#like this was when i still thought barb was an alcoholic

[shortbreadly]

wouldn’t it be funny if this was the last time we ever talked to each other?

#crying shitting and throwing up #also i drew this before the episode came out so any inaccuracies are because of that #like this was when i still thought barb was an alcoholic #i don’t really like how this turned out but i spent too long on that flame to not post it #and i’m pissed because i assumed when barbie would transform between forms she’d have those blue flames like loona #but i was fucking wrong so that doesn’t make much sense anymore #btw this is a quote from bojack horseman before anyone asks #helluva boss #helluva boss fanart #helluva boss spoilers #helluva boss season two #helluva boss unhappy campers #helluva boss blitzo #blitzo fanart #helluva boss barbie wire #barbie wire fanart #blitzo #barbie wire #my art

[s-4pphics]

click! finale (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a rep and black, parental trauma, self-worth issues, slight disordered eating, brief alcoholism and hypersexuality, heavy grief, pining but depressed

A/N: finally on break yaassss….. sequel? LOL 

The air around you is strangling. You haven’t left your room in two days. You’re not passing this semester. 

The room next to yours, however, is filled with life. Ellie’s back to blasting her music and banging on walls, but you have yet to cross paths. Not in class, not at home; You haven’t seen her. Pickle never hesitates to scratch at your door for hugs. And kisses. She’s brought you so much comfort, even in times where you feel like you’re undeserving. 

Christmas is around the corner, and you’re alone. Amaya never shied away from taking you home for her breaks, but she’s gone. She hasn’t called in a while; You hope she’s doing okay. 

So, you seek escape in a different way and do what you haven’t in a long time. 

Tears flood your vision, your thumb hovering over a number you haven’t touched in ages. Your hands won’t stop trembling. You’re going to regret this. Your heart's already breaking into pieces at the heart and cloud emojis of the contact. 

Soft paws knead your thighs and you kiss kit-kat’s tiny head as she nuzzles your chin. You’re trying to keep your sobs to a minimum, but they’re tearing your throat to shreds.

Your thumb comes down on the contact and the line rings. And rings… and rings until the dial tone sounds. 

“At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, you may hang up or press one for more options.”

You knew no one would answer. No one ever answers, but still, you listen for her voice. The steadiness of her breathing. You take a shaky breath, “Hi, mom.” Mindless sentences pour out of you like a waterfall. You just sit there and allow Pickle to playfully bite your finger. 

“I, uh… I’m not…” Another sob, “I’m not doing well.” 

You would never say that if she were here. You always masked your true feelings for her sake; She never needed any additional stress. 

Void images of your father reoccur in your memory, “I think there’s something wrong with me… I don’t think I’m a g-good person.” A barbed tongue affectionately licks at your finger, and you try to smile. 

“I… We found a kitty in the snow,” You whisper, “She's the cutest thing ever.” Pickle looks up like she knows what you’re saying, and you weep at her delicate eyes. 

“It was the weirdest thing…” You huff wetly, “It felt like you put her there to stop me from making a mistake.” More tears flood your shut eyes. 

“I just miss you…” Your palm digs into your eye, “and I wish you w-were here. I’m not…” Pickle climbs to rest in your lap; You always did that with your mom for comfort. Another loud sob. 

“I lov— “

You jolt at the loud dial tone, and the line ends. You drop your phone on your blanket and search around your room, the portrait of your mother standing tall on your desk. You need to make another one for her birthday. 

Your eyes travel over your space, and for the first time, you don’t feel comfort. Your mind is racing with thoughts that expose your truth; They’re vile and dirty and they make you feel like scum. A disease walking. 

The dark nights are restless and the days are silent, halls only filled with soft purrs and pattering paws. 

Your home no longer holds the joy that it once did when Amaya was here. Excitement used to burst through you whenever she prepped your movie nights after work, the living room filled with laughter and corny love lines that made your stomach secretly twist with warmth. 

You’re not happy anymore. Anxiety brews in you whenever you walk into the kitchen, the living room, go to feed and snuggle Pickle. It’s fucking miserable in here, and as difficult as it was for you to admit, it’s all your fault. 

It’s almost finals week, and you’re nowhere near prepared. You can’t focus on anything except the treacherous silence of your space. It’s almost like Ellie’s already gone. 

You should be anticipating her departure, antsy to have your space to yourself again, but your chest aches. This past month was anything but smooth, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. For some reason. Maybe it’s because you got to live your main character moment, even if it was just for a few hours.  

Ellie, as much as you hate to admit it, deserves better. Just like how you deserve to spend your life alone, trapped and secluded with your own thoughts. She should want better for herself; Nothing is worse than being in your presence; Maybe that’s why you have no one. 

You desperately want to do better for yourself, but you’re tired. Your mother would be so disappointed in you. You retire from wallowing and climb under the covers, Pickle clutched tightly to your chest. You hope she doesn’t mind the tears from your tee.  

The portfolio is finished. Ellie can’t stop staring at the booklet enclosed in leather on her desk. 

The online submission process was infuriating, mainly due to her laptop dying during the portfolio render, but it’s done. Her ticket into a life-changing position is no longer hers to judge; It can only go up from here. 

All she needs is that phone call from the recruiting manager and it’s over. She’ll be in the city in no time. She’s excited and jittery; Every buzz from her phone is met with clenched hands and a sweaty forehead. Her disappointment heals when she sees her father’s classic thumbs up emojis surrounded by black and red hearts; Even from miles away, he knows when she needs support. 

Ellie lays her forehead on the leather, sighing in relief for what seems like the billionth time. It’s a surreal feeling, relishing in accomplishments. She's never done it, mainly because her mother never wanted to acknowledge happenings she wasn’t the center of. Hearing congratulations is still a mindfuck years later. 

… Your photos looked stunning. You’re made for this, even if you don’t believe it. 

Ellie will never admit how much energy she put into editing those pictures, specifically the ones you’re in. She spent hours recoloring, scaling, sharpening those photos, and they turned out incredible. Probably some

of the best shots she’s ever taken, and you’re in the center. And your eyes… There’s so much light in those hazel specks. 

Another mindfuck. 

Whenever Ellie comes home, she checks the small space between the floor and door of your bedroom to see if you’re awake. If you’re alive. The relief she feels when she sees a lamp light or shadow eases the tension in her shoulders. 

She never knocks, though. Never. 

So why are you? 

Ellie’s back instantly straightens at the soft pats on her door, heart pounding in her ears. You never knock. 

She’s embarrassed at how fast she stands, chair nearly falling over as she flies to pull her door open. 

She’s met with you; She hopes you can’t hear the shatters from her chest at the sight of your disheveled appearance. Your hair is matted and the brunette river in your eyes are surrounded by redness

“Sorry, I—“ Your voice cracks like you haven’t spoken in ages, “She was lying there and I felt bad. She missed you, I think.” She’s never heard you sound so tedious. You’re always the loudest, goofiest person in the room. Ellie’s brows furrow before following your line of vision. Pickle’s sleep in front of her door, curled like a cinnamon roll. Ellie sighs as picks her up as fluidly

as she can, trying her best not to wake her. 

“You’re gonna have to take her when you leave.” 

Devastation sets in your tone as you stare at the little fur ball, “Why?” She asks. 

“My dad’s allergic.” You whisper.

Ellie peers down when Pickle stirs, “Is… is he visiting?” She asks, just as quietly. 

Your head shakes, “I’m going home.” 

Ellie does an impeccable job of hiding her shock. So many questions race in her mind: going home? Where’s home for you? Is it permanent? Are you moving out? When? Are you and your dad close? 

You’re turning away back into your room, but Ellie blurts out before you can shut the door. “I finished my portfolio! It’s… it’s done. I turned it in.” 

You turn, and your eyes are watery. Your smile is tiny, but genuine. “Congratulations,” you’re so quiet and your voice shakes. Ellie’s mind whirls, “They’re gonna love it.” You take one last look at Pickle, and your bottom lip wobbles. You shut and lock the door before Ellie can say thank you for helping me. 

Ellie’s eyes lock onto the floor, watching your lamp turn off, ears honing in on the shuffling of blankets. She swiftly scurries inside her space when she hears crying. 

Her chest concaves at the sobs echoing through the dark, silent halls. Through the thin wall as she sets the kitty on her favorite pillow to sleep on. She paces around her room and yanks at her pinky. How she wishes to be a fly on the wall; She wants to knock on your door so badly, but she doesn’t know what to say. How to comfort. She's always relied on her father for that. 

So, she just listens with regret and makes her final decision.

If you move from this counter, you’ll faceplant into hardwood. You don’t like the blaringly loud song coming from above, so you down another seltzer. It’s distracting enough. 

You feel yourself leaning forward, so you force yourself back up, practically flung over the counter. You’re never drinking again, you promise yourself. How many times has that one been broken? You don’t remember. You miss Ellie. 

You’re going to fall again, but this time, you’re supported. And not by the counter. You instantly relax at the familiar scent. 

Abby’s mumbling something about something, but it sounds like gibberish. You throw your arms around her neck, inhaling deeply; You miss Ellie terribly. 

We gotta get you outta here. You frown; You don’t want to leave! The party just started! 

Her strong arms wrap around your waist to maneuver you. You’re not sure where she's taking you, but you don’t fight. You simply allow her to snatch your heels off and carry you into the piercing-sharp cold. Just allow her to drag you to safety. You wish it was Ellie. 

The world around you moves in a blur; The pace is making you dizzy. You don’t want to vomit in Abby’s car. When did she get a car? 

“Abby…” 

“Yeah, hun? You good?” She sounds so far away. Your mumbles are incoherent. She's so confused, so she asks you to repeat it. 

You face her from the passenger seat with a sultry grin. You miss Ellie, “I missed you.” Your words are garbled and your hands are as loose as your tongue, shakily landing on her muscular thigh, massaging the skin. 

Abby tenses with a sigh, planting a gentle hand on your traveling one. Her grip tightens when you try to move. “Did you really?” 

That's your green light. Your smile grows as you clumsily unbuckle your seatbelt, “Stop… stop the car.” 

Abby’s foot plants on the break, and you jerk forward. Like the night you found Pickle. Like when Ellie… 

“What’s the matter?” 

I miss my roommate. “I’m horny.” 

Your friend scoffs and shakes her head. Either you’re too drunk or she’s disappointed… Not the reaction you were seeking. Your smile tries to fade, but you force the corners of your mouth back up. 

“No, you’re not.” She snaps, and it takes you a second to catch it. Abby’s upset again. What the fuck did you do this time? Your facade finally falters. Now you’re irritated. 

“How’re y… how’re you gonna tell me what the fuck I am?” You sound like a fucking idiot, but your rage ignites your slurs, “If you don’t want me, why’re you here!” 

“Because you fucking called and I’m your friend! I didn’t wanna leave you by yours— “

“You should’ve!” Your shriek is piercing; You’re shocked the windows didn’t shatter and slice you both. 

“That’s how you fucking feel? Really?” 

You try to swallow tears, but they flow. The words you want to say are on the tip of your tongue; Thank you for coming to get me. I’m sorry for being awful. Don’t leave me by myself. 

But none of them escaped. They sit and rot in your throat. You’ve never seen Abby so… 

And she doesn’t let up, “Now you wanna cry? Are you serious?” There’s fire in her eyes; It burns in a way you’re not used to, especially not her, “This victim shit is getting very old— “

“I don’t care!” 

“I don’t fucking care, either! If you wanna keep getting used like a piece of meat by random bitches, then do that! Leave me the fuck out of it!” Abby slams her hand down on the armrest, and the car doors unlock, “Matter of fact, get the fuck out!” 

“Fuck you!” 

“Fuck YOU! Get out! Get the fuck out!” 

Curses and heated exclamations leave the two of you until you wobbly exit the vehicle, slamming the door as hard as your brain would allow. The wind blows like tacks, stabbing through the skin of your bare arms and chest. Abby zooms off, and you scream. 

You dig in your pocket for your phone, ineptly dialing Ellie’s number. It’s fucking one in the morning

“… Hello?” She was asleep. Your heart eases at the steadiness of her tone. 

You’re shivering, “… E—Ellie?” 

“Hm?” 

“I’m… I’m really cold and I don’t,” sob, “I dunno where I am— “

“What do you mean?” She asks abruptly, alert. Your heart flutters. 

You whimper, “I’m lost, I don’t… I’m a bad person— “

“Send me your location. Where’re your keys?” 

“I— I don’t remember— “

“Are you drunk right now?” 

“Yes,” You mumble meekly. This is so fucking embarrassing. 

Ellie sighs heavily, “Just… Is there somewhere you can wait until I get there?” 

You search through tears, finding mostly dark retail stores and restaurants across the street… Except Jack in the Box! The munchies hotspot never fails you. 

“There’s a Jack in the Crack over there.” You point like she can see you. She snickers softly. 

“Go, then. I’ll be there soon, okay?” 

“Wait! Don’t… don’t hang up, please, I’m scared— “

“I wasn’t going to.” 

You closely listen to the shuffling on the other line as you wobbly trek across the street. You sharply inhale at every slip and stumble on your journey, almost sobbing through every confirmation to Ellie’s small are you okay? 

You finally make it inside and thank God that it’s warm. You take a seat and sigh at the familiar jingle of keys. 

“You in there?” 

“Mhm.” 

“I’m coming, send me where you are.” 

“K.” 

It takes you longer than it should’ve to get her the location thanks to the Casa in your system, but she’s on the way… You really want curly fries. Fuck. 

You hate how your thoughts wander, self-loathing at the forefront of your lobe. You take after your father more than you thought: a filthy, lying train wreck. You’ve ruined every glimmer of hope, of positive influence around you, and you’re forced to bathe in the treachery you’ve created all over again. 

“Hey.” 

You leap out of your seat at Ellie’s raspy tone, seeing your hoodie draped over her forearm and keys dangling in her hand. Your tummy growls when you wave. Ellie’s gaze softens. “Hungry?” She hands you the hoodie for you to throw on. You nod. 

“What do you wanna eat?” 

“… Fries,” you croak, “Curly, please.” 

Ellie nods and waddles to the service counter. You watch her backside under her puffer as she pays and collects a small baggie and water before nodding towards the car. You follow close behind her in silence, munching on your snack. 

The ride back home is silent, but for once, the air isn’t deadly. You’re eased back from your breakdown, and it’s definitely not due to the forest in your roommate’s vision. 

You enter your warm apartment and get greeted with soft purrs, Kit-Kat skipping over to rub against your leg. It’s almost enough to make you break down all over again; You can’t believe you have to say goodbye to her next week. 

You kick your sneakers off and squat down to her level, “I love you so much, baby girl. Thank you for taking care of me.” You whisper and pet her head, all the way down to her tail. She meows like she loves you. Ellie shuts the door and watches you silently. You turn to face her. For the first time, she doesn't fidget at your inspection.

Her eyes are much glossier and she’s picking at the skin on her pinky. She wants to say something. 

“You okay?” You murmur, and Ellie nods. You don’t believe her. Her eyes are downcast. Why does she look so nervous? 

The silence is killing you, so you speak. 

“Ellie, I’m… I’m sorry for everything,” You stand and ramble. “I’m the worst roommate imaginable and I-I’m terrible and impulsive and I fucking suck, but I’m sorry… I’m sorry.” 

I also kinda like you. 

Not even your word vomit lets that slip. So, you apologize, sloppily and snot-filled. Tears drip down your face in waterfalls, “I’m— I don't wanna go... and I don’t want you to go…”

Ellie’s timid facade breaks, only slightly, eyes closing gently as she listens. “I know I don’t deserve t-to ask that and it’s not… I wasn’t apart of your plan— “

“You’re drunk.” 

You’re plummeting into the void all over again, succumbing to a familiar, oddly comforting darkness. 

“H-Huh?” 

Ellie’s as firm as a tree, unmoving. Strong. Still. You’re transported back to your first conversation and how intimidated she made you feel. “You’re drunk… and I leave in the morning. I got the job.” 

Drowning. That’s what this feels like. Strangely proud. Oddly suffocating. You’re underwater, but refuse to resurface. “I-In the morning?” 

Her head jerks. “I, uh. I got rent covered. Sorry for the late notice.” She shoves her hands in her pocket. You shake your head, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “It’s okay.” You whisper. “Where’re you gonna go?” 

“My dad’s. He’s a few hours out. The truck comes tomorrow.” 

Your head bobs in acknowledgement, “H-How was the stats final?” She pauses; Her eyes sadden, tilting like an unwatered rose. “You’ll do fine.” She whispers. 

“Promise to take care of my daughter?” You blurt between sniffles, already moving down the hall, ignoring the loud shattering in your heart when you peep all her boxes in the now vacant room beside yours. 

Ellie mumbles your name but you’re sick of ugly crying in front of people. “Good luck with everything.” You mutter with hot feet.

And with the last click of your bedroom lock, you shut out the vine who entangled your heart for the last time. You give into the feelings of loss, the emotions that come with failure, and release them into your hands. 

What could’ve been, your brain hollers while your heart wails. What could’ve been if you weren’t you. 

You don’t remember waking up, but you’re in pain. Physically, mentally; You're hurting. The intensity of it somehow gets worse at the sound of Ellie dragging boxes out of her — the room. 

You just cry. There’s nothing to do but cry. Your phone has been ringing all morning, but you don’t have strength to reach for it. You relish in the deserving pain of your hangover. Tequila hasn’t done shit for you. 

Hours pass, and your home is silent. Ellie’s gone. Pickle’s gone. Amaya’s gone. Abby’s gone. Your mother’s gone. You take their departures as signs. It’s probably time for you to go, too. 

Your shower is incredibly long. You wash and wash and re-wash, wanting the feelings of cleanliness to cascade down your skin, but it never comes. You tearfully accept your lecherous nature and every vile entity attached to it. You’re a vessel for heartbreak and villainy. Forever your worst enemy. You look in the mirror for the first time in days. Just for a second. You can’t stand to see yourself for longer than that, your naked form a reminder of every violation you’ve had to endure since you were fifteen. 

Ellie isn't thinking twice about you, and yet, she terrorizes your mind, trying to convince yourself that your time together wasn’t all bad. You’ll never forget the color she brought to you. Her seed is forever planted and growing in your heart, her roots forcing their way into your system, intertwining with your rough, cracked bones, enclosing around your lungs with each breath. 

Too bad you impacted her in the worst way. You couldn’t even manage to give her a sober apology before she left. It’s hard to accept the fact that you’ll never see her again, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. 

Once again, you’re too late. 

The short lap around your living room crushes your spirit. Somehow, all of your memories are shrouded in emptiness. All the proof of Ellie’s residency is gone… Except the indent of her body on the couch. She always loved sleeping there.

One last heavy exhale. That’s all you can manage before you grab your coat and beanie and exit, locking the door behind you. You keep your head down on the way to the parking garage, hopping into the driver’s seat. The ride to the academic advisory office is silent and swift; It matches the finality of your meeting. 

Tears glaze your eyes when you ask your counselor, “What’s… What’s the first step of withdrawing? Like, from school.” 

-

-

-

CHRISTMAS EVE 

Your fork picks at the pasta noodles on your barely touched plate. The wine is delicious. 

“Honey, are you…” Your dad says softly before sighing, “How’s the meal?” You blink up at him, focusing on the crinkles in his eyes. He seems youthful somehow. Healing looks good on him. 

You gulp down more maroon, “… It’s great. Thank you.” You mutter. You’re not used to talking to him; You’re glad the feelings are mutual. He only nods, head downcast onto his plate. At least he’s eaten. 

He sets his fork down on his plate and wipes his mouth with a napkin, “I hope you like your gift.” He says before standing to place the dish in the sink.

A dark smile spreads behind your glass. 

“Never thought you’d buy me anything.” You snicker sarcastically. “Don’t start.” His voice slices through the kitchen. You hold back your flinch. You’re not ten anymore. 

You shrug, shoulders heavy, “Just saying.” A glass shatters in the sink, and he curses and storms off, the bedroom door nearly swinging off the hinges with a slam. Your smile grows at the booming echo. Like father, like daughter you suppose. 

-

-

-

DECEMBER TWENTY-SEVENTH 

“Are you ready, kiddo?” 

Ellie’s heart is pounding through her chest as she stares out the window. She can’t believe her father hasn’t commented on the bursting organ. “No.” She whispers, adjusting the camera strapped around her neck. She's fighting not to bite her nails; Her dad hates that. 

He chuckles softly, “Yes, you are.” 

No, she’s not. 

The photography studio is fucking huge and surrounded by tall windows that display suited individuals laughing, conversing, perfecting their lenses. She can see the bright specks of neon color on the white floors, white walls, white couches. It’s so much brighter than she ever imagined.

The colors are reminiscent of you. Vivid. Captivating. Beaming like your smile. There are flashes coming from all directions inside the studio and it’s making her shake in the passenger seat. A strong hand plants on her blazer, giving an encouraging squeeze. “Look at me.” 

Ellie’s head turns, eyes locking with her dad’s. 

“I love you. You got this.” He says with confidence. Ellie nods in agreement, but he doesn’t accept it. “Say it.” 

“I got this.” Not as confident. A lot quieter, but getting there. 

“Eh?” Her dad leans in closer, ear pointed at her. She giggles and repeats herself. A little louder. He decides that it’s good enough, pulling her close over the center console. Ellie inhales as deeply as she can, right in the crook of his neck. He plants one last kiss on her cheek before releasing her. She grabs her bag from the floor and pushes the door open, looking over her shoulder one last time. “I love you.” She whispers. He bops her nose with the most delicate grin. Pride is radiating off him, and it warms her from the cold outside. 

Ellie departs with one last wave, shutting the door and skipping onto the sidewalk, walking right up to the front door of the studio. A final peek at her dad; He sends her two thumbs up. She smiles. 

Breathe in, one… two… three… 

When the door pushes open, she's greeted with wide grins and warm hugs. It feels like home already.

Finally... Finally.

