#billy biting his nails is earthing me

[passivenovember]

Steve's mattress is a jar of marshmallow fluff pressing and knotting itself into Billy's hair. The sheets will probably be silk like a coffin, the quilt draping over them until all possibility of resurrection vanishes beneath a thin layer of patchwork.

It might as well be fresh earth.

Billy's fingers dig into the bulk of it. Steve gets Billy's pants around his ankles, but they won't slip off because of his boots. Steve snorts, impatient, and says, "Why are you always wearing these fuckin' things," and the thread spores of the quilt spread like grass under Billy's fingertips.

He scratches at them. Preparing himself.

"I dunno," Billy says, swallowing. Or. Trying to swallow.

He wishes the overhead light was on. Wishes he could stare into it, as if it were the sun, until he goes blind so he won't see the pained, nervous brown that suddenly springs like calla-lilies from the earth, appearing over the edge of the mattress.

"Don't fucking look at me like that," Billy says. He thunks his head on the mattress, a little bit pissed off that it doesn't. Hurt.

"What's wrong," Steve asks quietly. He's got the laces of one boot wrapped tightly in his hand. He's trying to get the boot off. He's trying to push this forward.

"Nothing," Billy tells the ceiling. It's dark, like nightfall. Popcorn stucco sharp as the Milky Way swirling overhead.

Billy tries to take a deep breath but his lungs have closed shop, and.

A lot of pushing is about to happen. Pants down, boots off, underwear--

Billy blinks at the ceiling and wonders, distantly, if Harrington's the kind of guy who pushes fruit of the looms off or just to the side. If he's ever seen boxers on another guy, like this. Tented and blooming wet. If he's ever done this before.

Steve lets go of him all at once.

Billy doesn't like that. He pushes onto his elbows, "What's your problem, Harrington?"

Steve shrugs. "You don't seem like you're having fun."

"It's fine."

"Sex isn't supposed to be 'fine,' it's supposed to be--"

"What?" Billy spits, "Perfect? Magical? You gonna take my panties off and open me up real nice, baby? Soft and sweet until I'm begging for you?"

"Well. Yeah?" Steve's cheeks are red. They look sunburned and then he smiles, bright and barely there.

Billy hates what it does to him. "Fuck you," He says, and.

Steve chuckles brightly. "You're a brat."

"And you're a rich bitch pain in the goddamn ass--"

"Now there's an idea," Steve. Fucking grins. Like a wolf. "Let me. I think it could be fun."

Billy's stomach swoops. "Fun."

"Yeah. Special."

Billy snorts. "I'm not a virgin."

"Neither am I."

"Then you know after a couple of notches, shit stops being special and just starts being sex."

Steve falters. Grows serious. "Nobody ever treat you right before, Blondie?" When Billy doesn't say anything, doesn't even breathe, Harrington smirks. "Maybe you just bite their hands off before they can get too close."

Billy.

Lays flat on his back, throat working around that annoyingly stubborn lump that springs fresh whenever Harrington's big brown eyes are in the room.

"Please touch me," Billy says, and it feels like an exorcism. Blood letting.

Tension hangs all around. Pushing on Billy's chest. Steve hovers, skin so warm Billy can feel it through the quilt. "You're sure?"

It's achingly earnest. Sweet.

This is bullshit. Steve is bullshit--

"Yes."

Steve palms slowly up Billy's thigh, nails tugging at the hem of his boxers, and. You'd think they were connected to his dick somehow. And his heart, beyond that.

Billy hates this.

He resists the urge to bare his teeth and snarl at Steve's pretty, soft gaze. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like. You want to carry my books in the hallway and pull my chair out at lunch--"

"You could do with a little romance, Hargrove. Might make you more likeable," Steve says. There's no heat. He toys idly with the lace of Billy's left boot, palm still rubbing over his right thigh. He's looking at Billy like this means something, and this.

This is fucking ridiculous.

Billy feels ridiculous. Still trapped in his jeans at the ankle and hard as a rock and doing what he can to spoil the moment. His eyes sting. He swallows, says, "No."

Steve tsks, "No what, baby?"

Billy swallows, tugging sharply at the quilt. "Nobody's ever taken care of me."

"That's done, after tonight," Steve says firmly. His fingers are soft and warmer than Billy ever imagined they'd be when they slip into his boxers. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop right now, Billy. I swear."

Billy swallows. His throat clicks. He says, "I want you. Want. Your fingers."

Steve's fingers, they. They wrap--

Billy arches off the mattress in shock, "Ah, Steve--"

"Got nice legs, Malibu," Steve says thoughtfully, like he's never considered it before and it's a surprise. The brown of his eyes shine, somehow, in the dark. He swipes a thumb over Billy's cockhead, smearing precum as he demands, "Say it again," so softly that Billy's not sure he heard it right.

"I don't--"

"My name, baby. Say it again." Steve drops Billy's dick, fingers nudging at one thigh.

Billy spreads them, slowly, hair catching a little on the quilt underneath. "Steve--"

"I want to take care of you," Steve murmurs. It's honey-sweet and earnest.

This bullshit. So Billy groans and says, "This is bullshit. I dream about your cock for months and you finally get me in your bed and you want it to be special when you could just--"

"I want to fuck you until you can't walk right, Billy." Steve says.

His voice.

It's gravel and old whiskey. Ancient. Burning, low and intense. Contained.

Billy's done this enough times to know what's gonna come next. "My," He gulps, dizzy with need so wild that the ceiling blinks out of focus, "My boxers--"

"Gotta take your boots off first."

"So take them off, already," Billy snaps, "Thought you wanted to fuck me until I can't walk?"

Steve does as he's told, pushing and pulling until cold air hits everything south of Billy's t-shirt. It's silent and awkward, and--

"Jesus Christ," Steve's not touching him anymore.

Fear settles in Billy's bones. He tears his eyes away from the ceiling, propped on his elbows to figure out what's wrong, but.

"You," Steve tries, "You're lovely." Steve's cock trains his boxers, tenting painfully, and Billy has never seen anyone so earnest. So sweet.

His heart cracks open, "Come here," Billy says, "C'mon I want--"

"Anything," Steve says. The mattress dips under his weight. His fingers push at the hem of Billy's t-shirt.

Billy braces himself for something familiar. A warm puff of air on his neck, lips closing around the swell of his breastbone, but instead Steve grips the back of each knee and folds him in half, pushing--

Always pushing--

Until Billy's body catches up with his heart and makes room.

#harringrove #lemon #i don't know what this is #I'm writing smut for my big bang fic #and I feel like I need more practice #Maybe they'll fuck next time! #who knows! #who's to say!

[puppetwoman17]

Ladies and gents, my first Billy Batson-centric fic! It’s called: The Batson Family Soap Opera: Ft. The Justice League

Here’s a snippet of the first chapter, already released on AO3 under the name SunShade878

In Study Room #1, Billy propped himself up on a chair and opened his laptop. The screen lit up the room, showing a half-finished Whiz Radio broadcast script. On another tab, Billy pulled up a bullet point list of topics to cover, and got to work.

He took bites out of the sandwich he got from the cafeteria as he worked. Looking from tab to tab, Billy paraphrased some of his talking points and left slots open throughout the script for a few brief questions.

He tapped a nail against the table when he paused after a commercial break slot and glanced at the time.

“Five minutes ‘til monitor duty,” he muttered. “Better close off for now.”

Not to say Billy was satisfied with his work, but he was proud of his clean punctuality record from his time with the League. It also translated to his reporter work, so that was a nice bonus. Now that he thought about it, Morris told him he could give Billy a small bonus if he turned everything in today…

Nope! He shook his head. Monitor duty now, Whiz work later.

Billy quickly packed his things and slotted his laptop in a cubby before making his way toward the monitor station. He checked the time on his watch, sighing in relief when he saw he was two minutes from the beginning of his two hour shift.

Okay, good.

He quickened his pace toward the familiar room, dutifully ignoring the concerned and curious looks on several familiar faces.

I swear, you’d think I was catatonic with the way these people look at me.

The monitor room had a large, imposing window that showed the expanse of space. It was something Billy could never get over, no matter how long he stared at it. Multiple screens were lit, showing various cities with superheroes of their own, helping children out of burning buildings and stopping robberies in progress.

A transparent hologram of Earth spun around slowly in the middle of the room. Graph lines went over and across each section of land and sea. Several small, red dots blinked green, and Billy smiled in satisfaction that they were doing good. He was doing good.

“Hey, Little B!”

Billy rolled his eyes. “Hey, Hal.”

Billy doesn’t have to turn around to see the Green Lantern’s cheeky grin as he sauntered into the room, power ring glowing emerald. “Ya seem tense, little man.” The grin faltered, revealing what Billy knew to be truer than the smile. “You okay?”

Now, you remember what Billy said about loving how protective the League was, right? And the thing is, he didn’t lie. He didn’t blame them for it, and he understood the need to protect people younger than you. Hell, he was well known enough in Fawcett for the younger street kids to know him by name. For them to know he knew all the best hiding spots and hoarding spots around the Cobbler District.

But sometimes it could just be so. Damn. Annoying.

“Oh, it’s just some last minute revisions for my broadcast tomorrow. Nothing major.”

“You remembered to eat, yeah?

Don’t roll your eyes, he’s not being condescending. “Took a sandwich from the canteen.”

“Cool, cool.”

Yeah, this was definitely one of those times where he felt coddled instead of protected. Now, maybe seven year old Billy, who’d just learned that he was now responsible for the wellbeing of an entire community and subcommunities of ethereal-infused life, would’ve loved the worry on Hal’s face.

Fourteen year old Billy, on the other hand, couldn’t help the queasy feeling in his stomach.

“Anyway, we should get started, huh?”

The whites of Hal’s domino mask widened. “Uh, yeah. Let’s.”

Billy mustered a small smile as he propped himself on one of the two chairs facing the screens. Hal flopped unceremoniously onto the other one, the smile on his face more prominent. Weird. Before, the smile seemed…dim, somehow.

Now, though, with the two of them looking through screens and chatting quietly as the hours ticked by, Hal’s nervousness and tenseness was chipped away, revealing the bumbling idiot Billy knew and cared for. The easy way with which they communicated was something Billy was thankful for. If anything, his identity reveal only strengthened their relationship.

It sort of felt like he was the reason for Hal’s better mood. But that was silly.

Right?

Tell me what you think on AO3!

#billy batson #captain marvel #justice league #shazam #dc universe #fanfiction #magic users #Ebenezer #Sinclair #mary batson

[doomedandstoned]

Los Angeles Doomers HOLY DEATH Unleash ‘Moral Terror’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

The marriage of death to doom was inevitable, with some of its finest exponents emerging in the '90s and continuing to this present age where we are confronted with the scourge of HOLY DEATH.

Rooted in the tinder box of the Los Angeles underground metal scene, Holy Death have been releasing record after record of terrifying death-doom since 2019. Their latest record, in fact, is called 'Moral Terror' (2022) and it brings together two EPs released over the summer with a third to complete the 'Moral Terror' trilogy. I like how the band went about publishing these, something they also did on last year's Sacred Blessings (itself a compilation of EPs from 2020). Besides this, the Long Beach-based three-piece has issued a dedicated full-length record, 'Separate Mind From Flesh' (2021).

The riff that greets us on "East ov Eden" is a merciless one, and no wonder for it's got "blood on my hands, guilt on my mind." Is this the anthem of the fabled first murderer Cain, who was given a mysterious mark by God for murdering his brother Abel? Or is Holy Death tapping into our humanity's collective guilt for turning paradise into a fetid sewer of violence, hate, and pollution? Dirty, irradiated bass bass crunches emphatically, whilst guitar screeches with abandon. "Death is upon us, end all life." Frontman Torie John's crooning is mingled with bitterness, disgust, and sorrow, mingled with defiance:

East of Eden the vultures circle I will not be defeated

The regress from enlightened ape-man back to feral, frightened animal continues with "Ultraviolent," a two-minute pounding that obsesses with revenge against one's foes. The guitar menaces with swirling downward arpeggios, met by rattling drums, grim bass, and grizzly vox barking:

Death is a gift you will not receive until you've suffered beyond reprieve

"Annihilationism" awaits next, and it takes the perspective of the hopeless: "Born to rot, guilty thought, empty dream -- nothing left for me." It's a sentiment I suspect many can relate to after two-and-a-half years of disease, isolation, fear, and despair. Guitar and bass lay out a slow-chugging rhythm as our two-minute window closes. "Bite my tongue, taste the blood, grinding teeth -- nothing left for me."

"Serve No King" is one of the most damning songs of the record so far. It's that sinister four-note riff; it makes me feel like I'm being carried bound in chains before the court of some medieval tyrant. The song pronounces judgment on the head of the "jester upon the throne" who "vomits lies," and leaves him with a warning:

Justice is not dead the blade will find your head

Now onto the final block of three songs, which fans of the band will be hearing for the first time via this Doomed & Stoned premiere. "神経" is Japanese and has something to do with the nerves (or having nerve). Described by Holy Death as a "contemplative Dungeon Synth inspired interlude," it provides a nice palate cleanser before we encounter the ravaging "Paradice Death." You might think I (or the band) misspelled that, maybe on purpose, and you'd be partly right. "Paradice" was one of the oddly framed words that stood out in the cryptic letters of the Zodiac Killer, sending investigators on an eternal quest to solve a riddle of death and madness.

"The Blood Earth Consumes" may hearken back to the story of Cain & Abel that presumably kicked off this excursion into moral chaos. In the Genesis account, the Lord said, "Listen: your brother's blood is crying out to me from the ground." That's some pretty spooking shit. The mood of this last song is dire and savage, heralded by the insanity of disonnent guitar and thumping drums, and driven forward like some infernal death machine grinding everything in its path.

Sonically, the record sounds amazing -- produced and mixed by Alex Estrada (Nails, Xibalba). You can get a hold of Holy Death's Moral Terror (vol. 1-3) this Friday on streaming platforms, as well as on cassette (pre-order here). Stick this on a playlist with Eyehategod, Come To Grief, Serpentine Path, and Ghorot!

Give ear...

Moral Terror by Holy Death

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Debuts #Holy Death #Los Angeles #Long Beach #California #death metal #doom metal #death doom #D&S Reviews #Doomed and Stoned

[odi-myers]

𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐖/ 𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒

request ➜ “ hi can you do a billy loomis x reader when she cuddled him in her sleep lol I feel soft today ”

pairing(s) ➜ billy loomis x f! reader.

format ➜ drabble.

warnings ➜ fluffy content.

a. notes ➜ ahhh so tysm for this request, and i hope you guys all enjoyed this little thing! since i’m new to writing for the slasher fandom, i’ll be finding how i want to portray characters along the way, so i apologize if billy seems weird in this — it’s just me trying to figure out how to portray him! reblogs and likes appreciated! <3

snuggling up on top of your boyfriend after a long, exhausting day of schooling and work felt like heaven on earth — the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, your cheek smooshed and rubbing against his white t-shirt as you both lazily watch some old horror movie that you are absolutely positive you both already watched at least a hundred times — it was a perfect way to spend your down time.

and as interested as you were in the commentary that billy was so lovingly providing on the logistics of the killings and behind the scenes information, the rumbling of his voice resonating in his chest as he droned on, combined with the boy’s bodily warmth, allowed sleep to steel your conscious.

“yeah, they uh-, behind the scenes right here the director-“ billy paused, suddenly being aware of the lack of response, and looked down to you comfortably laying in his arms. your head laid on his chest, legs tangled with his on the length of the couch in your living room.

