don’t turn away from it this time.” His words form the backbone of the narrative:

In S1, El opens the first Gate, introducing the Upside Down to our world and setting the events of the show in motion. At the climax, she defeats the Demogorgon, the Mind Flayer's first servant.

S2 deals with the evolving consequences of El opening the first Gate. At the climax, El closes the Gate (symbolically “turning away" from the Upside Down) and catches the Mind Flayer's attention in the process.

In S3, the Mind Flayer comes after El to kill her. She runs from him, and her friends intervene to save her.

In future seasons, the Mind Flayer will regroup and try again but to corrupt her this time, not kill her. The climax of the entire show will hinge on the resolution of their conflict. El will be forced to stop running and face the Mind Flayer head-on.

In S3, Billy is caught by the Mind Flayer and turned into his instrument to hunt El down. This creates a yin/yang situation where Billy and El are revolving around each other, with the Mind Flayer in the center pulling on them both. At Starcourt, El saves Billy's soul by bypassing the Mind Flayer completely - building “the rainbow bridge.”

If you remember that Brenner and Neil, their abusive fathers, are likened to the Mind Flayer, their interaction becomes the story of Billy re-enacting his trauma, and El helping him heal it.

2) Runaway Max gives us a special case of Billy and El mirroring each other.

In S1, one of El's biggest moments happens in episode 6. Mike and Dustin have been cornered by the bullies Troy and James. Right when all hope is lost, El shows up and breaks Troy’s arm. After that, she confesses tearfully, “The gate. I opened it. I'm the monster.” This brings forward her inner struggle - am I a monster for the things I do? - which she will no doubt revisit in future seasons.

Keep in mind that Troy is around 12 years old, and El breaks his right arm.

Jump forward to S2. At one point, Billy complains, “Yeah, we're stuck here [in Hawkins]. And whose fault is that?” - implying it's somehow Max's. She disagrees. “Yours,” she mutters under her breath.

In the show, we never get an explanation. Runaway Max tells us everything.

Back in California, Billy is spiraling deeper and deeper into a pit of rage. One fateful afternoon, he takes it out on Max and her best friend Nate, a 12-year-old boy. When Max resists him, he seizes Nate's right arm and twists it behind his back. He holds it there, watching Max.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, a crazed look in his eyes.

When she does nothing, he breaks Nate's arm.

The fallout is catastrophic. Within weeks, Neil decides they should all move away from California for the good of the family.

Now think about this. El breaks a 12-year-old boy's right arm to save her friends from bullies. Billy breaks a 12-year-old boy's right arm... because he is the bully.

It’s part of the wider pattern: El is light, Billy is darkness.

3) The Duffers use physical markers to underscore Billy and El’s similarities.

>>When the MF wrecks Billy's car, Billy's forehead smashes into the windshield, leaving a gash. At Starcourt, he slams El into the wall, giving her a wound in the same spot. Thematically, their wounds tell the story of Billy suffering abuse, then turning around and inflicting it on El. He’s perpetuating a cycle, and it’s up to him to stop it.

>>Both Billy and El are limping by the time they reach Starcourt. El's leg is injured from the Mind Flayer, while Billy injures his in the car crash. These wounds tell the story of El, the “innocent,” suffering pain through no fault of her own while Billy, the “guilty” one, is being punished for his crimes. (I put those words in quotes because I believe the show will challenge our assumptions.) 

A sad footnote: El has Max and Mike to help her walk. Billy has no one.

>>In S2, Billy gets a nosebleed out of the same nostril as El. This says a LOT, marking him as a future “superhero” and putting him in the same class as El, Kali, and El's mom Terry.

Off the top of my head, only two other characters get nosebleeds, Mayor Kline and Steve. But the blood never comes cleanly out of one nostril the way it does with El. I believe that was a purposeful design choice to avoid muddying the symbolic waters.

...

Y’all, I’ve already hit my picture limit for a single post, and I’m not even done yet :p So I’ll stop there for now. Eventually I’ll show you how El is connected to the Demogorgon in the same strange way as Billy.

You see what I mean though? There is no fuckin’ way Billy is dead for good. Why would the Duffers give him this much resonance with El, then drop him? 

It makes no sense.

If you ask me, they’ve got plans for our boy. World-altering plans. He’s not just coming back; by the end of the show, he’s gonna be a Big Goddamn Hero.

»»————-　✼　————-««

Billy Is Alive - A Meta Series

#billy hargrove #el hopper #billy hargrove is alive #stranger things theory #stranger things analysis #neil hargrove #martin brenner #terry ives #billy hargrove's mother #kali prasad #max mayfield #nothin' but parallels all the way down

[vibraniumwing]

true love

a sam wilson x fem!reader soulmate au wherein you can hear the thoughts of your soulmate at random points of the day.

WARNING: slight au (?), agent!assassin!y/n, occasional swearing, y/n and sam bickering during missions and typical canon-violence (kind of mellowed down), y/n and sam being frenemies (well more on them being childish while bickering), and sexual innuendos/jokes. (18+ please. MINORS DNI.) also not beta-read so all mistakes are mine !!

A/N: listened to pink’s true love as i plotted this so feels are in order. this soulmate au has you listening to the thoughts of your soulmate at random points of the day until a mutual connection of attraction has been made, which makes you freely converse with your soulmate through your thoughts. ALSO SAM IN A TURTLENECK AKDJFDSJF AWOOGA

word count: 2.7k

---

You initially had thought that you had no soulmate since you hadn’t heard from them; not even once. Until one night, while you were doing your skincare routine, you heard your soulmate’s rather explicit thoughts about another person.

Safe to say it left you hot and bothered until you went to bed (and now aware about how you should be more careful about spacing out while thinking of something rated.), rather hurt as well at the fact that they were thinking of another person’s body other than yours.

Sam on the other hand, has heard from his partner as he would like to call it a few times. The first time being rather entertaining and concerning as he heard them curse out a random person, wishing hellfire on their whole existence as this person “annoyed the living will out of them.” which made him chuckle as he soared through the sky during one of his missions.

---

You were flying back to the Avenger’s Compound after another mission, seeing everyone’s silent and probably as exhausted as you from another fight. You were seated in the back, slowly drifting off to sleep when your soulmate’s thoughts suddenly infiltrated your mind, “Man, she looks cute as well when she’s sleepy. She’s equally as sexy when she’s angry… Her lips are so fucking kissable, wonder how well that works in the be-”

“NO!” you suddenly jolted awake, making everyone in the Quinjet look at you with concern. Steve was the first one to speak, glancing back at you with concern. “Are you okay over there, Y/N?”

You groaned, feeling a headache forming from being bolted awake. “I-I’m fine. It’s just my soulmate. That son of a bitch is so horny.” You muttered, putting your hands over your eyes as you sighed in frustration. “They’re gawking over another person and I get to hear about it.” You continued, making a few of the heroes you’re with snicker at your demise.

“Sounds like fun if you ask me.” Sam was the first to speak up, looking at you with a shit-eating grin. “You’ll have the upper hand knowing their kinks.” He mused, relaxing in his chair as he wiggled his eyebrows, probably enjoying the way you were suffering.

You smiled at him sarcastically, scrunching your nose in the process before rolling your eyes at him and flipping him off. “Woah! Steve, she did a bad language sign!” Sam called out, making the others laugh even more and the Captain groan at the reminder of his old antics.