BIG ASS TAGLIST LOOOOOL LOVE YALL: @starologist @hrtmal @ohlawdthebirds @villainousbear @timmy-27 @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @shurisbigtoe @emothurman @lonelyfooryouonly @imelliesgf @baumbii @brackishkittie @littletinyladybugs @r1miese @horror-whoree @elsbunny222 @elliesatchel @makemescreamel @lav3nd3rhaze @elliezflower @ellieloml @ellies-princess @saverdelrey @womenofarcane@muthafuckingstargirl @mina-281 @yuckyfucky @aimformyheartt @elstoy @skylerwhitwyo @sawaagyapong @nil-eena @dewylittlestars @sakiigami @feelsoseencantdream @ellieslittlegf@fictionalgap @liabadoobee @whooknooows @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @qtgaslighter @p4ison1vy @eviestevie-14 @weaselot @elliewbbg @elsmissingfingers @lmaoo-spiderman @lyssaspengler @elliewilliamsmunch @gummydummykj @kiwikeysblog @juniorsfav @louleele @alittlextrahoney @tohoko@333-starhotline @girlkissersco @saplingkoi @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @elliew-illiamsmissingfingers @diddiqueen @alexisvs-world @mostlyhornyandsad @lolaaa699999 @elsblunt @niyahlovesu @randomhoex @sunnmoon @elliesaesp @callmewhenyoukan @rubycruzsbitch @deathby1000sluts @skylerwhitwyo

#click! ☾⋆⁺₊📸✧ #ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #black!oc #black!reader #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪ #ellie williams angst

[thesapphictimelady]

Ad Astra Per Aspera Chapter 2

Word Count: 2.2K

TW: Implied previous domestic abuse, references to alcohol

A/N: I’d like to point out I am NOT a plumber, the plumbing mentioned in this chapter is something that worked in my old classroom. It is not meant to be a solution for everything! Anyways, this is not proofread but I hope you enjoy it! Comments are always appreciated!

“New kid, time to wake up,”

Cassie groaned and rolled over on the couch, throwing her arm over her eyes, “Go away, Jenny, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Jenny? Geez kid, how much did you drink last night?” Melissa chuckled, “It’s me. Ms. Schemmenti?”

Cassie sat up, “Oh my god, Ms. Schemmenti I’m so sorry! I-I thought you were…”

“Don’t worry about it kid, get dressed. We gotta get to school.”

Cassie hastily grabbed a dress out of one of the boxes that were strewn around the small space and headed into the bathroom to change. Once she had pulled her dress on, she set to work removing the makeup from last night and reapplying. She winced when she saw the bruising on her neck was still a sickly green color but she made quick work of covering it up and then applying some mascara and lip gloss.

When she left the bathroom, she saw Melissa had settled herself on the couch.

“I’m really sorry about the mess,” Cassie said, “This was all I could find on such short notice and it’s…it’s really small.”

Melissa snorted, “Really small is certainly one way to put it.”

Cassie flushed and started digging through a box until she produced a thin gray sweater to layer over her pink dress.

“Ms. Schemmenti, you don’t have to wait for me. I know you drove here last night,”

“Nah, I’m giving you a ride. I might as well. Plus the parking might be limited today,”

“Why would the parking be limited?” Cassie asked, pulling on her shoes, “There were tons of empty spots yesterday,”

“The Eagles are playing and Ava rents out parking spaces,” Melissa said, twirling her car keys around one finger.

“Is she allowed to do that?”

“Ava just does whatever she wants. Besides, sometimes you gotta bend some rules”

Cassie opened the front door and the two stepped outside. Despite the time, it was already hot out and Cassie was glad she had chosen a thin sweater.

“Come on,” Melissa said, opening the car door, “I want to make sure we get seats with Barb.”

Cassie got into the car and set her bag by her seat. Melissa’s car smelled like vanilla but there was a lingering scent of menthol. The drive over to the school was quiet, and Cassie rested her head on the cool window. Before she knew it, they had pulled into the school parking lot. It was already crowded and the smell of barbecue filled the air.

“Barbeque? It’s 7 in the morning!”

Melissa shrugged, “They get started early. Now let’s get inside.”

Just like Melissa had said, Ava was hungover as hell. The lights in the gym were dim and the principal was wearing sunglasses and sipping gatorade.

“Hi,” Cassie said, going to introduce herself, “I’m Cassiopeia. I started yesterday.”

Ava waved her away, “Girl, it’s too early for this,”

Melissa snorted and pulled Cassie over to where the folding chairs were set up, setting her bag on a third seat for Barb.

“I’ll be right back,” Melissa whispered, before going back to where Ava was and whispering something to her. Ava pulled her sunglasses down to eye Cassie before handing Melissa a gatorade.

The redhead handed the gatorade to the younger teacher, and then produced a bottle of aspirin, “Here, you’re gonna need these. That hangover is gonna hit you. Plus it’ll help hold up the fact that I told everyone that you went home sick yesterday”

Cassie took the aspirin and settled into the cold metal chair, closing her eyes.

“Cassiopeia!” Jacob called.

Cassie smiled and waved at him, “Hi Jacob,”

“I’m so glad you’re still here!” he said, “I was worried something might have happened when Melissa said you went home sick!”

“Something did happen,” Melissa cut in, “She got tsick.”

Jacob flushed, “I know that! I just meant…well, Melissa you don’t have a great track record with aides and teachers,”

Cassie held up a hand to stop him, “I’m fine. I feel much better today.”

“Well that’s good! I want you to meet Gregory and Janine,” Jacob said, gesturing at the pair behind him, “They weren’t here yesterday so they didn’t get to meet you. Guys this is Cassiopeia. Did you know…”

Cassie closed her eyes again, shutting out Jacob’s explanation of her name.

“I’m glad you’re here Cassie,” Barb said softly, taking her seat next to them, “Melissa told me you weren’t feeling well. How are you feeling this morning? You look a bit pale.”

“I’m okay, Mrs. Howard, thank you. Ms. Schemmenti brought me some aspirin and Ava gave me a gatorade.”

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask. They aren’t comfortable, but if you need to take a nap I can get out the mats my kindergartners use.”

Cassie smiled softly, “Thank you, Mrs. Howard,”

“Alright nerds, find your seats,” Ava said, “Let’s get this started so I can go take a nap. I mean, run the school”

Melissa rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“First things first, we have a new teacher,” Ava said, “Her name is…Princess Leia or something,”

“Cassiopeia!” Jacob corrected her.

“Yeah that. She’s in Ms Schemmenti’s classroom until we can open up a classroom for her. Next, the sinks in the 1st floor bathrooms are backed up so until Mr. Johnson gets back or the city sends someone, I’m putting hand sanitizer in the bathrooms,”

Cassiopeia raised her hand, “Do the sinks share pipes?”

“Girl, how am I supposed to know? What do you think I am, the city?”

”Yes,” Melissa cut in, “the sinks share pipes and a wall.”

“I can fix it then,”

“No!” Barbara said quickly, “No, these things are best left to the experts. Do you all remember when Janine tried to fix the electricity?”

“No, I really can fix it. It’s super simple to temporarily fix it, at least until a professional can take a look. I just need two plungers and someone to help me.”

“Fine,” Ava said, rolling her eyes, “Schemmenti, you can help Peia,”

Cassie wrinkled her nose at the nickname, “Peia? Really?”

“Told ya someone would give you a weird nickname,” Melissa whispered.

“Janine has some team building activities this afternoon,” Ava continued, “And Gregory and Jacob have worked together to cook some of the produce from the garden for lunch. Now get to your classrooms and do…whatever it is you people do.”

“Come on,” Melissa said, grabbing their bags, “Let’s put our stuff away and I’ll find the plungers,”

Once they got to the classroom, Melissa set their bags on her desk and dragged a second chair over to it.

“Sidown kid,”

“Don’t we need to get the plungers?” Cassie asked, tugging on her sleeves.

“That can wait,” Melissa said, closing the classroom door, “I wanna talk to you,”

“Ms. Schemmenti, I already told you-”

“No, ya didn’t. Lemme finish. I wanna talk to ya about what you said this morning.”

“This morning?”

“Ya called me Jenny.”

Cassie groaned and put her head in her hands, “Ms. Schemmenti, I was half asleep!”

“Did Jenny do that to ya?” Melissa gestured to her arms.

“Ms. Schemmenti, I-”

“S’okay,” the redhead said, “I get it. Let’s just go get the plungers.”

“I got ‘em,” Melissa said, her cheeks slightly pink from running around the school.

”Perfect, you take the boys, I’ll take the girls. We’ll probably need to call each other to be able to hear.”

Melissa nodded and Cassiopeia went into the girls bathroom, locking the door behind her and taking her sweater off. She quickly dialed the redheads number.

“Hey, okay, so when I say go, put the plunger over the drain and start plunging,”

“And you’re sure this will work?” Melissa asked.

Cassie bit her lip, “Well…no. But it worked at my old school! It’s worth a shot.”

“If you say so, kid.”

“Okay,” Cassie cradled her phone between her shoulder and her cheek while she got the plunger into position, “Go,”

Within a couple minutes of plunging, the dirty water that was in the sink started to drain.

“I’m impressed kid,” Melissa said through the phone, “I didn’t expect that to work,”

Cassie grinned as she set the plunger down, “I told you I could do it! At my old school, this happened every other week.”

“What did the plumbers say?”

“Oh, we never had anyone come out to look at it! The district said it wasn’t necessary,”

“That’s ridiculous. Alright, I should get these plungers back to the closet.”

“Hang on, I gotta unlock the door,” Cassie hung up and tugged her sweater back on. Melissa knocked on the door and Cassie unlocked it.

“Geez kid, you look like you need some fresh air. Lemme put these away. You head back to the classroom.”

Cassiopeia made her way back to the classroom, collapsing into a chair and chugging her gatorade. She tossed the empty bottle into the trash can and reached into her bag, pulling out a folder of paperwork.

“Hey,” Janine said, poking her head into the room, “We didn’t get a chance to talk this morning. I’m Janine, I’m the other second grade teacher!”

“Hi,” Cassie said, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad you’re here! I see you met Melissa already.”

“Ya, she did,” Melissa said from behind Janine, “Whatdya need Janine.”

“Nothing! Just wanted to introduce myself! Actually, I’m trying to get some clocks to teach time…”

“Did you check the teacher supply closet?”

“Yeah but those clocks are made of cardboard and they’re falling apart!”

Melissa sighed, “Okay okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

Janine squealed, “Thank you! Cassiopeia, you are working with the best teacher!”

Cassie laughed as Janine danced out of the room.

“She sure is…energetic,”

“That’s one word for her,” Melissa said, wrestling one of the windows open, “Want me to close the door so you can take off that sweater?”

“You don’t have to! What if one of the teachers need you?”

“They can email me,” Melissa said, closing and locking the door, “Ya look…actually you look pale. Your cheeks are pink but the rest of you looks…” The redhead held her wrist to Cassie’s forehead, “You’re not running a fever. Do you need to go see the nurse?”

“No, I’m fine, Ms. Schemmenti. I’m not sick. I-it’s makeup. I probably put too much concealer on my neck this morning.”

Melissa dropped her hand, “I’m sorry kid, I thought-”

“It’s okay,” Cassie cut her off, “I’m fine. I just…want to get to work.”

“Ya know, if you need someone to talk to…”

“Thanks, but I’d like to grade some of these math tests right now.”

“Okay kid,” Melissa handed her a red pen and a stack of papers, “Make yourself at home wherever.”

Cassiopeia tossed her sweater on one of the desks and went to sit on one of the beanbags in the back. Once she had found a comfortable position to sit in, she pulled out her earbuds, putting one in and starting her playlist while she started grading.

Melissa sat at her desk, glasses perched on her nose as she tried to focus on the papers in front of her. She couldn’t get the girl in her classroom out of her head. She set her pen down and put her head in her hands, thinking back to that morning.

After Cassie had fallen asleep on the couch, Melissa had set to work making the pizza dough. She preferred making it from scratch. The young woman had been curled into a ball and Melissa knew she wasn’t sleeping well. She would whimper or cry out every few minutes but Melissa couldn’t bear to wake her. She had looked exhausted, like she hadn’t slept in months.

Once the dough was finished, she had knelt on the floor and stroked Cassiopeia’s hair until she settled. She had wiped tears from the sleeping girls face and sung softly to her.

“Ms. Schemmenti?” Cassie said, breaking Melissa from her memories.

“What’s up kid?”

“Do you want me to grade those? You look a little distracted.”

“No, I’m fine. Just a little distracted.”

Cassie nodded and put her earbud back in.

“Melissa,” the door handle jiggled and the redhead jumped up and threw Cassie’s sweater at her.

“I’m coming!”

Cassie tugged her sweater on and Melissa unlocked the door, letting a confused Barbara into the room.

“Hey Barb!” Melissa said.

Barbara looked back and forth between the two, “Is everything okay in here?”

“Of course, Mrs. Howard!” Cassiopeia said, standing up. The second she stood, however, the room began to spin and she swayed slightly.

“Cassiopeia?” Barbara said, rushing across the classroom, “Sweetheart are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, sitting back down, “It’s just…it’s just hot in here.”

Barb glanced over at Melissa, who was already rummaging in her mini fridge to get a bottle of water.

“Here kid,” she said, “drink this.”

“Why don’t we take this off…” Barb reached for Cassie’s sweater.

“No!” Cassie and Melissa said at the same time.

“I need my sweater, Mrs. Howard,” Cassie whispered.

“If you say so…” Barb said.

“Kid, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning did you?”

“No…we were in a hurry…”

“Melissa, go get Cassiopeia the apple off my desk,” Barb said.

“I can’t take your food!” Cassie argued.

“You aren’t taking, I am giving it to you. And you will eat it. Stay here. I’m going to see if Ava has a fan we can use to cool you down.”

#abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x oc #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader

[bruciemilf]

oh that's ok but batkids reacting to bruce getting hurt in general?

It's such a bizarre feeling for all of them; They all bear marks. Not one bat is without scars; You'd be more of an anomaly if you weren't hurting than if you were.

Jason has his autopsy scars. Dick has calloused hands from all those years of jumping, or deeper memories carved deep in him from his Robin days. Damian carries traces of training where someone his age shouldn't.

They all know; No one with the Wayne name is a stranger to pain.

But Bruce; Bruce has more than all of them. They know, because mending and healing wounds is a family tradition, just as tracing them when snuggling up on a huge bed is.

But they can't conjure a moment in time when Bruce's were fresh. They're all healed and pink and more memory than guests. And it's not as often as them.

It's Tim who figures it out. Those eyes were designed for detail. " You didn't think he took all those vacations to actually relax, right?"

" Bruce's idea of relaxation would send someone in a psych word, so no. So all this time, he went away to...Heal?"

" Something like that. I don't think he'll be successful with this one, thought."

Not even Bruce can walk off a coma.

It wasn't supposed to be that explosive. Bane's twisted little bombs had 5 minutes left on them when Barb checked, and they were supposed to get the hostage to safety on time, and Tim wasn't supposed to miscalculate--

" Your self-employed guilt is no help to anyone, Drake." In Damian language, this passes as It wasn't your fault, so Tim knows him, and knows better, than to put it to heart.

Dick wants the graveyard and sunrise shift, but Jason shuts that down, set in his way. Either they all look after Bruce, or none of them do.

They take turns.

Jason sits by Bruce's bed side with his feet planted deep in the carpet. Shoulders squared, posture ready and stiff for any incoming danger, gun safety off and bullets still hot in their holder. A hell hound made man.

" You're not doing it right."

Tim shoots a dagger of annoyance with his eyes alone, because he hasn't slept in hours, because he's trying to track Bane down, because he needs to send that bastard packing straight to Arkham's smallest cell.

All while maintaining some degree of calm as he tries to change Bruce's bandages, " I'm a genius, not a nurse."

" Maybe if you actually watched Grey's Anatomy like the rest of us normal people, --"

" Just because it helped Bruce get through med school--"

" If you're a selective genius, just say that."

" I'd rather be a part time genius than a full time idiot--"

" Dick!" Jason calls, but, Tim privately thinks he's hoping Bruce would answer, " Timberly's mean to me again!"

" Am not!"

" If you guys don't stop I'll tell B!"

Because he will wake up; He has to. Before Batman, there was Bruce Wayne, and if there's one dog to bet on in Gotham City, it's him.

Cass makes sure Bruce has clean sheets. That his burns are medicated and tamed and watches very closely for any sign of discomfort. Bruce winces at the small cotton ball of alcohol and there's a collective breath of relief.

Alfred makes sure they have sleep. That Jason won't wayward his way into a battle he'll regret and take Damian with him. That Dick actually has some sleep. That Duke and Cass are updated on patrol.

They're fearful. Every breath they take are like small stones stacked up on top, waiting to drop to the core of their bellies as a week passes and there's no sign of Bruce even flinching anymore.

Of course, when he does, -- because he always does, -- it's when they bicker. Tim can't remember who started it. He said something, and then Damian tossed a snarky comment because he's mean when he's scared, and --

" Can you be nice to eachother for 10 minutes?"

They all jump on him; He hisses, every numb nerve in his muscles buzzing back to life, but he's being squeezed and embraced and hugged in the ground by his kids, so it's not the worst fate in the world.

" Did I miss something?"

" Jason crushed the Batmobile."

" TIM!"

#asks #text post #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #batman #batfam #batfamily #batdad #writing #dc #dc imagine #THEMMMM #fluff #fluff and angst

[miniaturecollectiveendermen]

Having an argument with genshin men

A/N: this was a request by💅 anon but i accidentally deleted the request so- i really hope they see this  

i couldnt write one for kazuha mainly because i cant think of anything for him and i didnt wanna put off posting this for much longer ill probably post it separately once i get some ideas

feat~ kaeya and albedo (also mentioning barbara, amber, eula and sucrose)

!!WARNINGS!! :- angst, comfort(?), mentions of injury and alcohol gender neutral reader / gn!reader

albedo !!

albedo isn’t the type to get angry usually but he had been really stressed recently

you didn’t do anything wrong you were just worried and wanted to know what was wrong and to help

he ended up lashing out on you

you left after the argument leaving albedo alone

he realized what he did and a wave of guilt washed over him

he wanted to go after you to apologize but he thought it would only make things worse and that leaving you alone would be better

he knew you could take care of yourself

besides you’ve visited him in dragonspine before so you wouldn’t be in any danger

or so he thought-

the next morning he returned to mondstadt and was immediately confronted by amber and eula (mostly amber but eula too)

she asked him where you were, you hadn’t returned the night before and she hadn’t heard from you at all and she was really worried

eula was still suspicious of albedo after what happened with imposterbedo

after hearing about this albedo immediately rushed back to dragonspine

after a few hours of searching he found you lying on the ground

it looked like you had fallen off the side of the cliff and passed out

he took you to the cathedral to be healed by barbara

the entire way there and while barbara was healing you the only thing going through his head was that the if he hadn’t lashed out and started that argument you wouldn’t have left and gotten hurt

it was all his fault

when you woke you (ty barb for your amazing healing <3)  he started apologizing profusely

the entire time while you were recovering he left his alchemist duties to sucrose and stayed with you

kaeya !!

kaeya has a drinking problem

everyone knows it, he does too

you were worried, you knew why he did it but you were worried about his health

''its not healthy'' is something he heard from you more then anyone else

usually he'd laugh it off or tell you he’d try to drink less but today was different

he was sent to clear out a lot of hilichurl camps, every time he was sent for such things he’d return in a bitter mood and today was no exception

he ended up getting drunk

when you found him you lectured him about drinking too much and tried to get him to drink some water

today however he was extra pissed off and took it out on you

he ended up shouting at you and an argument broke out

many things were said in the heat of the moment on both sides that neither person meant

you stormed out of the tavern out of frustration

what happened didn’t register with kaeya immediately as he was drunk and angry

the next day he woke up with a headache and foggy memory but the memories of the previous night soon came flooding back

kaeya was angry, much angrier then last night

but not at you, how could he be angry at you when all you tried to do was look out for him

he was angry at himself

he pushed the closest person to him away, he hurt you

he immediately set out to look for you

he found you outside the city walls passed out, your arm looked to be broken

he gently picked you up and ran back to the city

he brought you to the cathedral to be healed

no one had ever seen him so upset and panicked before

thankfully you weren’t in critical condition but you were going to be unconscious for quite a while

he was relieved, still angry at himself for letting this happen, but relieved that you were going to be okay

he wanted to abandon his knight duties to look after you but he knew he couldn’t

besides barbara would be with you so you wouldn’t be alone

when you woke up he took care of all your needs

not one day went by during your recovery that he didn’t apologize to you

#genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin drabbles #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader angst #genshin x gn reader #genshin angst #kaeya x reader #kaeya x gender neutral reader #kaeya x y/n #kaeya x reader angst #albedo x reader #albedo x gn reader #albedo x gender neutral reader #toasts requests

[tinytinyblogs]

Is it hate or love?

Hate or love? Their mixed signals are driving you crazy.

(Ot8 reaction, non-idol)

Hyung line Maknae line

Stray kids masterlist here

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

The pulsing bass vibrated through your bones, a chaotic counterpoint to the unease churning within you. The crowded club, once a beacon of escape, now felt like a suffocating cage, each pulsating beat a reminder of your misplaced hope. You knew parties weren't your forte, the cacophony and forced interactions a far cry from your comfort zone. Yet, here you were, seeking solace in the din, a desperate attempt to drown out the deafening silence of your own heart. Your gaze, like a moth drawn to a flame, flickered towards Han Jisung. The object of your silent affection, the boy who'd occupied your daydreams for longer than you cared to admit. Yet, your interactions were a constant push-and-pull, a dance of unspoken tension and veiled barbs. Seeing him now, surrounded by a flock of admirers, a bitter pang of envy twisted your gut. The heady mix of alcohol and disappointment threatened to overwhelm you. Just as you contemplated escape, another voice, smooth and saccharine, intruded your thoughts. You recognized the glint in his eyes, the practiced charm masking a predatory intent. You weren't naive, you knew his game, but the thought of succumbing to the distraction, of losing yourself in the fleeting euphoria, was almost tempting. But before you could play along, a familiar hand grasped your arm, pulling you away from the potential danger.

Han Jisung stood there, his expression a storm brewing behind his usual mask of indifference. "Are you stupid?" His voice was harsh, a jarring contrast to the club's intoxicating rhythm. The question, though blunt, held a surprising edge of concern. "What now, Jisung?" you snapped back, stung by his words. "Why don't you just mind your own business?" The loud music seemed to dim around you, replaced by the intensity of his gaze. His cologne, a familiar scent, filled your senses, grounding you in the chaos. His presence, imposing yet strangely comforting, made your head spin. "He obviously doesn't have any feelings for you," he stated, his voice low but firm. "He just wants something else. Are you too blind to see that?" His words, brutal but honest, pierced through the veil of denial you'd woven around your heart. "I know, okay?" you retorted, your voice choked with frustration. You yearned to escape, to drown his interference in the cacophony of the club, but his grip on your arm held you captive. "You said you knew," he repeated, his voice low but insistent. "Yet you still walked back in." You struggled against his hold, frustration burning in your throat. "Why do you care so much, Han Jisung?" you spat, your voice raspy with emotion. "Is there some other guy here you want to protect me from? Since when did you ever care about me?" The question, hurled like a weapon, hung heavy in the air.