“…(y/n)?” billy tentatively asked, voice hushed in a soft whisper, face screwed up in that all-too billy loomis familiar expression.

movement, and suddenly, it felt as though billy has fallen in love all over again with a simple movement.

you shifted yourself up, three quarters of the way asleep. your nose brushed against his neck, gently nuzzling against his warm skin in your sleep. your arms trailed up to lay against his chest, one hand idle next to the nape of his neck, sending shivers up his spine with the brush of your nail.

a shuddering breath, and billy’s eyes were no longer focused on the tv screen — rather, the beauty laying on top of him. all his own, to love and to spend time with, to stay his. billy quietly raised his free hand up, dragging his fingers across your cheek like a paint brush on a canvas, slowly tracing your gentle and severe features with his fingertips.

his heart beat the same way it did when he first boldly asked you out — pounding in beat, rhythmically dancing in his cavernous chest. the things you did to him were unimaginable, making his eyes droop in a soft way, biting the corner of his lip to keep from doing or saying anything that could ruin this moment that he oh so wished he could live over and over again.

how did billy loomis ever deserve a love such as this? he didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t care — as long as you were cuddled up in his arms like this, breathing in time, the buzz of the horror movie playing in the background as he shifted you closer and further up, leaning his own head against yours.

billy decided in that instance that this is what love is.

@ odi-myers.tumblr. all works reserved. please refrain from stealing, plagiarizing, reposting, or claiming any works created on and by this blog as your own.

#odi myers posts. #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x you #scream #scream x reader

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part One)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Dreams turn into reality on smokey breaths. Inner turmoil melts away with the touch from warm skin. Promises make the evening decisions go from complicated to deliciously easy.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw soft drugs (marijuana)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 4421

Taglist | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitersmoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy  @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @marriedwithmarktuan @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @kanevill @butterfly-skinnylegend @lidiyabest @killerqueen1985 @ccweasley @bluscryn @deluxeplanteater @ohtorchio @messyhairday-me @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic​ @fuckim-so-gay @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @petit-poussin @fedorable-killjoys​ @luvbadass​ @buttercup-beeee​ @navs-bhat​ @etaerealboyv​ @tryymebitch​ @mell-bell​ @fenhakwe​ @solacestyles​ @softforlukescurls​ @vicsangel​ @theimpossiblehologramtree​ @alina-exe​ @cherricola66​

***

Soft skin against his fingers. A hand running down his chest to his pants. Heavy breathing filling the room. The flesh underneath him felt warm and welcoming, hot to the touch and begging for more. Her perfume filled his senses as she pulled him close. Nails running down his back. Whispers of "amore mio, just like that", "keep going,” “cara mia, vita mia, please".

A “Dami, fuck” leaving her lips as his hand started gripping her thighs. Running between them, as she threw her head back, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling on it. Biting her neck. Coaxing more moans out of him, on a mission to make him lose his mind. She was heaven on earth. Supple breasts moving with every breath as he let his mouth descend on them, one at a time, desperate to consume all of her. Kissing every inch of her, exploring her until he knew about every curve, every ridge, every little spot of her body. He wanted to know all the secrets she ever had. Drawing noises out of her that he wanted to keep hearing for the rest of his life. Her hands on his shoulders, on his back, on his arse. Pulling him further into her. Letting his mouth wander lower, getting wrapped up between her legs. She looked at him with dark eyes, nodding, and he was ready to suffocate in between her thighs.

Wait, was he actually suffocating on her thighs?

Damiano woke up with a start, face pressed deeply into the pillow, restricting his breathing in a way that was much less sexy than the one in his dream. A circle of drool had escaped his mouth and dropped onto the pillow. Well, that's embarrassing, he thought to himself.

He was in the middle of pushing himself up and out of bed, highly aware of the situation in his boxers - only to be interrupted when a knock on the door startled him. Trying to wrap the sheet around him, suddenly overly self-conscious of his state, he hastened to the door, almost tripping several times on the way. When he finally unlocked and opened it, he just about let his head appear in the opening, awkwardly hiding between the door still. Y/n’s face was painted in confusion. He forgot how stunning she really was, his brain not even coming close to painting her image in his dreams.

“Yes, hi, good morning, I’m up! I’ll be down in an hour!” He was rushing to finish his sentence, not giving her a chance to reply before he let the door fall back into its lock. A deep breath out. Her face instilled in his mind like a photograph, unable to be separated from the extremely vivid dream he’d just had. He felt bad. He had essentially slammed the door in her face while wrapped up in a bedsheet. Not a very good impression considering he liked the woman behind the door. This was going to be such a long day.

***

“Why are you so awkward?” Victoria nudged Damiano as they had settled on a couch on the bus. He had been looking off since she had first seen him that morning, which was odd. Especially considering he was usually more of an early bird than the rest of them. “Sleep badly? Bad dreams? Good dreams? Or did you scare Y/n away again with another morning wood incident.”

Damiano’s face burned up as if suddenly ignited, making Victoria gasp.

“Oh my god, did you?!” She smacked his chest with her hand as she let out a gasp.

“I wasn’t even aware you knew about the first time,” Damiano mumbled, slumping down deeper into the seat. Crawling into the shirt he was wearing. Anything to get out of this conversation.

“Word travels fast on tour, you should know that by now,” she giggled, repositioning so she had her legs spread across his thighs. “So what happened?”

“I’m not going to talk about that with you,” he scoffed. Victoria’s grin only spread further, though. She was loving this side of Damiano more than she would like to admit - shy, awkward, unsure of himself. He was one of the best people she knew, an amazing frontman, a talented musician, a loyal friend. Yet with one little addition to the team he had turned into a quivering mess.

“You know I’m just going to ask Y/n what happened, right?”

“Yeah good luck with that, she didn’t even notice. At least I hope not.”

“Wait - so you hid your boner from her? I mean, at least you didn’t traumatise her again. What happened though, did you have some good times before the wake-up call?” She once again nudged him obnoxiously, loving how uncomfortable she was making him. “Did you have a wet dream? Did- Oh my god, you’re blushing, you did have a wet dream! Tell me everything! Was it hot? Did she go down on you or something? Did you see her tits?”

“Fuck off Victoria, I’m not telling you anything, now stop! It’s no like-”

“Hi! Attention, everyone! I know it's early and everyone is probably still asleep. But - announcements! That includes you Thomas,” Y/n said pulling the curtain of the guitarist’s bunk back so he could listen too.

Victoria noticed how their assistant didn’t seem spooked by Damiano’s presence at all - it seemed like he had been right after all. She hadn’t noticed a thing. If only those two would stop playing cat and mouse and finally do something, anything, she thought.

"Now, I know we're all excited about going to Amsterdam today, and I'm not looking at anyone in particular here," she explained as she shot a pointed look at Damiano that no one missed. "But I have one ground rule: no weed before the show. You got tomorrow off, so whatever you do after the performance tonight is none of my business. But god help you if I find you with a joint in hand any time before that."

She smiled, but Victoria had no doubts she would be deadly serious if it came to it. Y/n passed out a map of the local area, highlighting the Leidseplein in the middle of town, and in red circles were the venue, the hotel they were staying at, restaurants, and several coffeeshops, all within easy walking distance.

“Do with that what you like,” she concluded. ”As long as you do it after the show.”

***

The band had gotten to the venue straight after lunch, excitedly discussing some new covers they were thinking about playing that night. Soundcheck consisted of a number of conversations all at once, trying to figure out how to change the setlist. Damiano found himself participating less, instead, staring down at Y/n sitting in the audience. She was busy writing in her notebook, the seats next to her taken up by her bag, folders, and laptop. He knew she needed a break. They all worked extremely hard all the time, so it wasn't difficult to spot the signs of a fellow overworked person. He made it his own personal mission to get her to go out with them that night. Spend some time outside of work, see the city, anything that made her put her phone down.

As day turned to night, the concert loomed on the horizon. As soon as they hit the stage, it was clear it was going to be a good night. Amsterdam was the best kind of crazy. Going from Zitti e Buoni into Billie Eilish's Bury a Friend, the crowd went wild. Damiano noticed with amusement that Y/n was absentmindedly dancing along from her spot on the side of the stage as well. His attention had only been diverted towards her for a second, he was sure, but it was enough to suddenly feel something hit his head. Soft, red fabric.

"Was wondering when the first of those would come around," Damiano chuckled into the microphone in between songs, swinging the bra around a few times, before draping it across his mic stand.

Yet as much as the energy of the audience rubbed off on the band, all of them felt like collapsing after the show, feeling like they'd given it more than their all. A perfect chance to unwind for the night, in a way only Amsterdam really knew how. It was legal, after all.

***

“I am absolutely not getting high with you lot.”

Everyone was gathered in Y/n’s hotel room more or less uninvited. It seemed like they were dying to drag her along on what was supposed to be one of the best nights out on that tour. After getting ready, they had simply stormed in as soon as she had opened her hotel door. Now they were perched on her bed, her desk, and her armchair, trying to convince her.

“I gave you all a map to see where you could go. I, for one, would like to stay in my room, just me and my bed, and sleep till my alarm in the morning. That sounds like a brilliant time in my book.”

“Boring!” Thomas shouted, hurling a pillow from the bed at her that she quickly caught and threw back with much less force.

“If you come out with us, we’ll be ready before your wake-up call for the rest of the week!” Victoria tried to bribe.

“If you come out with us, we’ll have breakfast ready for you every day!” Y/n shot a look at Thomas, knowing fully well this was not going to happen. The idea alone made her laugh.

“If you come out with us, you can keep me company while the other three go crazy?” Ethan finally offered. She knew she was close to giving in, no matter how wrong it seemed to blur the lines between working relationship and friendship. She barely even agreed to drinks when she was on the job, and technically, she considered herself to be on the job 24/7. Yet these four had grown close to her heart so much more than anticipated.

Out of nowhere Damiano appeared next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulder. The way his fingertips brushed her neck as he did so left goosebumps. “Come on, darling, I promise I’ll take care of you.”

It turned out, that was all she had needed to hear.

***

The coffeeshop didn’t differ much from the usual pubs and bars; people stuffed in every corner, a low murmur of talk with the occasional loud laughter over the music playing in the background, tables full of glasses and bottles. Only the smoke lingering in the air, its distinct smell, and the relaxed atmosphere let on that it was a slightly different kind of place. Y/n made short work of weaseling through the crowd and securing a table at the far end of the place, just enough space to accommodate all of them, as the others went to order.

“Do you want one as well?” Damiano asked as soon as he had let himself fall onto the couch next to her, already preparing to roll a joint.

“I think I’m getting a second-hand high just sitting here. Maybe take a puff of one of yours, but I won't be able to finish one myself."

Damiano nodded, licking the inside of the blanks as he prepared his joint. Victoria came bouncing in like a tidal wave - her usual fashion - and crashing into the others already sitting down. As soon as Damiano was happy with his creation, she snatched it out of his hand, making short work of lighting it and taking a drag.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Make another one,” she grinned, obnoxiously blowing the smoke into his face. Rolling his eyes, Damiano quickly prepared another one for himself, everyone now happy and content with their smokes, until only Y/n was left holding at a glass of water.

She preferred to observe the scene from her little advantage point in the corner like she so often did. The mellow music in the background was loud enough to underline the atmosphere but quiet enough to easily talk to everyone around you without having to shout. She liked this much better than loud bars in the evening. Most people were minding their own business, in small groups or pairs, some on their own. Victoria was quick to start chatting to a pair of girls sitting at the table next to them. She wasn’t going to lie - while not her usual spot, she didn’t exactly feel uncomfortable.

A hand appeared in front of her face, seemingly out of nowhere, and it took her a second to realise it was Damiano, trying to pass her his joint. She hesitated - still not convinced whether she should be smoking at all, but one look into his eyes only proved to her that she was weak to his suggestions. Parting her lips ever so slightly, she let him push the blunt between them, his fingertips grazing her. She took a drag, careful not to breathe in too much too quickly, before releasing the joint. Damiano pulled it back towards himself immediately, putting it back between his own lips, and she felt hypnotised. The moment came to an abrupt end when a cough took hold of her.

“Easy, easy,” Ethan soothed from the other side, his hand on her upper back. “Breathe.”

Everyone around the table seemed to be looking at her now, but she quickly got her composure back, holding up her hands in a gesture that was meant to signal she was fine.

“Fuck,” Y/n choked, taking a drink from her glass to wet her throat. “This is why I don’t smoke.”

“Wrong,” Thomas threw in. “This is because you don’t smoke!”

Y/n shook her head, giggling at the guitarist and the know-it-all look in his eyes.

“Up to try again?” Damiano whispered in her ear as the attention had finally ceased to be on her. She found herself staring into his eyes once again, a fluttery feeling erupting in her stomach at having him watch her so intently, at being able to capture his attention so easily.

The look on his face was enough to get her to try again. And again. And again.

She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but for once, she genuinely didn’t care. The people around them had changed, old ones leaving, new ones arriving, but the music stayed the same. She wasn’t quite sure what the joke Thomas was telling them was about, but she found herself giggling along nonetheless. This was the best she had felt in forever.

Unaware of what she was doing, she leaned back, finding Damiano’s arms carefully wrapping around her, holding her softly. To her own surprise, she was sinking into him.

“Having fun?” He asked in a voice so low she barely heard it. A voice so soft it made her heart melt. She nodded, slightly twisting around in his embrace to look at him again. She couldn’t get enough of his face. She’d stay and study it for all of eternity if he let her.

"Have you ever seen brown zircon?” She suddenly asked out of nowhere. “It's a gemstone that looks like they made sparkly salted caramel bonbons from rock. They mine it in Tanzania, I think? Your eyes sparkle just like that." She grinned at the man beside her. "I can attest to that from this angle at least. It’s like the one scene in Aladdin! 'She's got these eyes, and this hair and…’ Ah oh god, what am I doing?" She couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous she was being. She found her face resting on his shoulder, completely content. His eyes never wavered from her face, listening closely to what she had to say.

Then Y/n watched her hand brush Damiano’s hair to the front, attempting to style it in a slightly different way. “Did you mean to look like Eren Yeager or was that some sort of subconscious coincidence? Not that it doesn’t look good, of course.”

“You watch Attack on Titan?” Dami looked down at her with surprise.

“No I don’t, but my friends do. So you learn the names of the people they yell at through the TV screen very quickly,” she laughed, remembering the way her friends would huddle in the living room, shouting at whatever the characters were doing wrong in their opinion.

“The more I get to know you, the more I’m convinced you’re my kinda woman, you know?” he mumbled, a smile grazing his lips. The more she looked at him, the more she felt her brain shutting off and her heart taking over. Or was it the high? She wasn’t interested in trying to differentiate.

Once again, he pushed the joint between her lips, holding the eye contact and it felt so much more intimate than it should have. It felt like her nerves were on fire. When he pulled his hand back again, she wanted to grab onto it, keep him in place, keep the moment.

I could stay in this forever, Y/n thought to herself.

"Also, I'm not religious by any means, but whatever God was responsible for creating you sure took their sweet time doing it…" The words spilled from her mouth before she realized she was talking, eyes flicking back and forth between his. "You know?"

She caught herself looking at his lips. A small blush grew on her face as she looked away. Staring out into the room, out at the people sitting next to them at other tables. Something distracting to take the rising heat off.

***

Damiano could feel his defenses wearing away. All ideas of staying away completely vanished into the smoke that lulled them in as he was holding her in his arms, her back leaning against his chest. He could feel her breathing, giggling at nothing at all, or maybe something Victoria had said but he hadn’t heard.

“If anyone’s been made by the angels, it’s you, amore,” he mumbled more to himself than anything, but she had heard him. Another chuckle running through her body. The atmosphere was fogging up his brain. He watched in amusement as he let a finger run up her arms, from her wrist to her upper arm where the fabric of her shirt began, and goosebumps appeared as if standing tall in a row. He tried it again on the other arm, getting the same result.

