#steve x brooke

[harringtown]

keep my hand in yours

a/n: im so sorry for the wait anon, pls forgive me and accept some super fluffy fluff in apology <3

requested by anonymous

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve & reader are cuddlin’ on the couch and feelings are revealed (aka Steve gets his hair played with w a dash of friends to lovers) 

word count: 1.8k

-

Steve doesn’t have a clue what’s happening on the tv screen.

He was the one who picked this movie, and he was pretty excited to see it, actually, but then, you settled in on the couch closer to him than you have in five years of friendship, close enough that your knee pressed into Steve’s thigh.

And it was all over.

An hour later, and any hopes of following the plot are dead in the dirt.

Because thirty minutes ago, you lifted your arm and laid it over the back of the couch and started drumming your fingers. Because ten minutes ago, those same fingers grazed the top of his spine and slid up the nape of his neck, and they haven’t left.

An explosion brightens the screen.

Steve shifts, leans back, into your side.

Another flash of lights and loud crashing sounds, and your hand, the one that isn’t in Steve’s hair, drops onto his waist.

A gunshot and a flame on the screen, and he settles against you.

It’s almost like you’re both waiting for cover to make a move. Which is a stupid thought, because Steve knows you don’t feel for him what he feels for you, and that ‘cover’ is an alien ship being blown up on a television. But still. You don’t pull away. And neither does he.

Steve never thought he’d like something like this. Being held by a girl. In his dreams, and there are a lot of them, it’s always him wrapping his arms around you, always him pulling you into his chest.

But this, your fingers working slowly through his curls, your heartbeat against his back, is a tenderness he’s never seen. Surely not anything he deserves.

Your fingers scrape lightly across his scalp, and Steve’s eyes fall shut. Every inch of him feels like a live wire, but at the same time, he’s too tired to move. Or, maybe not tired. Content, maybe. Because he doesn’t want to sleep. He just wants to stay.

Warmth weaves around and into his limbs, and goosebumps raise along his skin every time your knuckles brush the backs of his ears, or the curve of his jaw. He’s so drunk on the touch, it takes a while to realize you’ve already worked all the tangles out of his hair. But your fingers, that gentle, careful touch, remains.

He almost doesn’t know what to do with it. Never before has someone treated him like a precious thing. Like something to be taken care of or protected.

And he never thought he wanted that. Needed that. Because he always does the protecting. He’s a flight attendant’s worst nightmare, because as far as he’s concerned, his own oxygen mask doesn’t exist until everyone else is wearing their own.

But here you are. And here he is. And it’s really, really nice. There’s definitely a more accurate word for the feeling, but he can barely form coherent thoughts as it is.

For a long time, you both stay that way, your hand in his hair and your heartbeat against his spine.

“Can I ask you something?” You murmur sometime later, and your hand hesitates in his hair, and God, he’d do anything you asked if you’d just keep touching him.

“Mhmm,” he hums, not opening his eyes.

You’re quiet for a moment. Your fingers slide down the side of his scalp in a slow line, and he has to suppress a shiver.

“Rebecca Robinson asked you out today,” you say. Steve opens one of his eyes to peer over at you, trying not to grimace.

“You heard that?”

“I was ten feet away, Steve. Of course I heard it.”

“Was there a question in there somewhere?”

More silence.

He opens his other eye, turns his head and shifts up so he can meet your gaze.  

“If you heard her ask me out, you heard me tell her no,” he says. He’s defending himself, and he’s not even sure why. He’s allowed to go out with whoever he wants. And yeah, it just so happens that the person he wants to go out with—you—doesn't feel the same, but whatever.

“Exactly,” you say. Still, you don’t pull away from him, and still, he can’t bring himself to pull away from you. This, if it’s an argument or a discussion or the ramblings of two people who should just go to sleep, feels like it’s about something other than Rebecca Robinson.

“I don’t get it.”

You sigh. Your gaze darts away, lingers on the TV.

“You told me that you had a huge crush on her. All of middle school, and the first year of high school.” The unspoken until Nancy isn’t lost on Steve. And once again, he feels the need to defend himself. Even though it’s been years, and she’s out of the picture, and again, you don’t feel the same.

“Yeah, still not following.”

“Why did you say no?”

“To Rebecca?”

“Yes, to Rebecca.”

“Oh.” Steve swallows. Now, he does shift backwards. He instantly misses the presence of your hand on his hip. “Oh.”

Your hand falls to your lap like it, too, isn’t sure what to do without his skin to rest on.

“Oh what?” you ask.

He chews on one side of his cheek for a beat before he says, “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

Steve could still be delirious with sleep, but he swears something like fear flashes in your eyes, just for a second.

Then it’s gone, and you shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Being subtle isn’t exactly one of my strengths,” he says. Lifts his brows. “The reason it’d never work out with Rebecca is the same reason it didn’t work out with all those other girls.” He crinkles his nose. “And I don’t mean, like, there was anything wrong with them. There’s not. They were great and all, but they weren’t—” He stops, his tongue clamping his words off like it, too, is afraid of what happens when the truth hits the air.

“They weren’t what, Steve?” You ask, voice low, like you have the same fear.

Steve presses his lips together. He lifts a tentative hand to your cheek, running his thumb up your cheekbone before pulling his hand back.

“They weren’t you,” he says.

He’s pretty sure he’s just ruined one of the few good things he has, but honestly, holding it all in felt like trying to cage a tsunami—aka, fucking impossible. At least that pit in his stomach is gone. It’s been replaced by a new one—a sharp, hot fear—but something is better than all the nothing, he decides.

The longest ten seconds of his life pass as you just stare at him, like you’ve never seen him before.

It’s like you decide something, too, as you reach out to thread your fingers through his hair, a hand on each side, curling into his curls and giving them a light tug, drawing him closer. Close enough that he can smell your lemon shampoo and he can see the tiny flecks in your iris, and he wants to say something stupid, do something stupid. Something like kiss you.

Then, like you’re reading his mind, you say, “Kiss me.”

He can’t help but wonder if you’re joking.

“What?” he asks; the something stupid.

But you just smile, and say, again, “Kiss me.”

So, he does. He closes the distance between you carefully, brushes his lips against yours. He stills, waits for you to say “haha, just kidding!” or realize what a huge mistake you’ve made.

You don’t, though. You just kiss him back, lips coaxing his own open. Your fingers, tangled in his hair, travel down the sides of his neck, across his collarbones, down his chest and back up. It’s like you’re trying to memorize him as urgently as he is you.

You both seem to realize at the same moment that you’re not running out of time—that there is a beginning in this kiss—and within a heartbeat, isn’t frantic anymore, but firm, steady, secure. You smile against his lips, and Steve smiles too, and for a little while, he can’t tell where his breaths end and yours begin, and he doesn’t care.

It occurs to him that he’s been waiting for this, for you, for a long time. Maybe a lifetime.

His hands shift down from your cheeks to your shoulders, skimming down your arms. You shiver, pressing closer, close enough that the rest of the world fades into nothingness.

When Steve finally pulls away—which is only because if he doesn’t take a full breath, he will pass out—he doesn’t go far, like he’s worried you’ll disappear if he isn’t touching you. You must feel the same, because you tip your forehead against his, a light smile on your face.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Steve hums. “So long.”

You shift back slightly frown. “You never told me.”

He gives you a half smile and says, “I was trying not to scare you away.”

“Scare me away?” You huff. Take his cheeks in your hands and bend forward, shaking your head. “Not possible.”

Steve cocks a brow. “Yeah, you say that now, but—”

“Wrong,” you say. “I know you. I’ve been your friend for years. I’ve seen the skeletons in your closet, Harrington. Hell, I’ve shaken their hands. And I’m still here. I still love you.” Your eyes go wide, and you bring a hand to your mouth for a long second.

Steve’s brows arch, and he swears an entire flock of butterflies breaks loose in his chest.

“Shit,” you say. “Can we just forget I said that, and—”

“Oh, not a chance,” Steve says. You try to pull away from him, but he loops his arms around you, pulls you half into his lap. You give a half-hearted protest, but end up twisted in his lap, arms winding around his neck. “We’re so not forgetting that.”

You scrunch your nose. “See, now I’m going to be the one scaring you away.”

Steve smiles. Leans forward to bump the tip of your nose with his.

“Say it again.”

You purse your lips.

“Steve—”

He kisses you again. This time, he lingers, lets his lips part, and only pulls away when you sink into him.

“Say it again,” he murmurs.

A smile fights past your defenses, and you say, “I love you.” You incline your head. “Happy now?”