You expected a smirk, a barbed retort, anything but the vulnerability that flickered across his face. He stepped closer, his hand finding your shoulder, a grounding touch in the swirling chaos. "I always care," he whispered, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Who said I never do? I only came here because I heard you were coming...to a party you hate." The music, once a pulsing assault on your senses, receded into a distant echo. Your own heart, a relentless drumbeat in your chest, "I wouldn't like it," he said, his voice a low rumble, each word a hammer blow to your carefully constructed facade. "I don't like it. I hate the thought of someone else…" He paused, his eyes searching yours, the vulnerability in their depths a stark contrast to his usual mask of indifference. "I hate the thought of someone else doing you wrong." The melody of his words, stripped bare of pretense, hit you differently "Let's just go home," he continued, his voice softer now, a gentle plea in his eyes. "You shouldn't be here. You should be somewhere…comfortable. Somewhere you can wear something that makes you feel cute, not…this." He gestured towards your outfit, the once-confident fabric suddenly feeling like a flimsy shield against his scrutiny. "They're going to stare a hole through you here," he added, his voice laced with a quiet anger you hadn't known resided within him.

Felix

The air in the cramped dressing room felt thick with whispers and disapproval, a suffocating miasma that clung to your skin despite the icy blast of the air conditioner. Being a model, you were supposed to be immune to such scrutiny, your confidence honed like a diamond under pressure. Yet, here you were, feeling as small and fragile as a porcelain doll under the harsh glare of a thousand unseen eyes. Felix, your runway partner, was a study in stark contrast. Golden sunlight seemed to follow him like a halo, his chiseled features and sculpted physique the epitome of runway perfection. But to you, he was a storm cloud, his constant scowl and barely-there grunts a testament to his displeasure. You knew the whispers – how you, with your 'average' beauty, were a misstep in his flawless stride, a blemish on his pristine reputation. It stung, even though you hadn't begged for this partnership. You finished your makeup with a trembling hand, the image of Felix's laser-like gaze burning into your memory. From the moment you'd entered the room, his eyes had been fixed on you, a silent accusation hanging in the air. Now, with the call of the staff to cancel the show due to 'unfavorable audience reactions,' you felt a surge of defiance. This was your moment, your chance to break free from the suffocating expectations and malicious whispers.

But then, a voice like warm thunder sliced through the room. It was Felix, his usual monotone replaced by a fiery intensity. "Why do you think I want to cancel all of this?" he roared, his eyes blazing with a newfound determination. "I don't want to cancel. I don't want to change my partner." The room fell silent, the whispers replaced by a stunned gasp. Felix, the epitome of aloof perfection, was standing up for you, defying the invisible hand of public opinion. The air crackled with disbelief, a tangible shockwave emanating from Felix's pronouncement. "It's Y/N or no one," his voice boomed, shattering the suffocating silence of the cramped dressing room. It was a declaration, a defiant strike against the whispers and doubts that had been swirling around you like a noxious cloud. Every eye in the room turned to you, then back to Felix, their faces a mask of stunned surprise. "Stop talking bad about Y/N," he commanded, his voice a low growl that resonated in the room like a tuning fork. "This person is a perfect model, always shining in every shoot. Just do your job and promote us properly like how you guys need to do." He, the golden god of the runway, the one who'd perfected the art of icy indifference, was standing before you, his hand resting nonchalantly in his pocket.

"It's weird hearing you say that," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You've always seemed...irrational, at best, with me." Felix chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine despite its familiarity. He looked away for a moment, his gaze flitting to his shoes, then back to you, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "No one else gets to talk bad about you," he muttered, his voice husky with an unfamiliar emotion. "Only me." His words, though laced with playful possessiveness, held a surprising tenderness. You felt a warmth bloom in your chest, a fragile flame flickering to life amidst the ashes of doubt. In that moment, the room seemed to shrink, the throng of people fading into the periphery. It was just you and him, two souls adrift in a sea of stunned silence. "Besides," he continued, his gaze drifting to the wall clock, "you really are the best model I've ever seen. No one could say anything like that about you. You deserve better. Don't let them define you." He took your hand, his touch a spark that ignited a fire within you. "Be ready for the shoot," he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Then, let's get lunch together. My treat."

Seungmin

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with unshed tears and Seungmin's blunt words. Each sob felt like a jagged piece of your heart breaking away, the sting of betrayal raw and bitter on your tongue. Seungmin's voice dripped with disdain as he sipped his tea, his every word a barbed arrow aimed at your heartbreak. "Stupidity," he scoffed, "believing someone like him. Crying for a man who wouldn't even blink if you vanished tomorrow." He placed the cup down with a clatter, a harsh counterpoint to your choked sobs. "Shut up, Seungmin!" you spat, the tears burning your cheeks. "If you're just here to twist the knife, then get out." He rolled his eyes, the familiar sass laced with a cold fury. "Always the drama queen," he drawled, snatching the remote and blasting the TV. "Wasting your tears on someone who doesn't deserve them, on someone who's already forgotten your name. What could be a bigger waste?" You scrubbed your face raw with your sleeve, sobs wracking your body. "So who should I waste them on then? Someone like you, who relishes in my pain?" The air crackled with unspoken emotions as Seungmin sat glued to the screen, a vacant stare masking any flicker of attention to the flickering images.

His words, a barbed whisper, cut through the silence, "No, if I could be him, I wouldn't make you cry." Your sobs, raw and echoing, painted a stark contrast to his stoicism. Tears traced red streaks down your cheeks, your eyes catching his, searching for a hint of the warmth that usually resided behind his gaze. "Because I'm not as stupid as him," he continued, his voice a low rumble, "to fail someone I wanted to be with." His words were a bombshell, sending ripples through your tear-streaked world. You had never witnessed this vulnerability from him, accustomed only to the mask of annoyance he wore as your roommate. Silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you processed the unexpected confession. "Are you insane, Seungmin?" you choked out, disbelief lacing your voice, "You're talking nonsense." You reached for the cup of tea he had placed beside you, its warmth a small comfort against the storm within. His gaze, heavy and unwavering, remained fixed on you, a silent interrogation. "Maybe I am," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I must be out of my mind to feel this way." His words hung in the air, a fragile admission of a truth he could no longer deny.

The remote clattered onto the sofa, a jarring contrast to the soft murmur of the TV. You winced at the unexpected sound, but his next words were far more startling. "You're right," he said, his voice rough but strangely tender. "I'm glad you're not with him anymore." He still didn't look at you, his gaze fixed on some unseen point across the room. "It means...maybe I have a chance." Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes meeting yours. The sight of your tear-streaked face, though, seemed to freeze him. The air crackled between you and Seungmin, electric with the sting of miscommunication and hurt. Your voice, raw from denial, rasped out, "This is not the time for your stupid jokes, Kim Seungmin." It was a desperate attempt to shield yourself, to find some semblance of logic in the chaos, because Seungmin, the one who usually held your world together, was suddenly a stranger offering hollow words. "You always refuse to see me," he sighed, his voice low, a tremor of vulnerability beneath the surface. "Maybe I'm not your ideal, the knight in shining armor you dream about. But can't you, even for a moment, look at me differently? The way you look at everyone else, with that open heart and curious eyes?"

Jeongin

The air crackled around you, thick with disbelief and a sudden, unexpected twist. Prom night, the culmination of a thousand whispered fantasies, had always seemed a distant galaxy, something you dreamt of but never truly expected to touch. Yet, here it was, manifesting in the form of a nervous, stumbling classmate, his voice tripping over words as he extended an invitation tinged with hope. Before your mind could catch up, a familiar scent invaded your senses, a grounding presence against the swirling confusion. Jeongin, your ever-present shadow, materialized beside you, his hand a warm anchor on your shoulder. His voice, usually a playful rasp, held a steely edge as he spoke, cutting through the awkward tableau. "I'm sorry, my dear friend," he said, his gaze unwavering as it pierced through the boy in front of you, "but this y/n is going to prom with me." The world tilted on its axis. Your breath caught in your throat, a kaleidoscope of emotions warring within you. A pang of sympathy for the retreating boy, his disappointment etched on his back, mingled with the spark of defiance ignited by Jeongin's audacity. "What the hell is going on in your head, Yang Jeongin?" you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Hello to you too," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement, even as you attempted to shove his hand off your shoulder. The gesture, though meant to be firm, felt oddly futile against his unwavering presence.

"Can you just let me breathe freely for one day, Jeongin?" you pleaded, your voice laced with exasperation. He hummed, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine despite its seeming nonchalance. Leaning back against the locker beside you, he folded his arms across his chest, a picture of infuriating serenity. "I can't," he replied, his voice a smooth whisper that seemed to burrow directly into your ear. You slammed your locker shut with a resounding bang, the metallic clanging a poor excuse for the thunderous roar in your own head. The deliberate act blocked his view, a flimsy shield against the storm brewing inside you. As you rifled through your belongings, stuffing textbooks and notebooks into their designated slots, Jeongin's nonchalant presence loomed large. "So, you really wanted to see me go to prom by myself, huh?" you spat, the words tumbling out like bitter fruit. "Is that your idea of a good time? Watching me wallow in my own social awkwardness?" You slammed your locker shut, the metal echoing in the quiet hallway like a thunderclap. Your gaze finally met Jeongin's, and the unexplainable expression clouding his face made your heart stutter. "Do you really hate me that much?" your voice came out raw, each word a shard of doubt scraping against your throat.

He took a step closer, his body blocking your path, creating a silent barrier between you and the anonymous freedom of the hallway. "I never said I wanted you to go to prom alone," his voice deepened, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I wanted to be the one walking beside you, the one you laughed with under the disco ball. The one who gets to see that dazzling smile reserved for no one else." He paused, his hand resting in his pocket, a nervous habit you knew all too well. "And who said I hate you? It's not even in my vocabulary, okay? Stop with these scenarios you keep conjuring up. Just accept the fate you're stuck with – me. I'm not letting you go to prom with anyone else, and that's final." The shrill cry of the school bell pierced the air, shattering the fragile bubble you'd woven around yourself and Jeongin. His smirk widened, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he took in your flustered expression. It was a sight he relished, the way your cheeks flushed a delicate pink, your brows furrowed in a picture of adorable confusion. "Lost in your daydreams again, pretty?" he teased, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "If you don't want to be late for class, it might be a good idea to trade that frown for a sprint."

©Tinytinyblogs

#stray kids reaction #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids au #stray kids fluff #stray kids bang chan #stray kids lee know #stray kids changbin #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids seungmin #stray kids jeongin #stray kids han #stray kids felix #stray kids masterlist #stray kids #skz changbin #skz bang chan #skz minho #skz seungmin #skz han #skz hyunjin #skz felix #skz jeongin #skz chan #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz reactions #skz x reader #skz x y/n

[scoops-aboy86]

We see a lot of chubby Steve/weight gain post-high school but I think it would be interesting to see some fics where he’s still in school. Maybe he has to give up sports due to the concussions or something?

You're right and you should say it!! I have a bit of that in my love spell no go AU, before Starcourt happens and Steve goes full trauma-fueled must be able to protect everyone I know mode. 

So... might not be what you were hoping for but I wrote an almost 3k addition to that fic, during the part where Steve is still at Hawkins High. Swim is over for the year (and Steve avoids his pool now), and while he's still on the basketball team he's also smoking weed (helps with the nightmares, getting enough sleep, better mood, etc.) and snacking more. He's in the starter belly stage but has no complaints.

Part 1, (YOU ARE HERE), part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11 of the love spell no go au

The weed he bought from Munson is a godsend, and Steve wonders why he hadn’t thought of it before… only to remember that Nancy wouldn’t have approved. (Although she’s not a priss, exactly, she had barely even touched alcohol since the night Barb died. Until Halloween.) But he can sleep through the lonely nights now, which is worth even that hurtful pang of realization—that maybe, Nancy hadn’t been very good for him. 

(Sure, she had helped him study. And his grades had improved. But sometimes, too, she would smile and say, “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” It had been cute at first, before Barb, when the smile had still been real.)

Whenever he thinks about that, or feels particularly lonely, he digs into his stash for a quick smoke out his bedroom window—never by the pool, not anymore. He gets into the habit of snacking after, even if it’s while doing his homework, because even when he’s a little bit stoned it’s somehow easier to focus on shit when he’s doing something else at the same time, and chewing works. 

(Nancy hadn’t liked it when he’d fiddled with his pencil or a rubber band or a Rubix cube or anything while she’d quizzed him with flashcards, even though he’d tried to tell her it helped. She’d fussed at him about it until he’d just… stopped.)

Other times, he zones out in front of the tv while working his way through a sandwich or a bag of chips or a sleeve of Oreos. Or takeout, a lot of the time, because his culinary skills pretty much stop at sandwiches, up to and including scrambling an egg for a breakfast sandwich. But a man cannot live on scrambled eggs alone, he’s learned that the hard way, so pizza or burgers or pasta in cardboard containers it is. 

It’s not just the munchies. After a while Steve gets into the habit of just… eating. It's not like his parents are around to notice, and Dustin and the other kids he babysits sometimes (for all that Mike protests that they aren’t babies and don’t need a sitter; what they do consistently need, however, is rides) don't care as long as he springs for enough that they can have some too. No one at school would dare say it to his face, and somehow it still doesn't manage to fully tank his slightly flagging reputation, but Steve is definitely starting to put on weight. He doesn’t care. 

He starts going to parties again half for a change of scenery, half for a change of food options. Pizza still makes a frequent appearance, but there’s popcorn and flavors of chips that he doesn’t usually buy and various kinds of snack mixes. (His favorites are anything that include M&Ms.) Sometimes, there are even cupcakes or cookies. He doesn’t dance, doesn’t even drink all that much and sticks to just beer when he does, never the punch. Most of the kids who come to these parties are there for the booze and the makeout opportunities, but he turns up to people-watch, bopping his head in time with the music if it's a song he likes, and park himself by whatever food the party has to offer. Sometimes Steve buys from Eddie if he's there, offers to share joints with him that Eddie, still wary, turns down. When the food runs out, Steve leaves.

Tonight, though, Tammy Thompson just will not leave him alone and he’s at a loss for what to do about it. She’s been talking his ear off about wanting to move to Nashville and become a country singer the entire time he’s been working on this extra large pepperoni and sausage with black olives—not his first choice, but it’s still hot enough for the cheese to stretch whenever he picks up the next slice, warm tomato sauce and grease dripping down the front of his polo more often than he can always catch with a napkin. 

“Did you want some?” he asks at some point, to be polite and hopefully indicate that he doesn’t care that she’s trying to tell him something. 

He can tell immediately that it doesn’t work, because Tammy lights up from simply being addressed, even though her answer is, “Oh, no thank you, I’m a vegetarian.”

“Right,” Steve mumbles, and crams nearly half of his next slice of meat-laden pizza in his mouth. Maybe if he talks with his mouth full. “More for me, then.”

The words come out muffled, but she still beams and offers to grab him something to drink, jumping up and scampering off before Steve even has a chance to respond. He sighs, downs the rest of the beer he’s been nursing, and takes the new one she brings him without saying thank you. Between the next pieces of pizza he pops it open, chugs it, and belches; she puts a hand on his arm. 

For a moment, at that, Steve feels a faint stirring of interest. He likes his food, did even before dropping swimming and picking up weed, and well before it started to show. Now that it has, he feels comfortable in his softer body. Good. And maybe… maybe he could handle dating someone who doesn’t mind how much he likes it. He imagines Tammy running her immaculately painted nails over his skin, places he’s noticed have been getting more sensitive lately, and suppresses a shiver. 

“Could you pass me that bowl of M&Ms over there?” he asks, testing the waters. Yeah, he could probably reach it if he stretched, but he’s starting to fill up and doesn’t feel like putting the extra pressure on his stomach. He sits back a little in his chair instead, shifting to get comfortable and laying a hand on his belly where it bows out over the waistband of his jeans. “Sorry, just, you know. Big appetite lately.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I don’t mind,” Tammy says with a giggle as she fetches the bowl for him. “Besides, you’re an athlete! I’m sure you’ll work it off in no time on the court.”

And yeah, no, that vague interest curdles immediately. As far as Steve is concerned, the only parts of himself he wants to get rid of are all in his head—the heartbroken parts, the nightmare and trauma parts, the desperately lonely and needy parts. But he’s not so lonely that he’ll hook up with a girl who’s willing in spite of how he looks, because what else could she possibly be interested in? His personality?

He barely even has one. King Steve has always been bullshit, Nancy was right about that much. 

Through the crowd, he spots curly hair and a flash of dark leather—Eddie. Good, he’d been hoping to buy more tonight, and this is as good an excuse to exit this conversation as any. 

Steve grabs a handful of M&Ms to shove in his mouth and flips the lid of the pizza box closed, handing the bowl back to Tammy and taking the box with him when he stands. “Well, enjoy the rest of the party,” he blurts. “I’ve gotta go see a guy about some drugs. Bye!”

As he makes his escape, some girl that he thinks he might have class with or something just about shoulder-checks him, but he’s solid enough that she ends up stumbling from the impact instead. The glare she gives him could peel paint… which is actually kind of refreshing, after enduring Tammy’s simpering for the better part of an hour. 

To Eddie’s perpetual frustration, now that Steve Harrington has started buying weed from him he can never seem to be free of the guy. Case in point: the “Hey, Munson, wait up!” that follows him to the backyard of tonight’s house party slash business venture. 

He waits until he’s down the patio steps before whipping around, prepared to glare and snap an impatient what do you want, Harrington, but ends up staring at a pizza box that’s being shoved in his face. 

“Pizza?” Steve says. 

Eddie blinks at the box, then at the boy holding it. “This isn’t your party. Doesn’t that mean it’s not your pizza to offer?”

“It might as well be, I’ve eaten most of it,” Steve replies. “No one seemed to notice, that makes it fair game.” 

Once, Eddie had been selling at a party and been bitched out for touching a single cookie, because those were for guests. He wants to scowl, but then his gaze flicks down to the partly open box and sees that there aren’t many slices left, eyes fixing on the evidence dripped down the front of Steve’s shirt and the way it’s… tight, across his middle. “You ate all but three slices of an entire extra large?”

He’s not sure what answer he expects to get. Maybe something like Of course not, dickhead, or maybe just, What, like it’s hard? But all Steve says is, “Yep.” And keeps looking at him with those sweet hazel eyes that seem bight and not too clouded by alcohol. 

Still, Eddie is wary. “Okay… You first.” 

Steve just shrugs and pulls out a slice, taking a bite before Eddie snatches it out of his hand. “Hey!”

“Just making sure it wasn’t poisoned first, sweetheart,” Eddie retorts, sneering for the excuse to call a pretty boy sweetheart in semi-public, butterflies stirring in his stomach at getting away with it. “Don’t worry, the rest is all yours.”

“Who’s tried to poison you?” Steve asks in a perplexed tone, folding the last two slices together to make a pizza sandwich and tossing the empty box onto the deck. Still following Eddie, because of course this is Eddie’s life. Love spell was a spectacular failure, but he’s still got the boy of his dreams following him around like a lost duckling because he’s got drugs. Fucking fantastic. 

And Eddie doesn’t want to get into the whole thing—those rumors from when Eddie had been in seventh grade and Steve had been in sixth, for all that they’re both in the same grade now, about some kid who’d been sent to the ER from a bad reaction to itching powder. There were variations where it had gotten in his eyes and nearly blinded him, or on his food and made his throat swell shut, or in his underwear and turned his dick so red his balls fell off. In reality, he had only gone to the nurse with a bad rash and hadn’t even been allowed to go home, but it left a goddamn impression. 

He doesn’t want to get into it, not if Steve either doesn’t remember the rumors or hasn’t connected them to his present day self, so he just rolls his eyes and says, “Are you looking to buy or what?”

Steve immediately brightens a bit, like a golden retriever spotting someone holding a tennis ball. “Yeah, I smoked the last I had before coming here but it’s already worn off I think.” And takes a big bite of his two pizza slices. 

So Eddie leads him to a darker nook around the side of the house for the deal, trying not to stare at the way Steve’s cheeks bow out while he chews, like a damn chipmunk. It’s cute. He’s kind of angry that it’s cute, that there’s still a part of him that lights up when Steve looks happy, satisfied, content—and right now all of those boxes are checked. 

“Want to smoke a little now?” Steve offers, once he’s paid and taken the baggie one handed, popped the rest of the food in his mouth, licked his fingers clean, and pulled out a pack of rolling papers. And Eddie pauses too long before answering, long enough that Steve takes the lack of refusal as a yes. 

Which Eddie should correct, because he usually says no to that sort of thing, especially when he’s at parties specifically to sell. He’s turned Steve down before, even; it’s like the guy has a whole thing about offering whenever he plans on lighting up asap. Eddie knows better to fall into that trap. 

But it’s a nice night. The weather is mild for spring, business has been good, and Steve licks his lips to get the last traces of pizza sauce before his tongue darts out to wet the paper and finish rolling the joint. Nice and tight, like the denim hugging Steve’s ass and thighs tighter recently. So Eddie sticks around, breaks his rule and tries to keep his face clear of any evidence that he is fixated on the few degrees of separation between smoking and kissing, heart hammering the entire time. He tells himself it’s a one time only thing, but knows he might be lying. Recognizes how addictive this could be. 

“Thanks for being here,” Steve says after passing the joint back and forth a few times, his eyes glazed and drooping. “Really needed this tonight.”

“That’s what I’m here for, man,” Eddie replies. He’s leaning against the side of the house practically shoulder to shoulder with his crush, and the high washing over him is really taking the edge off the jagged yearning in his chest. Like, he still wants, but he’s happy just floating in the present moment, content with the indirect sharing of spit. And this is… This is okay. 

Surprisingly okay. 

It throws Eddie for a loop because it’s at odds with the whole King Steve image. The whole puppet master persona that isn’t a bully, but can with a few words cut someone down socially to where the bullies could reach them, if they so wish. Popular kids at Hawkins High walk around with their noses in the air like they’ve never smelled a fart and refuse to start now, but this is the guy they turn around and start brown-nosing. King Steve isn’t nice, he’s used to being waited on. Kings do not say thank you to the court jester for simply carrying out his profession. 

Just Steve, though, is different. Just Steve is chill and finished most of an entire huge pizza while mostly sober, is filling out his clothes even better these days in Eddie’s opinion, and currently looks the most at peace he’s ever seen a person. No walls, no guard… Just Steve. 

Okay, that one split joint had gone straight to his head, god damn. 

“Well, I’m gonna take off,” Eddie announces, and can’t tell if he’s said it too loud or not. He pushes off the wall with a shake of his head. “You snagged pretty much the last of my inventory, so I’ll just get out of here before someone starts handing out the torches and pitchforks.”