“What are you doing?”

She was turning around in his arms, just enough to look at him without removing herself from his embrace. He wondered if it was the dim light or if she was always this radiant. His hands travelled to the elastic that was holding her hair together and carefully removed it, eyes on her. Her hair fell around her face, framing it beautifully in its typically wild manner.

“I…” Her eyes seemed to twinkle as the light of the bar reflected back at him through them. “I don’t know.”

He looked away, suddenly insecure. What was he doing? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep his hands off her, now less than ever. He wanted her. Wanted her all to himself. Wanted to keep holding her like this forever. There was no denying that.

“You’re sweet.”

Her voice took a second to get through to him, but as it did, he turned his head as if in slow motion. All he had wanted to do was look at her again, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, her lips were on his.

***

All Y/n had done was lean forward to press a kiss against his cheek. Now their lips were meeting and she didn’t know how she had gotten there. She wanted to pull back - no, actually she didn’t. But she thought she should. Though the spirit was willin - to pull away, that was -, the flesh was weak. Delving deeper into his arms, she found herself kissing him like she meant it. Her hands found his chest, feeling the rising heat from his skin. Being closer to him than ever before was driving her crazy. His soft, warm lips against hers. Just the tiniest movements, as if he was afraid of breaking her. She let herself enjoy it. For a moment. That was all her brain allowed before switching back to the rational part. She pulled back in surprise.

She moved out of his embrace, stiffening at the contact. All of the twinkling lights of romance that had just appeared around them now popped as the kiss ended.

I just kissed my boss. I just fucking went and kissed Damiano! I am so, so fucked.

Yet, she couldn't deny that she wanted to kiss him again. And again, and again until they ran out of air to breathe. She looked back at him and the expression on his face said it all. His lids lowered, a small smile appearing on his face. Eyes twinkling in the soft light. He hadn’t wanted the kiss to end either. Either that or the weed was affecting him more than she had thought.

But as cold air started to seep in between them he blinked a couple of times, only now noticing that she had pulled away.

"Sorry - about that. I was trying to- I wasn't trying to kiss you. Well, I was - but not on the mouth. That would have been very forward of me. I would never. That's not me. I don't know how that happened - sorry." Y/n rambled on, unable to stop talking.

Damiano smirked, pecking her cheek. "Y/n, it's fine, you're fine. I turned my head and we kissed. It happens." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. As if this was some sort of common occurrence. As if she was panicking for nothing. Was she?

***

Damiano desperately tried to hide the turmoil inside of him. It happens?! Damiano, what the hell are you thinking! Not the right thing to say in this situation! Now it just looks like you’d kiss anyone, great. He looked down at his hands, fumbling with his rings. Trying to get his breathing back under control. He needed to be cool.

"I mean - not that I didn't enjoy it. You kiss good!"

You kiss good? What the? That wasn’t even English. He was well and truly losing his mind.

***

Y/n took a deep breath, sitting back in her seat, making sure not to be as close to Damiano as she had been before. Victoria and Thomas had migrated to get more drinks and Ethan was deeply entrenched in some conversation with a man next to him. Luckily the rest of the band hadn't seen what just happened. Grabbing her glass once more, the cold wet condensation gave a stark contrast to her warm skin.

The kiss still left a tingly feeling on her lips. Quickly looking at Damiano, she met his eyes. He had not looked away yet, it seemed. She watched as he bit his lip in contemplation. Whatever was playing on his mind, Y/n didn't know. His words left her believing he wasn’t quite as put together as he tried to pretend. He certainly wasn’t making much sense. Although, she wouldn’t dismiss his compliment of her kissing abilities. She wondered if he would think similarly if they did it again, or did more than that…

Her wandering thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud crash. The culprit was quickly spotted. The middle of the coffeeshop, which had been empty of people until then, now had Thomas lying on his front, surrounded by liquid and broken glass.

Y/n didn’t hesitate, jumping up to offer her aid. The worry only lasted for a second though, until Thomas turned on his back, giggling maniacally. She barely managed to kick some shards out of the way before he could roll onto them.

She let out a deep sigh at the state of the guitarist, before quickly apologizing to the people at the bar.

“Everyone help me grab Thomas, I think this is our sign to call it a night.”

***

Y/n thought she’d have an easy time going to sleep. The effects of the joint were lingering, plus, the day had just been plain exhausting. Yet, as her head hit the pillow, she felt restless. Her mind kept circling around Damiano. The way he had looked at her. The way he had looked in general. She had seen him basically naked at this point, but she still thought about how it would be different up close and personal. She wished she had been able to read his eyes more. Had he been thinking about the same things she had? Had he wanted to kiss her again and again, get lost in that bubbling excitement of finally being close, finally let his hands wander to new places? She wanted to pull his hair. See what kind of sound would leave his mouth when doing so.

She wanted his hands and his lips, all of him really, badly. She wanted to know what he felt like when he really kissed her. What his fingers would be able to do to her. Biting and moaning. She desperately needed some release, wishing it would come from him, but knowing there was no chance, at least not tonight. Her hand wandered between her legs as she let her mind run wild. Imagining it was him instead, letting his fingers run along the inside of her thighs, exploring every inch of her. How he would treat her just right, hit all the right spots, do so much better than her own fingers ever could. The words he’d whisper in her ear, seducing her with his mother tongue, breath fanning her skin. How he would kiss her senseless. Feeling the rhythm of their bodies take over. Watch his tattoos start to glisten with a sheen of sweat from what they would be doing.

She found her release almost embarrassingly quickly, burying her face in her pillow. Her body felt more at ease, although her heart was still craving something more. She had almost calmed down, getting her breathing back under control. In a moment of clarity, she checked her phone to see when she had to wake up the next day, when the sound of a moan caught her attention. One that definitely wasn’t her own, but seemed to come from the room next door.

Damiano’s room.

#maneskin fiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #damiano david fiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x you #maneskin x reader #quiet music #bethanysnow #mywriting

[voxmortuus]

Silly Crush | Chapter 3 - Dinner Date

Stu Macher x F!Reader

Scream (Movie) FanFic

TW: Language and Fluff, fingering in public so some smut...

Chapter 1 Silly Crush | Chapter 2 Movie Date

GIF created by @netesu

It was like clockwork. He picked you up from the driveway and you slid in. He smirked looking at you and kissed your cheek you two took off.

"So how was your day?" he asked you.

"Oh, it was great... spent the day with my dad, fuckin bastard." You grumble.

"Don't like your pops much?" He asked.

"Try at all. He left me alone while my mother was working, and he had packed all his shit and fuckin left. I was 4, home alone from 9am to about 8pm. Let me tell you, uncooked cake batter isn't good in powder form." You shake your head.

"Damn, cold piece. I'm surprised your mums even lets him come around." he gave you a concerned look.

"She does because that's the only way he'd agree to pay for what I need. He thinks buying me off with money will make it all better. That's not the case. Like ever. I didn't want the money, I never wanted the money. I wanted a father ya know?" You let out a sigh. "But whatever, enough about me. What about you? how was your day?" you ask him with a smile on your face placing your hand on his leg as he drives.

"Spent it with Billy and Sid. Tatum's kinda fallen off the face of the earth... from what I hear she had a psychotic moment on her mother and she was admitted... you should come hang out with us sometime... I'm sure Sid won't care." He added.

It wasn't that Sid would care, you knew she wouldn't, what got you waiting about it was on if she would say anything to Tatum, and then it would blow up on you like it did her mother. Biting your lip you look up at him and nod. "Sure."

"Oh good, because ummm, they're joining us for dinner." your heart sank, you felt sick to your stomach, and you grew nervous. You begin biting at your nail and he looks over at you and reaches for your hand bringing it away from your mouth kissing your hand. "Trust me, babe, it'll be okay. If not, you can punch me in the gut. Deal?" He reassures you.

Nodding your head you let out a heavy breath. "Deal." You begin playing with the hem of your skirt and bite at your lip. When he pulls into a local diner you spot Sid and Billy sitting in a booth with his arm around her shoulders and you look at Stu worried but he smiles takes your hand and drags you inside, almost proud.

Walking in you look at them and Sid smiles. "Oh hey! I haven't seen you in what feels like a long time. You doing good?" She asks you.

You smile and nod. "Yeah, I'm doing good."

Billy nods at you and looks at Stu. "You coming over tomorrow? We have a few things to-- Discuss." He states.

Stu pulls you closer and nods your head. "Yeah, I'll be there, Y/N has to go out of town for a small thing with her mom so yeah, I'll be there." He grins.

"Stu so you're like, serious with Y/N?" Sid asks. Your heart begins to pound.

Stu looks down at you and kisses you in front of the two and you flush, and feel the fluttering in your stomach and hide a bit. "Very." He grins. Offering you to slide in first. You slide in and Stu slides in next to you putting his arm around you as you begin to play with the napkin out of nerves.

"Well, this new Stu suits you, happiness suits you Stu. I'm happy." Sid replies looking at you. "And you, you seem so happy. Truly, own it." She tells you, and you can tell her sincerity when she grabs your hands looking at you. It was this gut feeling. "Don't let anyone take that from you... and I mean anyone." She states.

Looking at her you smile nodding your head. "Thanks Sid."

The waitress comes over and asks what everyone wants, Sid and Billy order, and Stu, he orders for both of you, looking over at him you smile and kiss his cheek and take a sip of the water that was poured.

After a little bit, your dinner comes and he even went as far as ordering you a chocolate milkshake, with a small mental squeal and a bite of your lip your hand reaches to his leg to give him a thanks squeeze on his thigh and dig into your chicken fingers and house-made fries. The boys start talking about some project they're working on but it's so deep in the context that you and Sid zone out mowing down on dinner and shakes.

Meanwhile, while Stu is eating and talking his hand makes its way to your leg and you bite your lip while playing with your fries, you scoot a little closer as his hand moves further up your thigh under the hem of your skirt, you clear your throat and smile looking at Sidney. "So Sid, have you heard from Tatum at all?" You ask her genuinely curious.

Her brows arch a moment, "No, last I heard she flipped shit on her mom and was put up somewhere. I'm sure she'll be back, calm I hope... but word has it her mom is moving with the family and heading out of town." She added. "The change could be good for her anyway." She added as she ate her fry and Stu's fingers started to play with the fabric of your panties.

Biting your lip and scoot a little closer to him as he pops a fry into his mouth talking to Billy about something, you've lost your focus as his fingers maneuver their way rubbing your swollen bud. Your hips naturally spread a bit as he continues to toy with you, feeling as he applies pressure, and makes his way under your panties feeling his fingers toy with your flesh you do all you can to be inconspicuous and casual while inside you are moaning and screaming. you feel like he is testing you, and you are going to do just as you're expected to do.

As he works at your flesh sliding a finger in slightly you take a sip of your drink and close your eyes. "Dinner is really good... this place is fantastic. I can't believe I've never been here." You chuckle.

"This place has been around since my grandparents were kids." Sidney chuckles taking a bite of her burger.

"For a long while." Billy adds.

"Kind of a landmark here." He states looking at you with a shit-eating grin, as his fingers work their wonderful magic. Letting out a breath you cough a bit with a chuckle as he feels how wet you are and takes advantage of that as his fingers work faster, your breathing slightly picks up as you breathe into a napkin pretending that the chicken strip was hot as you finish on his fingers. With a smile and a chuckle to his voice he looks at Billy. "Plans for the night?" He asked him taking his hand you just finished on and taking a fry and eating it licking his fingers clean and smirks.

You flush red while Billy looks at him. "I was thinking maybe going for a joy ride. You?" He asked.

"Maybe the same." He smirked looking at you.

Flushing you grin, "A joy ride sounds great."

—————————————————————————————————If you want to be tagged let me know. This is the first of many stories! I am also taking requests!

@luciferslittleastre @ms-ghostface

#scream movie #wes craven #scream movie 1996 #90s fanfic #matthew lillard #stu scream #stu macher #stu x reader #stu macher x reader #stu macher x you #stu x you #thirstu #my fanfic #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #my fanfic stuff #my writing #fan fiction #my story #fanfic #my oc #ThirStu Readers #Dinner Date #Sorry Not Sorry #TellingYouAStory Originals #billy loomis #sidney prescott #double date #stu smut #stu macher smut

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E4; Chapter Four, The Sauna Test - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘌𝘭, 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘠/𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘺𝘯𝘹.

📝: ERICAAA!!! FRICKIN FINALLY!! Less important note, but when writing about Y/n, El and Max, I wrote "the three friends" and autocorrect literally changed "friends" to "fruits". Yelmax confirmed 💀

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"It is fascinating what twenty bucks will get you at the County Recorder's Office," Robin reports, unfurling what looked to be a familiar layout on the break room table. "Starcourt Mall. The complete blueprints."

"Not bad," Dustin smirks from her left.

"So this is us," she points to a familiar-looking room before gesturing across the map. "Scoops, and this is where we wanna get."

"Yeah, I don't really see a way in," Steve mumbles from his seat at the table.

"There's not. If,"

She rips away a layer of the blueprint, revealing a vastly complicated map of air ducts, pipelines, and detailing that made up Starcourt.

"you're talking exclusively about doors."

Dustin looks at her with excitement growing in his eyes. "Air ducts!"

"Exactly," she smirks, making her way to the whiteboard to retrieve the magic marker. "Turns out, this secret room needs air just like any old room and these air ducts lead all the way" she circles the secret room in question, drawing one, interrupted line right back to, "here."

Dustin and Steve finally tear their eyes away from the map and follow Robin's mischievous eye. All the way to the air duct tucked away in the far corner of the Scoops Ahoy break room.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

To their surprise, a screwdriver had been harder to find than a ladder but soon enough Steve had managed to reach the air vent and unscrew it from the wall. But as he stood here now, peering down into the vent he quickly realized they were now facing yet another obstacle.

"Flath'ligh'?" Steve asked, finally removing the screwdriver from his mouth and shaping it for the small torchlight Dustin had waiting. "Thank you,"

The flashlight turns on with a tiny click and a soft yellow light bounces down the narrow metal tunnel, enunciation the frown on Steve's face.

"Yeah, I don't know man, I don't know if you can fit in here, it's like... super tight."

"I'll fit," Dustin smirks. "Trust me. No collarbones, remember?"

"Uh, excuse me?" Robin asks.

Steve jumps down from the ladder, turning to Robin as Dustin begins the climb and gives her a nod.

"Oh, he's uh, he's got so disease," he frowns thoughtfully, racking his brain as he tries to recall the word. "It's chrydo... um... something, yeah I don't know. He's missing bones and stuff, he can bend like Gumbo."

"You mean... Gumby?"

"I'm pretty sure it's Gumbo," he snorts.

"Just shut up and push me!" Comes Dustin's muffled voice from the vents.

By now he had wormed himself halfway in, his bottom half sticking out of the wall and still propped up on the latter while they had been talking.

"Okay,"  Steve huffed, motioning knowingly to the kid's feet and turned away from Robin.

She watched with a tired, lazily bemused expression as Steve grabbed a less than sturdy hold of the kid's feet and attempted to push.

"Not my feet, dumbass, push my ass!"

"Uh, what?"

"TOUCH MY BUTT! I DON'T CARE!" Came Dustin's impatient scream from the walls.

With a heavy grimace, Steve hesitantly began pushing against Dustin's rear end and his muffled anger grew louder.

"I'm pushing!" Steve argued.

"PUSH HARDER!" Dustin shrieks as he attempts to inch further into the metal vents. "You're playing with my legs!"

"I'm not playing, I have terrible footing!"

"Come on!"

Steve finally makes it to the top of the latter, Dustin's legs bunched together over his shoulders and locked under his arm as their voice continued to shout over one another.