“Very happy, actually, yeah,” Steve says, and he knows he’s grinning like an idiot, but he no longer cares. He just kisses you again. And one more time after that. Then, he says, “I love you, too, by the way.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Steve says. And this time, it’s you who kisses him.

By the time either of you bothers to check, the movie is long over, the credits at their end. But neither of you cares.

Call it making up for lost time.

-

taglist: @milkiane​ @spideyboipete​ @robiin-buckley​ @robinbuckleyssgf​ @la-fille-en-aiguilles​ @sunlitide​ @cityofidek​ @isshecrazyorissheclever @peanutbutter-y-jams​ @hellfire1986baby​ @comfortcharactercraze​  

#brooke writes fic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #x reader

[iloveyourwritingthankyou]

Eddie Munson is an ass man

Masterlist

Eddie Munson is an ass man

Ok so I am convinced this guy is an ass man, not just in the sense he likes looking at it/grabbing it

Anal is eddies favourite kind of sex, if it’s not something you’re into its not a deal breaker but if you’re up for it he'll go as far with it as you let him

He enjoys eating your ass as much as fucking it, he loves having you sit on his face

You’d think his favourite position is doggy because of his love of all things ass but he actually doesn’t like to have sex in any position he cant see your face

He’s decided the best of both words is doggy in front of his mirror

If you're into or willing to try denial Eddie is happy to kind of ignore your pussy because your ass is just so hot

Part of the reason he enjoys anal is he can come in you without worrying and keep it there

Even when he fucks your pussy he finishes in your ass

Eddie likes making you cum though, he enjoys knowing you feel good so I can see him training you to cum from anal

Using a vibe and his fingers to get you off while he's inside you, so you associate him fucking your ass with intense orgasms

Specifically picking angles that still hit your g-spot

He likes to convince you to wear skirts without underwear whenever he can as well, gives him better access to your ass

And even if you’re wearing something with more coverage he is grabbing your ass any chance he gets

He initially convinces you to start wearing a plug in public as a trade off, he wont grab your ass in public whenever you have the plug in

That doesn’t hold up very long but by then you’re kind of used to the plug and enjoy wearing It for him

He goes out of his way to get you a black and red one, something cute to help convince you initially

He ends up with a reasonably big collection of plugs for you eventually, he matches them to your outfits

Eddie likes the idea of keeping you plugged so he can fuck you whenever he feels like it

His dick is thick enough that prepping you properly means you gape a little when the plug is taken out

Eddie uses the plug to his full advantage

Being a brat while you and Eddie are out?  his hand is reaching up your skirt to fuck you with the plug and remind you who you belong to

Someone on the basketball team flirts with you? Eddie gets possessive and has you cheer with his cum plugged in your ass the next day

Eddie’s a bit of a sadist as well, he likes to watch you panic and squirm a little

So occasionally when you’re out shopping at the mall he'll pull the plug out knowing that you're too gaped to stop the cum dripping down your legs

He likes watching the way you react when you feel it dripping out despite your best efforts

He’s nice enough to offer the plug back once it’s just becoming visible past the line of your skirt, he doesn’t want to embarrass his girl too much

He will make you earn the plug back though, generally he gives you a few options to pick between

eating the cum that's dripped onto your legs so that you’re nice and clean for the plug to go back in

Letting him fuck you in a secluded bathroom so you're nice and full again

Spanks so your ass is all pretty and red to match the gem on the plug

Eddie loves spanking with the plug in, watching you clench around it and moan

And it turns your ass suck pretty colours too, sometimes he'll leave hickeys as well so there's some really pretty bruises

He’s got a polaroid of it in his wallet

I feel like eventually he convinces you to get a little tattoo on your ass so there’s a more permanent mark

Little cursive lines that say something along the lines of eddies little anal whore

He teases you about it all the time once you have it especially if you’re bratty

Be bends your head back so you can see it in the mirror when you fuck

Sometimes if you've been a real brat I can see him upping the plug size to something barely reasonable

It stings a little but he doesn’t do anything about it unless you safe word

Because naughty girls need reminders that they are toys for his entertainment so if he wants to see you stretched out and whiny then that's what happens

If you’re really willing to let Eddie push your limits, I can see him inviting Steve to try double anal penetration

He’s thinner so its not a terrible stretch but he's a bit longer

They go a few rounds so by the time eddies putting the plug back in its barely containing the cum that wants to drip out of your abused little hole

You're so sensitive that you cum when he pushes it in

#eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x you #brooke has thoughts #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson smut #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve Harrington x plus size reader #steddie x reader

[calliesadeckis]

jaiden's masterlist

welcome to my main masterlist everyone. where you can see fics from the following fandoms and characters. and you are free to request for the following fandoms for oneshots, headcanons, or just sending your fluffy or horny thoughts in my inbox (i don't judge)

requests: temporarily closed

character's i write for

symbols that represents the fics: fluff (♡) angst (✦) smut (☆)

yellowjackets

headcanons

celebrating christmas with taivan ♡

dc titans

( currently none )

stranger things (no longer writing)

steve harrington

so take your time while you're mine and smoke slow ✦

robin buckley

and i despise my jealous eyes ✦♡

fear street

tommy slater

tommy dating a sunnyvale reader headcanons ♡

teen wolf

scott mccall

puppy love ♡

isaac lahey

i need you to need me back ✦

malia tate

the weird girl and her coyote ✦♡

scream

headcanons

throuple with tara & chad headcanons ♡

miscellaneous

brooke davis

i dare you to kiss me ♡

madison montgomery

i knew it ♡

#yellowjackets x reader #titans x reader #dc titans x reader #stranger things x reader #teen wolf x reader #fear street x reader #scream x reader #steve harrington x reader #scott mccall x reader #isaac lahey x reader #malia tate x reader #tara carpenter x reader #chad meeks martin x reader #brooke davis x reader #madison montgomery x reader #jaiden writes things

[wwprice1]

These upcoming 60th Anniversary covers by Mark Brooks are so awesome!

#marvel #mark brooks #x-men #avengers #captain america #steve rogers #janet van dyne #The wasp #ant-man #ant man and the wasp #hank pym #hulk #the hulk #bruce banner #Thor #iron man #tony stark #charles xavier #professor x #cyclops #scott summers #jean grey #marvel girl #beast #the beast #hank mccoy #warren worthington iii #Angel #iceman #bobby drake

[superheroes-or-whatever]

A.X.E: Judgment Day (2022) #6 cover by Mark Brooks

#Mark Brooks #Captain America #Steve Rogers #starfox #Jean Grey #Ikaris #Iron Man #Nightcrawler #avengers #x men #Eternals #Captain Marvel #Carol Danvers #Storm #marvel #comics #cover art

[familyvideostevie]

here we have character boards that @harringtown made for Steve and bee girl that made me cry when I saw them this morning like. they are perfect

#no good at waiting #farmers market au #Steve harrington x reader #Brooke I wanna kiss u

[dancingsunflowers-ocs]

𝙎𝙄𝙀𝙉𝙉𝘼 𝘽𝙍𝙊𝙊𝙆𝙎 𝙭 𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 ✸ 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙄𝙨 𝙖 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙚𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙋𝙖𝙩 𝘽𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙧

You're making me go

Then making me stay

Why do you hurt me so bad?

It would help me to know

Do I stand in your way

Or am I the best thing you've had?

Believe me, believe me

I can't tell you why

But I'm trapped by your love

And I'm chained to your side

Taglist: @eddysocs @megandaisy9 @carmens-garden @arrthurpendragon @misshiraeth98 @starlit-ocs @starlit-epiphany

#fyeahsuperverseocs #marvel ocs #mcu oc #marvel oc #oc: sienna brooks #ocappreciation #ocapp #ocfairygodmother #allaboutocs #ochub #original character #steve rogers x oc #userkysky

[reiignonme]

★ BUCKY BARNES TAG DROP!!

#★ 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 ——— bucky barnes. #★ 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 ——— bucky barnes. #★ 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 ——— bucky barnes. #★ 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 ——— bucky barnes. #★ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 ——— bucky barnes. #★ 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ——— faye brookes at kiissme. #★ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐌𝐄 ——— bucky x steve x faye. #👑 𝐎𝐎𝐂 ——— tag drop.