Steve chuckles. “Like any of those guys in there know how to make a torch,” he scoffs. He manages to say it in a way that almost makes Eddie lean in. Makes him feel like he’s been let in on some sort of inside joke, like they could but those losers couldn’t. 

Which is—Okay, so Eddie does in theory know how to make a torch, he’d looked into it for one of his earliest homebrew campaigns, but Steve Harringnton? The very idea of Steve whipping off his shirt, tying it to a branch, soaking the end in something flammable, and lighting it up is something out of fantasy. Out of specific fantasies that he has had. It snaps Eddie out of the hazy bubble of they that Steve had somehow created with just a few words, and holy shit. Was that one of the side effects of his wonky spell, or was that Just Steve?

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie scoffs back, putting more distance between them even though he does want to lean in, dammit, but he wants Steve to want it too. Even though it’s on the tip of his tongue to ask the guy if he has a ride home, or if he wants to swing by the mom and pop ice cream place on Main for desert or something; Eddie has been practicing swallowing down urges like that since he’d hit adolescence. “Find me next time you need to top up your stash, Harrington.”

He walks away fast enough that if Steve responds he doesn’t hear it, heading for the back gate that he’d left the house for in the first place. His van is parked strategically nearby for a quick getaway, just in case the party got out of hand and a neighbor called the cops. 

And if his dreams that night feature a completely relaxed Steve Harrington chewing on never ending slices of pizza and that blissful look of peace on his face, his lips shiny with spit and grease, it’s not like Eddie is ever going to tell anyone.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

#love spell no go au #wg steddie #chubby steve harrington #eddie munson #mentions of past stancy #tammy thompson #i have nothing against tammy but she is very much pursuing steve because of the love spell more than anything else #pre-relationship steddie #this fic will eventually be up on ao3... i just want to finish it first

[wannaeatramyeon]

Jake Kim x Samuel Seo: Better together

Samuel should hate Jake with every fibre of his being.

(A small, ugly part of him does. Green eyed and resentful and monstrous.)

Should have seen him as competition, only as the competition. A rival vying for the position at the top. Both racing towards the finish line, for the throne and the crown and the sceptre.

Except-

There is so much more to Jake Kim than meets the eye. He's not just the person he fights with. He's who he fights alongside, working towards a common goal, protecting Big Deal Street, together shoulder to shoulder during the Golden Era. The Yang to his Yin.

Until-

.

.

Jake is Gapyrong's son.

They're not brothers.

They're not brothers and it complicates and simplifies everything all at once.

Any camaraderie dissipates with that discovery. The closeness, the budding relationship. The smiles and the inside jokes and the laughter.

Quiet shared cigarettes passing between fingers and lips, standing close enough to breathe in each other's exhaled smoke. Drinks on the pier, watching the tide ebb and reflect the golden sunsets; mouth grazing metal where the other's had been only seconds ago.

All gone.

What remains, is anger and resentment, at least from Samuel.

What remains are barbed words and unwarranted sneers until blows are exchanged. Bodies marked by one another, just like their first meeting. As if all the days together, reading each other's thoughts with a look, the intimacy once upon a time, meant nothing.

What remains, is confusion, at least from Jake.

What remains, for them both, is hurt.

When your body mourns and your soul knows something is deeply wrong, yet the pain is too raw and too fresh so all you can do is sit with it. Try and make peace. Try and heal.

.

.

Samuel leaves.

Sinu is gone, Jake inherits Big Deal and all of its problems, and Samuel leaves.

The hurt and pain never heals. There is no answer and no closure because Samuel leaves.

Samuel leaves, taking away his smarts and his wits and a part of Jake.

Samuel leaves and Jake Kim no longer has an equal.

.

.

Jake taps on the name. 

Fingers moving of its own accord, possessed by a mind of their own, his current one cloudy with alcohol.

He expects nothing. An out of service automated message, his number to be blocked, the call to ring out at best. What he doesn't expect is the click of the phone and quiet breathing on the other side.

That Jake recognises, can never forget. The controlled, even, inhale and exhale. Has heard in time with own, has felt the heat prickling his skin. Breaths minging together, the gap never quite closing, the moment never feeling right. Back then.

Jake’s mouth runs. He hears himself asking when he's going to come back. He thinks there's a huff of laughter down the phone but he can't be sure.

He doesn't say anything else after that. Samuel doesn't speak at all. For a little while, they just listen to the sound of each other breathing.

.

.

A habit forms, and it's a terrible habit.

Jake allows himself to think about him when the world is hushed and the night is silent. When his only company are the twilight stars and the bitterness of beer.

He's never drunk, not even tipsy. Just enough to find an excuse and to pin his actions on liquid courage.

The calls are infrequent.

Nothing of consequence is ever spoken about, at first. They just listen to each other breathing, sometimes. Sometimes Jake talks. Samuel never reacts beyond a few grunts, occasionally a ghost of a chuckle but Jake can always feel his smile down the phone.

Maybe the worst habit of all is one Samuel can't break out of: he picks up every time.

.

.

"I've still got your old jacket."

.

.

"Things aren't great here."

.

.

"We're trying to make money through other means."

.

.

"I hate what I'm putting the boys through."

.

.

Samuel answers, he always does.

This time Jake knows there is something wrong. His breathing is ragged, laboured.

Jake asks, soft and not for the first time, "How you holding up?" and expects silence, just like all the occasions before.

Samuel's voice comes through. Strained and stiff, like he's ready to snap.

(Still, Jake can't help but think about how much he has missed hearing that timbre.)

He mentions the breakup of Gangseo Union and Gun Park's reaction. Words jumbling together, barely making any sense. Sharp and biting at times, lost and fearful at others.

Jake listens until dawn breaks and Samuel's voice turns raspy and hoarse.

In the cold morning light, their distance is apparent. The way their life is moving in different directions is glaring. More than anything, Jake wants to hold him and tell him it's going to be fine.

He can do neither.

Instead he offers a small vulnerability, another piece of himself, and tells Samuel that he misses him.

The quiet chuckle, the first sign of lucidity in hours, traverses the distance and makes its way to Jake's ears.

.

.

The ice breaks and thaws.

A bigger part of Samuel breaks and fractures too.

He gives in. He reciprocates.

Once in a blue moon, Samuel will call Jake. When his heart is weak and his resolve wanes and his defences are down. 3am calls to vent and talk and Jake will quietly ask "how are you doing" and Samuel will sigh and think about Big Deal.

Think about Jake Kim sitting on the other side of the phone. Probably lying in bed, body relaxed and easy, staring at the ceiling and smiling at his voice.

.

.

Barriers slam shut full-force when Samuel says he is joining Workers.

It's not a betrayal, it's not a personal affront, yet Jake can't help but take it that way.

He wants to demand how could you. To rehash old wounds and ask how could you leave Big Deal, how could you leave me, why did you shut me out, why did you hate me, do you still hate me?

No words come. Just quiet fury as an ache settles into his chest.

The barriers try to shut but it can’t close fully. Neither will let them. A sliver of light still peeks through.

.

.

The calls don't stop.

It's an addiction neither wants to nor can break off. Drawn together and inexplicably linked.

Jake doesn't use the excuse of alcohol anymore.

Samuel didn't have an excuse in the first place

It's a way of letting each other know that they're thinking about them. Even with everything they have to tiptoe around, the divergence of their lives, the issues and trauma, they're still there.

And each time one of them picks up, they're letting the other know that they're thinking about them too.

.

.

Samuel hears about Jake's arrest before it happens.

It's Jerry Kwon that texts him, and Samuel wonders how much he knows, if Jake has said anything.

Jerry keeps it to the point, details provided on a need to know basis. No questions, no forced niceties.

Samuel thinks the gambling ring could have worked but it's bizarre, really. A plan that seems like it was devised by himself, when in actual fact it comes from someone that prides themselves on better morals and principles.

He thinks of Jake's desperation to have arrived at that. Rather than feeling satisfaction and relishing in his defeat, like he would have for anyone else that he considers a rival, Samuel feels disappointment and empathy. And the feeling of cold dread and worry that he won't hear from Jake for months.

He doesn't know what to do with that.

Nevertheless, he marks his calendar with the day of Jake's release.

.

.

Jake has his first taste of freedom and calls him.

It's the first number he dials, the first person he thinks of, has thought of for months.

For years.

.

.

Jake says he wants to kill Gun Park and Samuel thinks it's the best thing he's ever heard.

Samuel’s brain whirs and ideas form.

The first time they lock eyes again, it's under circumstances neither of them wants.

Samuel, as a dog of the Workers, and Jake, desperately searching for Sinu and out for blood.

On Big Deal Street, an uneasy alliance is offered between both crews.

Jake Kim accepts. His mind tells him it's the right thing to do - compromise on his morals once again so that Big Deal survives another day and to refocus on their end goal. His heart tells him that he only accepted because Samuel is there.

Relief and elation floods his body. For the first time in years, they will be on the same side again.

Samuel anticipated bitterness and anger at seeing the son of Gapryong Kim. Despite all the nights and hours on the phone, had thought seeing him in the flesh was bound to bring out feelings of inadequacy and inferiority.

Yet today, his eyes rake over his strong, powerful figure and it arouses other stirrings.

Their time is cut short. Together they barely have time to reminisce under the ever watchful eyes of Eugene but Jake doesn’t miss the way Samuel looks at him and Samuel doesn’t miss the way it’s returned.

.

.

The calls continue.

Samuel gives information about their former No.1.

.

.

In the cell, surrounded by names etched on stone and reflecting the deterioration of Sinu Han, they both break in different ways.

Samuel wants to be King and Jake wants to kill him. To pummel his fists into his tear-stained face and scream. Tear him to pieces, searching for any traces of humanity left. How could he do this to Sinu, how could he do this to Big Deal, how could he do this to him. All those nights filled with hushed words for one another or falling asleep to quiet, steady breaths, and he had been hiding this.

Surrounded by names etched on stone and the tallying of days, Jake pins Samuel against the wall and crashes their lips together.

Unleashes all his fury and frustration and hate and passion in the cold, dank room. Haunted by memories and what-ifs, pushed over the edge and following his rage all the way down.

It’s ugly, it’s savage. There’s blood and bruises and sweats and groans.

Samuel meets him beat for beat.

.

.

The calls stop.

The partnership splinters.

Jake’s fingers still ghost over his name but he can’t bring himself to call him.

Samuel busies himself with Workers until he pushes all thoughts of Jake Kim from his mind. It doesn’t work.

He wonders why he doesn’t call. He wonders why he can’t make the first move.

.

.

In the middle of the fight, tensions running high, both sides ready to kill, Samuel receives a message:

‘All we’re missing is you lol.’

Hears “Yo Samuel, we still have your old coat.”

Sees the forced grin and the anguish in his eyes.

A last ditch attempt to bring him back to Big Deal. Jake Kim laying out his cards for all to witness, heart on his sleeve.

Everything becomes a mess, even more so, after that.

.

.

Jake’s own subconscious makes a fool out of him, mocking and sneering, inner voice reminiscent of Samuel’s dry and sardonic tone.

He’s all he can think about. Can’t even revel fully  in the joy of Sinu being back, partake wholeheartedly in the celebrations.

Because Sinu’s return only highlights, emphasises, what is missing.

.

.

Samuel traces his lips, wishes his fingers were the heat of someone else.

Presses his thumb to the pulse in his neck. Recalls purple mottled skin there, broken and bleeding. How he had relished the pain thrumming for days after as he thinks of who had bitten him.

.

.

Jake makes the first move. Jake always makes the first move.

Arranges a meeting under the pretence of preparing for the war against Workers. Of revealing his trump card and his agreement with Charles Choi. Of bringing Samuel back to Big Deal… But really, it’s to bring Samuel home and to his side.

Another last ditch attempt.

(In truth, there will never be a last anything where Samuel is concerned.)

.

.

Samuel barely hears the conversation.

All he remembers is the request to meet at the pier once again and agreeing to it before he can even consider what it truly means and the consequences.

Samuel doesn't think anything of the way he prepares, the extra care in how he dresses, how he pauses to consider his cologne.

He doesn't dwell on the fact that he arrives there hours earlier than planned, and how Jake is already waiting.

.

.

The plan is half baked at best and of course it’s on Samuel to pick through the holes and relay the groundworks. Seal any chances of mistakes and create an unshakeable foundation.

They’re always worked better together, the two of them. Jake can’t help but smile as Samuel tells him the new plan. It’s better than anything he could have thought of.

He offers again for Samuel to rejoin Big Deal. For the war he says. For me, for us he means.

Samuel hesitates. The offer is tempting. More tempting that it should have any right to be.

For the first time since disbanding Gangseo, his future is hazy and distorted, vision compromised. What would it mean if he stays at Workers? What would it mean if he fights by Jake’s side?

He tries to think what the end game looks like. Attempts to figure five moves ahead, ten, twenty. 

(Has tried to visualise making the right moves before even Gangseo Union. Learned to strategise with his mother and her hair-trigger temper. Before he had any strength, before he knew he could be punishing also.)

The decision is taken out of his hand when Jake grabs his. Confesses something they both know, but have never dared to utter out loud.

“I want you,” Jake offers simply, tracing over the tattoos on Samuel’s knuckles. “It’s always been you.”

It’s everything and nothing. 

There must be a catch. 

Samuel wants to throw up. He wants to call him crazy, a fool, tell him that he has truly lost the plot. He wants to jump and shout and come apart at the seams. He wants time to stop and live in this moment forever. He wants to rewind back the years so he can never meet Jake. He wants to recoil and flinch and snatch his hand away - but the softness, the tenderness of Jake’s touch he knows in his bones will one day kill him.

Will drag him and his dwindling sanity down. His inferiority, his superiority, all his complexities will be taken apart by Jake Kim.

But maybe. Perhaps. They can rebuild each other. They’ve always worked better together, the two of them.

Samuel still can’t see the future clearly. However, it’s one he thinks he can settle for. With Jake Kim. Drawn together and inexplicably linked. Better side by side than apart. 

They stand there for hours. Until the moon brightens the sky and the stars glitter and Jake’s fingers intertwine with his. Both staring out at the water, the ebb and flow of the tide.

Samuel wants his confession to be drowned out by the waves, but. The words have choked him for the last couple hours, maybe even for years. He doesn’t want them to choke him forever.

Spoken into the air and carried away by the wind, “It’s always been you too.”

Jake hears him. He always has.

#lookism #lookism fic #jakemuel #gimseo #jake kim #samuel seo #kim gimyeong #seo seongeun #wannaeatramyeon

[grey-sides]

King of the River

Steve’s knees sunk onto the damp, hard floor of Tina’s kitchen. His broken heart forgotten when Nancy had walked out the front door with Jonathan Byers close at her heels.

He had been upset, sure, upset enough to down as much punch as Nancy had and more. But maybe it had been falling apart long before the party ever happened.

Maybe it never even got started when Barb went missing after the pool party with Tommy and Carol. Steve didn’t know when they stopped being on the same wavelength, but he found it easier to forget when his brain was clouded with alcohol.

Alcohol and the sight of Billy Hargrove across the room. He was drunk too, a nasty laugh in the air because Tommy H was trying to get his attention. Tommy was always trying to get Billy’s attention.

Steve smirked to himself where he swayed because he didn’t have to fight for Hargrove’s attention. He had it whether he wanted it or not. And he wanted it right now.

He got to his feet and dropped his punch cup on the counter, uncaring if it spilled or made a mess. Tina could deal with that later before her parents got home.

No, Steve needed to talk to Hargrove.

He licked his lips, weaving between the couples still dancing together. Across the house that wasn’t that big, but felt like an ocean of bodies between them.

His sunglasses were in the pocket of his blazer and Steve pulled them out for some courage. Or just to make Hargrove think that he was a bad ass.

“Harrington!” Hargrove drawled while Steve kept making his way over. He grinned, licking over his teeth as he looked at Steve.

“Saw your girlfriend run away with some other guy.”

Steve scoffed, even as his heart ached in his chest. “Not my girlfriend.”

“Tough luck, amigo. Plenty of other bitches in the sea,” Hargrove replied. He was swaying where he was leaning, but he took a bold step forward to get in Steve’s face.

“Broke your record, didn’t I?"

Steve’s eyes dropped to Hargrove’s lips and his beer breath for a moment. But he quickly dragged them back up to smirk.

“Guess you did. I’d offer a rematch, but I hear the keg is tapped,” Steve breathed.

Hargrove laughed and with a flick of his wrist, Tommy H and the other guy were gone. They were still in the middle of a party, but it sure felt like the two of them were alone on top of the world.

Steve licked his lips again and gestured to Hargrove’s chest. “Damn near wearing half the keg it looks like though.”

He was jealous of Hargrove’s chest, of course he was. He played sports and worked out, but he never looked like that. Could never quite get such a nice physique.

Hargrove set his jaw for a second, a moment until he practically grabbed Steve by the scruff of his neck and shoved him out into the yard.

They were alone in the yard, with the keg tapped out, most people had huddled inside for the blistering warmth of high schoolers. Or they were gone, off to fuck each other senseless.

Steve stumbled to a stop, managing to keep his feet under him, but only so. He whirled around, his sunglasses flying from the force of it.

“What did I do?” he demanded, whined really because Hargrove was being unnecessarily rough.

“Acted like you didn’t want my attention all night and now you’re what- trying to razz me?” Hargrove asked. He looked angry, angrier than Steve thought he had any right to be.

Steve waved his arm roughly through the air and he scoffed. “Don’t even why I bother,” he muttered. “Was trying to make conversation.”

Hargrove laughed darkly and shook his head. He reached out to grab Steve’s lapel and pulled him close. “Stupid conversation, Harrington. Yeah, I have beer on myself, get over it, fucking priss.”

“Hey!” Steve shoved back at Billy, his hand sliding across a sticky, sweaty pec. He made a face and tried to take a step back.

“You know, when other people used to overthrow kings, they would make an example out of them,” Hargrove said. Dangerous.

“It’s not real,” Steve muttered, shaking his head.

He licked his lips anyway though and had to ask himself why being talked to like this was making his dick interested. As interested as it could get when he was this drunk, of course.

Hargrove- Billy now, probably- grabbed his shoulder and started to put pressure on it. So Steve was forced to sink down.

“You got a problem with the beer on me?” Billy asked, voice low, deep, and dark.

Steve stared up at him, his mouth open because he didn’t think he could close it. “I-”

Billy nodded and gestured to himself. “Lick it up then.”

“What?'

“Lick. It. Up.” Billy grabbed his chin and pulled his face close. Until Steve was face to face with his tanned stomach.

He blinked a few times and looked up at Billy. “This is-”

“Come on, pretty boy,” Billy coaxed. “Lick it up and I’ll give you a handy in my pretty car.”

Steve felt conflicted, he knew this wasn’t a normal thing for guys to do. But nothing in his life had been normal since Barb went missing and the Demogorgon showed up.

He licked his lips and leaned in. Billy put a hand on the top of his head and Steve opened his mouth. He licked a stripe up the side of his abs.

Billy groaned above him, so Steve did it again. He let his eyes close. He focused on the sticky blandness of the beer. Of the tang of salt from Billy’s sweat. Thought about Billy’s spit mingled with it all.

Steve stuck his tongue in his belly button and swirled it around. He thought about the cold ground on his knees. He opened his eyes to look at Billy through the tops of them.

Billy met his eyes and moaned, pulling on Steve’s hair like he hadn’t spent half an hour on it earlier. It was to shit now anyway.

“There we go. Show me who the King is,” Billy drawled.

So Steve kept going until his eyelashes fluttered and he felt dizzy from licking at Billy like a lollipop.

He got lost there, on his knees in Tina’s yard while he cleaned Billy with just his tongue. His fingers eventually curled around Billy’s legs, the tips digging into the back of his knees.

Steve reduced himself to laps and moans, falling into Billy’s pelvis while he cleaned him up.

And when Billy tugged on his hair hard enough to make Steve stand up, he found he was hard. He hadn’t realized it was happening, but looking down- he saw that they both were.

Billy slung a friendly arm around Steve’s shoulders and steered him out of the yard, away from the party. Towards his pretty car.

“King of the River of Beer and Sweat,” Steve laughed and he couldn’t tell if Billy was laughing with him or at him.

But he felt pretty damn comfortable with the whole arrangement when they tumbled into the Camaro together.

And he felt even more comfortable when they exchanged hands in each other’s pants and mingled their saliva even further.

And he had no answers, but a head full of cotton and a mouth full of Billy and he let himself drift. Down the River of Beer and Sweat.

#harringrove #stranger things #greye writes #lets try this again

[multi-fandomfuckboy]

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 10: Pity Party

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1, ...(Masterlist)... Part 11

A/N: Oh hell yea! For those looking at the updates you know we are about to get some more Billy interaction! I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you guys think and if you want to be added to the tag list.

Word Count: 2,243

Warnings: Descriptions of vomit, anxiety, smoking

The vomit stings your nose and throat, bringing even more tears to your eyes. You heave again, spilling the contents of your stomach onto the grass. It smells like the drinks Nancy had been handing you all night, mixed with something acidic, putrid. When your stomach is empty, you continue to heave, struggling to breath. It makes the muscles of your stomach ache with the strain. 

When your body finally settles, you push yourself away from the bile, landing on your butt. You scoot back until you feel your back hit the hard panelling of the house. You lean your head back, wishing the world would stop spinning. You still feel terrible, unfortunately, the sickness that remains with you has nothing to do with alcohol. 

“Your fault.” Nancy’s voice rings in your head. “Your fault… your fault… my fault… my fault…`` It repeats over and over again. You pinch our eyes shut, clasping your hands on either side of your head, like that will somehow muffle the voices in your mind. You can see her so clearly. The sadness, the anger, the rage in her eyes. All of it directed at you. 

As much as you wished her words were just empty insults, that they came from a drunk mind, that they weren't the thoughts rattling around your own mind. She was right. 

You were the reason Barb was dead and you are a coward who can’t even say her name, let alone see her parents. 

The words cut you deeply as soon as you think them. It physically hurts. You draw your knees into your chest, hoping that if you compress yourself enough, you can somehow hold yourself together. Fresh tears leak from your eyes, dripping onto your jeans as you hang your head forward against your knees. 

You wish you could disappear. That you could just fade away into nothing. To finally give in to the darkness. To let it take you in, swallow you whole, until you become a part of it. Anything would be better than this. You would do anything to get it to stop. 

“You look like shit…” a voice cuts off your line of thought before it can truly take hold. You make no move to look up at Billy, only able to see the toes of his boots as he stands next to you. The thought of him being here in one of your worst moments makes your insides twist. 