“Shut it, Wilson. Not everyone likes to hear their soulmates intrusive thoughts.” You countered, raising up your other hand to flip him off again, not caring if you would be called out by Steve who was sighing again. “I swear once I meet this person, I’m kicking them where the sun don’t shine for being so fucking horny all the time.”

---

Sam had just finished his daily laps around the compound, headphones plugged in as he listened to Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean as walked back inside of the compound, head bobbing to the beat; doing a little dance as well since he was in a rather good mood. “What’s good Metal Man” he greeted Bucky, giving the soldier a quick nod which the other looked at him with bewilderment.

He wandered into the kitchen, not paying attention to your figure that was seated by one of the island stools, busy scrolling away on your phone. Sam grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and took a big swig of the cool liquid, parched as ever from the heat when he heard his soulmate speak out all of a sudden.

“Why the fuck does this say The Falcon doesn’t look handsome? He’s a fucking sex god if I’ve ever seen one.” Those words were enough to make him choke on his drink, dropping the bottle on the floor as he coughed out the water from the wrong pipe. This made you jolt in your seat and look at him in concern. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shook it off, tapping his chest to sooth the subtle burn from what happened moments ago. He still managed to smirk at you, cocking up an eyebrow. “Concerned about me, are you baby?” before straightening up. “I just got started from what my soulmate said.”

You pride yourself in having the patience of a saint when it comes to people but something about Sam Wilson and his ego just irks you to the core. His words made you scoff in disgust, making a face at him as you hopped off from the stool and grabbed the donut you were eating, “I would rather have Bucky’s cold metal arm wrapped around my neck than be concerned about you.” You retorted, mumbling something incoherent as you passed by the said super soldier who looked confused once more.

“What the hell did I do?” He asked, looking at Sam for answers but was left with no answers as he left to go find a mop to clean up the spilled drink on the floor.

---

You wanted to curse the person who thought it was a bright idea to pair you up with Sam for a mission. You didn’t know if the person had a personal vendetta against you or just found entertainment in the constant fights that you had with the male but you weren’t having any of it.

The two of you were tasked to retrieve an artifact which contained a lot of sensitive information that was stolen by a former S.H.I.E.L.D employee-turned-felon and planned to release it to the world which can cause more harm than good for everyone; with the exception of criminals who target the population.

You and Sam were undercover, sitting in the corner of the busy cafe located in Soho where intel located the former agent who was meeting with someone who’s a stepping stone in releasing the files. Shifting in your seat as your eyes watched him, you took a drink of your iced latte, feeling uneasy under your companion’s stare. “What the fuck is your problem, Wilson?”

He shrugged, leaning into his own chair, “If you keep on staring you’ll blow our cover.” His tone was careful despite saying so loud, glancing at the direction of where you were looking at, seeing the agent on the phone before looking back at you. “Redwing is ready if he ever runs away, L/N.”

This made you roll your eyes, “I hate that damn machine.” You muttered, sinking into your seat as you sipped on your coffee even more.

Your stakeout was going rather well until the guy you were watching stood up, making you and Sam follow, pursuing him in the busy streets of New York. The person must’ve sensed someone following him since he started to make a run for it. “Fuck.” You muttered quietly, also starting to run, getting a headstart from Sam who commanded Redwing to follow the guy.

He slid into an alleyway and you followed him, only to be met with a gun pointed to your head. “Move and I won’t hesitate to blow your brains.” He threatened, finger on the trigger. It would be a lie to say that this didn’t bring back your memories of harsh training with actual guns pointed at your head; it caused your heartbeat to move at a much more erratic pace.

You tried to look for Sam through your peripheral view but to now avail, that is until someone suddenly shouted, “Redwing! NOW!” which caught the ex-agent off guard as he turned around, giving you the opportunity to tackle him to the ground. “Better luck next time.” You chided, holding him in place as Sam re-emerged from the other side of the alley, looking rather impressed.

“Not too shabby, Y/N.” He says, a smirk resting on his lips as he got the agent from you, pushing him against the wall to keep in place firmly. You bowed playfully, brushing your hands against your pants as you mirrored the smirk on his lips. “Couldn’t say the same for you though.” You humored, readjusting your shirt as you watched Sam turn in the then man.

He scoffed at your statement, feigning offense. “Excuse me, but without Redwing over here, you would have your brains out on the street.” He answered, motioning to the gadget flying above your head doing small little wiggles.

You rolled your eyes, starting to walk away from him. “You know you needed him, Y/N!” He hollered out, making you shake your head and laugh softly to yourself. You brought up your right hand to show him your middle finger once again, looking back at him with a small smile. “You wish, Wilson!”

“If you weren’t such an asshole Sam, I would’ve kissed you right now. But knowing your ego, it’s best to leave you hanging.”

That sentence alone left him shocked in his place, realizing who his soulmate was.

---

The rest of the day was quiet for you, which was quite the shocker; you hadn’t heard from Sam, not even a single “what’s up, short stuff.” If anything, you had come up to the idea that he was avoiding you like the plague. Despite the peace and quiet it provided, you missed your banters with him dar too much.

You were inside the gym, focusing your energy on throwing punches on the punching bag as your mind was shrouded with the thought of Sam suddenly avoiding you. Had you been too harsh on him? Did you actually offend him this time? You shook it off, Sam and you had literally gone through hell and back, talked so much trash about each other but never got angry; not even once. So what was his deal?

Sam suddenly re-emerged from behind you, clad in a tight-fitting shirt and some shorts, probably on his way to work out. He was still silent, which annoyed you even more, he didn’t even spare you a glance as he made a beeline for the weights. This made you roll your eyes, punching the gym equipment a bit harder out of aggression.

“If you keep that up, you might break the punching bag again.” He finally spoke up, looking at you with a blank expression as he yielded the dumbbell, flexing his arms. Your eyes travelled down to his muscles that were defined through his shirt before looking back up to meet his gaze, huffing lightly before turning away. If he wanted to be silent with you, then so be it.

“Oh c’mon now. Don’t ignore me, you literally just checked me out!” Sam pressed on, his tone now filled with mischief; he caught you and you were pretty sure he won’t let it down until you give him the attention that he wants.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction, not just yet. You were dying on the inside, wanting to just go back to the playful fights you have but your pride was at unrest. You want to see him go to an extent just to grab your attention again.

He shook his head in annoyance, mumbling something rather incoherent as he silenced himself, succumbing to your games.

Quietness enveloped the room, the only thing that could be heard was the heavy breathing from the exercises the two of you were doing. Moving from the punching bag to the treadmill, you plugged in your earphones as you listened to some tunes to entertain yourself; you’ve never heard silence quite this loud until you and Sam had completely disregarded each other’s presence.

“Oh my god, Y/N. If you weren’t so stubborn I would’ve told you that you’re my soulmate and pinned you against the wall already.”

Sam’s voice infiltrated your mind, obviously startling you, making you lose your control and twist your ankle which resulted with you falling down on the treadmill before sliding down to the floor. You groaned softly, holding on to your ankle as you winced in pain.

Sam on the other hand was quick to drop the free weight equipment he was using and ran to your side, face filled with concern. “Hey, you alright? What happened?” He questioned, hand carefully holding your achilles as he elevated it, checking for any signs of wounds.

You shook your head, refusing to believe that he was your soulmate. Goosebumps ran along your skin at his simple touch, now realizing the effect he has on you. Huffing lightly, he placed back down on the floor as he got up, dusting off his hands. “I’ll go get the first aid kit. I think you might have sprained your ankle from that fall.”