[comicbooksaregood]

X-Men Origins: Deadpool

Volume: 1

Issue: 1

Deadpool: The Major Motion Picture

Writer: Duane Swierczynski

Penciler: Leandro Fernández

Inker: Leandro Fernández

Colourist: Steve Buccellato

Cover: Mark Brooks

Marvel

#X-Men Origins: Deadpool #Deadpool #Wade Wilson #Vanessa Carlysle #Weapon X #Cable #Wolverine #Marvel #Duane Swierczynski #Leandro Fernández #Steve Buccellato #Mark Brooks

[harringtown]

the season of the sticks

ok so ive gotten like. at least six requests for a reversed moments stolen fic since I finished that au. and it took ages but its finally here, and its a goddamn doozy. but anyone who’s been here longer than a day knows Im a sucker for the ‘a forgets b’ trope and will take any excuse to wring it for all the angst I can <3 and to those who requested this, sorry for the wait!!!! I appreciate u all endlessly!!!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: the reader survives vecna’s curse, but their memories of the last three years, and of Steve, don’t. (aka amnesiac reader, broken hearted Steve, and a happy ending cuz obviously)

word count: 7.8k 

-

April 9th, 1986

The call wakes him up five minutes before midnight. Steve doesn’t initially realize it’s the phone, and is internally scolding the passage of time, his alarm clock, and his early shift, but when he reaches to swat the clock, the ringing continues.

A coiling, sinking feeling stirs him enough to answer the phone.

He’s been waiting for the call since the paramedics carted you from the Creel House, unconscious, and likely to stay that way. It’s been the longest thirteen days of his life. And that’s saying something, considering the places he’s spent time.  

Robin’s voice is on the other line. He catches just enough of her words to understand: you woke up. Steve knew you would. Even if no one else did.

Within four minutes, Steve is out the door and climbing into his car in his beat up sweats and hoodie. Seven minutes after that, he’s swerving into the hospital parking lot. Fortunately for the other cars, the lot is empty enough that Steve’s admittedly erratic driving doesn’t endanger any bumpers.

He gets to the door in a blink, shoving through the double doors and past the nurse’s station. Two flights up, down the hall, and he reaches your ward.

Halfway down the hall, in front of your door, Robin paces with her arms folded.

“Steve—” Robin says when she sees him, and if Steve weren’t driving a hundred miles an hour down a one-track mind, the look on her face might bring him pause. The twist to her expression. The stiffness to her shoulders. The red around her eyes from tears she’s holding back.

“She’s awake?” he asks. His voice is louder than he means, echoing down the hall. Hospitals have always felt haunted to him, now more than ever. All he wants to is get the hell out of here and bring you with him.

“Yes, but—”

Steve makes for the door, the one he’s gone in and out of more times than he can count, but Robin jumps in front of him. Her hands find his shoulders, pinning him in place.

“Steve, wait.” She gnaws on the inside of her cheek. Presses her lips together. “There’s something you should know.”

“Robin, seriously, we can talk in five minutes—"

“Steve,” she says again, and this time, he stills. He finally notices the thickness in the air and the frown on Robin’s lips.

“What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Okay, so, I don’t totally understand all the medical jargon, and you should probably ask Nancy when she gets back from the bathroom, because she actually understands what the hell the doctor said, whereas it was more in one ear out the other for me—“

“Robin.”

Robin stops.

“What did the doctor say?”

Robin inhales. She won’t look at him when she says, “It’s her memories. They said that everything from the last three years is just…” She shrugs helplessly. “Gone.”

And the last pieces of Steve shatter.

“What do you mean, gone?”

“I mean, the last thing she remembers is crossing the Indiana state line in a U-Haul.”

Steve doesn’t want to believe it, and if he’s being honest, a large part of him outright refuses to. This is a joke. A cruel, twisted joke. Robin is screwing with him.

So, he forces himself to walk into your hospital room to prove it to himself. To prove that she’s wrong.

He’s spent half the last few weeks in this room. He’s practically memorized the patterns in the popcorn ceiling.

But the second he steps in he senses the differences. The cards that littered all free surfaces are piled up in one corner. The blanket from your bed—soft as hell, gifted by Steve, who damn near almost kept it for himself—is folded beside the cards.

Steve doesn't care though, because you're sitting up in the bed, and you may be more bruises than body, and the blood vessels in your eyes still haven't healed, making the whites bright red, and your arms are in casts, but it’s you. You’re alive, awake, almost back to him.

He has to will his knees not to buckle.

All he wants to do is sprint across the room and kneel at your side and cry like a little kid, but instead, he puts on a smile, and says, “Have a good nap? Took you long enough to wake up.”

You jump—the first strike—and your head snaps his way, and it is all wrong.

“Can I… help you?” you ask, hesitant.

Robin was telling the truth. You have looked at Steve Harrington a hundred ways over hundreds of days, but never like this. With complete and utter lack of recognition.

It hurts more than the still-healing wounds littered across his torso.

Everything from the last three years is just… gone.

And though Steve can literally feel his heart ripping in half, he recognizes that he has a choice. A choice to tell the truth, or to wrap you in a beautiful, safe lie. Right now, he can’t know whether he makes the right choice.

“No,” Steve says, shaking his head. “Sorry. I, uh, I think I’m in the wrong room.”

You frown, like you don’t necessarily buy it, and Steve thinks if he has to spend another second in this room, with you looking at him the way you are, he’ll bever get out.

So, he backs up, retreats with his tail between his goddamn legs before he does something like cry or scream or beg you to remember.

Steve pauses in the doorway and allows himself one look back. You’re watching him with a confused expression, and the lack of recognition is ten times worse than any beating he’s ever taken.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says. He clears his throat. “I heard about your accident and I just—" He stops. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Your brows pull together. “Thanks.”

Steve nods. And then he walks away, leaving the best three years of his life behind.

May 19th, 1986

Steve hears the doorbell ring: the first time, and the second, and also the tenth. He hears the knocking, too. He even hears Robin’s muffled yelling from outside, all the way up in his room, buried beneath the covers.

He simply chooses to ignore it. And Robin, being Robin, chooses to ignore his ignoring.

Twenty seven seconds later, his bedroom door swings open, and Robin waltzes in, announcing, “Steve Harrington, you get your ass out of that bed right now, or so help me God—”

“You’ll do what?” Steve asks, shoving the covers off his head, glowering at Robin as she stomps across the room and yanks open his curtains, letting the bright afternoon sun in. “Jesus—”

“Up and at ‘em,” Robin says, crossing to the bed and swatting at the bundle of blankets hiding his feet. Steve scrunches his legs and drags the covers back over his head. “It’s time to take a shower, get dressed, and do something to that rat’s nest you’re calling hair these days. We have things to do.” She yanks the covers away. “Oh. And happy birthday.”

Steve throws an arm over his face and lets out a groan.

“Don’t remind me,” he says.

Robin drops onto the mattress beside him, her bony knee poking against barely-healed wounds on his stomach.  Steve is dreading the day the last of the scabs fall away and turn to scars. Like, somehow, it’s his last tether to what happened down there—to what he lost.

“Steve,” Robin says, managing to sound stern and sympathetic, “I am not letting you spend your 21st birthday in bed moping. We’re celebrating. You can legally drink again.”

Steve sighs and pushes up against his headboard, folding his arms over his chest.

“You mean, I can buy you beer again.”

“You can buy us beer,” Robin says, flashing him a grin. The smile falters, barely noticeable. “Which we need to do. For your birthday party. You know, the one that has been in the works for three months.”

Steve’s stomach lurches, and he loses his breath for a solid five seconds before he’s able to say, “No.”

Robin lets out a breath, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“She worked hard on this party, Steve. We all did, actually, but your girlfriend—" At Steve’s narrowed eyes, she stops.

“It’s not like she’s here to see it,” Steve says. “And she’s not really my girlfriend anymore, so, who cares?”

“You talk about her like she’s dead,” Robin says.

Steve doesn’t say anything.

Because it feels like you are, or like he is. The last two months have felt like a funeral, and Steve feels like a ghost.

Steve exhales. “I just… I can’t. Not today. Not this.”

Robin purses her lips. Steve knows what she’s going to say before she does—it’s not the first time she’s said it.

“You were the one who decided not to tell her about all this. And I get it, I do, but you can’t just spend the rest of your life lying in bed, mourning a person who’s walking around three blocks away with no clue what she lost.”

“It’s better this way. You know it is.”

“I know it’s safer,” Robin says. “That doesn’t mean better.”

Steve shakes his head. He blinks, and in the half second his eyes are shut, he sees you, on the floor of the Creel House, eyes rolled back in your head and bones starting to break.