“An astute observation.” you bite back, hating the way your voice quivers. You hear Billy chuckle lightly and curse yourself for saying anything at all. You hug your knees tighter, preparing yourself for Billy’s scathing retort. You know that you’re a pitiful sight. Head hung, drunk, sick and crying curled up on the ground at a high school party. You fully expect Billy to comment about your abysmal state before returning to the party to inform his newfound pose. 

To your surprise, you feel him sink to the ground next to you. His shoulder is just barely touching yours but you can feel the heat coming off of him. You suddenly become aware of the chill in the late October air and find yourself wanting to sit closer to him. 

You don't. You’re frozen in your spot. Neither of you speak, the only sound between the two of you is the dull roar of the party and the click of Billy’s lighter as he lights a cigarette. You wonder what he could possibly gain from sitting here with you. You are on the darkened side of the house, no one is around to impress, it doesn't make sense. You come to the conclusion that the answer is nothing. He gets nothing out of being here in the dark with you, sharing silence. 

Finally, you hear Billy chuckle lightly next to you. 

“I remember the first time I got sick from drinking.” He muses. “I still can’t stand the smell of tequila because of it.” He goes on. You remain silent but lift your head slightly to glance at him. His head is leaned back against the house, the cigarette dangling from his lips as he gazes at the night sky. There is a slight smile on his lips at the memory. 

He turns his head towards you, his eyes catching sight of your tear soaked face. His smile is gone and he looks away as you do the same. After another beat of silence he speaks again. 

“But I have to say, crying over a guy? It's very ‘stereotypical teenage girl’ of you, loca.” He comments, shaking his head. His words confuse you for a moment. 

“What are you talking about?” You mumble, trying to wipe at your face with the sleeve of your t-shirt.

“I’m just saying,” he says, shrugging. “Crying over a pretty boy like Harrington. I didn’t take you for that type.” You only grow more confused. Billy thinks you're upset because of Steve? Billy chuckles to himself, his wolfish grin returning. “You ran after him like a little schoolgirl when you heard his girl was upset with him.” It starts to become clear what Billy is getting at. 

He thinks that you’re upset because you are in love with Steve or something. Like this is some sappy romantic drama. And the way Billy is convinced that he’s right has you outright laughing, spitefully. 

“Yup! You’ve got me all figured out! Boy! Am I really that transparent?” You say, sarcasm dripping from every word. Billy’s eyes cut to you, his brows drawing together. You roll your eyes. It’s hilarious to think that all of this could be over just a boy. You would be so lucky, if only it were that mundane. 

“Alright, smartass, what’s it about then?” He asks, taking another drag off his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in your direction. It stings your eyes and you look away, the sick feeling returning. Whatever amusement you found in Billy’s misinterpretation of the situation is gone as the reality of it falls over you once again. You run a shaky hand through your hair, trying to think of what to say. And how to say it to not sound insane. 

“It’s my friend…” You say, struggling to keep your voice steady. You pause looking at the dirt caked under your fingernails, picking at it to distract yourself as you continue. “I-uh-I really fucked up.” you oversimplify. “And now she hates me and…” your vision blurs with fresh tears “and I don’t blame her because-” you cut yourself off but the words still echo in your mind:

‘Because I hate me too…’

“Fuck that!” Billy snaps, as if he heard your thoughts. Your head snaps over to look at him. His eyes are already on you, and he looks upset. Not specifically mad at you, just angry. 

“What?” you ask, confused by his sudden anger. He shakes his head, a curl of blonde hair falling into his face as he looks at the cigarette between his fingers, before flicking it away into the grass. 

“It’s fucking stupid to let someone else’s opinion of you dictate the way you feel.” He says firmly. It’s a surprisingly insightful statement and even more surprising to have come from someone like Billy. A small part of you wishes that you were sober enough to truly appreciate it. “I say ‘Fuck em’!” 

That sounds more on brand for him. 

You seriously ponder his words for a moment. How can you completely write off what Nancy had said, when they were the thoughts that haunt your own mind. It wasn’t her opinion of you that was making you feel this way. It was the fact that she had spoken the truth you were too scared to face. 

You deserve this. 

“You don’t get it.” You mumble, hugging your knees tighter to your chest, glancing up at the night sky. You hear Billy huff and shift next to you. 

“Yea, maybe I don’t. But, I know one thing…” He pauses, watching you. “Crying about it is fucking pathetic.” His words are like a slap. Your eyes cut to him as he takes out another cigarette, lighting it causally. 

“Fuck you.” you grumble, turning away again.

“You wish, loca.” He shoots back. “You’re being a fucking baby. Nothing ever changes in the world because some bitch is crying about it.” He goes on. You try to ignore his words, feeling your skin prickle with anger. 

What were you supposed to do? Nothing was going to change what had happened. Your life and the lives of everyone you care about has forever been altered. If Billy has a solution for that, you are all ears. He didn’t know shit. 

You try to stand, shoving yourself roughly off the ground, planning on walking away. Unfortunately, the rush of movement has your head spinning. You stumble forward, but before you fall, Billy’s arms wrap around you, steadying you. You’re pressed against him for a moment and this close you can smell the alcohol mixed with cigarettes. But under it all… his cologne. 

“Jesus, you’re a fucking mess.” He taunts, smirking down at you. As you gain your bearings, you shove his arms away from you, placing a palm against his bare chest to push him away. The hard muscle under your hand doesn't move an inch, so you step back instead. 

“I don't need you to tell me that.” you say, glaring up at him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I don’t like hanging out with people that are mean to me.” you say, moving to walk past him. His hand quickly reaches out and grabs your bicep as you pass, stopping you. He leans in close, his face only inches from yours. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, his eyes locking intensely on yours. 

“Really?” He asks, his smirk growing, flashing his white teeth. “Sounds to me like you do, loca.” he says, condescendingly. The anger prickling at you skin, flares in your chest, pumping through your veins. All this bickering with Billy is pointless. You don't have the energy or time for it. All you want to do is leave this stupid party that you shouldnt have come to in the first place. 

You look down at where his hand is wrapped around your arm. His hand is large and in the dim light you can see the scars that litter his knuckles. You notice his grip loosen slight but still remains firmly in place. 

“It sounds like you're just feeling sorry for yourself. Throwing yourself a fucking pity party.” He says, his eyes searching your face. 

“Let go.” you say, keeping your head down.

“You’re just going to roll over? Is that it? Let them walk all fucking over you?” he continues, his voice raising slightly. “You let them treat you like shit, then what? You just cry about it?!” 

“Let go, I’m leaving.” you say again, louder. You can feel the anger rising up in your chest as he talks down to you.

“You’re fucking pathetic!” That’s it. You feel the damn break inside you. Anger washes though you like a flood.

“God! Just leave me alone!” you yell, roughly shoving his hand off of you. “I’m having a pretty terrible night and the last thing I need is life advice from some jerk?” you can feel the tears rolling down your cheeks, but you can't be bothered, too focused on Billy. “It’s so easy for you to stand there and judge me! To stand outside and give me shit! It’s so simple, right?!” You’re yelling now, watching as Billy looks shocked for a moment before his stoic mask slips back into place. 

“If you think you can do a better job managing my life, you go right ahead! Take it! I don’t want it!” Your breathing is ragged, your whole body shaking with rage when you finish. Billy’s eyes remain on your face, studying you calmly. There is a pregnant pause between the two of you. You become aware of the angry tears pouring from your eyes and you wipe at them spitefully with the back of your hand. You hate that you cry when you get angry and you especially hate that Billy gets to see that. 

“Good.” He finally says. You look at him, angry and confused. Seeing your look he smirks. “Being pissed off is better than sitting around crying about it.” he says smugly, nodding. “Focus on the anger next time, instead of letting them get to you.” You’re amazed to find that he is watching you with something akin to pride. It makes your stomach twist. He had been saying those things to get you angry, on purpose. To get a reaction. And you had given him exactly what he wanted. 

The way he is watching you now, like he did you a favour. Like you should be thanking him. It makes you feel like a fool. 

“I’m leaving.” you say once more. 

“Let me drive you home.” He offers, reaching for you again.

“No.” you say tersely, taking a step back. Your eyes meet his, hoping he sees the hurt and seriousness in your words. “I need to be alone. Just…”  you pause, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Leave me alone, Billy.” You plead. 

You have to look away from the confusion in his face. 

He doesn't try to stop you when you walk away this time.

Part 1, ...(Masterlist)... Part 11

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! Billy doesn't really know how to act and his way to helping is... not ideal. He want's reader to deal with problems the only way he knows how to, which isn't going to work. Leave a like or a comment! You guys are amazing!

Tag List: @official-starcourt-mall @lem0ns77 @bethii1 @wysteria-arts @fanficfanatic204 @theshinyrock @spacedaddydinn @raidxny @emmyawards1 @lucxxy @leia9817 @wounded-writing @taisab02 @goblinpit @howlerwolfmax @kilvru3 @blueberry-birdie @flamewriterr @im-julessssss @tsukibaby1 @taisab02 @mikeyswifie @superblyspeedydragon @let-love-bleeds-red @m-rae23 @msrawog @speakinglikeconstellations @taintedxkisses @pineapleavocado @hawkinsavclub1983 @arael-asuka @velvet-spider @extra-3motions @uniquecookiepainterbear @crimsonsabbath @mushy-mushroom04 @jevdidv @vermillionwinter @black-kitten-imagines @sammysgirl1997 @fillechatoyante @chaoticbilly @tmriddler @stanseventeen @katzenwahnsinn @wisdomcrys

#billy hargove x reader #imagine #reader insert #x reader #billy x y/n #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x you #billy harringrove #stranger things #billy stranger things #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x reader #billy x you #billy x reader #billy lives #fuck you duffer brothers #stranger things imagine #stranger things reader insert #stranger things s4 #st s4 vol 2 #st s4 #st fanfic #will byers #mike wheeler #robin buckley #eddie munson #steve harrington

[shares-a-vest]

He's Gonna Save Me, Call Me 'Baby'

wc: 1.1k | Rated: T for alcohol consumption (not excessive) | cw: post-breakup, angst with a hopeful ending

Tags: Future Fic (mid-90s), Post Stancy Breakup, Steve Harrington Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Platonic Stobin, Jeff (Stranger Things), Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin, Implied Future Steddie (only bc the end is a little vague)

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project. I chose the song, 'Jackie and Wilson'. Thank you soooo much to @subbaculture for setting up this event and making the banner!

(Read on ao3)

“Look alive, Dingus.”

Robin turns around to Steve and pats him square in the chest. He perks up, even though his best friend turns straight back to the entryway of The Hideout to wave at Jeff. He thinks it would be easier if Robin’s head were on a literal swivel with the way she has been whipping back and forth for the past hour.

Steve grumbles into his beer, pushing through the burn in his throat that still lingers years later as he laments the lack of Eddie following behind his bandmate.

He knows they had arrived too early for Corroded Coffin’s show, but Robin’s summer break from teaching came just in time – sue him for needing to spend every possible moment with his best friend.

Though he’d decided as soon as Robin announced her return to Hawkins that he wouldn’t mention the flowers he ripped up in haste in the back garden last week.

He’d done so straight after arriving home from the real estate agent, head hung in shame as he fully accepted yet another hard thunk on the head courtesy of Nancy Wheeler.

Well, it wasn’t so much a thunk this time as it was what Steve might consider, ‘divine intervention’.

He was in the backyard, tending to his small and still very much intact flower garden when a piece of guttering fell clean from the house, smashing through the window of the spare bedroom Nancy was using as her office – a room they’d falsely promised each other would be used for an entirely different reason.

But, much like his childhood home (which endured a mighty crack right through that cursed goddamn pool during Spring Break of ‘86), Steve found himself existing in a not-so-perfect house. One that grew increasingly cold as years of Upside Down dust and fog and smoke cooled Hawkins’s atmosphere.

A house that, with a broken and rusted gutter pipe, decided to remind them that shouldn’t – couldn’t – be playing house.

That’s all it really was: a pretend white picket fence dream that isn’t what Steve had meant by his vision of vacationing with a brood of Harringtons, Nancy by his side.

A dream that Nancy never wanted and got dragged into until her office window smashed in.

A dream that Steve thought was dead and buried the day Nancy rightfully picked through shards of glass for her things and left.

Buried until Eddie called him, saying that he had been talking to Robin (because of course, they kept tabs on him). He said the band would be back in town and that Steve and Robin should meet them.

And so, with a few beers warming his belly, burning his throat and sending a prickling sensation up his scar-covered sides, Steve found that nagging hope bubble up again.

He shakes his head, scoffing at his hopeless self as the sound of rhythm and blues music over the bar’s jukebox almost drowns out Jeff’s and Robin’s chattering.

Maybe he should be talking himself out of it. Finally acknowledging that years-old fleeting something between him and Eddie.

But he wants it.

And Lord knows he acts on a mere fleeting feeling.

Maybe history won’t repeat itself this time. Maybe the rusted gutter was one last divine thunk.

Maybe it won’t just be a first date. Or meaningless sex. Or bullshit.

He should have known that love with Nancy – a love long sucked down his old pool drain along with Barb Holland’s life – couldn’t prosper in the aftermath of an almost apocalypse.

They thought they were supposed to try, is the thing.

Staying in Hawkins. Keeping things at bay. Watching. Perhaps waiting for it all to come back.

But then it didn’t.

It all just lingered.

And they were left to pick up the pieces.

Right mistakes.

Move on.

They just didn’t need to do it together.

Steve pivots on his barstool, leaning an elbow on the bar top to get a better (hopefully seemingly more casual) view of the entryway.

He has seen Eddie over the years. Every Christmas at the Hendersons, sporadic visits home, a phone call here and there. The band hadn’t exactly made it big – at all, really. But they made enough to move around. Tour. Always returning to The Hideout for a one-off Tuesday Night gig as if nothing changed.

Steve looks around, thinking there might be three more drunks than the last show –

And there he is.

Eddie enters the bar with Gareth and George in tow and Steve swears a summer breeze flows in with him.

He looks good. Leather-clad as always. Pants impossibly tight. Jacket chains jangling. His hair still a river of wild curls.

But Steve sinks back on his seat as the trio makes a beeline for the stage, Eddie’s bright eyes turning into a dark frown as he orders the boys about, barely carrying a thing himself.

He probably had some theatrical excuse about his outfit, punctuated by manic hand gestures and a pout or two.

Steve watches as they dump their equipment by the one-step platform, each maneuver creating cacophonous thuds that reverberate through the bar. Jeff grimaces at the sight before shooting an apologetic glance at the manager and barkeep. The boys always did saddle him with sweet-talking the staff.

“Someone’s eager,” Robin teases, catching Steve’s smirk.

Jeff quirks a brow and stifles a smile.

“Shut up,” Steve chuckles into his glass before he downs the last of his beer.

“Eddie is really excited to see you, man,” Jeff nods, offering a nonchalant shrug just as Eddie begins making his way towards them.

Steve’s heart quickens.

There’s that something.

A something that is reflected in the glint in Eddie’s eyes as he smiles wide and waves.

Steve wiggles his fingers in greeting, shaking his head at himself almost instantly causing a lock of his hair to flop out of place.

George not-at-all subtly drags Gareth in Jeff’s direction.

“Over here, Gare,” Robin commands loudly through gritted teeth.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie says, his voice low as he steps forward to stand just close enough that yeah, Steve decides to roll with that hope again.

He reaches up to comb a hand through his hair but Eddie gets there first.

“Sucks about Wheeler, babydoll,” Eddie continues, allowing his fingers to scrape his scalp, carefully looking him over as he does so.

Eddie always is too much.

Everything.

A lot. All at once.

Seeing him.

Steve hums and Eddie soon stops, an embarrassed set of dimples dotting his cheeks as he likely thinks better of it given their current location.

“It was... all a mistake,” Steve admits, taking Eddie’s retreating hand.

He intertwines ring-adorned fingers with his own, refusing to let go of the hope tethering them, ready to start again.

#okay so this one is really different for me and... idk how i feel about it tbh 😅 #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #stancy #steddie #stranger things #lily writes a fic #stwg #steve harrington fanfic #stwghozierproject #tw alcohol

[chvoswxtch]

congrats on ur milestone!!! u deserve all the love and followers!!

can we get a margarita with matt something super angsty that turns out could be solved by talking or maybe some jealousy from him? up to u if it has a happy ending lol

nonnie,

i'm going to apologize in advance if this isn't the drink you ordered (& you're welcome to send it back and order another) but I saw 'angst' & 'matty' & 'up to you if it has a happy ending' & i'm rewatching season 3 of daredevil and I was clearly in a fucking mood (mario's in that damn gatorade again) so...

between emo matty & listening to sorry by halsey (which is the song that came to mind while writing this and is also v matty coded) this is what my gremlin brain came up with. 🤷🏻‍♀️

blurb below the cut

sorry

don’t realize how mean i can be

“No one has ever spoken to me like that. Not a stranger, not someone who doesn’t even like me, and certainly not someone that claims to love me.”

He wished that he could say he had never spoken that way to anyone, but that certainly wasn’t the truth. Ironically enough, he never thought of himself as an explosive person, but maybe it’s inevitable when you mix alcohol with a temper-fueled fire already blazing with ferocious anger and resentment. You hadn’t started the fire within him. You were just one of the many pieces of the bridge he was hellbent on destroying that night. Managing to make three different people hate you and erase you from their memory in one night had to be a personal record for Matt. He knew you wanted an explanation, but he didn’t have one. 

Was it even salvageable? All Matt could see was ash, nothing really left to restore. He wondered, what was the point? He couldn’t take back the words that he said. And maybe you could forgive, but you wouldn’t forget. He made sure of that. Perhaps you two could start over, put on a brave face for one another, pretend that the past wasn’t hanging around your heads like an ominous storm cloud threatening to pour at any moment. Maybe that would work. But it would be as effective as putting a bandaid over a bullet hole. Sooner or later, there would be nothing but blood. 

Why did he do it? How did it come to this? When did you become these people? Maybe Matt lashed out because he felt you slowly slipping away. The sun once rose and set with you. There wasn’t a moment you weren’t speaking, talking about your days, baring your souls to one another once the early hours of the night crept into the sky. But then Midland Circle happened. The he happened, and somewhere along the line, the messages came fewer and far more in between. You had both changed. You were out living a life he didn’t seem to play a leading role in anymore while he was still putting back the pieces together of his, and he was torn between feeling indignant and remorseful. But the blaze of anger didn’t even start because of you. It was someone else that lit the match. 

But you were the one out of them all that stayed.

Maybe Matt resented the person you thought he was, because he knew he could never be that person. You had this vision of him in your mind; gilded and polished. A man that was intelligent and kind, charming and passionate, maybe fucked up from time to time but always with the best of intentions. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe he was the man you saw. Not the moody asshole that destroyed everything he had built, except the barbed wire fence he encompassed himself in to avoid letting anyone too close. He wanted to be good, and he wanted to be worthy of your compassion and faith. But maybe he knew the truth all along, that he never would be.

So what do you do when you wanna bury all the evidence? To avoid being caught as a fraud and imposter who never should have come into the picture in the first place? Burn it all to the ground. Pour gasoline over everything you love, strike a match, and set a fire that burns so bright even God himself can’t fucking look away. And you do it with all of them until there’s nothing left. And if you wanna do one damn thing right, you set them free. You set her free. You take whatever’s left and your last match and you do the right fucking thing. 

So that’s what he did. 

He took whatever was left of that fucking bottle and poured it over himself instead of down his throat, taking his place among the embers and waiting for the flames to destroy everything that he had become until there was nothing left.

Maybe Stick had been right all along.

“I don’t know what else to say except, I’m sorry.”

You said that you needed time and space. He nodded, mumbling something that resembled an understanding, but he knew that you were gone, and you were never coming back. It was all gone. There was no second chance, no miracle, no do overs. It was done, and it was his fault. You were the flame that lit up his darkest moments, and he had put you out. You weren't perfect, but you were one of the best people that Matt knew. 

He always told you that you deserved more than the way people treated you that had claimed to care, yet he had been worse than all of them combined. Matt felt foolish for all of the times he had sank to his knees in desperation, begging God for someone, anyone. He begged for a sign, that his life wouldn’t always be plagued by trauma and pain. Maybe you were it, and he took it all for granted. 

You said you would call when you were ready to talk, so Matt waited by the phone. 

And he waited. And waited. And waited.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock blurb #matt murdock request #daredevil #daredevil blurb #daredevil request #court's 2k follower celebration #court's 2k friends celebration

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 3: There's Something In The Walls

Chapter Three.

I awoke, only to find my lungs empty, And through the night, so it seems I'm not breathing, And now my dreams are nothing like they were meant to be, And I'm breaking down, I think I'm breaking down, And I'm afraid to sleep because of what haunts me, Such as living with the uncertainty, That I'll never find the words to say, which would completely explain, Just how I'm breaking down

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 6,301

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, a little debut of a certain curly-haired metalhead, mentions of child death, outdated conversations about mental health disorders, mentions of alcohol abuse/addiction, Carol Perkins is a bitch™.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Chapter Three: There's Something In The Walls

Deciding that there was absolutely no point in heading to work late, despite knowing it would bite you in the ass once payday came, you wandered home still feeling a little unsettled about Nancy’s sudden fright, the girl unable to explain to you what spooked her so much that she’d nearly tore your arm right out of its socket as she dragged you along behind her.

A part of you was still angry that she had told Barb to leave the previous night, especially when she didn’t even want to attend the stupid party in the first place, and you couldn’t help the guilt that seeped in, chilling you down to the bone as you wished you could go back 12 hours and convince Barb to leave with you. Or to have stayed with her. Then, this whole thing might not have happened.

The more you thought about it, the guiltier you felt. About Barb, about losing it with Nancy. About Jonathan. Deciding that you’d had enough of your brain rattling around for some kind of conclusion as to why Jonathan had taken pictures from the previous night, and deciding that you would demand an explanation for the one of Nancy, reaffirming that it wasn’t okay and that he’d need to apologize to her and make it right, you turned your frustration outwards and stormed off towards the Byers household.

Knocking once, twice, three times before you’d heard a response, the door soon whipped open, a slightly disarrayed and majorly sleep-deprived Joyce answered the door, tired, red eyes wide as recognition flashed in front of them, her deep frown lifting considerably.

Before you could get a word out, she pulled you into the house, words tumbling from her mouth, “You need to see this. I need someone else other than me to see this.”

Once she let go of your arm, you furrowed your brows watching as she fumbled around the room, “I was just looking for Jonathan. Is he home yet?”

“I knew it was him. I just knew it. A mother always knows. It’s our intuition. I feel it in my gut. In my heart. It’s Will, I know it.”

Taking a second, you finally looked around the living space, realizing that Joyce had spent part of her afternoon redecorating.