Sighing softly, you had no other choice but to let him do the work. He walked back to you and quietly worked on your ankle, gently pressing the ice to your ankle to contain its swelling, making you let out a hiss from the pain. “Don’t go biting me.” He humored, making laugh softly and rolled your eyes.

Seeing how close he was, you silently admired how his brows were furrowed in focus as he wrapped the bandage around your foot and ankle, how the sweat that littered his skin glistened in the bright light of the gym, and how hands light and gentle as he handled you which gave the butterflies at the pit of your stomach do flips.

You weren’t sure if you were able to speak with him freely through your thoughts, fearing that the attraction you had with him wasn’t mutual but you took a deep breath in, focusing your remaining energy to try and communicate with him. “Sam.”

He looked at you, “Yes?” which made you break out into a big smile, punching him lightly on the shoulder. His face of concern morphed into one of annoyance, “Hey! I’m here helping you out with your sprained ankle and you repay my kind actions by punching me on the shoulder?”

“Idiot, I didn’t even speak out loud.” You told him, catching him off-guard. You laughed softly at his surprised expression, probably not expecting that you would realize right away that you were each other’s soulmate. A smirk of triumph now adorned your lips as you wiggled your eyebrows at him, taking the opportunity to tease him even more. “Cat’s got your tongue?”

Sam chuckled, putting your foot on his thigh as he sat down on the floor, “As if I haven’t heard the incriminating thoughts that go through your mind.” He rebutted, looking around the room before meeting your gaze, a small smile adorning your lips. “You’re stuck with me now, I have the right to fully annoy you now.”

You sighed dramatically, laying on the cool floor. “What did I do in my past life to deserve this?” You playfully whined, covering your face with your hands which Sam was quick to uncover, now that he was hovering over you as he gently leaned in. “Please, I know you want me too.”

His voice deepened as it got softer, his body above yours as he spoke again, “You just didn’t know how much I wanted you too.” Normally Sam would be energetic and loud around you, to irk you beneath your skin, so seeing him so soft and gentle with you was making your brain go haywire. It was a side of you you haven’t seen yet.

Given the close proximity between the both of you, you could feel his warm breath fan out on your skin, effectively making your skin feel more flushed as it is. “How about you get a kiss from this sex god then, hm?” He managed to crack a joke, lips forming a smile as he casted a brief glance down to your lips.

You hit his shoulder, scrunching up your nose. “I can’t believe you heard my thoughts about that一 but who cares, kiss me.” And soon enough, his lips were on yours in a soft liplock. It was slow and gentle, his lips molded perfectly with yours as it portrayed the pent up emotions the both of you have been pining for each other.

The kiss had now upscaled into a much more passionate one, with his lower half playfully grinding down on you, effectively making you release a small moan which Sam took as an opportunity to let his tongue inside the wet cavern, asserting his dominance against you until

“Woah what the fuck!” was heard across the room, making you push Sam off from you as the both of you whipped your head to the door to see Bucky standing with wide eyes.

“I knew your sexual tension was high up in the air but can’t you guys fuck somewhere else?!”

---

TAGLIST: @lunalovecroft @gcdricreads @darthwheezely (fellow falcon simp, i just had to tag you)

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson fluff #the falcon #the falcon x reader #sam wilson fics #sam wilson fic #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson imagines #the falcon imagines

[instasiswetrust]

Cigarettes & Crushes

Read it on AO3

The cherry-red tip of a lit cigarette is what catches his attention in the first place.

Clocks running on a quarter past midnight, and the few lights illuminating Hawkins’ roads come from the half-broken lamp post with their flickering lights that only serve to mess him up more than they comfort him. He hadn't intended to drive past the Wheeler’s house but his aimless wandering of the familiar streets seemed to have taken him there anyway. It's there where he spots it, a tiny point of light near the middle of the roof, right next to one of the windows of the house.

Steve would know the light of a cigarette anywhere. Even mildly drunk with sleep deprivation as he currently is.

At first, he thinks it's Nancy. He's caught her smoking the odd cigarette or two on the times they manage to catch each other when she comes into town, apparently a trend from her fellow journalism students that she had kept. But it's April and he knows for a fact that Nancy is not in town. That only leaves one very obvious answer then.

Really, he should've seen that one coming when Mike offered to take his cigarettes when he quit.

There's a flicker of movement on the roof. A practiced little flick that Steve has learned by heart if only because of his much he used to do it.

Ash. Take a drag. Blow it out.

Mike must be able to see the beamer perfectly from his vantage spot on the roof. Somehow, Steve doubts he cares about being caught. He wonders though, what's the reason for this particular night. Mike and he weren't close. Not like he was with Dustin, or even with Max by extension of Billy. Their dynamic was more of the antagonistic type if anything, and yet...

With quiet steps, he makes his way to the Wheeler's garage. He climbs it with only a minor fumbling, dismissing the casual reminder his brain throws at him from the last time he did this, all those years back. Fighting monsters changes a person. Even if that change is just becoming more stealthy when climbing drain pipes.

Mike continues to say nothing even as Steve takes the seat next to him on the roof. There's not even a nod of acknowledgment but that's fine, Steve knows how this type of thing goes. He is dating Billy Hargrove after all. So he sits and he waits, humming Madonna under his breath.

“So like, you're gay right?”

Somehow, Steve manages to choke on his own tongue.

“What the fuck, Mike?”

“I mean,” He does this vague wave of his arm, leaving a faint trail of smoke in his wake. “Everybody in the Party knows you and Hargrove are a thing. You're both piss poor at hiding it.“

“Hey, that’s-!”

Mike turns to him this time, raising a single eyebrow. The expression is so Nancy, that for a single second is like he can see her features juxtaposed against his. But then he remembers the accusations being leveled at him and he frowns, glaring back.

“What’s your point, Wheeler?”

As he watches, Mile takes another long drag of the cigarette, taking his time. It appears as a casual gesture, a cool guy move that Steve’s done too many times before to give a dramatic pause to his talks, but there's a tense energy in the hitch of Mike’s shoulders that makes him think this is less cool guy charm and more nervousness.

“You’re gay. And yet, from what I remember, you were pretty into my sister when you dated her.”

Oh. He can see where this is going already and it makes him want to laugh. Mike would probably try to kill him if he did though, so he refrains from it. In a way, he sort of saw this coming. Still, it wouldn't hurt to tease the teen a little, make him drop the act, and ask what he wants.

"Yeah, so what's your point?"

Steve receives a glare for that, and he offers back a wide grin which in turn makes Mike sigh in exasperation. By now, the cigarette is almost gone and he snuffs it out on the tile roof before shifting in place to properly face Steve. He looks nervous, chewing down on his bottom lip and fiddling with the stitching in his jeans. Sometimes it's hard to remember that Mike — and all of the other little nerds — are only seventeen. Not even adults and yet forced to mature too quickly by their experiences with the Upside Down.

"Is-" Mike hesitates, refusing to meet Steve's eyes. "Is that a thing? Like a normal thing to like both boys and girls?"

“Liking boys and girls? Oh not at all, we're actually freaks of nature and will forever be damned in hell for our impure tendencies-” He’s casual as he says it, exaggerating the words with his hands and making a show out of it until the first snort of laughter burst from Mike and all Steve can do is join him.

Here he is, April 7th, 1988 at half-past midnight on the Wheeler's roof, absolutely bursting with laughter, sleeping neighbors be damned.