"I'm gonna just shove you, ready?"

"Just shove me?"

"One, two..."

"Shit!"

"That work?"

"One more time,"

Robin rolls her eyes, finally turning away when she hears the sudden rapid chimes of the customer bell out front and all too familiar patron.

"Ahoy, sailors! All hands on deck!"

Through the partition window, Robin meets eyes with none other than Erica Sinclair who flashes her an exaggerated salute and rings the bell knowingly.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Laughter and joyful screams filled the chlorine-soaked air, the smell of the pool lingering with sunblock was strong enough it wafted all the way to the parking lot where the majority of the Party now stood at the Hawkins pool. It looked quite different than it had the day before when Y/n, Max, and El had last been, but the tension weighing down the atmosphere seemed just as heavy and ever-present.

The storm had of course long since lifted, and the sun was now beating down heavily on their backs as they took shelter behind a Rust Red AMC Hornet, all eyes across the lot on the occupant in the lifeguard chair.

Billy.

He was squished underneath the bright red beach umbrella, hidden underneath a baseball cap, thick shades, a long-sleeved sweater, and a white beach towel draped over his legs where they poked out into the sun. He was completely covered.

"I don't know," Max begins, peering through the group's binoculars. "He looks pretty normal to me,"

"Normal?" Lucas scoffs. "How many times have you seen him with a shirt on?"

Y/n smiles weakly from where she stands in between him and Will. Max lowers the binoculars, conceding a wince.

"I mean, it's a little weird,"

"More than a little," Mike nods. "He was in a tub with ice. The Mind Flayer likes it cold. Plus everything El saw—"

"But he's lounging at the pool," Max argues, doubtfully. "Which is like, the least Mind Flayer thing ever,"

"Not necessarily," Will says, pulling everyone's attention. "The Mind Flayer likes to hide. He only used me when he needed me. It's like... like you're dormant. And then, when he needs you,"

All eyes return to Billy.

"...you're activated."

Y/n gulps, shifting on her feet from where she had previously stood rooted to the spot. Ever since that dreaded Halloween night the previous year, nothing seemed to have been the same. The Mind Flayer had set his sights on Will, and in turn, her. Slowly but surely, he had infected all of their lives as he had the town of Hawkins; spreading his rot and poison, and his hate. She could still feel it sometimes; the pain of Will's nails raking into her face and leaving behind the faded scar that had already long since disappeared.

Her eyes dart back through the fence at the suspicious-looking lifeguard and her insides twisted further into a sickening knot. The thought of the Mind Flayer's possible return was enough to drain the color from her face and leave a chill in the humid, sticky summer air. Her mind was running rapid with fear but the sound of Max's voice was enough to return her to earth.

"Okay, so we just..." she shrugs, looking back over towards her brother. "wait until he gets activated."

"No," Mike says with the shake of his head. "What if he hurts someone?"

"Or kills someone?" Will counters, and the Wheeler boy nods.

"We can't take that chance. We need to find out if he's the host,"

"Well, how do we do that?" Lucas asks.

The Party falls silent. The weight of the air growing heavier and heavier as it dawns on them. And one by one, each pair of eyes trickle over to the only present Henderson sibling in the Party. Her head is hung, propped-up against the hood and when she senses the eyes on her she straightens, breathing a sigh. But Will was already shaking his head.

"What? No, no way," he says to Mike and the others, Y/n already turning to him. "No, Y/n, I don't think it's a good idea,"

"I don't like it either," Y/n fretted. "but it's our best chance. The Mind Flayer hates me, and I can push his limits. It's the fastest way."

"And if, by some random chance, Billy isn't the host?" Will countered gently. "He'd find out about you,"

Y/n didn't have a reply for that. Truthfully, she didn't know whether to be relieved or angered he had cornered her. She just stood there, frowning at the concrete sidewalk biting her lip thoughtfully. She tried to think of a way to use her abilities subtly, but all her experience with heat came from seismic blasts or concentrated bursts from her hands. If she attempted that on Billy, he would surely know it.

"There's gotta be another way," Mike cuts in. "I mean, a safe way that doesn't risk you getting hurt or discovered."

Y/n and Will - even El - shoot him a funny look and he shifts under the sudden attention, guiltily.

"What about the sauna?" Lucas says, lighting up.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, it's perfect!" He grins, stepping out from around the car and motioning for Will and Mike. "Come on,"

Seemingly catching onto Lucas's idea, Mike wastes no time in following. And Will hesitantly steps away, sending Y/n and his friends an apologetic shrug.

"Where are you going?" El called after them, exasperated.

"Sorry! Boys only!" Mike throws over his shoulder.

Max scowls after them. "Seriously?!"

"Just trust us!" Lucas cries.

"We'll be back," Will shrugs again. "... I guess."

The three friends sigh, throwing less than impressed looks at the retreating boys. Privately, Y/n wondered if Mike stood any chance of harm just from her glaring at him in this moment. She hadn't shared these feelings with anyone, but since reuniting with Will something had been troubled Ling him and he wouldn't say what. She could spot it right away, the shift in demeanor but she knew it was something different from the return of the Mind Flayer somehow. And she believed it had something to do with Mike.

He was acting differently around him. He had been for some time now, as she had with Max and even El but this was different. Something had happened, and because Will was, well, Will, he was clearly trying to put aside for the sake of everyone's safety. Y/n couldn't really blame him there, but she wished he would open up to her. Tell her what was wrong.

And she wished more than anything she could fix whatever Mike had clearly broken.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"All we gotta do is wait until the pool closes and everyone leaves," Lucas begins, guiding his friends through the first layer of the men's locker rooms. "And then get him from here..."

He steps forward, quickly ripping open the secondary door. The three boys scurry inside, and Lucas's friends quickly seem to catch on to his plan and a small smile grows on Will's face.

"And get him into here," Lucas eagerly rips open the sauna door, expecting to see nothing but steam but his luck had run out.

Five sweaty adult men in towels sat packed in the sauna like sardines, scowls on their faces for the three party members who interrupted their steam. "Hey! Shut the door!"

-"Come on, kid!"

-"Shut it!"

Lucas finally broke from his stupor and slammed the door shut, shuddering.

"I think I just threw up in my mouth,"

Will nodded with a grimace, but shook it off when his eyes landed on the wall beside the door.

"The controls!"

Mike's still bulging, haunted eyes finally broke away from their zoning out and jumped to the wall where Will was pointing. His face lit up.

"We can control from the outside, it's perfect!"

"Do you think it'll get hot enough?" Will asks, feeling more and more relieved by the second. "Like, "Y/n" hot?"

His friends immediately stopped, looking to him with a deadpan expression. Will scoffed at them. "You know what I mean" he snarked, not in the mood though he was trying to ignore the hint of a blush creeping up on his skin.

"Nevermind that," Lucas says. "Look right, here, 220 degrees. That's definitely enough."

"Okay, so we just need to figure out how to get him into here," Will nods towards the sauna door.

"Precisely."

"Then we lock him in," Mike says.

Lucas nods. "-heat him up,"

And Will manages another somewhat relieved smile. "-and no matter what happens, we'll know for sure."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Erica descends from the latter, the flashlight in her hands flicking off with a loud click as she strides up to the break room table where her recruits stood waiting. The group had taken a calculated risk I confiding in the young girl, but she was smart and demanded the information and why they needed to know if she could fit into the air duct in the back room. So here they stood, waiting with anxious breath for her verdict.

"Yeah, I don't know," she says, propping herself up on the edge of the table rather unimpressed.

"You don't know if you can fit?" Dustin asks.

"Oh, I can fit. I just don't know if I want to,"

"Are you claustrophobic?" Robin tries.

Amused, Erica gives the young woman a pitiful laugh. "I don't have phobias."

"Okay, well," Steve begins with a shrug. "What's the problem?"

"The problem is I still haven't heard what's in this for Erica,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Steve slides another banana boat ice cream float across the table, joining the already plentiful dairy banquet laid out for the Sinclair girl. She merely gave it a single, disinterested glance and slid it back.

"More fudge please,"

Nobody said anything. And Steve just stared back at the table with tired, glazed-over eyes before Erica sent him a dismissive wave.

"Go on,"

He gave a sigh, and left the booth with the Banana boat in hand, and retreated to the counter. Robin took that as her cue and pulled out the marked-up blueprints she had at her side.

"Alright, you see this?" She points from the circle marked Scoops Ahoy and trail connecting over the flipped map. "This is the route you're gonna take. Then we just wait until the last delivery goes out tonight then you knock out the grate. Jump down. Open the door."

"Then you find out what's in those boxes?" She asks.

"Exactly,"

"And you say this guard is armed?"

"Yes," Dustin quickly nods. "But he won't be there,"

"And booby traps?"

"Booby traps?" Robin echoed.

"Lazers, spikes in the wall,"

Robin couldn't help but give a small laugh, but Erica was all too serious. She turned to the two with a serious look.

"You know what this half-baked plan of yours sounds like to me? Child endangerment."

"We'll be in radio contact with you the whole time-"

"Uh! Uh! Uh!" Erica stops her. "Child. Endangerment."

Robin sighs, ignoring the knot wanting to twist in her stomach. She knew she was right, and Robin supposed she just didn't want to admit to herself what they were asking not only of themselves but the young girl.

"Erica?" Dustin began. "Hi, uh... We think these Russians want to do harm to our country. Great harm. Don't you love your country?"

"You can't spell America without Erica," she shrugs, taking a long and loud sip from her complimentary Scoops Shake.

Dustin just blinks at her response and concedes with a nod. "Uh... yeah. Oddly, that's uh... weirdly true, so... so! Don't do this for us! Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man. Do this for America, Erica."

Erica, who had been slurping her drink through her straw throughout his entire speech, finally finished it off and shivered, sending him a smirk. "Ooh! I just got the chills."

Dustin smiled proudly.

"Oh, yeah," she quickly corrects, her smile falling. "From this float. Not your speech."

His smile falls right off his face.

"You know what I love most about this country?" Erica began. "Capitalism. Do you know what capitalism is?"

Both Robin and Dustin mumble a 'yeah'.

"It means this is a free market system, which means people get paid for their services depending on how valuable their contributions are. And this seems to me that my ability to fit into that little vent is very, very valuable to you all. So-"

Robin and Dustin share a worried look.

"-you want my help? This U.S.S. Butterscotch better be the first of many. And I'm talking free ice cream for life,"

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Lifting Up Auvionna "Auvi" Smith:

Muslim Aid - Save Palestine Emergency:

Help Latino Community on Lake Street:

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[platypanthewriter]

The Devil Looks After His Own (Ch.1)

Little Steve Harrington is so lonely he tries summoning a demon with a ritual advertised on TV--but luckily, it doesn't work, and a buff, non-human nanny hired by his mom shows up minutes later.  Years later, they're best friends, and Steve still doesn't know the truth.  For @magniloquent-raven​!

When his dad finally locked him out of the office, Steve spent the morning sitting in the hallway playing with his Legos.  When his stomach growled, he knocked quietly, and his dad’s voice on the phone continued, so he went in the kitchen to forage.  He found Cheez-its, and olives, and a tightly wrapped triangle of gooey cheese that tasted good in the middle, but had gross, chalky skin, so he licked the middle out and stuffed the rest down the side of the garbage. 

He walked back into the front room and flipped the TV on, just to make some noise.  “In the future,” came the syrupy voice of the man on the screen, “—we’ll have robots to be our helper-friends!”  He chuckled to himself, leaning back in his leather chair, and folding his arms on his huge wooden desk.  “But that doesn’t work for us now, I hear you say.”  

The camera zoomed out, and he waved to a woman with curly hair and long fangs, sitting on the edge of his desk.  She was wearing way less clothes than the man was, and Steve frowned, wondering whether she was cold.  “Our summoning spells are assembled by real lawyers, and airtight!” the man said, and the woman nodded, smiling, and holding up a picture with a lot of numbers and lines.  Steve squinted at it guiltily—he’d seen the man’s ads before, and he mostly remembered the picture, probably.  

The helper-friend lady looked nice, he thought.  

“Too good to be true?  We even include offerings!  Bat eyes, tears of the innocent—” he said, smiling and holding up jars, as ‘ethically sourced from internment facilities’ scrolled across the screen.

Steve frowned around, and then grabbed his LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, the most complex set he owned.

“Honey,” the man told the woman on screen, and she opened a can of soda, and poured it over her own head, still smiling.  “Perfectly compliant,” he said.  “And just wait, there’s more!  Any purchase comes with a matching, complimentary summoning sigil for a protective home guardian!  Just drip a drop of fluid—” he winked at the camera, and it showed something red splashing across the page, as his voice suddenly screamed “Augh-no!  Don’t—”

Steve had already grabbed the remote and hit the fifteen-second replay, and began drawing out the picture.  He hit it again and again, coloring in different colors, and wishing people in commercials didn’t always yell.  He drew the circle carefully with a piece of thread from the long fringe on a throw-blanket he wasn’t allowed to mess up, then folded it carefully again, grimacing.  He colored in the crosses with a different color so it looked nicer, and drew the little castle wall-looking-bit.  He added a horse.  

When it came time to drip fluid on it, he clicked the TV off, and got a juice box from the fridge, figuring apple juice was way less gross than blood, and it wouldn’t ruin his picture.  

Steve stared at the picture, holding the juice box, and thinking.  He imagined not eating alone.  He imagined the nice lady smiling at his Legos—maybe she’d like the castle set, he thought, like in her picture.  He’d just summon her for a little, he thought—just a few minutes, enough to make them both a PB&J.    

His stomach growled—again—and he frowned at his dad’s office door, sighed, plonked the Camaro in the middle of the picture, and squeezed the juice box to spray over it all.  

Nothing happened.  Steve stared at the picture for a long moment, his eyes welling up with tears, and then kicked the couch.  It felt like his foot broke from the impact, and he spun around in a circle, muttering a lot of words he wasn’t allowed to say in the house.  He hopped into the kitchen, sniffling, and got out the peanut butter, jam, and a spoon—but instead of getting the bread, he sat on the floor in front of the sink.  

He felt a sinking sensation of guilt as he stuck the spoon right into first the jam, and then the peanut butter, sticking the whole spoonful straight in his mouth and licking it off.  Once he’d licked the spoon, he stuck it back in the jar, his heart pounding.  The peanut butter was crunchy and salty, and the strawberry jam was stickily sweet.  He wondered whether his mom would check the bread and know, and cried harder as he chewed, hugging his knees.

The floor in the front room creaked, and he startled so hard the spoon jabbed hard between his upper molars.  He scrambled to his feet, fumbling the lids back on the jam and the peanut butter and shoving them under the sink, his heart thudding in his chest, but nobody came in.  

The couch squeaked softly, and Steve edged to the doorway, the big spoon hanging forgotten from his mouth, to see a tall man with horns and no clothes at all lying across the couch, right up against the forbidden throw blanket.  He raised his eyebrows—they had shiny jewelry in them—and breathed out smoke, indoors, as he looked up at Steve.

He then yelped and scrambled to fall with a thud over the back of the couch.  “The fff—what are you doing here, kid,” came his voice, from behind the couch.  “Where the—where on earth are your parents?!”

“Unhm,” said Steve, who hadn’t ever seen a man wear so much jewelry before, and wondered how much it hurt to have jewelry in your dick.  He took the spoon out of his mouth.  “Uh.  Dad—dad is—in there,” he pointed vaguely toward his dad’s office, his eyes still fixed on the horns sticking up past the back of the couch.  “Do...do you want me to...get him?”  

The naked man popped up behind the couch again, looking kind of mad, and Steve stepped further back, watching the golden chains and jewels glint in the light from the window.  “...you look very pretty,” Steve said politely, and the man groaned, grabbing the blanket as he stood, and wrapping it around his waist like a towel.