The alphabet was spelled out in black paint across the wall behind the sofa, Christmas lights hung above the letters and strewn throughout the room from the ceiling. Sure, it was November, but nobody in town had their decorations up yet.

“Okay, baby, talk to me. Talk to me, where are you?”

Joyce rubbed her hands together for a second, distress clear as day in her wide, doe eyes. Before you could question her, maybe make a quick exit and wait outside for Jonathan so he could deal with his mother, the lights across the wall lit up, one by one, as if spelling something out.

R I G H T H E R E

“Joyce, I don’t understand what’s-”

Ignoring you completely, Joyce only became more perturbed, “How do I get to you? How do I find you? What should I do?”

“Joyce, this is insane. You’re talking to a wall-”

R U N

The lights began to flash, colored strings lighting the entire room in an uneasy hue that didn’t quite feel so jolly. Joyce grabbed onto your arm as she spun around, both of you watching as her wallpaper seemed to twist and turn as if something behind it was trying to crawl its way out.

A large, clawed hand finally ripped through, sharp nails dragging along the yellow wallpaper and ripping it to shred almost instantly. Backing up slightly, you pulled the woman with you by the sleeve of her shirt. Whatever was coming out of the wall definitely wasn’t human, and it definitely wasn’t Will.

Finally, after hearing the creature's screeches, Joyce followed you, both of you desperately making your way outside as the lights continued to flicker.

Letting go of Joyce’s sleeve, you ran in opposite directions as you tried your best to flee towards your own home, adrenaline pumping through your veins and somehow allowing your feet to carry you the entirety of the way without stopping. If only your Physical Ed teacher could see you now.

Arriving home, you locked the door and made sure to pull the thick bolt across before maneuvering silently through the house, doing the same to the backdoor. Thankfully, your mother was home, her snores could be heard from down the hallway meaning she hadn’t drank herself into such a drunken stupor this evening that she managed to get herself to bed before crashing, and a part of you craved crawling into bed with her, telling her everything you saw and having her explain it all away as she stroked your hair, just like she used to once upon a time when you were a little girl scared of nothing more than the pretend monsters under your bed.

Instead, you crawled into your bed still in your clothes and hid under the blankets, deciding that whilst keeping the bedroom light on would most likely drive up the electric bill, you couldn’t bear to turn it off, too scared and worried about what lurked in the darkness of this small, quaint town.

Thursday morning somehow came all too soon, and not soon enough.

You had seen every hour, felt it too. Waiting for the early November sun to rise and paint your room in the soft sky blue that brought you so much comfort and what was most likely a false sense of security. Things couldn’t hurt you in the light, could they?

Somehow, the daylight didn’t make you feel any less disquieted, an uneasy feeling of dread turning your blood to ice, struggling to flow through your veins as goosebumps puckered your skin.

Deciding that the only thing worse than heading to school today would’ve been staying at home in a basically empty house, you pulled yourself from the warm confines of your bed and changed out of your stiff clothing.

A warm shower did absolutely nothing to relax your tense muscles, only managing to wipe away the sweat that had accumulated from your cocoon of a bed, a child-like belief that if you couldn’t see the monster, the monster couldn’t see you.

Forgoing your usual coffee �� you were jittery enough without the added caffeine — it took you a minute to realize you must’ve left your school bag at the Byers, dropping it when you saw… whatever it was you saw.

Feeling your hands begin to shake at the reminder, you shoved them into the pocket of your denim jacket before leaving, ignoring both your bike and your mother's car as you made your way to school, knowing that whether it was two wheels or four, it definitely wouldn’t end well.

You’d managed to make it through most of your lessons, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as you found yourself staring off into space.

Completely dissociating, you almost flew out of your seat when your name was called, much too loudly to be the first time. Ignoring the barely stifled laughs and stares from the other students in your chemistry class, you followed Principal Higgins toward the cafeteria.

Making your way into the hall, you swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat, watching as officers Callahan and Powell sat opposite your disheveled mother, her arms crossed over her body as she tried to make herself as small as possible. You knew that feeling all too well.

Shame.

Her head snapped up as your sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floor, and suddenly you felt much smaller yourself. Sure, she was she angry that whatever you’d involved yourself in had reached police levels, but she was even more mad that it had also involved her. Dragging her to the school when she was so clearly hung over.

“Is this gonna be long? I got a shift soon.”

It wasn't a lie, technically. Your mother's shift wasn’t until 5pm, and you hadn’t even had lunch yet, the empty cafeteria being a stark reminder that made your stomach gurgle, somehow both hungry, but too anxious to eat.

“It’s just a few standard questions. Depending on your daughter’s answers, we’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Pressing her lips together in annoyance, eyes squeezed shut, you tried to force the realization that you shared certain habits with your mother out of your mind, “I don’t see why you need me here just to ask her a couple of questions. They say wasting police time is a crime, what about wasting our time, huh? One rule for one, I suppose.”

Powell lent forward slightly, hands clasped together as his eyes narrowed towards your mother, “Your daughter is still a minor, ma’am.”

His tone didn’t evade you, the man forcing his lips into a firm line as he sent your mother a less than impressed once over. You could smell the stale beer on her from here. Callahan, however, didn’t quite have the tact to keep his opinions from his face, his nose wrinkled slightly as he fiddled with the pen in his hand, hoping to get this over with already. They’d found Will’s body the night before in the quarry — which was most likely going to be the most exciting part of his career — and he didn’t see the point in wasting time talking to you when you claimed you had no answers, Nancy’s previous statement backing that up.

“Tuesday 8th of November, you attended a friends house, correct? A Mr. Steve Harrington?”

Rubbing your palms along your thighs, the coarse denim fabric kept you grounded slightly as you sent the officer a small nod.

“Uh, yeah. It was just a few of us.”

“And Barbara Holland was in attendance, correct?”

“Yeah, she drove me and Nancy there.”

Callahan continued to jot things down in his notebook, eyes barely leaving it, “And how long were you there for? Was Miss Holland still there upon your departure?”

Feeling your mother’s stare bore into the side of your face, you willed yourself to remain calm, praying that your leg wouldn’t start bouncing.

You felt stupid, really. You had left before Barb did, and you weren’t the last person to see her. You had no stakes in this, and yet somehow, you still felt like her disappearance could’ve been avoided if you’d just-

“Miss?”

Shaking your head in an attempt to clear your cluttered mind, you returned your attention toward the officers, “I stayed until 9.30, maybe? It wasn’t too late. Barb... Barbara was still there when I left.”

“And you haven’t seen, or heard from her since?” Powell asked, his gentle, dark eyes watching you from the other side of the table.

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to swallow down the guilt, “No. Nothing at all.”

The silence between yourself and your mother could’ve filled the empty hallways a hundred times over, the tension between you almost palpable as you walked further away from the cafeteria and the officers that sat inside.

Once she had deemed the distance far enough, she swiveled on you quick enough to make you flinch, eyes full of annoyance and disapproval, “What the hell was that about? Do you know how embarrassing it is to be called to the school like this? And by the cops of all people… Seriously, what the hell have you been getting up to this time?”

The bitter acid stained your tongue, begging and pleading before threatening to release itself from your mouth, but as usual, you kept your lips firmly pressed together, even if it meant the acidity burned you from the inside out.

Because, as the officers had stated, you were a minor. Your mother should’ve known what was going on, where you were, who you were with, and what you were doing. Maybe if she could make it through one evening without getting blackout drunk or ending up in whatever man happened to visit The Hideout that nights bed, she’d of known that you were out at a party on a Tuesday night, or about Will. Or Benny. Or Barb.

Or about whatever had happened yesterday.

Adrenaline began to pulse through your veins, turning the blood into red-hot lava you squeezed your eyes closed for only a moment, almost too scared of seeing that creature in the darkness behind your eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered pathetically as you finally met her gaze.

Softening slightly, your mother exhaled deeply, scrubbing her hand over her face as her eyes lost some of their fire, “This better not happen again. I’m exhausted and I have a shift later. I need the sleep.”

She needed to sleep off her hangover, you wanted to say, the woman’s years of excessive drinking written all over her too-lean body and etched into the dark circles under her eyes that sat a little too sunken on her face. You assumed that at some point, you’d get used to your mother's disheveled appearance, and sure, you were slightly jolted whenever she had a moment where she’d pull herself together, a little too short that week to buy cigarettes and alcohol and instead having to forgo one of them. You knew the bottle of pills she had on her bedside dresser didn’t help much, either, prescribed or not.

But the shot of pain, the ache in your heart that you were certain was another small crack appearing whenever you saw her stumble around, trying to get her bearings as the alcohol slowly dissipated from her blood but irreversibly scarring her mind and leaving her nothing more than a shell of her former self. It hurt to see her that way, no matter how normal it had grown to be over the years.

The sounds of her heels clicking against the floor echoed through your ears long after she’d left.

Squeezing your eyes shut one last time, you inhaled deeply before forcing yourself out of the hallway, making your way back to your history class. A tight grip on your elbow, however, caused a small yelp to fall from your lips as you were dragged into another hallway with a dead end, the large window looking out toward the football field,

“What the hell is wrong you with, Harrington?”

Your voice had jumped an octave, annoyance evident as you shrugged off his hand and looked towards the boy whose honey-colored eyes seemed too wide with worry, “What did you tell the cops? Did you tell them about the party? About the beer?”

Scoffing, you shook your head in disbelief before leaning against the locker at your back, “Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course, I didn’t tell them about a handful of beer that Barb didn’t even drink. Jesus Christ…”

Seeming to calm down a little, the boy ran his hand through his brunette locks a few times before leaning against the opposite wall, the hallway too narrow to fit in an opposite row of lockers, “Okay, alright. Shit. I’m sorry, okay? I just… Jesus, I don’t need my parents knowing about it.”

“Holy shit, do you literally only think about yourself? Barb is missing and all you care about is your dad taking away your car, or cutting your allowance? You’re worse than I thought-”

“You don’t get it,” Steve shook his head, pushing his back off the wall as you began to walk away, his fingers around your elbow once more, only this time his grip was much softer, “My Dad is a grade-A asshole at the best of times. I know your Mom’s too loaded to notice what you’re doing, but it isn’t a joke to my Dad, alright? He’s-”

“Everything alright here?”

The voice was familiar enough, belonging to another classmate who you’d often bus with at The Hideout whenever you’d have to cover a shift for your mother. His tone was clipped as his dark eyes roamed over you and where Steve’s hand was still lightly gripping your arm, an eyebrow raised under his fringe when he finally settled on the boy.

“It’s got nothing to do with you, Munson. Back off-”

A short, insolent laugh forced its way from his lips, “I wasn’t talking to you, Harrington.”

His dark eyes turned towards you once more making it all the more obvious that he was asking you, face a little more relaxed now Steve had released his grip, despite remaining close to you, “Everything okay?”

Wrapping your arms over your chest, you nodded, sending the boy a tight smile, “Everything’s fine, Eddie. Don’t sweat it.”

“This is ridiculous,” Steve huffed dramatically, running his hands through his hair once more when he realized Eddie wasn’t leaving any time soon, “Look, I’m sorry about Barb. Really, I am. I just… Forget it.”

Shoulder checking Eddie as he pushed by, you heard Steve grumbling under his breath in agitation as he stormed off. Waiting for him to be far enough away, Eddie turned towards you and sent you a soft smile, the dimples in his cheeks making an appearance, “C’mon, I’ll walk you back to class.”

You both remained quiet for a moment, neither too bothered about being caught outside of class despite the guaranteed detention it would inevitably end in. Once his nosiness had hit its breaking point, Eddie couldn’t keep the questions in any longer,

“Want me to block his exhaust?”

Unable to hold in the small laugh, you shook your head, “Yeah, that’s really not necessary. But thanks for the offer.”

“Didn’t realize you were friends with the enemy.”

Rolling your eyes at the boy's dramatics, you continued on your lazy walk, “I’m absolutely not, thank you very much. Harrington’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, preaching to the choir, sweetheart.” Eddie’s hands remained in his jacket, brows furrowed slightly, “Where are we heading, anyway?”

“History, with Click,” you sighed, hoping that if you just walked a little slower, the bell would ring before you got back. It took a few moments for you to realize Steve was also meant to be in that class, not that he didn’t get away with murder when it came to his female teachers. You’d seen the Harrington charm on enough of them to know he was untouchable.

“Ouch. Surprised you’re not ditching.”

“Like you are? You’re not gonna graduate if you don’t put in the work, Eddie.”

Shaking his mane of frizzy hair, Eddie scoffed and held a hand over his chest, as if your words had caused him physical harm, “I didn’t ditch, thank you very much… I overslept. I’ve only just got here.”

“Oh my god, that’s even worse,” you stressed, lips pulling up in the corners slightly, “and right in time for lunch, too? What a coincidence.”

“What can I say? I have impeccable timing.” He smirked, ignoring the fact he’d only just told you he was actually almost half a day late.

“You know, maybe if you got a tutor-”

Waving his hand in the air, Eddie released a non-committal noise through his mouth, “Ah, as if I have the money for that. Plus, I’m not gonna give two shits about a high school diploma when I’m touring around the world making sweet music. But if you ever wanted to lend me your homework, let me cheat off a couple of tests every now and then-”

Your sharp glare was enough to cut him off, “Cheating on a couple of pop quizzes won’t help you pass the actual exams, Munson.”

“Then you tutor me. I know you’re getting A’s on those papers you let me copy from.”

“You literally just told me you don’t have any money, and my services don’t come for free.”

“I can pay you back in other ways,” the boy’s eyebrows wiggled suggestively, causing your elbow to dig deep into his ribs, “Ow! I meant like, discounted weed or some shit. Get your head out of the gutter.”

Releasing an exasperated sigh, you stopped just short of your classroom door, “Somehow, I don’t think you’d even show.”

“You’re right, I probably wouldn’t,” he shrugged, continuing his walk, only now backwards to continue his conversation with you.

“Hey, aren’t you heading to class?”

“Nah, gonna go sign up for The Battle of the Bands at the end of the month. You should come check it out.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you tried not to raise your voice too loudly in case Mrs. Click heard and came out, “Seriously, Munson? What’s wrong with you?”

Sending you a wide, radiant smile that seemed to light up his whole face, Eddie chuckled, “Haven’t you heard? I’m the freak of Hawkins, baby.”

And with that, Eddie rounded the corner, making his way towards the music room.

You couldn’t have been happier to have gym class for your last lesson of the day. Being cramped inside a stuffy classroom felt almost as suffocating as being stuck in your own overcrowded head. So, despite your desire to never partake in any sport ever, running track today wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

Your thighs were burning as you pushed yourself harder than you ever had, as if you could physically outrun all of your problems, and for once your coach hadn’t had to reprimand you for slowing down into a walk as soon as his eyes were off you.

Your heart was hammering against your chest, ready to crack through your ribs and rip out of your skin as everything that had happened this previous week swirled around in your mind in a messy entanglement of vines. Was it really only a few days since everything in Hawkins had seemingly hit the fan? Jesus, it felt like a lifetime.

Your eyes darted toward the trees that lined the edge of the field, an uneasy feeling settling deep in your gut.

Was whatever spooked Nancy the other day the same thing that had spooked Joyce? If so, what even was it?

Maybe it was a hairless bear… But since when did they peel through from the outside of a house? Plus, last time you checked, bears had faces.

Maybe-

Before you could finish the thought, the world seemed to turn upside down for a second, your feet not touching the floor as a yelp slipped from your lips. Once you’d realized what had happened — the realization that you had, in fact, tripped in the middle of gym class — you squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment, committed to lying on the dirt track for the rest of your sad existence.

When you heard the giggling, you realized you hadn’t tripped. You’d been tripped.

Sucking in the air as if you’d been held under water for too long, your chest burned both with discomfiture and the need for oxygen. Crumpled in a pile, you groaned as you rolled onto your back, staring up at the powder blue sky, trying to swallow down your chagrin when a pair of light blue eyes peered over you, “Enjoy your trip, loser?”

You could hear the Coach’s whistle blow when they finally noticed you sprawled out on the floor, eyes darting between the group of kids who were barely holding in their laughter,

“Perkins, what’s going on here?” Coach asked, his eyes narrowing on the brunette.

Shrugging her shoulders, Carol raised her brows, looking down on you with faux concern, “I was just checking she was ok. Looked like she hit the ground pretty hard.”

Turning his attention to you, the Coach raised a skeptical brow, awaiting your confirmation as he held out a hand to help you up.

Once upright, you avoided the girl’s piercing stare, almost daring you to rebut her story, knowing damn well that you didn’t quite have the guts.

“Tripped over my lace, Coach.”

Sighing when you wouldn’t meet his eyes, he just waved you on, “Head on down to the Nurse’s station. I don’t want any blood on the track.”

“But I was almost-”

“Now. Nurse’s station. Go.”

A weak sigh fell from your lips as you turned, making your way toward the school, passing Carol’s idiot friends who were chuckling between themselves. If the Coach had noticed your very much still tied shoelaces, he didn’t bother to comment on it.

Deciding to veto the nurse's office altogether, you grabbed your bag from your locker and took an early exit from school, still in your track kit, ignoring the cool November chill on your bare legs.

Your knees had taken the brunt of your fall, skin grazed and bleeding, loose stones from the asphalt still lodged in them. You were sure it wasn’t anything you couldn’t wash out at home.

Pushing through the large school doors, the voice of Steve Harrington stopped you mid-step.

“Hey, wait up!”

Feeling uncomfortably warm at your previous embarrassment, you released a deep sigh as you turned to watch the boy approach you, “What do you want, Harrington?”

His cheeks were a dusty rose, the cold Autumn air had whipped at them as he’d speed walked after you, “I’m uh, I’m sorry. For Carol tripping you. That wasn’t cool.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, as if he was awaiting you to blow up on him, he remained silent as his eyes bore into your own, “It’s fine. Whatever.”

Beginning to walk out of the building, Steve continued to follow you, “I’m sorry for earlier, too. I didn’t mean to be so…”

“Insensitive?”

“Yeah. That.”

You weren’t sure why he was still following you, nor why you were allowing this conversation to continue, but you’d yet to hear of Steve Harrington genuinely apologizing for anything.

“And I do care about Barb. I mean, we weren’t exactly friends or anything but… I mean, nobody deserves to go missing, right?”

“Well done, Harrington. You have a conscious. Do you want an award or something?”

“Can you-” Steve grabbed at your wrist, gently holding you in place as he hung his head, eyes now focused on his trainers for a moment before exhaling and finally meeting your gaze once more, “I wanted to apologize for earlier, for how I spoke to you. But I also wanted to thank you. You know, for not saying anything that could get me in trouble.”

You wanted to call him out once more, ask why he was so obsessed with getting away scott free with his stupid, boring party when a girl was missing. But his downcast eyes remained solemn, the soft Autumn sun casting them in a hazel-hue that you’d never quite cared to notice before.

And for once, you wanted to ask Steve what he was so scared of. Why he was so worried. Why his father would be more concerned with his teenage son drinking the odd beer, more so than the teenage girl who’d disappeared from his yard.

Looking down to where you connected, you pulled your wrist out of his hand slowly, as if he were a scared animal and one sudden movement would pop the bubble turning him back into an absolute asshole again out of nothing more than self-defense.

His eyes were still on you when you peeked a look back in his direction, a small shake of your head as you sighed, “It’s fine, Steve. And you don’t need to apologize on Carol’s behalf. She’s a bitch, it’s really nothing new.”

Placing his hands inside of his jean pockets, he released his own pent-up sigh, as if the world was no longer placed upon his shoulders, “I do, uh… I do have a question, though.”

“If it’s about the pictures Jonathan-”

“No, no it’s not that,” his brows furrowed, still evidently annoyed at the boy, “It’s just… Nancy said that you two went back to my house looking for Barb, and something spooked her. Did you see what it was?”

“I didn’t see anything,” you answered just a little too quickly, despite it being the truth. When Steve’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, you swallowed down the lump that seemed to crawl up your throat whenever you thought of whatever monster seemed to be lurking in Hawkins, “She grabbed me and ran. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know what it was. You should really ask Nance-”

Running a hand through his hair, a displeased sigh escaped his mouth, “Yeah, she uh… She isn’t really talking to me right now.”

“I’m not here to fix your relationship problems, Steve.”

“No, I know. It’s fine, I just… She didn’t seem to know what it was, either.” Rocking back on the balls of his feet for a moment, he looked up towards the sky. “You need a lift home? Probably shouldn’t walk with that knee.”

“It’s a graze, it’s fine. But no. I’m good. I think I need the fresh air.”

“You heard about Byers brother, I take it?”

Your head shot up, brows pinched together as you asked the boy to repeat himself.

“I mean… It was on the news this morning. He was found in the quarry and… Shit, you didn’t know, did you?”

The blood in your veins turned to ice, leaving nothing but a cold shiver in its wake. Will Byers had been found. Rather, Will’s body had been found. And you’d spent the whole day trapped in your own head, worried about if what you had seen was real.

When Jonathan’s baby brother had been found dead.

“I, uh… I need to go.”

Rushing home, you didn’t think twice when you cut through the woods that led toward your house, a path you’d taken plenty of times before.

You weren’t more than 10 minutes out when the woods somehow seemed darker, despite the sun still high enough in the sky. Stopping, you felt dread fill your every limb, the inexplicable sense that someone, or something, was watching you.

Spinning on the spot, you realized that you could no longer hear the rustling of the trees as if all of the wind had been sucked out of the woodlands. And something that unsettled you so much more, was the sudden absence of sound.

No birds singing in the trees. No grasshoppers chirping. Nothing.

You were unsure whether your heart was going to lurch in your throat or drop out of your ass. All you knew was that you needed to get out of there as fast as possible.

Your once casual pace had turned into something just under a jog, the leaves crunching under your feet as you panted, sucking in too much air which only left you with a shooting pain in your chest.

Coming to an immediate halt, you spun on the spot again, kicking up dirt from the usual path, man-made from how many times people had stomped along it.

You wanted to call out, to confront whoever was there in hopes to spook them, but every fiber in your body begged you to just remain quiet as if your life depended on it.

A dark shadow darted just outside of your peripheral, causing a loud gasp to fall from your lips, barely covered by the hand that you’d clamped over your mouth. Spinning in that direction, you almost felt as if you couldn’t keep up, the tall, dark figure was always just a little too out of range as it circled you like prey. Stepping backward, the crunch of a twig seemingly echoed around the space, bouncing off the trees that surrounded you, followed only by an ungodly screech.

Flying into action, you darted down the long path, weaving between trees in an attempt to lose whatever had made the sickly sound. It wasn’t human, you knew that much. You could hear what sounded like trees being smashed into, roaring that made the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention and goosebumps prickle every inch of your skin.