“Is this what she’d want for you?” Robin asks, and she must know she’s hit the arrow on the head, because she can’t quite meet Steve’s eye as she says it. “For you to sit here, suffering, and missing her?”

“It doesn’t really matter what she wants,” Steve says. “She’s gone.”

“I lost her too, you know,” Robin says pointedly. “I lost my best friend, too. All of us lost her. And she lost all of us. And the last three years of her life. The least we could do is—”

“No.” Steve sits up, rod straight, and doesn’t realize how cold he sounds until Robin flinches. “No. We agreed. She stays away from all of this.”

“Okay, but inviting her to a party that she planned can’t be that—”

“No, Robin,” Steve says.

Robin huffs. “Fine. You want to play it like that? We can play it like that.” She stands up, heading for Steve’s bedroom door, but he isn’t naive enough to believe she’s just given up. Robin Buckley doesn’t quit, especially when it comes to Steve. She stops at the door and turns, planting her hands on her hips. “In two hours, the party starts in your living room. If you’re not downstairs, I’m sending Nancy up with her shotgun to kick your ass.”

And so, exactly two hours and seven minutes later, Steve forces himself to stop being an asshole to the few people he has left, and heads down to the noise-filled living room. His hair is still damp from the shower, and he dug an old, old shirt out of his closet because he hasn’t done laundry in weeks, but he’s there.

He lets that be enough until it’s not.

-

Steve is eternally grateful when the doorbell rings, and he can excuse himself from the party. The party that is, quite possibly, the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him. The party that he was actually looking forward to, even if he wouldn’t admit it—and you knew that, and that was why you threw it.

But the context and the person who actually make this party worthwhile are across town. And they—you—have forgotten him.

He spends a long thirty seconds in the entryway before he opens the door. Relishing in the quiet, and kind of hoping whoever rang the bell is already gone.

“Sorry, I was all the way out back—" He starts the rehearsed lie, but the second the door is all the way open, and he sees who is standing on the other side of it, the words disappear like someone reached into his mouth and scraped them out.

Steve has seen your face each time he closes his eyes—which is why he doesn’t, not much, not anymore—but now that it, now that you, are right in front of him, he’s lost. A marionette puppet with no one holding his strings.

You look ten times better than you did last time he saw you. The bruises have faded, the casts on your arms have been replaced by soft braces that barely poke past your sleeves, and your eyes are just your eyes. They don’t look at him the way they always did, but they are yours.

A stitch forms between your brows. You’re holding a cardboard box, and Steve hasn’t the slightest clue what could be in it.

“It’s you,” you say.

For a single, solitary second, Steve believes in happy endings again. Then you add, “The day I woke up. In the hospital.”

And reality slips back into place. Silly of him to expect different, especially now.

“Oh. Yeah.” He palms the back of his neck. “Sorry about that.”

You shrug. “So, how are they?”

Steve frowns. “Who?��

“Whoever you were visiting,” you say. “In the coma unit. Did they wake up?”

“Uh, yeah.” Steve clears his throat. “I mean, kind of. It’s—"

“Complicated?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

You nod. You rock back on your heels, lips pulling thin, and even now, Steve remembers what your indecision looks like. He just has to pretend he doesn’t.

“Can I, uh…” He gestures to you and your box. “What’s up?”

Your cheeks flame. “Oh. Yeah. So, uh, this is going to sound really weird, but—" Your gaze darts down to the box. Back up to him. “I found this in the back of my closet, and I’m pretty sure it belongs to you.” You flip up the lid and pull out a small piece of paper with your handwriting on it. The paper reads: Hands off until your birthday, Steve, or you’ll lose a finger.

Steve can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips, just for a moment. He recognizes the sheet. He was there when you wrote it. You mentioned the present, and Steve went searching, and at the end of what turned into a wrestling, tickling, and eventually kissing match, you peeled out of his arms and grabbed a sticky note.

And Steve doesn't know what to say, because you clearly didn’t just come to give him this box—you’re here for answers that Steve can’t give. Won’t give.

“Oh. Um—" Steve starts.

You shove the box out, averting your gaze. Steve takes it solely for something to cling to. “Here.” You clear your throat. “I asked my parents if they knew who you were, and they got, like, super quiet. They’d barely give me your address.”

“Oh,” Steve says again.

Disappointment flashes across your face.

“So, I guess my question is…” You wrap your arms around your torso. “Were we… friends?”

No. Never. Not even for a second. The moment you met you were like reunited best friends. And then you were more.

Never just friends.

“We were,” Steve says. He rakes a hand through his hair. “A long time ago.”

A different you ago.

“But… we’re… not anymore?” Steve can tell you don't necessarily believe him, but you don’t push. A few months ago, you would have.

“Not really,” he says. He pulls the box closer to his chest. “No.”

“Oh.” You shift your weight once. Twice. You’re chewing on your words, but instead of letting them out, you just nod. Step back. “Okay. Uh, sorry for bothering you.” Your eyes fall to the box and rise again.

“You didn’t,” Steve says, because the look on your face is shredding his insides. “And thank you. For—” Steve tilts the box slightly. “Whatever this is.”

A smile ghosts your lips, and promptly disappears.

“Happy birthday, Steve,” you say. And then you leave him again, and again, you don’t even know what you’re walking away from.

May 25th, 1986

“I’m going to throw up,” Steve moans, dropping his head into his arms, forehead hitting the counter with a thud.

“You,” Robin says pointedly, “are going to give yourself another concussion.” She taps his shoulder. “And you’re not going to throw up, because I spent a dollar on that muffin you ate, and it was for you, not the toilet bowl.”

“Appreciate the sympathy.” Steve lifts his head.

Robin rolls her eyes. “She’s been working here as long as we have. You didn’t think she’d never come back, did you?”

“I hoped.”

“You know, I would think you’d be happy. This is your shot at a do over. You could do this the normal way. No monsters or fighting. Just you and her and this shitty store.”

Steve sits back in his stool, shaking his head vehemently.

“No. The only reason I lied to her in the first place was to keep her away from all the shit that nearly got her killed. Me included. Unless you got some memo I didn’t and the Upside Down magically disappeared overnight.”

“Oh, is that the only reason?” Robin quirks a brow.

“If you’ve got something to say, Buckley—"

Robin lifts her hands in surrender and says, “I’ve got inventory to do. And unless you want me doing it while you’re stuck retraining she-who-shall-not-be-named—”

Steve huffs a sigh.

“Go. I’ve got the counter.”

Robin pats him on the shoulder, heading for the back, but she pauses halfway and looks back. Her humor falters.

“You’re gonna be okay, Steve. You’ve survived a hell of a lot worse,” Robin says.

And for the better part of the next two hours, Steve believes her. A handful of customers roll through, and he and Robin get the inventory finished, and by the time lunch comes around, Steve can eat his sandwich without it threatening to come back up.

He sits on the admittedly-disgusting floor against the counter, passing up potato chips to Robin, and he feels okay.

Then the bell dings over the door, and Robin’s head snaps up. She stiffens. She looks down at him, her teeth clenched, and the nausea floods back into his stomach.

He was really hoping you wouldn’t show.

Steve climbs to his feet and swipes the crumbs from his vest, raking a hand through his hair and willing his composure not to break when he looks up.

But it does, because over a pair of light wash jeans and your sneakers, you’re wearing one of Steve’s tee shirts.

Robin looks at him, and he swears he can read her mind for a second: she’s saying, oh fuck. Steve is a step from accidentally saying the same thing aloud.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m a little bit of a mess, but our washing machine is broken, and this was all I have left.” You flash him and Robin an apologetic smile. “I didn’t even know I played basketball.”

Steve’s lips part, but nothing comes out.

He’s grateful when Robin says, “You didn’t.”

And he’s both grateful and ashamed that you seem to sense the can of worms you’re traipsing across, and stop pushing.

“Oh.” You nod. Flick a glance at Steve, who looks away.

“I’ll show you around,” Robin says, coming around the counter. “This job may be boring, but even an amnesiac could do it.”

“Let’s hope so,” you say, and look Steve’s way once more. He can’t bring himself to look back.

June 7th, 1986

Steve is trying to walk the line between friendly enough that he doesn’t come off as a total ass hole and standoffish enough to maintain his own sanity. According to Robin, he’s landing hard on the asshole side, and also according to her, if he doesn’t get his shit together, she’ll stick him with the next month’s inventory all alone.

So, he’s trying.

He doesn’t think it should still hurt this much. Almost three months have gone by, but you are still a festering wound that won’t close. Steve doesn’t know how to heal it, but he knows seeing your face every day can’t be helping.