“Why the—why are you here,” he hissed, and Steve swallowed.

“I’ll go in my room,” he tried to say, but it came out kind of a weird whisper, and he realized he was starting to cry again, so he turned away, and the man scrambled from behind the couch.

“Wait!  Kid,” he said, and Steve stopped to see him step and spin kind of gracefully around the glass coffee table without catching the blanket on it.  All his nails were pointed, and painted black.  “I’m sorry—” he cut off, staring down at Steve’s picture, and the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.  

“...what’s this,” he asked, like maybe he was mad again, and Steve wondered, suddenly, whether his mom had forgotten to lock the door, and the man was a naked burglar, looking for clothes to steal.  

“I wanted to meet the TV lady,” Steve admitted, trying to take it, but the man snatched it up.  “Um, are you—are you a burglar?”

“Am I—” the man glared at him—his eyes looked like fire, weirdly, the blue fire on the stove—but he didn’t look mad at Steve, yet, so Steve just bit his lips together.  “...you drew this?” the horny man asked, more quietly, and Steve nodded.  “Why?” he asked, and Steve knew he was in trouble—even if the man wasn’t supposed to be there, grownups always told each other when Steve did something dumb, like steal the TV man’s picture, which was the point Steve realized he was a stealer, a thief, like on TV.  America’s Most Wanted, he thought, his heart pounding.  

“Why draw this?” the man asked softly, crouching down, and Steve sniffled again, wiping his eyes.  

“He said a friend would come,” he admitted, wondering whether kids had their own jail, or whether he’d be in the one with all the guys from movies, who chased teenagers with chainsaws and knives.  

“You wanted a friend?” the man asked, but even softer, and Steve nodded, clenching his fingers in the sides of his pants.

“I didn’t mean to steal it,” he whispered.  “I won’t do it again.”

“...okay,” the man said.  “Don’t—don’t cry, it’s okay, are—are you okay?” he held his hands up like he was gonna touch Steve’s shoulders, then crossed his arms, frowning.

“I’m okay,” Steve nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  “...are, um,” he asked, cautiously, “—are you supposed to be...in here?”

“Uhhh,” said the man.  “Definitely not naked, right?” he laughed, kinda nervously, Steve thought, and he snapped his fingers.  The throw blanket turned into shiny fringed pants.  

“Ohhh,” Steve whispered, impressed.  “How’d you do that?”

“Oh,” the man said, grimacing.  “Um, let’s talk about you summoning demons, okay?”

“...okay,” Steve nodded, sighing, but then a thought occurred to him.  “Uh, do you want a PB&J?”

 As they ate, the man spread Steve’s picture on the table, with the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.

“So this is a circle to summon the demon Belial,” he said, low but kind of intense, like Steve was in trouble, but mostly he looked sort of worried.  

Steve swallowed his bite of sandwich.  “...it’s not exactly the same,” he pointed out, a little sulkily.  “I added a horse.”

“...so you did,” said the man, turning it to look.  “...look, summoning demons is very dangerous—”

“My dad says there aren’t bad demon summoners,” Steve told him.  “He says there are bad plumbers, and bad strippers, but if you’re talking to somebody, and they summoned a demon, they must be good at it, because you’re talking to them, and—and he was on TV—”

“Strippers,” said the man weakly, and Steve realized he was being rude to his guest.  

“I’m Steve,” he said.  “What’s your name?”

“...Bel,” said the man, then, hurriedly, “Bill?”

“My mom likes Billy Idol.  And Billy Joel,” Steve suggested, and the man nodded.

“That’s a normal name that I definitely have,” he nodded, grimacing, “—Billy, I’m Billy.”

Steve considered this.  

“Are you listening, though?  About demon-summoning?  Even a lot of adults have a hard time with it—” Billy started again, holding Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 to his chest like it was a present for him.

“The guy on TV said it was for a helper friend,” Steve told him, feeling a little guilty, but really not too much, since it hadn’t even worked.

“Steve,” Billy said, pressing his hands together over his mouth.  The chain hooking his earring to the ring in his lip swayed and made a bell sound, and Steve stared at it, then remembered to nod.  “Okay,” Billy said.  “Could you promise me you won’t try to summon any more demons?”

“My dad says—” Steve started, again, but he cut off guiltily as Billy slumped back in his chair, groaning.

“Look,” Billy tried again, rubbing his face.  “Summoning demons isn’t like inviting somebody over, okay?  They have to come.  Now imagine if someone called you up to—” he frowned down at himself, biting his lips with pointed teeth, and cleared his throat.  “Uh,” he said, swallowing, and snapped his fingers with both hands—and all the jewelry vanished.  Even his cool horns were gone, Steve realized, and he had clothes on, a little tiny black shirt that showed his belly button, and shiny plastic-y silver pants.  

It was disappointing, but Steve looked into Billy’s flameless eyes and blunt-toothed smile and politely said “...you still look nice...I guess.”  Billy snorted a laugh.  “...I’ve never seen pants like that,” Steve offered, and Billy frowned down.

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked, then shook his head.  “No, wait.  Okay.  What if you don’t want to go somewhere—”

“People make me go places all the time,” Steve said darkly, remembering the week before, when his mom had drug him in for a haircut that made him look like G.I. Joe.  He rubbed his still-fuzzy head, glowering.

“Uh,” Billy said, trying not to smile, but spinning the tires on the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve was a little proud that he liked it so much.  “Okay, a stranger.  What if a stranger makes you go somewhere you don’t want to go?”

“That’s kidnapping,” Steve said, breathlessly, his eyes huge, and Billy pointed the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 at him.  

“Yes.  When you summon a demon, you’re kidnapping them, okay?  And they can’t leave unless you let them go.”

“But the man on the TV said—” Steve whispered, then stopped, remembering how he’d made the almost-naked woman pour soda on her own head.  Steve covered his mouth, suddenly realizing she might not have wanted to be almost-naked, maybe the man had taken her clothes off, like Steve with a doll.  “Oh no,” he whispered.  “I’m so glad it didn’t work!”

“Ah, yeeeah,” Billy said, grimacing.  

“Um,” said Steve, reaching a hand over to retrieve his prize LEGO kit, and Billy snatched it back.  Steve narrowed his eyes.  “You were looking for my parents, but my dad didn’t say you were coming over, are you my mom’s friend?”

Billy winced, grimacing.  “Where is she?”

“She’s at work,” Steve told him.  “Daycare is too expensive, so over the summer I have to be good.”

“Wait, are there any grownups here?!” Billy asked, looking horrified, and Steve nodded, pointing down the hall again.

“My dad.  He locks the door.”

“...What if you drown in the bathtub, or try to eat your own fingers, or something,” Billy breathed, and Steve glared at him.

“I’m not little,” he hissed, sliding forward in his chair a little, so his toes reached the floor.  “I’m not a baby.”

“You don’t need a friend, you need a nanny,” said the recently smoking, horned, pierced and tattooed man before him.  “And that’s, uh, that’s why your mom sent me.”

“...did she really send you?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes, and Billy crossed his arms on the table, hugging Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 against his chest.  

“Yeah.  Yeah, she did,” he said defiantly, and Steve relaxed a little, because Billy sounded like a teenager, just a bigger kid, really.  “She said to put less peanut butter and jelly in your sandwiches,” he pointed to Steve’s overflowing PB&J-bread-burrito, looking smug, “—and just make another sandwich.”

Steve gasped, staring at him, and feeling absolutely betrayed.  “You tricked me!  Why’d you let me make it!”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell,” Billy said, and Steve’s heart was won.

 Billy won it further when he scooted his plate aside to admire the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve drug him back to his room to show him the kits he had.  “Come on,” he said, excited and rude, and Billy slowed way down, grimacing, and flickering back to his pretty bejeweled self, with horns.  

“How about you ask if I wanna do things,” he said stiffly, slowing almost to a stop, and smoking more around the eyes.  

“Oh, yeah,” Steve nodded.  “Sorry.  Can I show you my room?”

“Or maybe, ‘Hey, Billy, want to see my room,’” Billy suggested, taking a deep breath.  

“Okay,” Steve nodded.  “Want to see my room?”

“Sure,” Billy nodded, relaxing like it was some big relief.  

It occurred to Steve maybe it was.  “Sorry,” he said quickly.  “I’ll be polite, I won’t get you fired.”

“Um, yeah,” Billy laughed, shaking his head.  “Maybe don’t, uh, order me around.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, thinking hard about it, so he’d remember.  “I won’t say ‘Billy, pick me upOOF—” he wheezed, as Billy yanked him into the air with one arm around his waist.  “Sorry,” Steve wheezed, his feet kicking.  “I-I’ll say Billy would you, sorry—”

“Shit!  Damn it, I mean, uh, sorry,” Billy said, grimacing, and sat Steve back on his feet, straightening his clothes.  

“I’ll remember,” Steve told him, wide-eyed, and then, because Billy looked guilty, “It’s okay.”

 He tried hard to remember, and he usually did, because Billy got all tense and weird if Steve forgot, like he was trying to move underwater, and Steve had to yell “If you want!  If you want!” as Billy grimly bit into the crunchy, burned eggs Steve had made.  

“That was disgusting,” Billy told him, that time, and Steve couldn’t stop laughing, waving his hands.

“Okay, okay, can I—can I just tell you you can ignore me?  I won’t tell, you can just—just do things if you want to—”

“...you sure about that?” Billy asked, snorting softly, like Steve might be kidding, and Steve nodded frantically.  

“Yeah!  Yes!  Don’t, um, don’t eat any more eggshells, I’m sorry!”

“...okay,” Billy said, smiling down at him.  “When am I not supposed to listen?”

“Uh,” said Steve, blinking at him.  “I mean.  You should��you should always listen—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Billy said, rolling his eyes.

“No, you should!” Steve told him, grabbing Billy’s hand and tugging it.  “What if something’s gonna hit you in the head?  You should listen,” he nodded, thinking about it.  “But once you listen, you should decide what you want to do.”

“What if I wanted to...eat you?” Billy asked him, reaching down to tickle Steve’s stomach, and Steve yelped, giggling.

“You won’t eat me,” Steve told him, leaning into Billy, to give him a hug.  “You’re nice.”

Billy sighed, and hugged him back, tightly.

 Billy was better at some things than other people, like clothes, Steve thought, because Billy was always pointing people’s outfits out, and explaining how they weren’t as good at picking them.  He wasn’t as good at other things, though.  Steve sat down one night to heated-up pasta sauce over Cheerios, and he didn’t want to say anything, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t right.  Billy gave Steve’s mom a glass of water that was completely frozen because she said she wanted it iced, and when Steve’s dad told Billy to make burgers, Billy didn’t buy buns, or tomatoes, or anything, and he threw the meat in the pan until it caught fire.  

Steve was pretty sure none of it was a joke, because Billy frowned between the glass and Steve’s mom, and grimaced over the burgers after Steve’s dad stomped away, and Steve caught him whispering into the phone to the neighbor, hiding half in the fridge like nobody was gonna notice it was open.  

“Billy,” he whispered, and Billy jumped, as Steve crouched down next to him.  The breeze from the inside of the fridge was nice, but it hardened all Steve’s suspicions, because no grown-up had ever left the fridge open, he was pretty sure.  

“Yeah,” Billy muttered back, guiltily.

“...how old’re you,” Steve asked, and Billy flinched.  

“Older than you,” he shot back, and that Steve was willing to give him, because Billy wasn’t human, and some things lived different amounts of time, like trees.  

“Are you a kid too?” Steve asked, and Billy glared at him.

“No,” he said defiantly, and Steve nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows, until Billy groaned, deflating, sitting against the edge of the fridge and letting his legs sprawl out across the floor.  “Look, I’m trying—”

“I won’t tell,” Steve said, reaching out and squeezing Billy’s hand.  “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“...teenager...maybe,” Billy admitted, grimacing.  

“Okay,” Steve said, nodding.  “Billy,” he said, trying to sound like a parent, or a teacher, and Billy’s shoulders hunched.  “You need to tell me you need help,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips.  “I can help with things like human food.”

“You are human food,” Billy said, fondly, yanking Steve into a hug.

 Most of the people that did magic like Billy ate kids occasionally, Steve found out, as he was reading his Dictionary of the Magic Realms that night under the covers, by flashlight.  Maybe they were mean kids, Steve thought, or maybe Billy was just way nicer.  “Are you a fairy?” he asked the next morning, and Billy laughed.  

“Depends on what you mean,” he said, grinning over.  “Is that slang for—”

“Can you fly,” Steve interrupted, because that seemed the most important, and Billy cocked his head.  

“...actually, I probably could,” he said, considering.  “Not like you mean, though.  I don’t have secret butterfly wings, or anything.”

“Oh,” Steve said, because he'd been privately imagining Billy as they’d first met, with the jewelry and the horns and wings, and it seemed to fit.

“...do you want me to have wings?” Billy asked, sitting aside the dish he was drying, and bending down sideways to try and meet Steve’s eyes.  “I can change form—”

“No!” Steve told him, waving his hands.  “No, I know you like looking like...that.”

“...that,” Billy said, raising his eyebrows as he looked down at himself.  “You saying I need to do better?”

“You’re just—normal,” Steve said quickly.  “Instead of pretty.”

“Instead of,” Billy growled.

“I mean,” Steve yelped, waving his hands.  “Pretty with all the jewelry!  And the horns.”

“I was gonna say,” Billy said, reddening.  “If you’re saying I’m not pretty—”

“Of course you’re pretty,” Steve said, rolling his eyes and sighing, but grinning, too.  He patted Billy’s shoulder.

“Well,” Billy said, clearing his throat, and turning back to the dishes.  “All right, then.”

 A few days later, Billy was moving the kettle off the flame for hot chocolate, and a big gout of steam belched up over his arm, which shimmered into all over scales.  Steve yelped and grabbed him, yanking him over to the sink, and ran water over it, all the while panicking.

“Billy, are you a mermaid?!” he asked, spraying Billy’s arm, and trying not to cry.  “Are you a mermaid, are you okay, are hot things bad for mermaids—”

“I’m okay,” Billy told him, turning off the water, and hugging him close.  “I’m not a mermaid, Stevie, I’m not hurt.”

“O-okay,” Steve gasped, grabbing Billy’s arm to run his fingers over it.  “You—you’re okay,” he whispered, leaning into Billy’s hugs.  “...are you a...lizard?  Or a snake?”

“Nope, not exactly,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve groaned.

The rest of my Harringrove works

#Harringrove #Demon!Billy #Summoner!Steve #Unintentionally?? #Kind of?! #BFFs #Kid!fic #Comedy

[witchsickness]

thing is, steve’s been thinking about it for a while, and billy still beats him to it.

because billy always. always has to get there first.

they’re lying in steve’s bed, which. almost always means steve’s lying on it, and billy’s lying on steve, arms and legs and hearts tangled, and billy.

he’s being. a fucking tease, really, dragging his nails up and down steve’s chest like they’ve got all the time in the world, even though billy has to go, like. ten minutes ago, biting his way up and down and up steve’s throat, pushing the limit of his curfew as far as it goes before it bends and snaps and breaks, even though.

billy turned eighteen, a couple months ago, and he doesn’t. need to live under neil’s curfew, and steve.

he’s been thinking about this for a while, and it’s still billy who rests his chin on top of steve’s heart, face almost completely relaxed, apart from that one single line of worry around his mouth, says, i could just stay, y’know. here. with you

and. the thing is.

steve’s been thinking about this, about asking, asking billy to stay, forever, except steve’s also kinda. an idiot, so he just shakes his head, and he says, ‘no. no, you can’t stay here’

and it’s so obviously the wrong, the worst thing to say, because that one line of worry becomes a mask, and it covers billy’s face in a blink, and billy’s not lying on him anymore, and he’s not lying on steve’s bed, either, because he’s.

he’s flinching back, and getting dressed, and reaching for the door before the wrongness of. all of this can begin to sink in steve

except steve’s not that much of an idiot, and he’s always been better at acting first and thinking about it later, and every atom in his body is screaming billy, billy, make it right again, don’t let him leave, so.

he throws the covers down the floor, and he rushes to the door, naked and half-hard and really fucking in love, and he cages billy against it, grabs the arm threatening to open it, to let billy leave

steve doesn’t. ever want to let billy leave, so.

billy tries to get out of his grip. they’ve traded enough punches by now. steve knows he’s not trying too hard. ‘lemme go’

steve shakes his head. ‘nope. not happening’

‘harrington. i swear,’ he puts some soul into it, struggles a bit more. still all for show. ‘lemme go. you don’t want me here cramping your style’

steve huffs, amused, and billy snarls at him, and steve. loves him. ‘what on earth are you talkin’ about?’