You’d never been so happy to see the road out in front of you, the treeline finally coming to an end as a small cry slipped from your mouth. But the road was only met by more of the woods, lining the other side and essentially surrounding it.

Trapped. You were completely trapped.

Your feet hit the tarmac of the road and no sooner did you hear the screech of a truck’s breaks, the light bump to the side of your body forcing you sideways slightly, not quite enough to knock you over.

“What the hell are you doing out here? I could’ve killed you-”

Your head whipped around, and Hopper finally saw your face, tears streaming silently down your cheeks that even you hadn’t noticed as you heaved in deep breaths of air. His steel blue eyes traced your shaking body, your bloody knees stained with a thin line of blood, back up towards your trembling hands and eyes, dark with pools of fear.

“Get in.”

You felt too warm, sweat beading at your hairline as your chest racked in an attempt to force the silent sobs away, but you were unable to ask Jim to turn down the heater. Hopper remained silent for a moment, eyes darting towards you every now and then as he made his way along the long road, watching as you sat ramrod straight like your body was still uncertain about your safety.

“What happened, kid?”

Flinching at the sudden break of silence, your lip trembled, causing you to bite it harshly. It took a few more moments of silence before you found your voice, as broken and wavering as it was,

“I saw something.”

Jim’s hand pushed back his hat slightly, the man shuffling in his seat involuntarily as he cleared his throat. He’d spent most of the evening before comforting Joyce after telling her that her youngest child was dead. And he’d also spent most of the time listening to her babble on about how Will couldn’t have been dead. How he’d been speaking to her through the lights. How she’d seen something. Something that wasn’t Will, trying to force its way through her wall.

She’d also told him you’d witnessed it, too.

And despite his uncertainty around the case, he wasn’t sure he could handle another story that seemed so far out of this world. Unable to hide the skepticism in his voice, he kept his eyes on the road ahead of him,

“Was it the same thing you thought you saw at the Byers house?”

“How did you know about that?” Your eyes were wide and bloodshot as they turned to him, and he couldn’t help but wonder how little sleep you’d had the past few nights.

“Joyce told me. She was… adamant that she’d spoken to Will. That you’d both seen something tear through her wall.” Remaining quiet, you eyed him carefully, not quite appreciative of his tone, “I get you’re under a lot of stress right now. Between finding Benny and Barbara Holland’s disappearance, I get that it can be nerve-racking, that it can make you feel a little…”

“Crazy?” You swallowed, voice tremulous as you pulled your eyes away from him.

“I didn’t say that-”

“But you’re thinking it, right? You think that just because Joyce lost her kid that she’s lost her mind too? That I’m a ticking time bomb, waiting for me to start wandering around town talking to myself like my Grandma? Or drinking myself into oblivion like my Mom, right? Or, worst case scenario, end up in Pennhurst? Or dead? Can’t hurt anyone then, can I-”

“Hey! Hey… C’mon, I never said that-”

But you didn’t want to hear it. You couldn’t hear it. Especially not from him.

“I know what people think of my family in this town, Hop. I’m not stupid-”

“And you’re not crazy either, alright. Just tell me what you saw.”

Tears trailed down your cheeks as you sucked in a deep breath, “It was a… I don’t even know. It had sharp claws-”

“A bear?”

Shaking your head, you wiped your sweaty palms against your track shorts, “No it… It didn’t have fur. It didn’t even have a face.”

That stopped Hopper in his tracks, eyebrows almost pulling together as his lips pressed tightly against one another, “It didn’t have a face?”

“No, it didn’t have a face, Hopper. Alright?”

A pregnant pause passed between you both before Hopper finally asked his next question, “Was that why you were running? Why I almost sent you flying over my truck?”

“I don’t know-”

“You don’t know?”

Slamming your eyes shut, your jaw began to hurt from how harshly you clenched it. Turning your attention toward the man once more, more tears lined your eyes as realization hit you,

“You don’t believe me.”

Rubbing a large hand over the facial hair that covered half his face, he couldn’t help but look guilty, “It’s just a little hard to believe in general.”

“Stop the car.”

“What-”

“I said, stop the car, Hopper. Or I swear to God, I’ll duck and roll.”

Pulling over, Hopper watched as you tugged off your seat belt and clambered out of the car, ignoring his desperate calls of your name. Stopping before shutting the door, your lip wobbled slightly as you tried to swallow down the hurt,

“I don’t care what people here think of me, alright? But I didn’t think I’d have to include you in that group.”

Slamming his car door hard enough to make the entire vehicle shake, Hopper watched as you began your short walk home. Hitting his steering wheel, he knew he fucked up.

And whilst he didn’t quite know how to fix things with you, he knew he had to get to the bottom of whatever was going on in this shitty little town.

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut

[ashes-writing]

stranger things ● forever, pt 2 ● s.harrington

warnings

{ part 1 } <- can be found by clicking. everything else I've started will be updated asap. this just grabbed hold and i had to lean into it, that's why there are two updates for it in one day.

Angst, hurt comfort, internal angst (because reader/you and Steve apparently love to overthink fucking everything), baby talk (your kid is 3. she's still grasping speech.), so much dad!steve fluff omg, robin has a crush and might get the girl, (Barb. it's barb and i am fully prepared to die all alone on this hill.), small town judgment and rumors and shit ( if curious.. this has both to do with eventual Robin/Barb and also bc stevie, in my mind, looks like she could be steve's actual daughter bc drama ), huge changes to seasons 1 thru 4 (Everyone but Jason lives, Max is not in between life or death, Billy's brush with death has redeemed him.. slightly, starcourt is rebuilt, the portal to the upside down is closed PERMANENTLY), vaguely hinted at that Vecna may have mentally tortured Steve and it may have gotten in his head a little when Vecna 'attacked' his mind in my version of events for this, alcohol/smoking mentions, eventual filth (probably gonna have Steve's known breeding k*nk front and center, fwiw.), swearing, arguing, roommates trope eventually, slow burn (as slow as I can tolerate tbh ), reader has not had a very good life prior to Hawkins, ( more will come on that later trust me )

Reader/you are Robin Buckley's cousin. Reader/You was born female and you identify as female with female parts and a 3 year old daughter named Stevie and reader/you have personality + a past and backstory. This is self indulgent and I do not apologize.

word count

5302 exactly. I uh.. got carried away.

summary

“Okay, but.. For whatever reason, she’s attached to your friend. It might get annoying, Robin.” you point out after turning your attention back to the television for a few minutes and having a little more time to think about it.

Robin thinks what you’ve just said is hilarious and she’s doubled over laughing as she pauses to look at you and shake her head. “You don’t know Steve. Trust me. This will not get annoying for him. And anyway,” Robin rolls onto her stomach and looks at you, “He likes her.”

aka, the one in which Robin -and Steve also Barb watch Stevie while you try to interview for a job.

taglist + shoutouts

-- taglist is here. if you wish to be added click the bolded part to be taken to it. if you're here for eddie/gareth or other guys from ST and don't want to be tagged please let me know.

@allelitesmut

@chaoticcancer - just wait. my heart was also like ahhhh.. writing these two parts. I really hope you like this, thank you for reading!

@caravelofthesun

@dylanwritesgood

@eddiemuns0nl0ver

@just-a-blue-nerd

@music4life42

@slyisbehindyou

@spaceconveyor

@tbmunson bestie. babe. babesss. i had to do this okay? we needed it. and i proceeded to go ham. oopsies.

other links

masterlist ● steve's masterlist ● about + rules

TWO

You must've put in an application at every place imaginable all over town. It's been a week and the phone lines have been silent. You're starting to wonder if you'll get any callbacks.

"Will you relax? Someone will call, okay?" Robin speaks up from the doorway of her room. You sink down to sit on the bed. "I'm seriously having my doubts."

"They will." Robin is unwrapping a bomb pop and holding it out to Stevie. Stevie takes it and climbs up onto your lap. You grimace at her reddened shoulders from an afternoon spent in the kiddie end of Hawkins pool and she leans back against you as Robin leans forward to hit play on yet another movie Steve Harrington rented for your daughter. Tonight it's Alice in Wonderland and as the opening credits roll, you're surprised to find yourself wondering what he's doing at the moment. It's a thought quickly buried as deep as you can.

As Alice finds herself in Wonderland on the television screen, your aunt's landline rings and you slip off the couch so Stevie goes to sit in Robin's lap. Until she remembers the glittery 'picture' she drew earlier and goes to get them both because she's made one for Steve too, a little thank you for being so nice to her when she knows she might be annoying at times.

"Who's this one for?" Robin asks, looking at the squiggles, circles and squares covered in glitter and drawn in vibrant red marker beneath. The purple glitter is falling off the page, settling on Robin’s bed. 

"Steve. I make him dragon. Only he doesn't breathe fire, he breathes toasts."

Robin laughs and smiles. "I see that. I'm gonna put mine right here. On my bulletin board." She hugs Stevie again and Stevie is hugging back, playing with her hair.

"'Kay!" Stevie laughs, looking up at Robin. “I like Steve. He’s sooooo nice.”

“Oh you do, huh?” Robin laughs again. Stevie nods. 

You wander back in and Robin speaks up. “Well?”

“That was the secretary job I applied for? I’m a ‘risk’ but they’re willing to give me a shot?” you’re still a little shocked because when you applied for the secretary position at some office in town, they were literally the last stop. You didn’t think they’d even look at your application, let alone hire you. “They want me to come in for face to face interviews tomorrow.”

Then it hits you. Your aunt Janet has to work. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I can’t, Robin.. Your mom has to work.”

“And?”

“And, I can’t take Stevie. I also can’t leave her alone.” you bite your lip as you mull it over.

Robin speaks up. “I’ll take her to Family Video with me. I’ve got a shorter shift tomorrow and it’s gonna be slow as hell anyway.”

“Robin…” you eye her warily.

“I’ll take her.” Robin repeats, firmer. “It’ll be fun. Won’t it, Stevie?” Robin gazes down at Stevie. “A little help here?” she asks, fluffing Stevie’s hair. Stevie is nodding. “Please, mama? I be so good.”

“Okay, sweetie, but aunt Robin is working. You have to be a good girl.”

Robin laughs. “Relax. She’s an angel.” she looks over at you and now both of them are begging.

“Okay, alright. Fine. The second I have money again I’ll pay–” you start to tell Robin you’ll pay her but she’s already shaking her head. “You’re not. I wanted to do it.”

“Okay, but.. For whatever reason, she’s attached to your friend. It might get annoying, Robin.” you point out after turning your attention back to the television for a few minutes and having a little more time to think about it. You’re grasping at straws because you’re already seeing Stevie form a little bit of an attachment to Robin’s best friend slash co-worker and you’re just so afraid that sooner or later, the novelty is going to wear off for the guy, leaving your little girl heartbroken and missing something she’s never actually had and most likely never will.

A father.

Robin thinks what you’ve just said is hilarious and she’s doubled over laughing as she pauses to look at you and shake her head. “You don’t know Steve. Trust me. This will not get annoying for him. And anyway,” Robin rolls onto her stomach and looks at you, “He likes her.”

“Yeah. Now, in theory, when he only has to deal with her a few minutes here and a few there. A whole day with her underfoot is different.” you take a deep breath. “I’m just..”

“I get it. You don’t want Stevie to get too attached.” Robin mumbles quietly, nodding in agreement. “You need the job, right?”

“Well, yeah, I’d like to find an apartment sooner or later. I’d like to be able to do things for Stevie..” you trail off, letting the rest of your sentence go unsaid. Because Robin knows exactly how awful your mom was now, the two of you had a really long talk recently. You finally told her everything that’s been going on, full honesty. Instead of letting her believe everything was fine like you’d done before.

Robin nods. A grim look on her face as she shakes her head. “I wish you’d told me and Mom everything way sooner.”

“I didn’t want you guys to worry.” you answer, going quiet. “Okay, alright. Don’t let her annoy him, please?” you give Robin a pleading look and Robin nods. “I’m telling you though,” she insists, “Stevie is not annoying to him. Like… not even a little.”

“Robin.” you laugh and shake your head. “He’s probably got an image or something.”

“Yeah, as a giant dingus.” Robin states, laughing. “I know what you’re thinking. Just stop overthinking already, okay? Steve Harrington is a good guy. He’s not going to treat her like dirt because she’s three.”

You blow at damp strands as they fall down into your eyes. “I just.. She’s never really like.. Attached herself to a person like this before.”

“Could have everything to do with her mommy being stingy.” Robin teases gently, laughing as she looks up at you. Stevie wanders back in with a yogurt cup and spoon. Robin reaches out, pulling her up before you even get the chance. “Guess what, sparkles?”

“Yeah?”

“Your mom finally gave in. We win. You can come to work with me tomorrow.” Robin and Stevie share a laugh and Robin takes Stevie’s spoon and takes a bite of yogurt for herself. “We can watch movies all day.”

“Yay!” Stevie claps her hands together in excitement. “Will my fwiend be there?”

Robin laughs softly. You tense up slightly. Look at your daughter with a soft smile as you warn, “Sweetie, you don’t need to bother him too much, okay?”

“Otay.” Stevie nods. But she has no intention of listening because she likes being around Steve. He’s nice. Really nice. And he gives her piggyback rides sometimes. He tells her stories about dinosaurs and some weird thing called basketball that he used to play and really likes a lot. He showed her how to tie her favorite purple sneaker earlier when he dropped off her aunt Robin after work, because her shoe was untied and he said he didn’t want her to fall on her face.

CONTINUED

The morning comes too early. And it’s off to a not so good start. You’re rushing around because you forgot to set an alarm the night before, and the button’s popped off the only ‘suitable’ shirt you own for an interview.

Stevie’s missing her shoe and she can’t find her current favorite stuffed animal, a stuffed husky that Robin won out of the claw machine outside of Big Buy when they went in to pick up groceries for your aunt Janet. So she’s upset. Robin spots the shoe and holds it up. “Aha! I knew it was in here somewhere!”

“Fank you!” Stevie throws her arms around Robin’s neck. Robin grabs the hair brush from her dresser and motions for Stevie to sit in front of her. You laugh. “She’s tender-headed.” you warn as you flip over your own hair and try to make something out of the wild and thick mess of curls you have going on now, no thanks to your old reliable blow dryer quitting earlier. You’re in the midst of scrunching your hair to create a more defined curl pattern when Stevie wanders over, bending down to look up at you through a curtain of hair. “Mama! Mama, your skirt dirty.”

“Shit.” you say it without stopping to think and just as Stevie looks as if she’ll repeat it, you tack on quickly, “Mommy didn’t mean t’ say that, cupcake. You’re still a baby. That’s an adult word.”

“I know.” Stevie answers, giggling. “It sound funny.”

“It’s not, though.” you smile at your daughter and laugh softly. “You’ll let your aunt Robin braid your hair but you won’t let me? I might cry.”

“Don’t, mama. It’s just aunt Wobin do it better!”

You pout a little, flipping your hair over to stand and look in the mirror. Robin notices the stain on your skirt too and nods to your aunt’s room across the hall. “My mom’s got a suit or something? I think?”

You nod. After digging through your suitcase, you happen to find a modest -and totally shapeless, t shirt style black dress, you grab that and rush down the hall into the bathroom of the trailer to change. 

“This looks like I’m wearing a trash bag. If I wind up working at this place I’m gonna have to get dressier stuff.” you wrinkle your nose at the thought. Because it’s money you don’t want to have to spend, but if you could luck into getting this secretary job, you’d be thrilled because it’ll be more money than you’ve ever made at once before.

And the job actually has insurance.

Robin’s friend Barb pulls to a stop outside and Robin’s giddy, laughing and smiling as if she could float. She drops a quick kiss to Stevie’s head and hugs you, lingering in the doorway. “I’ll see you in a little bit!”

You laugh and nod. “Yeah!”

After Robin’s gone, you scramble some eggs and squeeze an orange to make some juice for Stevie and as she eats ketchup covered scrambled eggs and a piece of fried ham, you try to finish getting ready.

You hate the shapeless dress, it’s one of your least favorite articles of clothing and even adding a belt to it doesn’t do anything to make it look better. You laugh at yourself in your cousin’s full length mirror on the back of her closet door and you toss the belt at your open suitcase on the bed. “Just get it over with. You’re probably not getting the job anyway, they said you were a risk to hire.”

Stevie’s sitting on the floor watching you. “We go, mama?”

“Yeah, we should get going,cupcake. Turn off the tv.”

Stevie pushes the button to turn off the television atop the dresser at the foot of Robin’s bed and you scoop her up,carrying her out. As the two of you walk out of the trailer, the girl with red hair is outside skateboarding again.

Stevie gives her a wave and the redhead waves back, quick to turn back to her skateboarding. The muscular blond with the mullet is leaned in the open door again, you can feel him staring. When he grins at you, cigarette smoke billowing out of his mouth, you manage a stiff wave and turn your attention to getting Stevie fastened into her car seat.

It’s a hard pass on the guy for you. He’s exactly the type of guy who fathered Stevie when you were 17. You are not going down that road again. And as you slip into the driver seat, a thought pops up out of nowhere. Surprises you a little when it does.

,, he’s not as handsome as Steve Harrington, either.” and as soon as this thought rises, you’re quick to shove it back down.

He’s definitely not an option.. You know, if you were even considering anything. The last thing any guy your age is going to want is to get a package deal and you’re just not willing to settle for anybody who won’t love and cherish your little girl as much as you do.

As you drive into town, you hum along with the radio, watch as the tree lined blacktop turns to buildings and houses. You pull to a stop in the parking lot of Family Video right around the same time that Robin and her friend Barb are pulling to a stop. You watch as Barb leans in closer to your cousin and you smile softly to yourself.

Robin mentioned someone in her letters around Valentines Day. You’re wondering if Barb might be the girl she mentioned. You hope so, because the way Barb looks at your cousin when she’s not looking is the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen with your own eyes, hands down. Robin spots you as the two pull away from their super close conversation and she grins brightly, waving.

As Robin and Barb wander over, Stevie’s already grumbling as she fusses with the way her upper harness in the seat likes to hang up. “I just wanna get out! Stupit buckle.” as she fumes and keeps trying to work with it, you lean over and unfasten it. Gently caressing her chubby little cheeks as you look into big brown eyes. “Mama will be back later to get you, alright? Be a good girl for aunt Robin.” you go quiet, adding a second later, “And don’t bother Steve so much when he’s working, please?”

“But mama..”

“Stevie Robin..” you using her first and middle name has the  desired effect, but she’s pouting and not happy about it. “Otay! I try not to bother him! But if he wants t’ play, I not stop him.”

You laugh softly and press a kiss to her hairline. As Robin opens the door and scoops up Stevie, she’s laughing. “Ready for a big adventure, sparkles?”

“Uh-huh!” she laughs and smiles, hugging against Robin. One of her braids is already trying to come undone. You smile at Barb. She smiles back as she reaches for the old backpack you use to keep everything Stevie needs inside when you have to leave her with sitters and you fight down the usual guilt that comes rushing up when you’re thinking about just how well used that backpack is by now and how it means you hardly get to spend any time with your daughter like you always dreamed you would when you were little.

The time your own mother refused to spend with you.. Unless, of course, she took you along with her to try and ply single men by playing the single mom who needs sooooo much help card. 

“She’ll be fine, ___.” Robin’s gentle teasing and the reassuring grin she gives you has you nodding. Smiling at her even though leaving Stevie with them while you go off for an interview is the last thing you want to be doing.

You’d rather be spending all day with your little girl. Making a blanket fort in the living room of your house. Making crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as you both lie around, you reading her book of Grimms fairytales to her. Cuddling. Until the man you love comes in from work, where you’d have a nice home cooked meal, not something frozen or canned or even burned beyond recognition.. The life you didn’t have and always longed for as a kid.

,, you really need to accept the fact that this is your reality. Unless you want to turn into her, parading an endless string of faceless and nameless ‘uncles’ in and out of your life, always leaving you hurt and confused when they were gone and she was mean and bitter all over again.” the thought comes and you shove it out.

You watch as the three of them disappear into the video store, door banging shut behind them. And then you put your car into drive and pull out, merging with traffic. Journey is playing on the radio so you hum along and you hope it’ll distract you from a full to bursting mind. You’re just focused on doing your absolute best at this interview. Because you have to get money coming in somehow.

CONTINUED

Steve’s flipping through the channels on the old tv set that sits down on the counter out of sight. His legs are reclined and he’s just.. Fighting the urge to pass out from exhaustion.

To say sleeping through a full night since March has been a struggle would be a gross understatement. It’s been literal hell on Earth for him because every time he starts to doze, he can feel the earth rumbling beneath him. The sensation of free falling and then a hard thud as he connects with solid. And then he can hear Vecna’s evil laugh all over again. The way Vecna forced him to watch his worst fears and deepest secrets play out in front of him just to torture him. He had to watch everyone move on and leave him behind. He had to watch as his parents just went on with life as normal after his ‘death’, totally unaffected. He had to hear every single dark thing he’s ever thought or felt but never given a voice to, on repeat. 

It’s not until his alarm’s going off every morning that the torment stops as Comfortably Numb starts to play and brings him rushing out, into another long day.

It was the same this morning and yet somehow, it wasn’t. Because Robin let it slip that Stevie was going to spend the day with them while you were interviewing at one of the offices in town for a secretary position. And somehow, knowing the little girl was going to be around to distract him all day just made things a little better.

She’s eating gummy bears that Robin and Barb stopped at the gas station in town to buy her as she makes her way over to him and motions for him to pick her up. “Tell me more about baske..About the game.” Stevie asks, holding out her bag of gummy bears to Steve as she smiles. “I wanna play too.”

Steve chuckles.

“Hang on, little bit.” he reaches for the remote, “Maybe there’s a warm up game on or a replay.” he flips through stations until he finds the channel he’s looking for. “That’s basketball.” he nods to a replay of an old Bulls game. “I used to play in high school.”

Stevie’s eyes fix on the television and she holds the bag out to him again. Steve takes a handful of gummy bears and pops them into his mouth as he arranges Stevie on his lap a little better. 

As this is happening, Barb nudges Robin. “I never thought I’d see this happen.”

Robin laughs softly and nods. “Me either. From what __ has told me, Stevie doesn’t meet strangers though.” she shrugs, “Does he seem off to you too lately? And it’s gotten a little more obvious since Nance and Jonathan left town.” 

“It has.” Barb admits, leaning against Robin slightly. Not enough to be obvious or invateRobin’s personal space but enough that she can feel the slight weight of the other girl and just..be close.

She wishes she could be so much closer. But she doesn’t know how to even begin telling her.