“How was the appointment?” Steve asks before he remembers that he doesn’t ask you questions like that anymore.

You frown, but to his surprise, let out a groan and lean back into the counter like this is a casual, normal conversation.

“The appointment,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t know why the hell I keep going. They just say the same thing.”

Don’t take the bait. Don’t. Don’t—

“What did they say?” Steve asks. He leans into the counter across from you, and he tells himself his concern is merely politeness, that he’s just trying to get through this shift, but it’s a lie.

You blow out your cheeks.

“It sounds crazy,” you say. “It is crazy.”

If only you knew.

Steve cocks an expectant brow.

“I’m not a neurologist,” you warn.

Steve gestures around, as if to say, yeah, no shit.

A smile ghosts your lips, and it twists at Steve’s insides.

“Whatever put me in a coma…” you say, “it showed up on all their scans. The damage was there. So, when I woke up, and I knew my name, I could walk, and talk, and all I was missing was being here, everybody took it as a miracle. I took it as a miracle.”

Steve knows all this.

“Luck isn’t crazy,” he says. “I mean, yeah, your chances were probably pretty slim, but if it’s one in a million, someone’s got to be the one, right?”

“That’s not the crazy part.” You purse your lips. “They’ve been taking more scans. And it’s like, the second I woke up, all the damage to my brain disappeared. There’s no proof I was ever in that coma, and there’s nothing that explains why I lost the last three years. There’s nothing wrong with me at all,” you say. “The doctor said, maybe, if they knew what exactly—” You stop. “No one will say a word to me about the accident. All I know is that it happened during the earthquake. I’ve asked my parents, and they just skirt around it. I thought they were just, I don’t know, trying to protect me from some horrible truth, but…”

Steve should leave. Turn around and walk to the back room where Robin is on break.

“But they don’t know what happened. They weren’t there.”

“That night was chaos,” Steve says, scrambling to cover tracks he himself laid. “You probably got hit by some falling debris, and someone saw you—"

“No.” You shake your head. “My parents may not know how I got hurt, but they know something. If they would just tell me who I was with that day, or—”

The confusion and uncertainty on your face are like needles on Steve’s skin, but he reminds himself why he handed them to you in the first place.

Anything, even this, is better than your funeral.

“You still can’t remember anything?” he asks.

You shake your head. For a moment, you just look at him, and it takes him another second to realize why.

This is the longest conversation the two of you have had in months.

And instead of shrugging him off, the way he’s done you, you take a breath, and admit, “I have these nightmares. I can’t remember anything about them when I wake up, but somehow, I know they’re not just nightmares. They’re memories.” You shrug. “But that’s it.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. For more than you know.

You give him a sad smile. “I’ve lived in Hawkins for over three years. I have to have known people. Had friends. Had a life. But it’s like… it all disappeared when my memories did.”

Steve’s ruined heart pulses with a familiar ache.

You’re looking at him like he has the answers, and he does, but he can’t give them to you. He has his reasons.

But more and more, he’s wondering if they were ever reasons at all, or excuses. He’s also wondering if any of that matters anymore.

So, he just says, “I’m sorry,” again, because he is, and because that’s all he has.

June 16th, 1986

Steve’s first mistake is putting off the damn oil change. Though, in his defense, he’s had a lot going on.

The second mistake is not just sticking to the main highway when he impulsively climbs into his car and starts driving. He’s not sure what it is about today, if anything, or if the last few months have finally piled high enough inside of him that something breaks. He just wants, needs, to run, as far as he can, just for a little while.

Then his car breaks down, and instead of trying to flag someone down and have them call a tow truck, he just puts his car in neutral, shoves it just enough down a gravel road it’s invisible from the main one, and starts walking.

And when he finds himself in a tiny diner in the middle of absolute nowhere—which is saying something, because Hawkins is the capital of nowhere—with a phone in front of him, he realizes another mistake.

Steve only has three phone numbers memorized. His house, Robin’s, and yours. But his parents aren’t in town, and he wouldn’t call them if they were. It’s a Sunday, so Robin is at work, and she can’t drive, anyway, and her parents are in Indianapolis for the day.

“Everything all right, son?” asks the waitress, a woman in her sixties with a name tag that reads DOT. “You’re starin’ at that phone like it’s got somethin’ to tell you.”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Sorry.” He swallows the lump in his throat, grabs hold of the nearby countertop for support, and dials your number. He lifts the receiver to his ear, and it rings once, twice, three times, and—

“Hello?”

Steve’s stomach drops. He leans into the counter, closing his eyes for a moment before he says, “Hey. It’s me—it’s, uh, Steve.” A second of silence drags by. “From the video store.” Another second.

“Um, yeah, I know who you are. I’m just not totally sure—well…” You trail off, and Steve is grateful you can’t see him or the hot flush of shame crawling across his skin.

“Why I’m calling you?”

“Yeah.”

Steve takes a breath. “Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from on your day off—”

“Not the last,” you say. “But only because I don’t remember who the first is.”

It takes Steve a second to realize you’re joking. He chokes out a laugh, more relieved than anything—relieved for this brief second of normalcy.

“Why are you calling me, Steve?”

The moment of truth. He almost laughs at the irony of that.

Instead, he tells you about his mindless venture into the nothingness of western Indiana and his unfortunate vehicular circumstances, and once he’s done, you don’t just plain hang up, like he expects. He couldn’t be mad if you did.

You just let out a sigh, and say, “Where are you?”

-

Exactly two hours and one cheeseburger and milkshake later, your car pulls into the quiet diner lot. Dusk bathes the horizon in light blues and purples, outlining the car in pastels at it pulls up near the front door.

Dot, who coaxed Steve into telling his story—sans the monsters—perks up behind the counter.

“This your girl you told me about? The one in the coma?”

“She’s not in a coma anymore,” he says. “And she’s not my—that’s over.”

“A girl drives over an hour to pick you up?” Dot says. She shakes her head. “That’s as far from over as it gets, kid.” She reaches across the counter to give him a little nudge toward the door. “Now, go.”

Steve gives her a grateful smile, slides a few dollars across the counter, and heads for the door, gathering up whatever courage he has left to face you on the other side of it.

-

“Thank you,” Steve says, after the most awkward and quiet three minutes of his life as the two of you pull away from the diner and back onto the highway. “For driving all the way out here.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. You haven’t said a word since he climbed into the passenger seat, and you gave a clipped, “Put on your seatbelt,” before putting the car into drive.

Clearly, you’re not thrilled with him. But you’re here. He can’t, for the life of him, figure out why the hell you’re here.

So, he does what he does best, and pokes the bear.

“You’re mad at me,” he says.

You huff a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I’m mad at you.” Your attention stays fixed out the front window, but a muscle ticks in your jaw when Steve looks at you. When he doesn’t look away, your gaze darts briefly toward him. “Why did you call me?”

“Because I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

“Bullshit,” you say, and Steve flinches. “You and Robin are joined at the hip. And I’ve seen you with Nancy, and the sheriff, too. I can’t possibly be the first person you thought of.”

Steve forces his eyes frontward.

You look his way once, twice, and then, without warning, you jerk the car off the road and down a tiny gravel path, shifting into park so hard the car shakes.

“Jesus—what the hell was that?” Steve asks, but he stops when you shift his way, and a familiar defiance fills your eyes.

For a long second, you just stare at him. It makes the warning bells in his head blare to life.

“I told you about the nightmares, Steve, but there’s something I didn’t tell you.”

Steve frowns. He doesn’t like where this is going, but he can’t bring himself to make it stop.

“When I wake up, there is one thing I remember.”

“What?”

“Your name.” You hold his gaze hostage. “Why the hell am I waking up with your name on my tongue, Steve Harrington?”

Steve opens his mouth, though he’s not sure what he intends on saying.

“Don’t.” You hold up a hand. It falls, curls into a fist. “If you’re going to lie to me, again, I don’t want to hear it. Tell me what you know, or you can walk back to Hawkins.”

You mean it. You mean it with every fiber of your being, and Steve knows it, because he knows you.

So, he does the only thing he can do, and he tells you the truth. The whole truth. From the day he met you to the day he lost you. He tells you about the Upside Down, and about the Mind Flayer, and Vecna. And by the time he’s finished, your car is pulling down Steve’s street.

You put the car in park, letting it idle at Steve’s curb.

“You lied to me,” you say, sitting back in your seat, exhaling sharply. “All of you have been lying to me.” You shake your head, meeting Steve’s eyes with red-rimmed ones. “Why?”