‘you just said you don’t want me here, asshole. lemme go’

‘i said i don’t want you staying here, and i meant it’

billy stops fighting long enough to frown at him. ‘okay? so. let go of my arm so i can get out of your hair’

‘i don’t want you. us. staying here, because it’s not ours, dumbass’

billy. goes still. blinks at him. ‘what?’

steve knows his eyes are doing that. syrupy-sweet, stupid-in-love, you’re-my-forever kinda thing they’ve been doing for a while now, and he. doesn’t give a fuck, not enough to hide it, not anymore.

‘i want us to have a place. our place. no memories, no parents, no dusty, unused dining rooms and fancy china and fuckin’. original italian renaissance paintings over the fireplace. just you and me. our place’

there’s a pause, and billy’s eyes are scanning him suspiciously, and the worry lines are smoothing, one by one, and.

‘you couldn’t have said it like that in the first place?’

‘baby—’

‘you couldn’t’ve said i really wanna fuckin’ live with you but not in this fucking mausoleum? you couldn’t’ve said—’

steve. smashes their lips together, swallows whatever he could’ve said down, feels billy. melting against him, worry seeping out of him in waves.

‘now’s the time you tell me you love me, and you wanna spend the rest of your life with me, and you’d be real fuckin’ delighted to get a place with me,’ kisses all of it on billy’s lips

billy pulls back first, always has to go. first. ‘well, you just said it yourse—’

‘billy’

he’s dragging his teeth over his bottom lip, and steve traces a finger across it, to stop him from opening up a wound. he’s had years of that, already.

he looks up at steve. eyes filled with worry, and caution, and. ‘you wanna move in. together’

steve nods.

‘and you wanna. spend your life with me’

steve nods, again.

‘because you love me’

steve nods, and nods once more, and decides that’s not enough, either, so he kisses billy, and he kisses him again, and he says, ‘because i love you,’ and then he kisses him a few more times.

because he loves him.

billy sniffles, eyes wet and big and. happy. ‘wanna smash all your mother’s china before we go?’

steve laughs. and he laughs, and he laughs and he—

‘thought you’d never ask’

#harringrove #my fic #my stuff

[withoneheadlight]

oh man that one with billy convincing steve to skip work has got me thinking trophy husband billy

Oh, anon! 💗💗💗💗adkahdshdhdkhkhdYESSS. I LOVE this idea!

And I’m SURE he would be the happiest trophy husband. And also the kind that's showy. Has so much fun going over the top with it, being gossip material. All cliché-y, and Diva-like. Basically confirming what everyone thinks about him (about them) precisely because it’s the diametrically opposed to what it really is.

Doing things like:

Mowing the lawn in mini-mini-shorts. Working on his tan on their lovely backyard on the sunny Sunday Summer mornings (in that exact spot where –coincidentally– Mr. Walker, their blatantly homophobic next door neighbor, would have to get out of his own backyard with his eyes closed not to see). Being reaaaally polite with everyone around (Mr. Walker included), smiling and waving his hand like “Hiiii, Janice! How did that new face treatment go?” because they live in a Nice Place now, six years after Robert Harrington made Steve climb his way up the company ladder right from the bottom “Exactly like everyone else”, both as a punishment and a trial; after working their asses out of their shitty one-bedroom apartment, having to prove themselves in every single step (as Steve and Billy, but also as SteveandBilly), but,

Here they are.

And now Steve has a very good job, one he’s genuinely good at, one that pays for much more than hardly the bills and maybe having dinner out from time to time. And they’re happy and they are together and they fucking made it, despite barely anyone around them given two shits. Now, Steve slicks his wild hair back from Monday to Friday, wears the nicest suits, so fitting and sexy and oh so preppy Billy sometimes gets a hard-on just from seeing them all together in the dressing room, hanging in a perfectly tidy line, made of the same material of sins.

So. 

He just doesn’t see the point in not treating himself every once in a while.  Make Steve run late for work or not getting there at all. In no letting himself enjoy the way those tailored beauties emphasize the shape of Steve’s glorious ass. Enjoy the certainty that in a big, stylish, impeccably neat office downtown, Steve’s dad is rolling his eyes all the way back into their sockets.

And also.

In not letting himself revel in the exhilarating feeling of sliding full into this ‘hot-mess trophy hubby’ persona almost everyone around them assumes he is. Steve’s Harrington boy-toy. “That California scum. Must be real good at sucking dick to get a deal like that.” Make the rumors roll down the small streets of Hawkins and under the door of his own father’s house. Thrive in the knowledge that every time Neil Hargrove hears any or those rumors or gets even the tiiiniest glimpse of them two together, going out and about holding hands,  feels like he’s about to puke his guts out thinking about what his son has ‘become’.

And aside from that, he kind of––enjoys, this trophy husband thing, to be honest. It’s been ten years since they got together now. Billy likes to keep things spiced-up. So when Steve is promoted and they move to be close to the new office, along with the house Billy buys a pair of powder pink slippers, fluffy ball of floating fur on top, and a see-through, fur-riveted robe to match. Some days he goes to his morning cockteling&tanning session in the backyard wearing only that (“Heeeey! How ya doin’ Mr. Walker?”). Kisses Steve goodbye long and filthy at the door, where everyone can see, opening the robe wide to wrap it around them both together, pressing their bodies flush, biting at his ear and whispering “Bring me a diamond when you come back, honey bunny” making Steve snort but say "You deserve a million of them, babe" making Billy melt, feel a bit like he's dripping love out of all the pores of his body, making a puddle that will permanently stain the glamorous white marble of the entryway as he waves Steve goodbye, scratches with feign indifference at the trail of fair hairs coming out his flashy-green pants to counteract the way Steve's killer smile makes him blush as hard as the first time, a whole decade away, that cold November night when he grabbed Billy by the collar of his T-shirt and said "I'm gonna kiss you. And then you're gonna punch me. And I don't care.”

It’s like a fucking fairytale. The way things were going? The most Billy expected out of life was live if fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse behind. But now, he’s got the guy of his dreams. He’s got a life he could have never dreamed of. He’s got Steve, now. Steve, who’s good, is caring. Always fights him back. Doesn’t buy any of the shit he tries to pull off. Steve, who's got lips like that moment the earth forgets about gravity when you’re riding down the hill of a rollercoaster. Got eyes that can rip out of you promises you never thought you'd make (like: I do and forever and not even death). That always see Billy when they look at him.

And now, he gets to wake up every morning before he does, put the Moka pot on the stove. Gets to see Steve’s sleepy face right after rolling out of bed, hair still untamed, pouty lips, bare feet dragging over the floor. See the way he beams, smile wide and devastatingly sweet when Billy tells him “I made you coffee, babe”. Gets Steve kissing him like a daydream, laying him over the kitchen table, fucking him before even touching breakfast with his fancy pink robe on.

And Billy thought he would have to change. Give something, to have something. Didn’t really mind. Too lucky to complain. Thought he would have to stop being mean once they got married. Play the tamed part. Thought he was going to have to behave to fit into the rich and respectable life they had landed at. But. No-No. Rich people? They’re way meaner than regular people, turns out. Billy’s just been upgraded to play for the Asshole’s World Championship Cup.

And he’s always been good at sports.

So he goes to the hair salon the afternoon before any important event. Gets a facial. Does his nails. Buys new clothes. Gets all Pretty Woman on himself just so Steve can show him off. And oh. OH. OHHH. Steve does show him off. To his dad. His mom. The whole party. Doesn’t give a fuck about whatever people keeps on whispering behind their backs. Offers his arm to Billy and Billy clings to him, keeps his chin up. He’s never been as afraid of anything as much as Steve not loving him back. He’s fearless now. Because here they are. So he lets Steve walk him through the crowd as the King he was born like. Brilliant. Proud. Letting Billy to deal with the vultures if he fancies to do that.

“Awwww. But look at you!! Anyone can tell you two are soooo in love!”

Fake boobs. Fake Louboutins. Fake Smile. Billy is Queen Bee now. He’s got this.

“Oh, no Miss Treadaway. I dearly appreciate you noticing how good my acting skills are. But it’s exactly as you said to Miss Walton the other day. I only married Stevie here because he’s got a big dick and it’s loaded. And he only married me because of how good I look on all fours. You’re too perceptive to hide it!”

But with Steve’s parents? With Steve’s parents Billy is relentlessly n i c e.  When Robert Harrington won’t even look at him. When Crystal Harrington blows saccharine all over him like in a bad magic trick, deceivingly sweet when she says, “Well William. Maybe it's time you get a real job too now our Steven is running his own branch" cold war buzzing between them when Billy spreads his most honest, open smile, not a millimeter of animadversion showing “But I already have a real job, Crystal. I take care of your son. And there’s also, you know, that side thing I do of running Garage” making her fingers clutch hard around her cup of fine champagne, making Steve’s lips fight to repress a grin, eyes fond, and soft and in love. And Billy will do whatever it takes, endure whatever he has to, if what he gets in return is this:  the way the narrow space keeping them apart feels like inevitability when they're about to kiss.

And everyone thought he was going after the money, when they married. Most still do. But Billy never actually asked for diamonds. Well, not for real. But he gets one anyway. Tenth anniversary and counting. It shines unreal on his finger, as much as this life he has now, as the liquid shine of Steve’s eyes when he says “They come from fire, just like you. I always thought they would fit so well. And looks like I was right” and just a few years before, Billy would have said “This is too much, I can’t take it” too afraid Steve would get the wrong impression too, too afraid to not be up to him. But now, he understands, that this is just another way Steve is trying to take care of him, to show him love. So now, Billy lets Steve spoil him as much as he wants. Take him out for dinner without reason. Hand him a sealed envelope saying, “What about showing me that ocean you love so much?” Kissing him in front of everyone, all the time, ringed fingers intertwined.

Lets him buy them a California King just to make a stupid joke, get Billy Hargrove to blush.

“We can ditch all of this, if you’re not happy. You know that, right? I don’t care about anything else as long as it’s you and I”

Billy shakes his head. “I am happy, pretty boy. Happier than I ever thought I could be” Tickles Steve’s nose with the fluffy, pink fuzz all around his robe until he sneezes and chuckles. “But I wanna know,” he says, tone pouty and tragic “It is true, what everybody says? Am I really a trophy husband?”

Steve shuffles closer, rumbles low in his throat. It’s an early Sunday morning. They’re gonna spend all time left until breakfast fucking in bed. Then cockteling&tanning together ‘till lunch. And then, after, he’s sure he can convince Steve to put on one of those gorgeous suits, let Billy grind against the soft fabric, make a mess out of him. Make him beg and squirm. Pull down his fly real slow, down on his knees. Suck him off. Eat him out. Make him moan I love yous brighter than diamonds when Billy gets inside him. But right now, Steve just kisses him silly, lowers down the covers to take a look down, at his leopard print, see-through, hideous new briefs. The cheapest ones he could find.

Because Billy’s trash. Will always be trash.

“Oh yeah, babe. You are. A fucking trophy. The best anyone could have”

But he’s posh trash now.

💎

The original post (xxxx) xD 💍

#harringrove #Steve Harrington #Billy hargrove #Billy x Steve #xask #askfic #xharringrove #the harrington-hargrove household #xaskwithoneheadlight #xfluff #xpronight

[mourntheantagonist]

Billy Hargrove’s Exploration of Beauty

| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 |

Part 5: (I’m Not) A Real Man

also on ao3

***

He doesn’t know why he says it. It wasn’t prompted in the slightest. But the thought had been rattling inside in his head for weeks and it just slipped out.

“It’s a good thing you like both, I guess.”

It’s been on his mind ever since the panties. Ever since the three pairs turned into ten. Ever since his once bare and unmanicured fingernails were gently held in Steve’s hands and coated in a clear polish. Ever since he upgraded from clear to nude, and from nude to a deep blue.

“It matches your eyes.” He’d said. Quietly under his breath with a smile pulling at the sides of his mouth. Both boy’s cheeks twinning with the same red tint. Sure he removed it before he left the safety of Steve’s house, but it was nice while it lasted.

Ever since Steve had made it a point to call Billy beautiful at least once a day. Peppered in with every greeting and every goodbye. “Hey, beautiful,” and “see you tomorrow, beautiful.” Occasionally interchanged with “gorgeous” and the rare and teasing “pretty boy.”

He could not wrap his head around it. How Steve was just okay with it. Understanding. Supportive, even. He figured it must have something to do with him liking women, too. He was attracted to femininity, so it must make it okay. Steve was getting the best of both worlds, right?

So he said it. The two of them sitting on his couch watching Saturday Night Live, slowly working their way through a large pepperoni pizza. Sitting at opposite ends of the couch with their feet propped up and their legs intertwining. As much as he loves to be all wrapped up in Steve, he loved that position. Getting the best seat in the house to watch as Steve’s nose scrunches and his eyes crinkle when he laughs.

Steve wasn’t laughing now.

“What are you talking about?” He’s understandably confused.

Billy shifts. Brushes his foot up against the hair of Steve’s calf. Picking at the purple nail polish on his fingers as he tries to come up with a way to phrase what he wants to say. He’d been getting better at talking about it, at least a little bit. Opening up to Steve how he sometimes feels trapped in his clothes. How he wishes he could do more. How he wishes the nail polish could stay on. But it got more difficult when he stopped talking about the physical. The clothing and the polish he can talk about, but getting specific about how it makes him feel inside? What it all means for him? He hardly even knows the answer himself.

“Just with you know, all the girly shit. It’s good you, y’know, like girls too.”

Steve is just staring at him. Eyebrows furrowed. He shakes his head.

“You’ve lost me.”

Billy’s biting the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with a better way to word it. A way Steve will understand.

“The nail polish, and the uh, the other stuff,” he waves his hand in the air, the word ‘panties’ always feeling like a slur on his tongue, “I wouldn’t exactly call that manly.”

Steve’s eyes narrow, squinting. Like he’s unsure of what he’s looking at.

“Are you saying you don’t feel like a man?” Steve is straight-faced. He’s asked one question, but suddenly Billy feels like he’s being interrogated. And he’s getting defensive. Even if he’s not being attacked. Even if he’s unsure of what he’s guarding.

“Well there’s certainly nothing manly about wearing pink lace panties Steve.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

And Billy is silent. They’re both silent. And it’s deafening. The words out of Steve’s mouth just hang there in the air, suspended and never to be caught.

“Forget the fucking macho masculine bullshit. Do you, Billy Hargrove, feel like a man?”

“Well I’m definitely not a woman, Steve.”

“Answer the question.”

He can’t answer. Stunned by Steve’s sudden change of tone. He sounds angry. Not angry at Billy, but angry about something else.

“Answer the question, Billy.” He’s determined.

“No! not a real one.”