Robin feels her cheeks burn at the slightest hint of contact and she bites back the smallest whimper threatening to break free. She forces herself to pull together and calls out to get Steve’s attention. “Dingus, don’t get her into sports!”

“Looks fun!” Stevie is grinning and she’s turned herself to face Steve. “Open your mouth.” Steve opens his mouth as the little girl’s asked and Stevie tries to toss a bear in but she misses. The blue gummy bear settles on the front of his new polo shirt and he picks it off, eating it.

The bell over the  door jingles and Robin glances over to see who it is.

“Harrington! Yo! Dude!” Billy’s calling out Steve’s name as he wanders the aisles to search for his former enemy turned friend. He finally gives up the search and stops in front of Robin and Barb. “Either of you seen Steve or do I need t’ go over and drag his broody ass outta bed again?”

“Right here, Hargrove, jesus.” Steve speaks up. Billy nearly chokes on the gum he’s chewing as he sees Steve sitting behind the counter with the cute little 3 year old daughter of the hot mom living across from him and his stepsister and her mom in Forest Hills. “You stealin kids now, Harrington?”

“I came t’ him.” Stevie sasses, leaning in against Steve just a little. Steve laughs and shrugs. Robin speaks up. “Yeah, he stole her from me! It took two hours to convince her mom I’d be able to watch her today when she went in for the interview. He’s had her since Barb and I got here.”

“You get her all the time, Robbie.”

“And? She’s my sparkles.” Robin argues back with Steve playfully. Billy chuckles. When he spots the game on tv he laughs to himself. “Girls don’t like that sh–”

“Mama said that’s adult word.” Stevie warns, giving Billy a very stern little look. Billy snickers. “It is, huh?”

“Mhm.”

Steve looks up at Billy. “She wanted to watch it, actually.”

“I did!”

“Anyway, what’d you want?”

“You’re comin with me tonight, dude. Munson’s band’s having a gig at the new bar. Told him we’d go.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Fuck no. No you don’t, Harrington. I’ve got tomorrow off, I’m not gonna waste th’ night sober.”

Steve grumbles but shrugs. “Not like anything else is going on. Okay, fine.”

“I guess you can drive the Camaro because I’m not gonna be seen in the grandma mobile.” Billy smirks, he’s purposely being a shit now, hoping that maybe if he just keeps treating Steve like the way he treated ‘old Steve’ it’ll eventually piss Harrington enough to bring out just a little of the fight and spunk that’s been gone completely since March.

He’s really worried about Steve. He figured him out fairly easy right after he hit Hawkins their senior year. So he knows that walking out of the station with Eddie to his waiting car after everything played out in March.. Seeing the girl he wanted to be with more than anything reunite with a guy she claimed she ‘wasn’t sure about anymore’ when they looked like they’d reconnect. Billy knows this killed Steve.

And then there’s the whole Vecna thing, something Steve absolutely refuses to talk about with anyone. Even Robin, his best friend.

Billy just doesn’t want to see Steve go down the path he’s been down already.

“You loud.” Stevie mutters, giving Billy a dirty look as she leans against Steve’s chest and nods to the little television set. “We watch baske..” she gives up, “the ball game.” and Steve chuckles.

“Bas-ket-ball. C’mon, try it.”

“It’s big word! I 3.”

“And you’re really smart for 3, Stevie. C’mon, try it.” Steve coaxes.

With a little grumbling, he gets her to attempt sounding out the whole word. When she finally says it, she’s laughing and smiling, clapping chubby little hands together. “I said it! Aunt Wobin! I said it!”

Steve laughs. “You did.”

Billy snickers. “Try this one, shortstuff.. C-a-m-a-r-o.”

Stevie gives him a blank look and places a hand on her hip. “What that?”

Billy gestures to his haphazardly parked car outside the store and grins proudly. “The best car ever.”

“Uh uh! My mama’s car is best.”

Robin and Barb laugh. “Oooh.. a three year old just burned you, Hargrove.” Barb taunts and Robin laughs, " How'd that feel, Billy?"

“Shut it, both of y." Billy grumbles. "I'll be over at 9, Harrington. You're going if I have t' drag you."

"I said I'd go. Jesus." Steve gives Billy a dirty look. The guy has gotten it in his head lately that he's gonna make it his daily goal to find ways to annoy Steve.

Billy leaves and Stevie scowls at the door before looking up at Steve. "He's loud. It scare me."

Steve smoothes a hand over her hair. "He does, huh?" he looks down at Stevie and smiles, "I'll tell him to calm down, 'kay?"

"Fank you. I gonna go to aunt Wobin now. But I come right back." Stevie slips off his lap and makes her way over, instantly picked up by Robin. As she sees the movie Gremlins, she reaches for it and Robin laughs. "Sparkles, they don't stay fluffy the whole movie."

"Why not?"

"Because someone fed them after midnight." Barb answers, laughing. "Did you get tired of watching the basketball game, bub?"

"No. Just wanted to come t' you for a while."

CONTINUED

The afternoon is dragging by for him. Hardly anyone's come in since 9 that morning and the pattern seems destined to continue. Then there's a steady drizzle from a surprise afternoon storm as the rain drops pitter patter against the stores tin sheet roofing. Robin and Barb went to get the four of them some lunch and Steve flips the sign on the door from open to closed.

Stevie is asleep in his chair at the circular desk, huddled into a jacket he kept in back in case the store got too cold. The bag of gummy bears is dangling from her fingertips and about to settle on the floor when he decides maybe she'd be more comfortable on the couch in the office besides the break room.

But he's so damn tired, the 2 to 3 hours he's been getting a night since late March, those are catching up to him. He tells himself he'll just sit there and read a magazine while she naps but it turns into him laying down too, on the opposite side of the couch. And at some point, Stevie wakes up, comes over to where he's laying and crawls onto the couch with him, laying on his chest with her little arms around his neck.

This is how they're still sleeping when Barb and Robin come back a few minutes later. Barbs the one to find them and with a finger to her lips, she gestures for Robin to come to the door of the office. Robin peers in over Barb's shoulder, smiling to herself.

"Hang on. I actually think I have my camera with me out in the car." Barb hurries out to go get the camera and Robin stands in thr doorway watching the two of them sleeping on the old leather sofa. "___ is totally wrong in thinking Stevie is going to annoy Steve and I think this is exactly what he needs right now."

After Barb takes the picture, she and Robin decide to put the fast food they picked up for Steve and Stevie into the microwave and just let them sleep.

You make your way in, a brow raised at the silence. You're still processing the fact that somehow, you impressed the office interviewing you so much that you got the job. Robin grabs your wrist and practically pulls you to the office in back so you can see the way Steve and Stevie are sleeping on the couch.

"I hope she didn't bother him all day."

"She didn't. They crashed while we went to pick up food. Steve hasn't been sleeping at all and I think Stevie playing with Will when he came in with the other kids earlier tired her right out." Robin smiles, "by the way, Steve's kids have adopted her.. well, Max, she's still warming up to her but..pretty sure if you want a sitter all you have to do is say so."

"Steve's kids?" you question, brow raised. This leads to Barb and Robin sitting you down in the little break room and as they tell you everything, from the start to what’s only just come to a close -hopefully for good, as of March, you're gaping. “You..He.. Oh my god, why did nobody stop it? Like.. they had to know, right?” you’re looking at your cousin in concern and if you thought Robin Buckley  was a badass before, you really believe it now. Because all she does is shrug it off as if it were nothing. 

"The running joke is that Steve's kind of adopted them all..because we've been through so much." Robin goes quiet. Weighing how much she can tell you without you freaking out on her. Even thinking about the insanity she’s been through the past few years is still a lot for Robin to get her own head around, let alone try explaining it to someone else. 

"Wait..back up." You're trying to process it all, from secret government science labs to these kids -and their teenage counterparts, including Steve and Robin, having to fight as if they were in a war just to save the town. Robin can see you freaking out so she explains quickly, "Billy,Dustin Eddie and Steve saw the portal close because Eddie almost didn't make it up. That nightmare is over now, thank God."

,, well, you think to yourself, now I'm really fucked when it comes to finding a reason, any reason at all to keep from getting feelings for the guy." and of course, this is quickly overruled by one thought.

He's in the prime of his life. He probably wants to enjoy that. He probably doesn't want you and all your baggage plus your daughter. And thankfully, this is just enough, for now, to keep you from letting yourself get in too deep. 

Steve wanders in with Stevie on his hip and his hair sticking up everywhere. Stevie has never liked waking up before she's ready so she's got her sour face on. Steve hasn't said a word to anybody, he possibly hasn't noticed the three of you sitting at the table in the break room or the way you're staring hard right now yet.

He heats up Stevies food and then his own and when he turns around, he finds himself being watched intently by the three of you.

You smile at your daughter. Everything Robin's just gone into detail to tell you comes rushing back and in light of it, you decide that maybe he needs this. Maybe it's okay to let her seek him out until he says otherwise.

"Did you have a nap, cupcake?"

Stevie is still yawning. Steve sits her chicken nuggets down on the table and Stevie climbs into your lap to eat them. "We did, mama! And we watched movies and this boy came and he gived me crayons!" Stevie digs in the old and faded backpack until she finds the crayons that Will gave her earlier.

You laugh softly. 

"How'd the thing..the interview go?" Steve asks, locking eyes with you as he bites into his own double cheeseburger. 

"How did that go?" Robin asks.

" I got the job. And they're willing to let me bring Stevie if I need to." You smile. 

Steve is staring. And as you smile, he feels himself smile too because there is just something beautiful, something contagious about your smile that he can't help but do it too. 

"That's great!"Robin hugs you and you both laugh. 

"I start tomorrow. I'm working in the mornings, so open to 2?" 

You're excited. Maybe everything will finally start to go better for you and your little girl.

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x single/former teen!mom!reader #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x buckley!cousin fem. reader #<- my writing ● steve harrington #<- warnings | angst - single/former teen mom - post s4 with s4 / show changes - see warnings above. #<- warning | female reader - robin's cousin - female parts - 3 year old daughter - female clothing; etc - personality + a backstory and pas

[theunaveragepsychoticbitch]

Drunk n' Love

Top!AMAB!Reader x Bottom!Sub!AFAB!Barbatos

[Human Barbatos, drunk sex, heavy focus on dirty talk, dubious consent (Reader is fairly sober), mid focus on reader being an aggressive person, reader and Barb are life long friends, creampie]

You glance to your left worriedly as Barbatos downs another shot. You know he can hold his liquor, yes, but... Things were quickly reaching excessive levels.

You blow out a puff of air and finish your own shot, snatching the bottle up with your free hand as you see him go for it again.

"Barbs, I think it's time to-"

"Fuck."

You blink, then say, "Well, that works too I suppose." You laugh at your own joke, amusement morphing into confusion at the serious look on his face.

"Barbatos?"

Even though he's so obviously shit faced drunk, the look in his eyes still makes you think twice. It's intense, holding your gaze as you cock an eyebrow, intrigued by the change of mood.

Face flushed from the alcohol, he sways while sliding across the couch, not stopping until you're touching in several places.

His lips purse into a pout, a sight you're 100% sure you'll never see again. Red as he already is, his blush somehow finds a way to deepen, and you pick up on the ghostly whispers of lust entering his body language. Legs spreading slightly, the way he's rubbing up on you- one part of you wants to play dumb, while the other wants to see where this is going.

"...Well, that's definitely a new expression, haha."

For a moment, your friend only stares, intensifying your awkward feelings. How the hell did he expect you to handle a situation like this? You've had plenty of friends sleep with you while drunk, but this is Barbatos. He's not just some friend- not just someone you can fuck and forget about the next morning.

Your attention is drawn back to him when he sighs, his eyes closing to half mast so he can view you through his lashes.

"I love you." Just like that, he's changed both your lives with three little words.

And despite the life altering revelation, he merely sends you another of those soft, sweet smiles you've grown so used to over the years. Eyes closed, his grin seems stuck to his face as he rubs his body against yours, cutely nuzzling into your neck so he whisper in your ear.

"I want you. Want you on me, touching me. Treat this body like a toy made solely for your amusement."

He sighs your name dreamily. The kind of sigh you hear in movies when the actor monologues about marrying their crush, as opposed to drunkenly telling said crush how they want to be dominated.

"You're... Not in your right mind right now. We can talk about this later, but right now-"

"Right now...? Yeah, I want you inside me right now. I need you, [Name]. Have been needing you. Why didn't I say this years ago?"

Your best friend is telling you about how much he wants you to fuck him, yet it's the revelation that's he loved you for years that makes you blush. Years? How were you dumb to this for years? All this build up, his emotions reaching such a boiling point that they explode in the form of whispers in your ear as he rocks gently against your waist.

"I fantasize a lot..." he pants, and you notice he's started palming himself through his pants. "And dream. So many dreams. Waking up sticky and wet thinking you'd finally fucked me, only to find myself alone again. It's so lonely, Hon, touching myself to the thought of you. I wish you'd touch me,"

His tongue traces the shell of your ear and you shiver, unable to tear yourself away from the erotic display. "I love you, [Name]. I love how you make me feel. My heart flutters when you call me pretty. When you get mad on my behalf, and go on rants about how special you think I am. Everytime you touch me I'm filled with butterflies. You're so nice to me, I feel loved when I'm with you."

"Till the end of times, in your embrace... We don't even have to fuck. It'd be nice though, having you inside me all the time."

"Want, want, want. You seem to want a lot of things from me, Barbatos. If I didn't know better, I'd be surprised at all this hidden greed."

He giggles, an oddly airy and innocent gesture considering... Everything, really.

"It's embarrassing... To admit but, ha... It's such a turn on, when your more violent tendencies kick in, and you get all aggressive. You're capable of such terrible things, and I want you to do terrible things to me. Terrible, terrible things..." Hot, bated pants break up his sentence as he slips his hand inside his pants. His humping immediately intensifies, and between the desperate, doe-eyed look he's giving you and the erratic humping of your side, you don't know where to look.

You hear the wet sound of his fingers entering his hole. His tongue is hot as it traces the shell of your ear. "Abuse me, please. Manhandle me, I want nothing more than to be your's. Please. You don't understand how deep inside me I want you..."

You're stiff in more ways than one. You've been shamed for your rather... Extreme, methods several times. Barbatos has ways been supportive of you, even when you flew off the handle and land both of you in trouble. Hearing that somehow, someway, he finds that attractive is... Eye-opening.

Suddenly he moans loud in your ear, seemingly having hit his g-spot. Tears bead in the corners of his eyes as he opens them and smiles wide at you, pure in the face even while fingering himself in front of you.

"This feels so good, [Name]. Don't you want to know how good I feel?"

Can you say no to that truthfully? No. And you both know it.

His back meets the couch, and you must say, you've never seen someone so happy about having their clothes ripped off. He's just as eager, and soon your clothes are a distant memory.

Hands, everywhere. He moans at the sight of your cock; it's everything he's ever dreamed of. The tip, blushed red and leaking, rests on his cunt. "Please, let me do it. I'm so happy right now Hon. Please, allow me to please you."

You nod, but that doesn't mean you plan on neglecting him. You switch positions, and he grinds up and down your length as one hand teases his nipple and the other, his clit. With every roll of the nub beneath your skilled fingers he twitches, sultry moans filling the air as you both begin to lose yourself to the pleasure.

Barbatos slides up once more, and sits down on your cock all at once.

The unexpected move leaves you dazed as you cum. Barbatos feels himself being filled and cries, hoping desperately this isn't a dream. And if it is, he never wants it to end. High off you, he starts to bounce hard, and you grip each other tight. He's so tight, so wet, so warm. It's dizzying, and when he clenches you get dangerously close to cumming again.

"I feel good, right? Am I pleasing you? Tell me you like it Hon, tell me you want me."

You're not sure you're still able to form coherent words- oh well. You've always done best communicating with actions anyway.

You flip him over and right off the bat, you've set a rough pace that leaves his eye rolling back, his back arching, and his mouth wide open as he moans his declarations of love.

You take the opportunity and kiss him, sucking on his tongue and exploring his mouth. Barbatos, who'd been holding back his orgasm in hopes to keep this going as long as possible, unravels. You really are everything he's ever dreamed of.

As he clamps down tight around you and almost immediately feels your cum filling him up again, he knows he won't forget this for as long as he lives, even if you two never go farther than this night.

Minutes that feel like hours pass. You made it to the bedroom, and lie naked in the dark, pressing gentle kisses into the skin of a quietly crying Barbatos. Apparently, they're happy tears.

He's said thank you about a thousand times now, and after he says it again, you decide you should probably answer him.

"What are you thanking me for?"

He sniffs, wiping tears. "For giving me this chance, for laying with me after, for kissing me like you like me too." His voice is weak from overuse, and you make a mental note to get him something for that.

"You're thanking me for not being an asshole to the one person I'm never an asshole to?"

He chuckles, finally looking you in the eye. "I'm not sure I can agree with that statement."

"Oh right, of course- cuz how could you be so turned on by something I've never done to you?"

You smirk as his blush comes back full force. Apparently, he's refound his shame.

"That was the liquor talking..."

"Liquor doesn't magically make you a masochist for my specific type of violence."

"Well, maybe it does. We learn something new everyday."

You share a laugh, the exhaustion from partying and sex catching up to you. Barbatos pulls you closer, cuddling into your chest.

In the morning, there'd be a lot to talk about. But for the time being, you both sigh, content in each other's warmth as sleep takes you, and the house is finally quiet.

--------

Partially unedited. I'll be going on a small break after this.

In the works: Imprisoned pt.2

#obey me barbatos #obey me x reader #barbatos x reader #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me smut #sub barbatos #obey me fic #dubious consent #shall we date barbatos #tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #unaveragewrites

[icarustica]

77... geraskier <3

77 - "you were my best friend" - G rating, 900ish words, tw alcohol, angsty

♡♡ filing this under the "could've made it angstier" column lol but i didn't have any better ideas ♡♡

Somehow, Geralt had thought this would have gone better. He ran through the night in his head, an anxious, guilty tumble of hours. So many silent apologies. So many half-spoken, unsure ones.

Only one had counted.

The one Jaskier had accepted.

But Geralt was old enough to know that acceptance did not always mean forgiveness. And how could it be forgiveness, when Jaskier’s words were sharp like that? When he barely spoke at all?

But now they sat at the inn, and Jaskier’s hair was long and ruffled and no longer as blonde as it used to be, and his cheeks were stained like berries and he smelled of cheap wine and elderflower. He rubbed at his nose with one velvety sleeve.

Geralt took a long swig from his ale, trying not to listen too hard to the silence.

Perhaps I can live with this, he thought. This pantomime of our friendship. 

“Mmfh,” mumbled the tipsy Jaskier, sliding a shiny silver coin across the table.

Geralt stared at it. “What’s this?”

“For my drink. Drinks. Drinks,” he stressed.

Shaking his head with refusal, Geralt pushed it back across. “We share,” he said. “My coin is yours. Just like before.”

We share. Remember when we shared? I liked that.

“Oh, and I suppose mine is yours?” mumbled Jaskier, fiddling with the coin, flipping it onto its side. It wobbled between a crevice in the wood. 

Geralt frowned, swallowing. There was a pain in his chest like a large bird beating itself to death, or a starving cat crawling at the walls of his stomach.  “Well. No. Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“I don’t want it to be.” He flicked the coin, then pushed it across the table.

Geralt stared at it. It felt like a trick.

Jaskier swallowed the last of his wine. Cheap wine that Geralt had bought him - not even the expensive apple stuff he liked so much. And the coin was silver, embossed with the mark of Lyria, far from where Geralt thought Jaskier had traveled. He didn’t even know how much it was worth. Probably more than his entire coin purse.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?” he said, looking up at him. But his affect was blank. His blue eyes, usually so full of light - dim. Disinterested.

Geralt’s chest ached. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed. “You said you needed me.”

“I do. I just–”

“Come on, Geralt. I’m not that thick. Whatever you need me for’s more important than my…” he smacked his lips, leaning back in the chair. “My idiotic pride.”

Geralt stared at him. At the worry lines around his mouth. The scar on his neck. The stubble that suited him. When did you become this?

“Geralt. If you’d like to stop gawking at me like a virgin in a whorehouse that’d be just dandy. I know the little kid bard has gone and grown up on you, but please, unless you’re going to shower me with compliments and flowers I’d tone down on the big-doe-eyes.”

“Would you like me to?”

The question shocked them both, but as Jaskier froze, still balancing back in his chair, Geralt straightened. 

He swallowed. “I know you haven’t forgiven me,” he said, voice low and full of barbs. He felt like crying out. He felt like kissing every part of Jaskier's hands, pressing I'm sorry into everything he'd failed to protect.

“I accepted your apology,” he retorted, indignant.

“You’re still angry.”

“I’m not.”

“You smell of it,” Geralt snapped back. Jaskier’s jaw set. 

His breath came short for a few long seconds, and the scent of it, metallic and sharp, filled the air. “Fine,” he said, leaning forward, snatching the coin from Geralt’s side of the table. He fiddled with it between his knuckles. “I am angry.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicked up, blue and imbued with hidden fire. “You were my best friend," he swallowed, long dark eyelashes fluttering for a second as he looked down at the coin between his fingers. “An apology and a drink won’t fix that.”

“I don’t know a lot about friendship,” Geralt started slowly. His mouth tasted like cotton and blood.

Jaskier scoffed.

“I know I don’t. But whatever I can do to–”

“Geralt,” Jaskier snapped, holding up a hand. “You aren’t hearing me. I’m not here because you were my friend,” he continued, nearly growling. “I’m here because right now you happen to be the most important man on the continent. And you need me.”

Despite the bustling of the inn, everything felt so silent. Like the very air was judging him, sizing him up for a flogging.

Jaskier laughed. “You need me. Do you know how ridiculous that is? The whole fucking time I went around, following you like a dog, and you never even wanted me.”

“I want you,” he said, the words torn from him.

But Jaskier didn’t hear them. He leaned forward across the oak table, wine and anger mingling with disappointment and wildflowers. “There was supposed to be a point, you know, where you actually wanted me in your life. Between when you hated me and when you needed me. When did you want me, Geralt?”

When I came back to Roach and your pack was gone. When I saw you’d taken the buttercup you’d tied into her mane. When I realized you had nothing, no-one, nobody to keep you safe. You might have died. And it could have been my fault.

“You were my best friend,” Jaskier repeated, breath ragged. His face was ruddy, his eyes shining as he sniffed, rubbing his sleeve under his nose again. “How the fuck could I ever believe that I was yours?”

#adhdskj thank you for the ask!! glowing rn ahsdkjh #love love love #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt of rivia #witcher #fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #witcher (tv) fanfiction #angsty #one-shot #prompt fill #jaskier the bard #geraskier fanfiction #snippet