“I—”

“What, you couldn’t figure out another way to break up with me, so when I woke up and couldn’t remember anything, you just took the easy way out? Made everybody else go along with it?”

Steve recoils like you’ve slapped him.

“What? That is not—”

“You’re telling me that we were together for almost two years, and you just… pretend it never happened? How could you do something like that? To someone you’re supposed to love?”

Supposed to. Like a part of Steve didn’t die that day in the hospital—one of the best parts of him.

It’s like a dam breaks in his chest, because suddenly, he’s talking, and he can’t stop.

“Supposed to love?” A bitter laugh slips past his lips. Steve runs a hand through his hair and makes himself look at you.

“You were the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he says. “Will ever happen to me, probably. You changed my life, and I will never stop loving you for it. But I was a huge part of the worst thing that ever happened to you. And that day in the hospital, when I had the choice, the choice to make the worst thing that ever happened to you disappear, even if it meant I did, too…” Tears prick at the back of Steve’s eyes, and he thinks one might fall, but he doesn’t wipe it away. “I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But I’ve made a thousand bad choices in my life, and I had to—" He shakes his head. Reroutes, before he talks himself in circles and gets stuck. “I thought I was being selfless. Saving you. But I think I was just scared shitless of losing you for real.”

“But it didn’t disappear,” you say. Your own eyes are glassy. “And you did lose me. I woke up with a three year gap. I woke up in a town I didn’t know, in a random house. When I tried to figure out who the hell I was here, everything and everyone pointed me toward you, and Robin, and the others. And you all acted like I was a stranger.”

The shame that made a home in Steve’s chest long ago rushes to the surface, and he can’t look at you, can’t look at the mess he’s made.

“Everything that happened to you, and a lot of bad shit happened to you, it was because of me. You asked to come with me to find Nancy that first night, and you took that bat from Jonathan, and…” He waves a hand at nothing. “That was the end. Just like that, your life was over, like mine.”

You say nothing for the longest five seconds of his life.

“For months, I have been drowning, and here you’ve been, standing behind me the whole time, holding a fucking life preserver,” you say. “I needed you, needed someone, and you left me all alone.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Steve says weakly. “I thought I was protecting you.”

“Really?” you ask. “Or were you protecting yourself?”

Steve winces. He hates that even when you don’t know him, you do.

“I—"

“Just… don’t.”

“I’m sorry. I didn't know what to do, and I screwed up, and I—” He rakes in a breath. “I’m just sorry. For everything. For all of it.”

Your eyes don’t leave the front window, and Steve isn’t stupid enough to miss the end of the conversation when he sees it.

With a sigh, Steve undoes his seatbelt and pops open the passenger door. He climbs out of the car, and you still won’t look at him.

Just before he turns, you reach over and roll down the passenger window.

“Steve,” you say.

With a twisting feeling in his gut, he bends down to meet your gaze through the window.

In an odd voice, you say, “Your life isn’t over, Steve.” You shake your head. “At least, not for the reason you think. From where I’m standing, the only monster still standing in your way is the one in your own head.

And then you’re driving away, and Steve can do nothing but watch your car grow smaller and smaller, until it finally disappears.

-

After dropping Steve Harrington at his house, and thoroughly scolding yourself for answering the phone at all and agreeing to drive out to get him, and for pushing him into the truth, you drive back to your house feeling like a ghost.

Getting the answers you’ve been looking for for months was supposed to feel better than this. It was supposed to bring peace. Calm. Understanding.

It wasn’t supposed to be a bigger mess than you’re already standing in.

Back in your room, you finally pull out the shoebox that’s been sitting under your bed, taunting you. The part of you that couldn’t bring yourself to open it got out of the car with Steve, and all that remains is the need to know what’s inside.

So, you sit on the floor and pull the box onto your lap. And inside, you find pieces of the life you led in Hawkins. Mainly, the life you led alongside Steve Harrington.

Post-it notes with two sets of handwriting—yours, and, you assume, his—and random quotes or phrases that must hold meaning to that version of you. Movie ticket stubs and dinner receipts. A handful of mixtapes.

And photos. So, so many photos. Photobooth reels and rolls of film and printed pictures. In each of them, you look at Steve Harrington like the goddamn sun shines out of his ass, and he looks at you like you hung the stars.

There are more photos, with more familiar faces, and it becomes clearer and clearer that Hawkins, as bloody and tough as it could be at times, was your home. A home you’d fought for.

You were the best thing that ever happened to me.

You hadn’t quite believed him in the car. You do, now. And you think maybe, he was the best thing that ever happened to you—part of it.

But there is a large, gaping hole in your chest, three years wide, and while this Vecna creature may have created it, Steve Harrington let it stay.

June 23rd, 1986

In the dream that isn’t a dream, but a memory, you are running across a barren and cracked wasteland as red lightning cracks over your head. Something, or someone, writhes on the ground as batlike creatures swarm, and you’re too far, still too far.

You don’t know exactly what you’re running toward, but it’s like some essential piece of yourself is at the center of the flock. Like your very heart is just a few yards away, and with every second that passes, you get closer to losing it.

It is fear and desperation and affection like you’ve never felt, and it’s all directed at him.

Steve Harrington, shirtless and shoeless, bleeding from a dozen bite marks.

Nancy brings an oar down onto the swarm, scattering them from Steve’s torso, and you swing at them as they flee, not caring where they go as long as it’s away from him.

Just as he climbs to his feet, in the split second before he springs into action, he meets your eyes, and it’s like an electric rod to the spine. One glance from him swallows your fear and the darkness whole, and you know that he’s going to be okay, and that’s all that matters.

June 24th, 1986

Like he does every night, Steve makes his rounds double checking the locks on the windows and doors. His mother tends to sit out by the pool at night and leave the door wide open when she comes back in, so he always waits for his parents to fall asleep before his final check.

It’s a little past one in the morning, according to the clock hanging above the front door in the foyer. Better than last night, he thinks, when he crawled into bed half past four—

A shuffling sound directly outside the door freezes him. He retrieves the bat he has hidden in his mom’s antique hutch beside the door, and unlocks it, opening it slowly.

It isn’t a monster on the other side of the door, but a ghost.

“Shit.” You stop your pacing. “Shit. Um, I’m—”

“Standing outside my door like a stalker at one in the morning?” Steve asks.

A smile flits over your lips and disappears.

“I—” You stop. “

Steve swallows, and says, “Do you wanna come in?”

And you say yes. You follow him inside, and up to his bedroom, and when he closes the door behind you, he pinches himself to make sure he’s not actually unconscious.

You sweep a look around the room, as if seeking something familiar, and Steve resists the urge to ask if you find it.

You don’t cross to the bed and make yourself comfortable the way you would have, once upon a time, but you’re here. Instead, you stand on a rug in the center of the room like it’s a raft in the middle of the ocean.

Steve moves to lean against his desk. He clears his throat.

“So… what’s up?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” You tuck the hair behind your ears and close your eyes. When you open them, you say, “I had this dream, and I couldn’t fall back asleep, and I got in my car, and I didn’t even realize where I was going, and then I was… here.”

Steve has a thousand questions, but he goes with what he hopes is the safest.

“What was the dream?”

You huff a laugh, but it’s acidic.

“It was like a nightmare, but I’m pretty sure it was a memory, too” You cross your arms. Flick a glance toward him. “It was you. You were on the ground, and these—these creatures were attacking you, ripping you to pieces, and—" You clear your throat. “I thought I was watching you die, and I was so scared I wasn’t going to reach you in time, and for a second, I—” You stop, and Steve is terrified, because he has absolutely no idea where you’re going with this. “For a second, I understood. I understood why you lied to me and kept your secrets. Because for a single second, I felt the way you must have felt. I only lost you for a few seconds, but I felt like I was going out of my mind.”

Steve doesn't know what to say. He doesn’t know how to fix this. He has no fucking clue about anything.

“I’m still mad at you,” you say. You take a breath. “For a week, I’ve been so angry at you I couldn’t see straight. But when I woke up from that dream, all I wanted was to make sure that you were okay. Because I think that you were the best thing that ever happened to me, too. And not just you. You, and Robin, and the kids, everyone.”

“I took it all away from you,” Steve says. “I didn’t even know what I was doing. I thought I was doing the best thing for you, but if I knew what I know now, I swear to God, I never would have—“

You take a few hesitant steps toward him.

“I know,” you say. “I think I’ve been spending all this time imagining you just… walking away, like it was the easiest thing in the world. But it wasn’t. Was it?”