It takes a bit more before the laughs die down and he can offer Mike an actual answer to his question. “Yes, it's a normal thing, people call it bisexuality. Definitely not as unusual as you may believe it to be!”

Any tension that might remain on Mike’s shoulders seems to dissipate with those words. His fingers tap an uneven rhythm on his thigh as he falls deep in thought, most likely mulling over what he's just been told. Steve won't press for more information — he has an idea who Mike might be sweet on, after all — but he does want to address another thing.

“Y’know, when I gave you my cigarettes it was because you were going to throw them away. Not for you to start smoking at the same time I quit.”

Mike chuckles at that, offering Steve a sheepish smile. “Didn't mean to start, really. Just wanted to find out how it felt, and I uh-”

“It got out of hand?”

“Kinda.” A grimace. “I only do it when I get stressed. Or, well, anything Demo related.”

“So, today?”

Mike goes quiet again, avoiding Steve’s gaze. It leaves him wondering what could've happened that would stress Mike enough to be near the same level as Upside Down stuff. And then it dawns on him.

The awkward questioning. All those looks he's caught Mike giving Will. The way Will gazes at him when Mike is not looking. Steve’s dying to ask and yet he knows he has to tread carefully.

“Is this about... Will?”

It almost looks like someone has connected Mike to a live wire, his spine straightening and brown eyes going wide. There's fear in his gaze, a vulnerability to the way he holds himself that Steve’s never seen from him before and it instantly worries him. Guess becoming a pseudo-older brother for these nerds meant worrying about things like these.

“How do you-”

“Hm? Oh, I've seen the way you look at him. The way you act around him is also pretty telling.”

Mike covers his face with his hands, groaning in anguish. For a moment it's like he forgets where they are, pitching back as if against a bed only to flail when he loses his balance. Steve shoots a hand to steady him, helping him back into a sitting position.

“I thought I wasn't being so obvious!”

“You're not!” Steve rushes to reassure him, then makes a pause before shrugging. “Alright, maybe a little bit. But I don't think the others have made the connection yet.”

“You think?” Wide eyes, hopeful if only a little anxious.

“Swear on it, Wheeler.” He wraps an arm around the teen, shaking him a little. “I say you should go for it though.”

Mike’s nose scrunches up in annoyance but he doesn't pull away from the half-hug so Steve will count that as a win.

“But-”

“Nope!” Steve sits back enough to look Mike in the eyes. “Trust me on this, Wheeler. Find some courage and ask that boy out on a date. If I'm wrong and he says no, I promise I'll buy you a six-pack and drive you to the quarry myself.”

He squints at him, clearly not trusting his words. It takes a few more seconds of Steve’s insistence before Mike caves in, sighing as he nods. Despite his reticence, he seems much more relaxed after agreeing to it. Relaxed enough that exhaustion catches up with him, dragging a yawn out of his chest. Watching this, Steve sat up to make his descent.

“Alright Wheeler, I think it's time you head inside and try to get some sleep.”

Mike grunts in response, rubbing at his eyes. Steve thinks he might have muttered a quiet Thank you before crawling through his bedroom window but he's not sure.

#mike wheeler #steve harrington #friendships #stranger things #harringrove #? #mentioned at least #unlikely friendships #mike needs to learn some tact #fics #byler

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

My Silver Screen, My Misery, My Love, My Defeat

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem Reader

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write something with Billie Dean for so long but didn’t know where to start. This lady intimidates me. I don’t know what this fic is worth, and I’m so nervous about posting it - I know it’s not particularly nice, but it’s the most personal fic I ever wrote so please be kind. 

Title is from “Pacific Coast Highway In The Movies” by AWOLNATION. This song haunts me. x

Word count: ~ 3 000

“Dear me when will my life begin?” you sighed dramatically as you gathered your things.

“Bitch, I never want to see you again,” your boss growled, pointing an angry finger at you.

“Goodbye, asshole!” you called over your shoulder as you walked out of the room.

You had never cared about that job. You didn’t seem to be able to care about anything at all. You were so bored.

Real life lacked passion and colours. You were constantly hungry for a sense of wonderment. No emotion was worth feeling if it wasn’t extreme. You wanted to know how it felt to love so deeply you would faint in the dining room like the heroines of old, drive your car off a cliff, smash the heads of your lover’s suitors. When had the world and love become so boring?

You had come to believe you would never be able to fall in love with anyone. Fiction had ruined your life. You wanted beauty, you wanted glamour, you wanted passion and murder, tears shed under the stars, diamonds on the bed. You wanted a lover who would come down the stairs in a white silk gown with lace as the music and the lighting made love to her. Cherry pink lips and wavy hair, glitter in her eyes. How could anyone settle for less?

You walked into the bright sunlight and let the flow of pedestrians sweep you away.

**

You scanned the press room and sighed. Bored, you were so bored. Luckily the couches were comfortable, and the tea was good.

You worked for the local newspaper – nothing serious, nothing you were passionate about, but you had been struggling to make ends meet. You and another journalist were covering an annual festival celebrating “everything mystical and magical!” Bollocks, as far as you were concerned. But you loved festivals, you always had. There was something almost surreal about them, how time seemed to slow down, and space to narrow. A bubble would form, a dome, a world only a few were let in. Real life would stop for a while, and you loved that, because real life was boring.

The press secretary – Leo? Theo? who cared; he was uninteresting and badly dressed – waved at you from across the room. “She’s here,” he mouthed, meaning the medium you were to interview. You gave him a thumbs-up and sighed as soon as he turned his back to you. Notebook, pen, Dictaphone. Cup of tea - empty. Another sigh. You signaled to the old lady behind the counter at the far end of the room for another cup. She pretended not to see you.  

“Asshole,” you muttered between gritted teeth. Someone on the couch next to yours – Steve? Pete? he had introduced himself the day before, he worked for a national TV channel, you couldn’t remember which one – laughed loudly at something someone else had said.

Your attention was suddenly drawn to the door. The press secretary was ushering a group of people in: a young man wearing jeans, a girl clutching files to her chest, a woman who walked in as if she owned the place, high-heels clicking, smile flashing.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Pete (Steve?) point at her. “Man, that’s Billie Dean Howard,” he said in a breath.

“Who?” asked his companion.

“Oi, Miss Howard!” someone called – a photographer, jumping to his feet with his camera in his hands.

She glanced at him, offered him a polite smile; tilted her head on one side as she took a pose.

You gazed at her.

“Make sure the lighting is good,” she told the photographer.

The young man in jeans was buzzing around her, almost shoving a notebook into her face, muttering something about a timetable and how they were running out of time. She leaned away from him, holding out a perfectly manicured hand – pale pink acrylics, thin silver rings – to bat the notebook away. You saw her mouth twist in an annoyed kind of way, and then the press secretary nodded at you, and she turned, and her eyes met yours.

Her brow pushed up as a smug smile crept up her lips – plump, glittery beige lipstick. “Are you here for me, babydoll?” she called.

And just like that you were done for. For the stars were singing, and your heart was finally. Admiring. Entranced. Alive.

Oh thank all the freaking Gods, she had finally come.

**

You turned on the Dictaphone and grabbed your pen. Your hands were sweating.

“Ur,” you said. Billie Dean crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knee, smiling.

You had prepared for this interview, vaguely, but she had stolen all the words from you. Kidnap me, was what you wished to tell her. Ravish me. Take me away with you from this grey world and fill my mind and heart with wonderment. Make me your co-star.