And now it’s out there. It’s out there and he can see the cogs turning in Steve’s brain as he tries to decipher the meaning behind Billy’s words. His mood however, doesn’t change.

Steve is thinking. Thinking about all the things that had been ruled by society and surely had been ingrained into Billy. Real men don’t cry. Real men don’t back down from a fight. Real men don’t wear pink. Real men don’t sleep with other men. Steve is guilty of having fallen into this mindset before. But it’s plain as day that it’s all wrong. It’s all just a bunch of bullshit.

“Does using the Farrah Fawcett Hairspray make me less of a man?”

“No, but the fumes are definitely doing something.”

“Shut up, it’s quality shit Mr. Aqua Net.” Steve takes in a deep breath. “Does me liking men make me less of a man?”

Billy’s eyes quickly shoot down to his lap. Staring at his hands as he chips away at the last remaining marks of polish on his nails. Treating it like an hourglass. Treating it like his armor. Times up. It’s all gone. You’re exposed. It’s time to face the music.

“No.” It’s soft. He says it like a confession. A confession to himself. Like he’s not saying it to Steve, but fighting against the voice in his head that says the opposite.

But it’s Steve, so it doesn’t apply here. Just to himself.

“Then why is it different for you? Why should my bisexuality have anything to do with it?”

“You don’t understand, Steve. It’s different for me!”

Steve just shakes his head and laughs. Not a laugh of humor. He looks mad. Bewildered.

“I understand perfectly fine Billy! It’s you who’s not fucking getting it!” He stands up from where he was seated. Now pacing across the room, shutting off the television in the process so he has Billy’s undivided attention.

Steve’s head looks like it’s about to explode and it’s freaking Billy out.

“Nobody else gets to decide who you are Billy! You are whoever you say you are! There’s no such thing as a fake man. The things you like don’t change that. I need you to believe that Billy!” He’s almost screaming. His voice echoes through the empty halls of his house. Billy just lies there speechless.

Steve walks closer to Billy after letting out a heavy breath. A desperate release of anger because he doesn’t like yelling at Billy. He kneels in front of him on the couch. Taking a hand in his and looks Billy straight in the eyes. Deep into his soul.

“I understand needing to take things slow. That’s okay. But if you’re holding back because you think I won’t still see you as a man, then I’m sorry, I won’t be patient with you about that. I won’t tolerate that. Because it’s not fucking true.” It’s still aggressive, but his voice is more hushed and less biting.

Billy’s eyes stay focused on their clasped hands. Holding onto that feeling. The feeling as Steve’s words travel through his brain and connect. The feeling of validation as Steve continues to hold on. Refusing to let go. His warmth radiating off of him and into Billy as the force to make his words stick. To make them stay.

“Okay.”

It’s all he can think to say. But it’s not enough for Steve.

“I need to hear you say it Billy. I need to know that you believe it.” Steve pulls Billy into a hug, gently combing his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “Tell me you’re still a man.” It’s just a whisper in his ear.

“I’m still a man.” It’s voiceless. Coming out with just his exhale. But it’s all that was needed.

“You’re still a man.” Steve copies. “And you’re fucking beautiful. And those things don’t contradict each other.”

Billy just squeezes him tighter. Clinging to the feeling that the word brings him. Clinging to Steve. Clinging to the feeling that Steve’s love gives him. Melting into him. Breathing him in like he’s the last remaining oxygen left on earth.

“I know it’s hard, baby. But you have got to start loving yourself. It hurts me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just let me in, okay. I’m here to stay.”

I’m here to stay.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

I promise.

“No more holding back around me, okay?”

Steve’s pressing kisses to the space behind his ear with every sentence and Billy just sits there with eyes shut and his heart pounding out of his chest.

“No more holding back.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #mandi writes tresh

[passivenovember]

“At my funeral, I want you to make sure they play Free Bird.”

Across the bolt of the quarry, Steve can see purple Bella Donna nodding fat in the breeze. Above them, stretching all around into the past and the future with lazy, diamond dusted fingers, stars dot the sky. 

It’s summer. 

Billy’s well into his tan, dipped in bronze and creamy milk chocolate, skin lassoing the sun to distract from whatever storm is brewing dark inside him.

Steve shifts. Tries to ignore the cool press of metal against his stomach, dread seeping through layers of cotton and denim to get at his heart, when he squirms in Billy’s grasp. “What?”

Steve tries to prop himself up. Have a look. 

Billy just holds him tighter, eyelashes stubbornly raking the constellations into neat little piles. That’s the affect he has. On the world. On Steve.

Permanent and lasting. Changed.

The wind blows, cooler than it was when the sun was setting, and suddenly it’s fall. Suddenly it’s dark. Summer’s on the wing, nearly over, they’ve got seconds left in each other’s arms and the solid, sure line of Billy’s jaw quivers, just a little, stubble rubbing sharp and sweet where Steve grabs his chin. 

Billy shrugs away. Says, “It’s not a big deal.”

But. “It is,” Steve accuses lightly. It’s summer, he doesn’t want this to turn into a fight, and yet. 

“Forget I said anything,” Billy mutters. 

But. “You can’t just ask me to play Free Bird at your funeral.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Steve squirms harder this time, managing to knock Billy’s arm away. He sits. Frowns. Wants to scratch his mosquito bites and scratch this away, too. Whatever’s come over them, but then it would seep under his nails and he’d carry it away. 

Billy’s eyes are wet. Not spilling over, not quite, but. Misty. Flooded. 

“Free Bird’s a fucking stupid song,” Steve decides. 

The lump in his throat won’t let him spill the beans. Won’t let him clear the air. 

Billy glares at him, a little lighter than before. “’S my funeral, pretty boy. I get to build the playlist.”

“You’re not going to die,” Steve says. Resolute. “Not now. Not soon. Not ever.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

“Even if you did know,” Billy counters, rising to his level so his jean pockets scrape a little on the hood of the Camaro. “It’s not true. No matter what you’ve got to say about it, I’ll die someday.”

“It is true,” Steve says. “If I have anything to say about it, you’ll live forever.”

Billy snorts. 

“Where’s this coming from, Blue?” Steve asks.

“Forget it.”

“C’mon, asshole. Talk to me.”

Billy turns away, eyes peering over the lip of the Quarry until they catch on something. The Bella Donna. “I dunno. Lately I’ve just been feeling, like. There’s a cloud hanging over me. And everything’s dim and gray and my shadow’s growing, a little. Covering more Earth. And it’s bleeding, y’know, past the hairline that separates me from him, and I just.”

Billy squeezes their fingers together. Says, “I don’t think things are gonna work out for me.”

He doesn’t believe it or maybe doesn’t want to live forever, with Steve, even though that sounds like Heaven. Feels like Saturday morning cartoons and homemade pancakes and sun-warmed linen, when they kiss.

Steve doesn’t understand why Billy would want to give it up so he takes his hand. Threads their fingers together, says, “You and me, we’ll. Buy a house on the beach--”

Billy’s eyes snap to him, wet spilling over now. “I wanna live in the mountains.”

Steve nods. Pulls him closer. “Then we’ll live in a mountain with a distant view of the ocean peaking between snow caps and we’ll have a vegetable garden and we’ll throw our T.V. in the garbage behind Melvalds before we skip town so we won’t have any distractions.”

Billy lets himself be pulled into the sling of Steve’s arm. Lowered onto the hood of the Camaro. “What would we need a distraction from?”

“From each other,” Steve says, kissing Billy’s temple. “I’m never gonna feel like I have enough time with you.”

In the distance, fireworks light up the sky. 

#harringrove #listen #and then he gets posessed and killed by the mindflayer!

[ladywynneoutlander]

Letters of Outlander

Hi all. I’m scaling these back to Thursdays only. Hopefully I can keep up with that! I’ll be teaching high school and starting a graduate program this year. Also, to be clear, these are straight from the books. They are not written by me. I am just sort of cataloging the letters in the series. Wishing happiness to each of you!

Claire to Brianna, Voyager Ch 42, October 1968

My dear Bree--

  I don’t know if you will ever read this, but perhaps it’s as well to set it down. This is what I know of your grandparents (your real ones), your great-grandparents, and your medical history...

Baby -- You are my baby, and always will be. You won’t know what that means until you have a child of your own, but I tell you now, anyway -- you’ll always be as much a part of me as when you shared my body and I felt you move inside. Always.

  I can look at you, asleep, and think of all the nights I tucked you in, coming in the dark to listen to your breathing, lay my hand on you and feel your chest rise and fall, knowing that no matter what happens, everything is right with the world because you are alive.

  All the names I’ve called you through the years -- my chick, my pumpkin, precious dove, darling, sweetheart, dinky, smudge... I know why the Jews and Muslims have nine hundred names for God; one small word is not enough for love.

  I remember everything about you, from the tiny line of golden down that zigged across your forehead when you were hours old to the bumpy toenail on the big toe you broke last year, when you had that fight with Jeremy and kicked the door of his pickup truck.

  God, it breaks my heart to think it will stop now -- that watching you, seeing all the tiny changes -- I won’t know when you stop biting your nails, if you ever do -- seeing you grow suddenly taller than I, and your face take its shape. I always will remember, Bree, I always will.

  There’s probably no one else on earth, Bree, who knows what the back of your ears looked like when you were three years old. I used to sit beside you, reading “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish,” or “The Three Billy Goats Gruff,” and see those ears turn pink with happiness. Your skin was so clear and fragile, I thought a touch would leave fingerprints on you.

  You look like Jamie, I told you. You have something from me, too, though -- look at the picture of my mother, in the box, and the little black-and-white one of her mother and grandmother. You have that broad clear brow they have; so do I. I’ve seen a good many of the Frasers, too -- I think you’ll age well, if you take care of your skin.

  Take care of everything, Bree -- oh, I wish -- well, I have wished I could take care of you and protect you from everything all your life, but I can’t, whether I stay or go. Take care of yourself, though -- for me.

  You should know, Bree -- I don’t regret it. In spite of everything, I don’t regret it. You’ll know something now, of how lonely I was for so long, without Jamie. It doesn’t matter. If the price of that separation was your life, neither Jamie nor I can regret it -- I know he wouldn’t mind my speaking for him.

  Bree... you are my joy. You’re perfect, and wonderful -- and I hear you saying now, in that tone of exasperation, “But of course you think that -- you’re my mother!” Yes, that’s how I know.

  Bree, you are worth everything -- and more. I’ve done a great many things in my life so far, but the most important of them all was to love your father and you.

  Choose a man like your father. Either of them. Once you’ve chosen a man, don’t try to change him. It can’t be done. More important -- don’t let him try to change you. He can’t do it either, but men always try.

Stand up straight and try not to get fat.

With All My Love Always,

Mama

Letters of Outlander masterlist

#Letters of Outlander #Outlander #Claire Beauchamp #Claire Randall #Claire Fraser #Brianna #Bree #Brianna Randall #Brianna Fraser #Brianna MacKenzie #Voyager #Diana Gabaldon #mother daughter bond

[peterthepark]

Die For You

Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary: You’d die for each other. Till the ends of the earth. He’d die for you. Till time stops. And you’d die for him.

Warnings: angst, some fluff, more angst than fluff, some smut, but just angst angst angst, also drugs and drinking?

A/N: Based off of the song, Die For You by The Weeknd. Enjoy! PSA: This work has some instances of a strained/struggling relationship, in no way am I glorifying that or meaning to offend anyone. Thanks.

His emotions are too extreme for a simple ‘I love you.’ He’s crazy about you, addicted to the simultaneous longing and hatred you project onto him; addicted to the way you make him miss you during lonely nights, where he is cold and despondent.

Billy doesn’t love you. No, that’s an understatement.

He would die for you.

His eyes study you from the opposite end of the room; your hips sway with the beat of the music. He’s smoking a cigarette, clouds of white blurring his vision. But his stare hasn’t left yours, never once breaking as he bites his lip at how you look tonight.

It’s when you run over to him after the song is over, the way he feels your nails graze over his neck, the bubbles of laughter leaving your throat, the hoarseness in your voice, he can’t get attached but he is. He recognizes the familiar glimmer in your eyes. Your pupils are blown with adrenaline. He can feel your pulse from a few inches away.

“Do you wanna go back to my place?”

He would die for you.

Billy’s breaths are hot against your skin. He’s sweating, hair damp as he thrusts into you for one final time. His grunts mix with your moans, pulling you down beside him.

“I love you.” You tell him, eyes watering with hope as you toy with the gold necklace that hangs from his neck. His room glows of red, lights flickering as you kiss the tattoo by his arm.

Billy doesn’t say it back. But he pulls you closer to him, staring up at the ceiling. He can see it in your eyes.

There’s a mixture of hatred and desperation in the minuscule specks around your irises. The vibrancy of color from earlier are gone, and he suddenly feels a pang of pain in his head.

“What are you thinking?” You ask, tugging at his necklace to pull him out of his trance. You sit up, putting all your weight on one hand as you bite your lip.

He looks at you, eyes skimming over the swell of your breasts and the red marks on your hips.

He laughs nervously. “You scare the shit out of me, Y/N. I’m - I don’t like feeling like this. Is it supposed to be like this?”

You can’t tell if he’s talking to you. Or if these are his thoughts, projected out loud. He isn’t looking at your eyes, and you’re hurt.

“Well, love is fucking scary, yeah?” Billy perks up at the choked crack in your voice.

No. You don’t get it. It’s something bigger than love.

There’s a void in his chest as you collect your things and disappear into the bathroom to dress.

“Billy, I need to leave.”

“Wait, Y/N. Hey, I’m sorry.”

He follows you out of the bedroom, pressing his head against the door to the bathroom. He kicks it out of frustration, pulling at his hair.

He listens to your sobs.

If only he could tell you.

He would die for you.

You’re drunk when he visits. Parents are nowhere to be seen, clothes and vinyl records thrown across the floor of your bedroom. He sees the framed picture of him, shattered but still hung.

You’re crying into his hair when you see him.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you, Billy.” You slur, stumbling out of his grip. He catches you before you tumble to the ground.

You’re a mess. He knows it’s his fault.

“Baby...” He starts, sitting with you. His hands are cupping your cheeks while he speaks. You’re numb. You can’t feel him. “What - what happened?”

“Am I worth it?”

“What?”

“To you, am I worth it?”

“Y/N, I’d die - you’re perfect.” He cracks a sad smile, thumbs swiping at the tears on your cheeks. “You’re worth everything to me.”

“Then why can’t you tell me you love me?” You lean into him. He can smell the alcohol as your lips brush against his. Your hands find his necklace once more. “Am I alone in this? Billy, do you want to break up?”

“You know I can’t walk away from you, angel.”

He would die for you.

He’s watching as you gaze out the window. His hands drum against the steering wheel, a smirk on his face as he speeds through the city.

The rain is hard against Billy’s windshield, water blocking his view. He pulls to a stop, turning on the wipers as he leans over to kiss you.

He knows he’s caught you by surprise, causing him to deepen the kiss. The car behind him honks, and you push him away playfully.

“Billy, go!” You laugh at him, glancing behind you.

“Kiss me back.”

“Isn’t this illegal? You have to go on green.”

It’s dark outside, and Billy is entranced with how the hues of the stoplight casts onto your profile. He shakes his head, smiling victoriously as he sees you glance at his lips.

“Pull over, B.” You whisper. And he does.

The car swerves into an empty parking lot by a gas station. Thunder booms over the sky.

“Now, are you gonna kiss me back?” He quirks a brow at you, hands scratching at the slight stubble on his jaw.

“Catch me first.”

His eyes widen as you run out of the car and into the pouring rain.

“Y/N! My car!” He groans as some drops of rain land on his seats, but he’s more worried that you’re outside. In the pouring fucking rain.