“No,” Steve says. He sighs. “I’ve done a lot of fucked up things but walking away from you was the dumbest. The hardest, too. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret it.”

You go quiet for a long second.

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to get back the time I lost. If this Vecna thing really did just… reach into my head and pluck it out, I probably won’t. But—” A lopsided, sheepish smile pulls on your lips. “But when I hear your voice, it’s like all the chaos and noise and confusion inside me just… settles. And that drawer in the bottom of my dresser. There’s a bunch of tee shirts in there that I’ve never seen before, but I can’t fall asleep without wearing one of them.” You pull down the collar of your sweatshirt, and sure enough, Steve recognizes the dark blue fabric underneath it. “Because for some reason, it smells like home. You smell like home.”  

Steve can barely hear you over the pounding of his own heart. Now, he’s sure he’s dreaming.

“So, yeah, I’m still mad at you, and I can’t just make that go away.” You take another step closer. And another. One more, and you’d be in his arms. “But at the same time… I look at you, and I just miss you, and it doesn’t make sense, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t.”

“What are you saying?” Steve asks, and he sounds a little stupid, but he needs you to say it. He needs proof this isn’t some fantasy.

“I’m saying—" You pause. Take a breath. “—that even though I didn’t know you, I loved you. From the second I looked over and saw you standing in the doorway of that hospital room. I just didn’t understand.”

“And I made it worse,” Steve says.

A smile ghosts your lips. “You did.”

Steve closes his eyes. Shakes his head. And when he opens them, you’re inches away.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispers. “I’m so—"

You reach up to cup his cheeks, and Steve wilts, leaning into your touch. It’s like he takes his first full breath in months.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?“

“I think you’ve hit your apology cap for the night,” you say. “Save the rest for tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. A magical, beautiful word. A word that opens a door instead of shutting it.

“Why?” he asks, and you surprise him by understanding.

“Because,” you say, “this is what you and I do, right?” You glance at the photos hanging above his desk. Three quarters of them hold you. “We stick together, and we survive.” One side of your mouth turns up. “We live.”  

“What if it’s too late?” he asks, when he really means to ask, is it too late?

Your thumb traces a line down Steve’s jaw and back up. You lean toward him, and he doesn’t dare move, not even when you’re close enough that you’re breathing the same air.

“It’s never too late,” you say softly, and then, you kiss him.

And he kisses you back, and even though he’s standing in his own house, he finally feels like he’s home again.

Steve doesn’t know if you will ever get back all the stolen moments. For months, he’s been grieving the version of you that came out of the Upside Down with shattered bones and a blank memory. But it’s like Robin said on his birthday. He’s been acting like you died down there.

And maybe part of you did, but part of him died there, too.

Not all of him. Not all of you. He’s had his neck craned backward for so long, he couldn’t see it.

He sees it now.

-

taglist: @milkiane​ @spideyboipete​ @robiin-buckley​ 

#brooke writes fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington au #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things au #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader

[iloveyourwritingthankyou]

would die if you wrote a fic based on your eddie is an ass man concepts oh my god that was so hot

Absolute dom!eddie brainrot on this blog lmao

Honestly id love to see my headcanons in fic form, I think it would feel super satisfying but it would be my first venture into like narrative style writing outside of school and tbh its a little daunting

Also my uni semester just started back up so that's gonna be a little time consuming, sorry to disappoint

Ill probably end up posting more headcanons tho, maybe some nsfw stuff for my cheer manager!reader series

#might give an actual fic a try when my boyfriend gets home so ive got someone to plan with #also considering writing some stuff for steve #steve x eddie x reader maybe #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x plus size reader #brooke answers asks #eddie munson x you #cheer manager!reader #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson smut #all my headcanons are up for grabs if you wanna write a fic just like tag me or something

[wwprice1]

What a cover by Mark Brooks!

#marvel #avengers #x-men #Eternals #starfox #jean grey #nightcrawler #kurt wagner #ikaris #sersi #captain america #Steve Rogers #tony stark #iron man #mark brooks #keiron gillen #judgment day #axe judgement day #axe judgment day

[stvharrngton]

kinktober: day one

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

kink: cream pie

word count: 0.9k

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, unprotected p in v, cream pie

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @nix-rose

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

The day you got on birth control, Steve was like a man possessed. You had raised the premise nonchalantly, whilst the boy was between your legs, tongue swirling around your pussy as you blurted out the fact that you had now been prescribed a certain little pill. 

You had stopped him in his tracks, his wide brown eyes looking up at you from the apex of your thighs, your arousal coating his mouth and chin. Your fingers went to his hair, raking through the soft strands pulling the boy from his trance. 

“Does that mean—?”

“Yes,” you cut him off, bucking your hips just enough to urge him back to what he was doing before.

“Fuck,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your doughy thighs in a bruising grip. Putting all his attention back to your dripping core, working you as best he could.

Steve’s eyes were closed as he groaned obscenely into your pussy, licking and sucking on your aching clit. You were soon hurtling towards the edge, sparks shooting through your body as your vision went fuzzy and your head went dizzy. Fingers tugging on Steve’s hair as you ground your pussy on Steve’s mouth.

The boy made quick work of his own underwear before sitting on his hunches between your legs, stroking over his stiff cock as he gazed at you through hazy eyes. Spitting in his palm, he lined himself up with your entrance.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, his free hand found itself placed on your thigh, thumb stroking soothingly over the sensitive skin.

So you hooked your legs over Steve’s hips, your feet crossed at the small of his back, pulling him closer to you. Your foreheads were almost pressed together, the points of your noses knocking as you whispered against his lips, “Please.”

“Shit, okay—,” Steve murmured, swallowing the lump in his throat, exhaling a moan against your lips as he let the tip of his cock press into your hole. A moan which you gladly swallowed.

Steve began to roll his hips slow and deep against your own, his cock dragging out of your pussy at an agonising pace only for your cunt to suck him back in every single time. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his large palm clutching at your hip.

The sweet little moans and whines you breathed out below him along with the intense feeling of you wholly wrapped around him was pushing him towards his climax embarrassingly fast, the boy blurting out, “I don’t know, fuck, how much longer I can last, baby,” he whined, his skin shone with a thin sheen of sweat, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink, “pussy feel so. fucking. good.”

“Oh, Steve,” you cried, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he picked up the pace now, his hips snapping against your own, the sound of skin slapping against skin sounding throughout your bedroom. All your thoughts incoherent, all your attempt at sentence complete nonsense as Steve fucked his thick cock in and out of your cunt.

Poor Steve tried to hold off as long as he could but it was no use, you felt too good, too warm, too wet. He tried to savour every moment of this latex-free rendezvous but the way you clenched around him with every thrust really did a number on his brain. He slithered a hand between your bodies in an attempt to lazily rub at your clit, egging you on to finish with him.

“Baby, I gotta cum,” he whined, hips beginning to stutter, his stomach beginning to tense, “where can I cum, pretty girl? Please tell me, fuck.” He pleaded, begged rather. The intense feeling building up in his lower stomach was becoming too much to bear.

 “Inside me,” it came out strangled, a hoarse moan as you whimpered, nails digging into Steve’s broad shoulders, raking up his tan skin, “want you to cum inside me, Stevie, please?”

Cock growing impossibly stiffer, his heart thumping on overtime, if he wasn’t buried inside you to the hilt he’d ask you to pinch him. The pure thought of seeing his cum leaking from your pussy, the creamy white thick and warm inside you, sent Steve into overdrive.

He held himself up on his elbow whilst his hand cupped your cheek, his lips hot and wet on yours in a searing kiss. His hips still working against you, his fingers still rubbing at your puffy clit, both of your climaxes on the brink.

“Just like that,” you cried, “don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You arched your back off the sheets, pressing your chest against Steve’s hairy one, your skin buzzing as everything became hot and tingly, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve cooed, his hips unrelenting against you, “gonna stuff you full of my cum, pretty girl, is that what you want, huh?” He asked, “Wanna have my cum dripping from that pretty little pussy?”

“Yes!” you whined, pleading with Steve to give you what you wanted, which he always did. His thrusts began to grow sloppy, the boy taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he came undone above you.

Steve moaned that sweet little moan as he filled you with his cum, his chest heaving as he buried his face in your neck, his grip on your skin tough. His thighs shook as his toes curled, grumbling and groaning incoherent mumblings of praise and pussydrunk filth.

The sight before him when he finally pulled his cock from you was one he would never forget. Your pussy wet with your own juices and creamy with Steve’s cum leaking from your hole. He reached his fingers out to you, careful not to overstimulate you, spreading the stickiness over your puffy lips.