“So, what do you think of the city so far?” was what came out of your mouth. You could have died of embarrassment.

Fortunately for you, Billie Dean loved to talk about herself, so you didn’t have to rack your brain for interesting questions.

You told her you had waited for her your whole life. You told her you meant it. She looked genuinely surprised, but then she smiled, a smile that seemed to suggest she had already forgiven you for that mistake. You realized that, probably, your passionate childishness was very funny to her, as were all those who had succumbed to it before you.

“The scariest spirit I’ve ever met?” She leant back on the couch, eyes staring up at the ceiling, lips curling into a smile. “I don’t get scared easily,” she quipped, and her smile turned into a smirk.

“Are you planning on staying here long?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Depends if I can find a cozy bed to sleep in and a pretty girl to smooch.”

Damn her, damn her – you were about to lean in and kiss that smug smile off her lips when the press secretary – damn him, damn him – appeared out of nowhere as in an uninspired script, squeaking “Time’s up!” as if time mattered, as if time hadn’t stopped the minute you had met Billie Dean’s eyes.

The young man in jeans pressed a cup of coffee into Billie’s hands. “Cathy’s waiting for you in the VIP room,” he said nervously. He glanced at you over the rim of his glasses. “You’re done here?”

“I – “You cleared your throat. Billie Dean was standing up, rearranging her hair, ready to leave, ready to forget already –

“You’ll have us read that article before you publish it, alright?” the young man was saying.

“Oh whatever happened to the freedom of the press,” Billie retorted. Her eyes flicked to you. “Don’t mind him.”

“I have a very cozy bed,” you heard yourself say.

For a second or two, you could have heard a pin drop.

**

Billie held your face between her hands as if you were made of porcelain, the first time she kissed you. You gazed into her eyes as if you were dreaming. “Who are you?” you whispered.

She laughed indulgently. “Don’t forget to breathe, darling.”

A breath in. She smelt of cigarette smoke and sage and something else, something like… you didn’t know. There was no word for it. She smelt like Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars.

**

Billie Dean raised a toast to you and to the sun and said she couldn’t possibly live without either of you. You scoffed, rolled your eyes at her as if that wasn’t the kindest thing anyone had ever said to you. She noticed your reddening cheeks, and let out a chuckle.

“What? It’s a sunburn,” you lied, fighting a smile.  

The midday summer sun was beating down on the Mediterranean, a soft breeze blowing and carrying the scent of the sea. You were spending the week in Monaco, a gift from Billie for your first anniversary. You closed your eyes, breathed in happily. The waiter brought your order, a bistro salad with warm goat cheese on toast for you, a slice of salmon and French fries for Billie. She flashed a smile at him, and his eyes sparkled.

“He’s in love,” you teased, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“With me?” Billie assumed an innocent expression. “Why, I could not possibly believe that.”

You scoffed again. She smiled, pinched a thick slice of lemon between her thumb and index.

“We should come here every summer,” she said in a singsong, drizzling lemon juice over the salmon. “I love it here.”

“Ghost-free?”

She laughed. “I wish. But you look so beautiful with that sunburn.”Her eyes glanced up at you mischievously; you cleared your throat. She smirked, put the slice of lemon on the side of her plate, dried her fingers with her napkin.

“You and I, lost in a foreign country,” she said.

“Luckily for you, I took French lessons in college.”

“Oh is that so?” Under the table, Billie rubbed her bare foot up and down your leg. “And how do you say ‘kiss me’ in French?”

You leaned towards her, beaming. Your gaze flicked to her lips. “Embrasse-moi.”

“Atta girl.”

She took your breath away, every day. You bent over the table, meeting her lips halfway, smiling into the kiss.

**

“I love you,” she whispered. Her eyes smiled. “Forever.”

You pressed the pad of your thumb against her brow. “Um, you can’t know that.”

“Know that I love you?”

“Know that it’ll last forever. Nothing lasts forever.”

She pouted, shifted slightly on the bed. Your thumb slid on her skin. The light streaming through the windows splashed the walls of the hotel room yellow.

“Don’t be so mean at 8 in the morning,” she whined.

You rolled your eyes at her, planted a kiss on her lips. Her skin was hot and clammy. You nuzzled your nose in her neck, blew some air to tickle her. She raised one hand to fan herself – coral acrylics, no rings.

“Call room service,” she said, stretching lazily. “I want some ice cream.”

You snorted.“Ice cream for breakfast?”

“It’s too hot.”

You reached out for the telephone and sat up, making sure your bare breasts were exposed. “Lemon?” you asked Billie. She nodded, gaze on your chest. You made a face. “I don’t understand how you can stand the taste of lemon, it’s so sour – oh, hello. Yes, could we get some lemon ice cream, please? Ice cream, yes. Room 108. And you know what, a bottle of champagne as well. Yes.” You grinned at Billie, who, face half buried in her pillow, was laughing happily. “Thank you. Muchas gracias. Yes. Bye!”

**

“Miss Howard, please.”

“Oh babe, call me Billie.”

“A little further to the left, please Billie.”

“Who’s that with you, miss Billie?”

“Be a doll and fetch me my shawl, will you darling?”

The girl – Lucy? Lily? – nodded in awe and hurried off.

“A little further to the left, Billie.”

Someone turned on a projector. You squinted, gave Billie’s hand a squeeze.

“Miss Billie, who’s that charming young woman with you? Is she your date? Miss Billie, who’s –“

Camera flashes, everywhere. You felt Billie’s lips, feather-light, brush your ear. “Relax,” she whispered. “You look beautiful.”

All around you, you could make out dark shapes, nondescript, unimportant. Spectators of the show. Come to see her, come to see you.

“Miss Billie who’s that charming –“

“Paws off!” Billie laughed. She pulled you closer, hip bumping yours. “She’s all mine, gentlemen.”

You beamed at her, brighter than the projector. Camera flashes, everywhere. To capture the moment when Billie nipped your ear lobe and you threw back your head to laugh, one hand on her arm, in love, so in love.

**

“So what are we doing this weekend?”

You glanced up at her. “Aren’t you busy this weekend?”

Billie flashed you a smile as she sat down on the couch beside you. She laid one hand on your bare thigh, nails gently grazing. “Production’s delayed. I’m all yours.”

With a wince you removed her hand from your thigh. “I’m sweating,” you whined.

Her smile faltered, just a bit. “Aren’t you happy?”she asked. And then she relaxed and shook her head. “Oh, I’m stupid. You made other plans.”

“I’ve nothing to do at all.” You stretched and winced again. “I don’t know. I’m so bored.”

**

It happened again. And again.

You caught yourself looking at other faces in the crowd. No one held a candle to Billie Dean, you knew that. But still. You scanned the crowd.

You pretended not to notice when Billie held out a hand for you to hold.

**

The glamour was fading. The twinkle of the stars was being swallowed up by the morning light.

You had once visited a house. The wallpaper was peeling off, leaving ugly streaks of dirty grey or brown. The landlady’s nail polish was chipped.  

**

Billie’s eyes were wide and rimmed red. You had never seen her look so sad.

“Wait,” she pleaded, her fingers – pale pink acrylics, vintage ring with a red stone – closing around your wrist to hold you back. “Surely we can talk – “She tried to smile, but it looked too broken, too scared.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Billie,” you said, avoiding her gaze. You hesitated. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Her face fell. “But surely – “

“Are you here for me, babydoll?”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip and a tear rolled down her cheek, but you didn’t wipe it as you usually would. For this was how things always went. People left each other. Staying alive meant getting bored of the people you once loved. The credits roll. The movie ends.