But he isn’t afraid to go out after you. You’re twirling around, hair dripping wet as you try to outrun Billy. There’s puddles everywhere, water splashing as your shoes hit the concrete.

You’re grinning as you see Billy gain up on you, then you’re laughing loudly as his arms encircle your waist. He lifts you up, spinning you around as he shakes his head at you. You kick softly at his legs, bumping your head against his in an effort to escape. Billy puts you down, soaking wet. His leather jacket glistens in the moonlight as drops of water roll down from the tips of his fingers.

You look like idiots.

Billy shuts his eyes as you pull him into you. His hair is in tangles as you course your hands through them. His lips mesh against yours. Your eyebrows are furrowed, ignoring the thunderous roars in the sky while the rain soaks you even more.

He pulls away with a cheeky smile.

He would die for you.

“Can we talk?”

Billy leans against his car, lighting a cigarette as you approach him. You’re in your pajamas.

He was supposed to take you on a date. Why aren’t you dressed?

“Are we not going on that date tonight?” He asks, taking a drag from the cigarette. He starts to get worried when you play with the hem of your jacket.

“No, I don’t think I can.” You clear your throat, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand. “But can we talk?”

“Yeah, let’s go inside.“ Billy pushes himself off of the hood of his car. But he pauses when you place your hands on his chest, stopping in his tracks.

“Out here. We need to talk out here.” You scoff at him. You haven’t looked at him once.

“Okay. Yeah. Uh, what is it?”

“I think we... I think we need a break.”

Your eyes are trained onto the ground. Billy drops the cigarette, eyes softening.

“What?”

A break?

“Yeah, I don’t think I - I can’t do this right now.”

“No, Y/N. What? What did I do? I can make it up. I promise. What do you need?” Billy tries to grab at your hands, but you pull away, holding it away from him. “I thought we were doing good.”

“Billy, this is too much for me.” You sigh, stepping back as he steps forward.

“Y/N. C’mon. This is crazy.”

“I need you to tell me that you love me. Right now.”

“Baby.”

“Billy?”

“I love you. Okay? There, I said it.” He huffs. His throat tightens and he’s trying extremely hard not to cry. His voice is soft, too soft.

You nod, swallowing. “I’ll see you around, Hargrove.”

He runs after you as you walk away.

Now he’s crying.

“You know I would do anything for you, angel. I love you, please! I would - I would die for you. Y/N. Please.”

“No, I died for you.” You snarl, beating at your chest with a fist. “I lost myself, waiting for you to tell me that you love me. You can’t tell a person that you love them when things are ending. That’s fucked.”

Billy has never seen you so angry.

That’s how he knows you’re right.

You did die for him a long time ago.

From then on, you never wished to see Billy again.

You never talked to him.

You never mentioned him.

You never looked for him.

Billy walks around the mall, hands in his pockets as he waits around for his sister Max to leave. His eyes never once glance up. He hears the giggles from groups of girls, pointing and whispering at him with lustful eyes.

He’s tired of it. None of them are someone he wants.

He bumps into someone, hearing them yelp. There’s a hope that courses through his body when he notices the color of the person’s hair, and the sound of their voice.

Billy finally looks up.

And still, it’s not you.

He quickly apologizes, flashing a polite smile before he continues walking.

His throat feels parched and his stomach grumbles at him angrily, so he drops into the nearest restaurant. Billy’s eyes dart around the room, bustling with people. He’s sat at the back of the restaurant, hidden in a small booth.

She’s not here.

Billy runs a hand down his face, before diving into the menu on the table.

“Hi, sir, what can I get you?”

He knows.

And so he looks up once more.

It’s as if everything around him stops.

It really is you. He can’t believe it.

Your jaw drops, the pen and paper in your hand falls to the tiled floor. You scramble to pick it up, but your hands get tangled with Billy’s as he tries to help.

“Are you - uh - I’m sorry - are you ready to order?”

He sees the flustered expression on your face. He’d seen it before: when you first saw him, when he introduced himself to you, when he first kissed you.

That’s when you really see how much he changed.

His hair is shorter and darker than before. His skin glows of a perfected tan. His arms are bigger, straining against the tight shirt he sports.

But his eyes.

His eyes.

Billy smiles at you, but it isn’t the same.

Then, you realize.

He died for you, too.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove one shot #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff #stranger things angst #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things one shot #x reader

[bronskiibeat]

62 + 130 for the prompts if you’re feelin em please 💗

62: “You shouldn’t have said that.” 130: “Don’t apologise. That’s not the point. Did you mean it?” -x-

Steve had spent the week feeling sorry for himself. He’d had his face smashed in by his worst enemy, and then was dragged round a different dimension by some kids. He was allowed to feel sorry for himself. He hadn’t been to school since the day before it all kicked off at the Byers, and he had no intention of going any time soon. What was school when you’ve seen another world?

His pity party was interrupted by a knock at the door. The only person to have come round to check on him was Chief Hopper, a quick doorstep chat and Steve had been alone again, just him and his fractured orbit and the pit in his stomach that never went away anymore.

He dragged himself to the door, not having even the slightest bit of embarrassment about opening the door in the same pyjama pants he’d been wearing all week and no shirt at all. The hazy apathy cleared almost instantly as he found himself face to face with Billy Hargrove.

Steve instantly wanted to put a few more clothes on, instead he put an attitude on and hoped the other boy hadn’t noticed. He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “What a lovely surprise!” He mocked.

Billy, for all he was worth, didn’t rise to Steve’s tone. “Look Harrington, can I… we need to talk. Can I come in?”

Steve’s face was saying ‘are you fucking stupid’, his words said. “Absolutely fucking not.”

A huff of frustration from Hargrove, and a step forward that had Steve stepping back reflexively. “I need to apologise for what I did?” “Oh you think?” Steve laughed, but the scorn of his humour didn’t reach Billy, who stood stock still, his face neutral but for a small drawn look between his eyebrows. “I like you Harrington.” Steve’s surprise turned to confusion almost instantly, pushing his eyebrows up and pulling them straight back down into a frown. He pinned the frown to Billy’s own eyes for a long tense moment before stepping aside, nodding Hargrove through the door.

Billy led the way down the hall, not that he knew the house, but his feigned confidence had Steve’s brain working overtime to make up for the lack of any reasonable thought for at least a week. Sitting across the table Steve waited for Billy to talk. That’s what he’d come here to do, and Steve wasn’t going to make it any easier for the thug. He would make this as uncomfortable as possible. After a couple of minutes of what Steve could only describe as torture, Billy spoke quietly, voice rough and low, eyes making themselves intimately acquainted with a spot on the table. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done… that... to you.” Steve’s eyebrows, for the second time that day hit the ceiling. “So we’re just ignoring what you said on the doorstep apparently?” He offered as a reply, in no world would he be accepting an apology.

Billy’s eyes met Steve’s, an intensity there that made Steve want to close his eyes for fear all of his deepest darkest secrets were being read.

“I meant it. I like you. You’re tough. Max has explained a few things to me about last week.”

“Alright gay boy, calm down.” The Billy that was trying to be civil was quickly replaced with the Billy Steve knew so well, and Steve wasn’t sure why he’d egged it out of him, maybe because he was more comfortable with confrontation with the guy than a serious heartfelt conversation. How fucked was that? “Oh fuck off Steve. I come here to try and apologise to you, and you’re not exactly making that easy!” He said as he stood up, his chair falling behind him with a clatter. Steve stood up too, heart racing as he pre-empted the possibility of Steve gets the shit kicked out of him round two.  Now he’d started poking the beast though, he couldn’t stop. He was feeling. And even though he was feeling fear. It was something.

“Well crack on, just don’t drag me into your weird homo declaration of love. I’m not-“  That came around quickly to bite him on the bum as he found himself pushed back into the wall by the rough hands of Billy Hargrove grabbing at his bare shoulders. “You shouldn’t have said that.” Billy ground out between clenched teeth, face so close that Steve could smell the gum Billy was chewing.

Steve pushed himself roughly out of Billy’s grasp, stepping sideways and rubbing at the point where Billy’s nails had dug in and drawn blood. “Are... are you gay?” He frowned quietly, wondering where on earth this death wish had come from, but not having the energy to put into his self-preservation.

A month-long silence stretched between them as Billy watched Steve, he looked like at any moment he’d grab a knife from the countertop and throw it straight at Steve’s face. Steve stood still, like he was trying not to startle a bear he’d stumbled across in the woods, his hand didn’t leave his shoulder, but his free hand was held up as if to try ward of another attack.

As Steve was about to say something, take his question back, Billy spoke. “Yeah.” He whispered, a hard look on his face, so intimidating that Steve wasn’t fazed by the answer given, for fear of the repercussion of commenting.

“And I didn’t mean I like you in a fucking gay way. I like your guts, I like that you stand up for people other than yourself. And I’m fucking sorry, okay. I’m not fucking coming on to you or anything, I’m sorry.” Steve had never heard Billy speak in such an unplanned and disorderly manner and it threw some empathy up into his brain. “Don’t apologise.” He replied, running a rough hand over his face. “Fuck that’s not the point. Did you mean it?” Uncertainty passed over Billy’s features as he dropped back defeated into the chair Steve had vacated. “Mean what?” “Your apology.” Billy nodded for a moment before opening his mouth to vocalise the regret now so clear to Steve. “Yeah. I am so sorry I hurt you.”

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #request #number request #writing prompt #writing prompts #harringrove ficlet #idk what i'm doing #this is my first ever one of these #am I okay at this? #SOS #my stuff #stranger things #stranger things 3 #harringrove angst #billy x steve #steve x billy

[anathemafiction]

Caught Between

Commission made by the lovely @dizzy-tx

The Pitch: Continuation of this commission. An angsty situation leads Hadrian and the MC to finally voice their feelings.

3.4k words

You would wish for clouds had they not been so charged with water.

Dark, grey and looming, a threatening mountain the size of a giant gathers over the horizon line. Lightning flashes at random, like a cutting vein of pure white piercing the clouds, and although you cannot hear it's accompanying thunder, you know it must boom like drums across the land. 

The sight fills you with twisting, unspoken dread. A dark promise made by a fate you cannot escape. You are, after all, traveling towards it. 

Such a stark contrast to the sky right above you. 

Clear and blue and sporting a huge yellow sun that shines much too diligently down to the earth. You sigh, hand coming to wipe at your brow. Sweat gathers there, as well as in the back of your neck. Your scalp. Your whole body tingles in uncomfortable heat. Your shirt feels too tight, your pants too heavy. And you wish you could just discard your boots and ride barefooted. 

You glance up, green eyes narrowing at the sky as your lips involuntary pull to a pout. Then, you glare ahead. At the stretch of land you're slowly roaming through. At the storm, you are willingly braving towards. 

You did wish for clouds. And it seems you were granted more than you bargained for. 

Cruel God. 

A grumpy neighing has you looking down, and finding one grey eye narrowed at you. Billy's good eye does a remarkable job of expressing all his displeasure with just the one look. 

You smile tenderly, which makes him blow a warm puff of breath. "I know, boy," you tell him softly, hand coming to pat him on the side of the neck. He sweats too. Billy's old muzzle turns to the side, so he can properly glare at you now. Strands of rough, brown mane fall over his nose, but he's too busy complaining to care. 

Billy raises his top lip and neighs again. Louder. The whining sound ringing painfully in your eardrums. "But we just rested, Billy," you argue back. You then look up, the clouds ever closer. "Besides, I think the heat won't bother us for much longer."

As if understanding you, Billy follows your sight. He calms, his already sluggish pace slowing still. You absently tug on one thick strand of hair that makes up for the mess that is his mane. The hair is rough and dry, but by now, you find it's coarse texture comforting. 

It's Billy. 

Can't blame you, boy. You too are in no rush to press forward. Caught between a downpour and scorching heat, you shudder as you imagine what will happen when the two opposite forces meet. 

The storm of the century. 

You are chewing on your lip, a bead of sweat falling down your face but you ignore it. Your eyes are ahead. Pondering. The land stretches before you, but no animal is in sight. Guided by their instincts, all wildlife seemed to have deserted far away from the confrontation about to take place. 

You look around but see no shelter. No break in the monotonous flat ground. You wonder where they hide. You wonder why humans are the only fools who don't do the same. 

Your teeth dig into the soft flesh of your lip more forcefully. The sun is bearing down, making your eyelids heavy, your mind apathetic. Billy undulates beneath you, your body lazily following his spine. You eye a lone tree, standing proudly from the grey scorched land. 

You bet if it could, it would be running too. 

There are flowers blooming in its branches. White and small and-

The world goes dark. 

You jolt in your saddle, mind snapping out of your idleness as your heart leaps to your throat and an embarrassing yell tears from your lips. There is weight on your head, and your straining ears pick up a sound. 

Laughter. 

You are scowling as you lift the tip of the hat someone unceremoniously dumped on you. Your eyes narrow at the one beside you, seated on top of his own horse, face flushed from the heat and the laughter at your expense. 

"Hadrian," you hiss, trying to sound as harsh as you can. It comes out, however, more akin to a whine than a scolding. 

He looks at you, his green eyes almost as light as yours in the bright sunlight, and then chuckles even harder. The sound is deep and booming, coming from his broad chest. You find yourself blushing at how pleasing it sounds. 

"Your cry, Aura," he says, hand clutching his stomach in what in your opinion, is an exaggeration. It was not that funny. "It was adorable."

Your pout deepens. "It was not a cry," you say, your voice strangled as you fight not to join in his laughter too. "Besides, you startle me!"

Hadrian shakes his head, brown hair falling everywhere, and then slowly sobers up. He smiles at you. A kind, easy smile that twists a knife into your heart. Your fingers clench around your rein, holding back the hand that wants to cup his jaw. 

Pull him in. 

I can't. 

"Everything would have startled you," he says fondly, guiding Kroner closer to Billy. The two horses somehow falling into step. "You were off in your own little world."

You flush, looking down. The hat you wear almost topples over, reminding you it still sits on top of your head. Reaching up, you take it in your hands to inspect it. 

It is an ugly thing. 

Made of grinding straw, the threads roughly intertwined together in a graceless design. The tip is pointy and the lip too wide. You twist it in your fingers. "What is this?" you ask Hadrian. 

His eyes twinkle. "A hat," he smiles.

You purse your lips and he laughs. "I bought it yesterday, from that traveling merchant we found," he explains, large hand coming to take it from you. His fingers brush yours, and it sends a jolt through your skin, tingling all the way down to your toes. "It was quite a bargain, too."

The blush you sported deepens as Hadrian gently places the hat back on your head. He tips the lip to peek into your eyes. His smile gentle. "Please keep it, Aura," he says, grabbing hold of one curl of your golden hair, tucking it behind your ear. Your heart is hammering. He's been touching you so casually.

Ever since... 

You shake the memory off as you notice Hadrian still talks. "The sun is not kind."

You smile back. "I must look so silly with this," you say, but keep the hat nonetheless. Its shade is already helping, warding the bright sunlight off your face. 

Hadrian glances at you. "You don't," he assures you in a firm voice, laced with sincerity. His next words have you clutching Billy's reins tighter. "You look beautiful, Aura," Hadrian looks to the side, his own cheeks suddenly redder. His fingers are by his cross, nails scraping the redwood as he adds in a low voice. 

So low you almost miss it. "You always do."

Your teeth bite into your lip so hard, you are sure to draw blood. 

This impossible perfect man.

(…)

Here is a sneak peek!  The full commission is available on Ko-fi for one-time supporters (this includes those who have requested a commission or donated!) or monthly subscribers!

The Commission.

So fun to write! Thank you, again, for making the request! 🖤

#Hadrian #ko-fi commissions #commissions #The Golden Rose