You planted one last kiss on her lips as a sob pushed out of your throat. “Gosh but I loved you so much,” you cried. “I hadn’t been alive before you came. You taught me how to love and now I’ve died again and I’m lost without you. I’m forever lost without my love for you.”

You kept one of her scarves. It still smelt of cigarette smoke and sage and that something else – Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars.

**

Colours faded to grey. You sank back into routine. Monotonous. Soporific. Boring. So very boring.

A year ago you would have expected the world to stop turning the minute you walked out of Billie Dean’s life. It didn’t. Days followed days, a succession of yesterdays and todays and tomorrows. Life went on, mocking you.

**

The smell of salmon filled the kitchen as you dropped the thick slices onto the burning pan. You smiled as Julie – a one-night stand that somehow had become more – made an appreciative noise. She was sprawled on the sofa, watching TV lazily, muttering “Boring” every time she changed the channel.

“Boring,” – another channel, “Boring,” – another channel, “Bo – oh hello there! Y/N, look, I spot a milf!”

You looked up as the anchorman’s face twisted into a fawning smile. “I’ve got Muriel here on the phone, from Portland, Oregon. Muriel sounds pretty worried. She wants to know if ghosts stay forever as ghosts or if they ever get to find peace.”

The camera cut to his guest – coral acrylics, no rings. The salmon’s grease sizzled on the pan.

“Nice pair of legs,” Julie was saying. “Come on, cameraman, don’t be shy, show us more!”

You shushed her.

“… some of them have been dead for a very long time, I’m afraid,” Billie Dean answered with an affected nod of her head.

Your eyes were wide.

“And what about love?” the anchorman asked.

Billie quirked an eyebrow. “Love?”

“Do you think it’s eternal?”

**

“I can’t believe we’re leaving tomorrow!” your friend Henry moaned drunkenly. He tapped his foot on the pavement like a pouting child. “Couldn’t we buy a house on one of those hills and live here? I wanna live here. I don’t wanna live anywhere else.”

“I know,” you giggled, pulling on his arm. The night was full of lights. You hadn’t expected less from Los Angeles. You hadn’t quite been able to find the angels in the sky, though. You kept an eye out for them.

“The world isn’t fair because we’re poor.”Henry walked up to the nearest streetlight and hugged it. “I’m staying here. I’m not leaving.”

You giggled again, stretching your arms as if you were about to break into dance. The air was warm. For the past few days your heart hadn’t been quite so sad.

A car honked nearby, making you jump, and just as you were about to curse a woman shot out of the hotel on your left in a flurry of yellow and blue and nearly smashed into you – “Shit, look where you’re go – “ – brown eyes, gaze terrified, shoes in her hands, cheeks pink and – “Billie?”

She slammed back into your life like the female protagonist of a Hitchcock movie, running from danger in the moonlight with her hair disheveled and her dress billowing in the wind.

“Billie?”

You caught hold of her wrist and tried to meet her gaze. “Are you alright? What – what happened to you? Did somebody hurt you? Are you alright?” You poured questions onto her as if you couldn’t stop. Her eyes focused on you, and she ran a hand through her hair, and let out a nervous laugh.  

And just like that you were done for. For the stars were singing, and your heart was once again. Admiring. Entranced. Alive.

**

“Never again,” Billie groaned into your mouth. She was holding your head firmly between her hands, devouring you, shivering, panting. “Don’t you dare leave me ever again.”

“I love you,” you moaned. You pushed her down on the bed, eyes flashing hungry and predatory as you took in the sight of her, all flushed and ready for you. “Forever.”

And as you dived in you could almost forget the taste of that one lie.

**

“What about love?” the anchorman asked. “Do you think it’s eternal?”

Billie’s smile faltered. “I’m not sure,” she answered slowly.

“Aw, poor chick got her heart broken,” Julie mocked.

“Lemon?” you asked her.

“Uh?”

“Should I put some lemon juice on the salmon?”

“I hope so,” Billie’s voice said. “I’m not sure – but I hope so.”

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #fics

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

harringrove pls ily

Hi anon thank you for the ask lyt 💜💜🥰

• who said i love you first? – Billy said it first, whispered it against Steve’s shoulder while he was asleep. Steve said it first out loud a few weeks later and it still took Billy two months after that to finally say those words to Steve while he was awake.

• who laughs when the other trips? – Billy, sure he will then help Steve up, take the chance to cop a feel but he laughs first. Steve laughs at Billy tripping when he is drunk but usually that just ends up in him toppling over and then of course Billy is laughing at him again but this time they are both laughing and Billy’s splayed out in the grass a foot away so no one is copping a feel this time.

• who pays the bills? – Depends if it’s a sugar daddy Billy type au then Billy. But outside of those Au’s while Steve is still living at home he does (or rather Harrington Senior does because he pays the bill for Steve’s credit card) but when they’re both working and out on their own they alternate. Sometimes when they’re feeling competitive over it just some playful, “Oh no you paid last time I insist.” The other is all “No, No you definitely paid last time, it’s my turn.” They’ll play silly little games to see who’s going to pay, usually this happens when they’re just having a good time and aren’t really ready to end the night just yet. Not that it really ends, they are going home together.

• which one makes a bigger deal around the holidays? – Steve I don’t think he got to do all the fun things when he was a kid, like his mom hired decorators and chefs and he didn’t even get to make Christmas cookies or any of that. So it’s all a big deal to him when they are out on their own together. Billy is less into all the holiday stuff all Christmas music is a brain worm pleased make it stop but there are a few things he definitely gets into when they move into a house later in life he decorates the house and the yard, has a silly little competition with their neighbor (the neighbor is unaware of this). He also gets a lot of joy out of dressing up as Santa for Max’s kids and usually ends up cornering Steve on their way out all “Come on let's go home, Santa’s got a candy cane with your name on it” and Steve is all “You’re gross, stop it.” But they both know it’s for show because Steve will definitely be sucking on that candy cane as soon as they get through the door.

• who’s more clumsy? – Steve, he constantly knocks shit over and trips. Billy has gotten really good at catching things when Steve accidently knocks things off the counter though. He doesn’t usually try to catch Steve, unless he is right there already, because Steve tends to flail and Billy had ended up with a bloody nose from a stray hand and Steve hit the floor and bruised his ass anyway.

• who checks their daily horoscope? – Neither of them consistently do it but Steve will get in these stretches where he does it every day and it always drives Billy crazy when he says they can’t do something and cites his horoscope.

• who sings louder in the car? – Billy and he’s off key and Steve just smiles and sings along at an appropriate volume, hand catching Billy’s and twining their fingers as the wind blows through their hair warm in the summer, he loves how loud Billy is.

• who leaves the cap off the toothpaste? – Billy and it drives Steve insane. Because they keep it on a little shelf right by the door and he's always bumping it with his elbow. They also argue about how you use toothpaste, Billy insists rolling it down is the only correct answer and is appalled when he finds the tube all scrunched up from Steve just squeezing it.

• who is more up to date in pop culture? – Billy, I think Steve is just blissfully unaware of things and that’s how he likes it. Billy will do something popular or trendy and Steve is always just *confused but heart eyes*.

• who insists on going to see the newest movies? – Billy, Steve never got a taste for movies, even working at Family Video except like very specific ones, usually things Dustin or Robin won’t stop talking about and he’s like “I guess I have to watch it if only so you’ll shut up about it.”

• who cries when the abused animal commercials come on? – Both of them. Steve starts and Billy is just holding on until he glances over and sees Steve with silent tears streaming down his face and he can’t hold it in any longer always ends up flopping over to bury his face in Steve’s stomach and Steve’ curls around him, his tears darkening Billy’s curls.

• who’s the lighter sleeper? – They both but it’s seasonal, Billy is a light sleeper during the months when school was typically in session for him growing up. When Neil would use the excuse of him having to wake Max up to make sure he was up, if he wasn’t it never ended well so he doesn’t sleep as soundly during those months. For Steve it’s summer and fall, when any little sound wakes him usually form a nightmare but Billy is always right there Steve remembers he’s safe, Billy’s safe, that they all made it.

• who believes in ghosts? - Steve, 100% claims to have seen a ghost at least once in his life. Billy is the skeptic who just rolls his eyes and is all “What are you going to tell me you believe in Bigfoot next?” and will not stop teasing when he notices the flush on Steve’s cheeks a good enough admittance.

• who does the grocery shopping? – Both of them but not together because they argue but they have a list with their meal plans for the week. It’s snacks they argue over. Billy always gets the gross healthy things and Steve bring home so much sugar Billy is honestly surprised he doesn’t get more cavities.

• who updates their facebook status more often? – Billy. Steve forgets they have facebook now and will randomly remember, post consistently for a few days and then go dead again for months.

Send me + a ship and i'll tell you...

#harringrove #jellyhc #billy hargrove x steve harrington #jellyghostask

[platypanthewriter]

Spring Break (and Pinky Swears)

For the Harringrove April prompt month!  Post S2 fixit of sorts, getting together

It took some doing, after everything—after Tommy, after Billy—to be King Steve again, but Steve did it.  He threw the parties, he invited the hottest girls he’d dated—they still had a soft spot for him, sometimes, and he knew which ones to ask—and after a couple of weeks, Tommy was the one everybody ignored in class, and Billy was the one popping up at lockers, asking girls about their spring break plans, and getting ignored.  

Steve enjoyed it.  It was great walking into a party and knowing the shithead who’d beat his ass wasn’t there, or seeing Tommy try again and again to talk to Carol, while she said things like “I swear there’s a huge fly in here, I keep hearing this noise.”

Coming up on spring break, though, Billy was everywhere.  He was leaning against lockers that got slammed in his face, and once Steve walked down the hall and through an argument he was having with a girl where she said “I said maybe, not yes—and I decided no.”

“At least a night,” Billy said, through clenched teeth.  “You said I could stay at least—”

She smiled over at Steve.  “Go to hell,” she said to Billy, and Steve tensed, but the bell rang right then, and the hall flooded with people.  

Steve even saw Tommy shut him down, which was just—funny.  Tommy told Billy to get the hell away from his bicycle, since Steve wasn’t driving him everywhere anymore.  

“I’ve got a car, come on,” Billy hissed.  “I can do taxi service, just lemme—”

“Screw you,” Tommy hissed, shoulder-checking him before squeaking away on his bicycle.  Billy watched him go, then turned on his heel and saw Steve. 

Steve tensed for impact—he wasn’t gonna treat Billy Hargrove like a reasonable person the next time, he’d sworn to himself, he was gonna belt him with the first heavy object that came to hand the second he looked aggressive—but Billy lowered his head, clenching his fists, and stalked quickly away.  

Billy hit Carol up next—it wasn’t that Steve was following him around, he just kept a wary eye out for Billy’s denim-covered self out of the corner of his eye—and he seemed less willing to be put off, carrying her stuff to classes, and whispering to her in the halls.  She just walked away, leaving her locker open and Billy with an armload of her books, and he yelled “Bitch!” so loud the whole hallway went quiet.  

Billy was quiet too, the last few days until spring break, slouched in his seat and staring blearily past the teacher, and through the chalkboard.  He’d tried to talk to Tina, she told Steve, like Steve would be happy she’d walked away—and he was, kind of, glad she was loyal—but he was starting to actually feel weird watching Tommy standing alone even in gym class, or everybody slamming him too hard on the court, when he had the ball even though nobody would pass to him, either.

 After school got out on the last day before their ten-day break, Steve went to a party at Tina’s.  He actually only stayed until a little after midnight—made out with a few people—before Carol and Tommy got into a screaming fight and he decided to leave.  He was driving home when he saw Billy’s car parked on the side of the road.  

Steve eased off and pulled up behind it, his hands drumming the steering wheel.  It just seemed...weird, was all, Billy just...sitting out here, after midnight, on the first night of spring break.  Steve took a deep breath, and got out of the car.  He gave Billy’s car a wide berth, at first, but in the light of his headlights, he could see Billy’s legs folded against the passenger side door, and when he leaned closer, Billy lying on his back across the seats, tipping back a bottle Steve recognized from the cheap liquor shelf at the gas station.  

He knocked on the window, and Billy scrambled up and away, flattening himself against the passenger-side door.  He stared, then squinted, wiping his eyes, then started laughing, curling in on himself and reaching down to roll the window down.  

“What the hell, Harrington,” he said hoarsely, and Steve walked around to hear him, keeping warily out of reach.  “The fuck do you want,” Billy muttered, taking another swig.

Steve bit his lips, his hands shaking with the memory of the floor against his back, Billy’s fists against his face—the lizard-brain part of him wanted to grab the bottle and hit Billy with it, while they were alone, for once—but Billy had tears dripping down his cheeks freely, and he looked like a cornered animal, sitting there with his face turned a little away and his whole body tense.  “...is something wrong with your car?” Steve tried, grimacing, and Billy laughed.

“Fuck off,” he said, slurred.

“Um,” said Steve.  “You, uh, you shouldn’t...drive like that, right, do—d’you need me to call your house and have your dad pick you—”

“Fuck off, Harrington!” Billy yelled, fumbling to roll the window back up, and cranking the wrong way, so it rolled down.  Steve watched him struggle to turn it the other way, half falling off his seat.  The bottle fell off his lap onto the floor of his car, and Billy stopped, burying his head in his arms and taking shuddery breaths that sounded like he was crying.

“...Hargrove,” Steve said, grimacing, and Billy flinched.

“Lemme the fuck alone,” he whispered, hoarsely, and through what sounded like a lot of tears and snot.

“Uhh,” Steve said, then rubbed his face, biting back a groan.  “...shit.  Just—lemme take you home, okay.”

“No,” Billy said, and when Steve sighed and opened the door, he yelled it, scrambling back against the driver’s side door.  When Steve leaned in to argue with him, though, he went still and stiff, mumbling “...no, no, no—” and half-fell out the driver’s side door, stumbling out into the road.  

Steve ran around to yank him out of the road—not that anybody much was out driving so late on a Wednesday, but just their luck, somebody’d come around the corner and splatter Billy Hargrove all over Steve and his car.  He shoved Billy back against the Camaro, and Billy didn’t resist, he just grabbed Steve’s hands, breathing shakily.  His eyes were closed, his face tense and turned away like he was expecting a blow.

“...shit,” Steve whispered, and Billy laughed, his jaw working, but he didn’t open his eyes.  “Fuck,” Steve added, leaning to see whether there was anything—he stood back up.  “Grab your bag,” he told Billy, who nodded, his mouth quirked, but more tears spilled out of his eyes.  

“You—you can come back to my house,” Steve told him, grimacing.

 The ride was tense and quiet, with Billy staring at him the whole time like an expressionless creep.  When they got there, Steve waved at the couch, and Billy gave him a wide berth walking over to it.  He threw himself down on it with a creak of springs and a long sigh, and Steve remembered the sleeping bags in the garage, and went to find one.  He returned to find Billy snoring with his shoes still on, and just threw the sleeping bag over him.

The next morning he’d almost forgotten he’d picked up Billy Hargrove, drunk asshole extraordinaire, when all of a sudden his shower door opened, and Billy came in, naked, shoved Steve against the wall, and dropped to his knees.  He looked half-asleep.  He also ignored Steve’s bewildered gibberish, grabbed him by the hips, and put his whole mouth over Steve’s dick, sucking him down like a fucking porn star as Steve yelped and smacked his head.  

It was so good, though, his whole goddamn cock down Billy’s throat like the guy’d never heard of a gag reflex, and Steve couldn’t help relaxing into it, letting himself thrust a little, since Billy was holding his hips where he wanted them.  He swore nonsensically as he came, and Billy pulled off, licking his lips, but he didn’t look up.  Steve hadn’t ever thought of Billy Hargrove as someone with no expressions, but Steve didn’t know how to read Billy’s face as he left.  

When Steve staggered into the kitchen still loopy from a great morning wakeup call, Billy was back on the couch, wrapped entirely in the sleeping bag like a cocoon.  He didn’t emerge until hours later, when Steve was unwrapping a TV dinner, but then he walked in and grabbed him by the fly again.  

“What the hell are you—” Steve started, but Billy kissed him, all heat and mustache, yanking at Steve’s jeans until his cock was out again, and then dropped—again—and sucked him down.  “What the fffff—” Steve tried, grunting at the hot, wet suction.

Billy pulled off.  “Tell me I can stay for a couple days,” he said, his eyes intent.  “I’ll stay out of the way.”

“What,” Steve whispered, and Billy licked up the vein on the underside of his dick, tonguing the slit until Steve’s head felt like it was full of fireworks.  “...jesus,” he moaned.

“Just one night,” Billy hissed, his fingers bruisingly tight against Steve’s hips.  “One more night, don’t throw me out yet, Harrington—give me just—”

“Yes, yeah, fuck,” Steve gasped.  “You can stay, you can stay here.  I’m not throwing you out—”

Billy sighed shakily against his thigh.  “I’ll make it worth your while—”

“Jesus,” Steve breathed.  His cock was drooling pre-cum, but he squirmed out of Billy’s grip, watching his jaw work.  Steve half-stuffed himself back in his briefs.  “You—you don’t have to suck me off, Hargrove, christ.”

“...like you aren’t into it,” Billy snarled back, clenching his fists as he rose.  “A mouth’s a mouth, Harrington—”

“Y-yeah,” Steve panted, unable to stop looking at Billy’s lips, red where he’d mouthed over Steve’s stubble.  “But—but you can just—stay.  How—all break?”

Billy went still again, glancing up at Steve’s face and back to his dick.  “...all break?” he repeated, softly.

“You need to stay the whole spring break?” Steve asked again, watching Billy’s face as he frowned, and shook his head warily, like he was thinking to himself.  

“...the hell do you mean, stay the whole break,” Billy growled, vaguely at the counter next to Steve, clenching and unclenching his hands and then frowning around like it might be a trick.  “You—your parent’s’ll throw my ass out.  Don’t fuck with me, Harrington—”

“You can stay the whole break,” Steve told him, backing away a little as Billy took a step towards him.  “It’s fine, I swear.”

“You pinky-promise?” Billy asked, sneering at the floor, but his breaths were getting shaky again, the way they had in the car.  

“Yeah, I do, I fucking pinky-swear,” Steve said, feeling tired, and Billy looked up, finally, swallowing hard.  He stuck his hand out in the air so fast Steve thought he was getting punched somehow, for a second, from too far away, but then he realized Billy had his pinky out, his jaw set and his eyes shiny.  What the hell, Steve thought, bewildered and a little annoyed, but he stuck his pinky out and twined it around Billy’s.  

Billy pressed their thumbs together grimly.

“...d’you want a TV dinner?” Steve asked, to break the weird tension, zipping up his jeans, because Billy’s weirdly aggressive crying wasn’t sexy at all.  The silence stretched, and finally Steve turned to see Billy glaring at him, his arms crossed.  “I’m gonna guess that’s a no,” Steve sighed.

“...I’ve got some money,” Billy said.  “Not enough for a motel, but.  I can pay you for food.”

“What,” Steve bit out, casting a bewildered glower over his shoulder.  “Pick out a TV fucking dinner, man, you don’t need to pay me.”

“...suck you off again after lunch,” Billy offered, and Steve made a face.

“Is that how you get things?  Shit, man, I don’t know if I want that mouth on my dick.”

Billy swivelled in place and stalked out of the kitchen.  “Gonna get my car,” he growled back, slamming the door.  Steve sat staring after him and chewing salisbury steak, but when he heard the Camaro pull up, he stuck another one in the microwave.  When Billy came back in, Steve handed him the tray and a fork, and Billy stopped to stare at it for a long moment.  He reached for it slowly, like Steve might yank it away, and when Billy had both hands on it securely, he stepped closer, weirdly intent, and kissed Steve again, right on the mouth.  

Steve hadn’t been expecting that at all, so he drew a breath in, and Billy turned his head to kiss him deeper.  He was a good kisser, Steve thought, blankly.  He had no idea what to make of how gentle Billy’s lips were, like he was hoping Steve wouldn’t notice, somehow. 

Billy didn’t even put the TV dinner down, so he had to lean around it.  Up close to Steve’s bewildered eyes, his lashes were long and kinda wet, like maybe he’d cried some more, and Steve reached out and just touched his shoulder, carefully.  Billy flinched, going still, but then opened his eyes for a second, panting as he narrowed his eyes at Steve’s face, before setting the TV dinner aside on the counter, and leaning in again.

“Let me,” he whispered, licking his lips, and Steve echoed the motion, not sure whether Billy was still trying to pay for his damn TV dinner—but he made a soft noise in his throat as Steve licked his lips, so Steve leaned in too.

“Yeah, okay,” he whispered back, and Billy kissed him again, his hands shaking as they brushed over Steve’s shoulders and jaw, his breath already uneven.  

His kisses were soft and open-mouthed, and he tasted salty.  When he pulled back, he just stood there for a long second, his eyes shut tight, his lips bit together.  “...thanks,” he gritted out, and his eyes spilled over again, dripping off his chin.  “Fuck,” he whispered, rubbing his sleeve across his face.

“...anytime,” Steve whispered back, a  little shell shocked.  

Billy laughed wetly, grabbing his TV dinner, and stood over the sink to eat it, but when Steve went in and turned on the TV, he came out and hovered.  

“Sit down,” Steve growled, and Billy did, inching closer from the middle of the couch.

“I could blow you again,” he whispered, smirking between Steve and the screen, his knuckles clenched white on the couch, and Steve thought about it—about Nancy, who wasn’t coming back, and Billy, who hadn’t made an aggressive move since Max had faced him down, and was sitting next to him, with shiny, red-rimmed eyes. 

The kisses had felt good, and Steve leaned in for more.

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#Harringrove #harringrove april #Billy's freaking out over two weeks home with Neil #Steve doesn't really get it yet #But he sees enough to want to help #Smooches