Having you spent like this, dripping with Steve’s cum was truly a sight for very sore eyes.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things fan fiction #k.fic #kinktober2023

[prokopetz]

I'm only familiar with a few PBTA titles, so I'm curious. What is "correct" usage of the terms hard and soft move, and what are some incorrect definitions you've come across?

(With reference to this post here.)

You're right to put "correct" in quotation marks, because I have to preface this with the observation that taxonomies aren't "correct" or "incorrect"; they're merely useful or not useful. I'm going to be talking about utility here, not correctness per se.

The trouble with the terms "hard move" and "soft move" as employed by many games – by no means exclusively badly designed PBTA hacks, though they're certainly a frequent offender! – is that they want to frame it in terms of severity. A hard move is a really bad consequence, and a soft move is a not-so-bad consequence. This doesn't have a lot of utility because it's too subjective and context-dependent. What is a "bad" consequence? What does that mean? Some games recognize this shortcoming and try to work around it by setting hard boundaries and saying stuff like "well, a hard move does X damage, while a soft move does Y damage", which works great right up until a player character only has Y-1 health levels left and your "soft" move just no-saving-throwed Steve.

A more helpful way to taxonomise GM reactions (and one which you'll tend to see in more carefully structured PBTA titles) is in terms of where the "what do you do?" falls. In this framing, a soft move is one which asks "what do you do?" before imposing any irrevocable mechanical costs or narrative consequences, while a hard move is one which imposes consequences, then asks. Severity need not enter into it; to steal from Mel Brooks, "you cut your finger" could be a hard move and "you fall into an open sewer and die" a soft one, depending on whether the GM hits you with "what do you do?" the moment before your foot comes down expecting to find pavement and meets empty air, or – as it were – the moment after.

Basically, the first one is trying to count imaginary beans. The second one is an implicit instruction to think more carefully about player agency. One of these is generally a lot more useful than the other!

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #game design #taxonomies #nomenclature #injury mention #death mention

[imdead770]

The Outsiders x Reader fluff - Sodapop Curtis

Authors Note - I had to hype myself up for this because I procrastinate too much.

Sodapop Curtis -

• I feel like writing this is so simple because this man is concerningly affectionate??

• There's so many sweet things he'd do

• Whenever he started flirting nobody even noticed because he's like that naturally

• Unlike Dallas he actually asked you out straight up.

• He almost threw up before asking you and was literally jumping up and down when he got home

• Darry had to grip his shoulders to keep him on the ground

• He wouldn't shut up about you??

• Before and after you started dating, you're his conversation

• The gang is so sick of it

• Your first date was so perfect

• He'd do everything

• Open doors for you, push your hair behind your ear

• 😭❤️

• Whenever you were driving to your date, he hyped himself up to hold your hand

• But when you beat him to it he almost wrecked the car

• He was smiling the whole time after that

• He was already smiling, but now it was full out grinning

• Compliments.

• Every fucking day.

• Your hair, your outfit, your body, your eyes, your voice, your personality

• Makes sure you know just how perfect you are everyday.

• Your first kiss.

• Fuck romcoms, this was so much better.

• 100% used some shit pickup line on the end of your first date just to kiss you

" darlin'.. what kinda lipgloss you got on? "

" strawberry.. why? "

" mind if I have a taste? "

• Screaming. Crying. Hollering.

• He was so surprised it actually worked

• Like Dallas, pet names are just normal at this point.

• Darlin', sweetheart, doll, baby

• Either that or some really sappy shit like sweetcheeks

• He's super sweet but I know damn well Sandy made a dent in him

• You know how he's super affectionate? He needs just as much affection.

• A lot of times you just lay down, hold each other and talk.

• You lying with your head on his chest, him playing with your hair as he talked about the time Steve nearly burned off his hair at DX.

• He's always toucuing you in some way shape or form

• Holding your hand, resting his hand on your thigh as he drives, kissing your cheek

• He's a PDA whore.

• Tries to help you with your homework but it ends up with him being way more confused then you.

" Hun, I gotta admit.. I ain't cut out for this. Go ask Dar. "

• Takes you out every Saturday

• Normally to the drive-in or some diner the gang talked about

• He's so loyal to you it's not even funny.

• Tells you every night about the girls who flirted with him at DX.

" You wouldn't believe it doll. I told her I ain't interested 8 times, everytime she just flipped her hair and kept on talkin'. "

• You always laugh your ass off because all these girls think they have a chance

• But you know damn well Soda would never do that

• One time a girl flirted with Soda infront of you

" You're real' sweet n' all, but I got a girlfriend "

" Aw cmon.. just cheat.. for me "

• The way you verbally harassed her.

• Sodapop nearly made out with you right then and there

• He 100% said I love you within the first month

• Almost cried when you said it back

• Talks about your future a lot

" How 'bout we name our kid Brooke? "

" I'm never havin' kids, Soda "

" Aw c'mon... can ya' imagine how good lookin' they'd be? "

• Kisses you an ass ton

• Always holds you close near the gang because he knows damn well half of them would fuck you given the chance 💀

• Saves up money to get you gifts

• Tries to remember the things you like for gifts but always scrambles it around

• Loves when you visit him at DX

• Makes his work days 11x better

• Literally so sweet to you

• You're crying? He'd literally drop everything to comfort you. Tired? He's already asleep with you.

• Talks about cars way too much

• Every day you have to explain you don't know what the fuck a carburetor is

• He's so used to having you around he has no idea how to operate without you anymore

• Like if you start sleeping together every night (keep it pg) and you have a school trip or something, he genuinely can't sleep

• He literally has to hold the pillow to sleep.

• Ponyboy was basically kicked out of the room because of you

• Still mad at you for that

• Your voice puts him to sleep

• If he lays on you while you're talking and you start playing with his hair, he'll literally be out in 2 minutes tops.

• He literally loves you so much and reminds you every chance he gets it

• The gang teases him but he doesn't care because you're way better than any of their girlfriends

• He's so perfect??

• Like you don't even understand how God did this.

• He's hot as hell, he's sweet, funny, caring

• He's the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

• I love him so much 😔❤️

Steve's next

#the outsiders #the outsiders headcanons #dallas winston #sodapop curtis #johnny cade #ponyboy curtis #steve randle #two bit mathews #darry curtis #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders sodapop #sodapop x reader #soda x reader #sodapop curtis x reader

[grimoireofhayley]

Of Friends and Horror

Stu Macher x Fem!Reader x Billy Loomis

WARNINGS: Graphic content, eventual Smut (MINORS DNI), Language, Talks of SA, Cheating, Obsessiveness, Gore, 18+ Content, Stalking, Possessiveness, Dirty talk

Word Count: 1.3k

Tag List: @ev3ningrain @nerdytif @fanfic-enjoyer123

All chapter links! 👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

OF&H Masterlist

Chapter 4

“Hold on a minute, Sid..” Billy tossed his sweater to the side, removing it from his lap, standing up.

“Why were you at her house?” Sidney fumed, stomping her feet. “Usually, I wouldn’t have a problem with it, but you lied to me, Billy. Why couldn’t you have just been honest from the get-go?” She tapped her sneaker-covered foot off the ground, waiting for an answer from her boyfriend.

“I--I don’t know, I mean, I figured you’d react like this if I did tell you…” He expressed.

You ‘tsk’d’, standing up. “Sid, it isn’t a big deal, he was coming to me for advic--” You began, but was quickly shh’d by your not-so-close friend, Sidney.

“You.. You have no room to talk.” She screeched, her cheeks flaring, as she began to dig out of her bag, taking out a red leather journal, labeled, ‘(Y/n) <3’ with a black heart stitched into the cover. “You were seeing Steve behind Brooke’s back, you slept with him on her birthday of all days.. And you kept going back for more! How do I know you and Billy weren’t doing the same?”

Your eyes widened, ‘Of course… That’s how she knew about you ‘dating’ Steve.’

“It’s.. It’s not like that with Billy!” You yelled, tears threatening to spill and Sidney whipped your journal at your chest before it fell to the ground with a thud.

“Of course it isn’t.. Why would he want someone like you, anyways?” She snarled.

You ignored her harsh words, but you couldn’t help but agree with her, why would he want someone like you anyways?

“Wh-Where did you even get this?” You stuttered, hurt engulfing your voice. “Why would you even read it?” You sniffled. “This shit is personal…” At this rate, tears were streaming down your face, you were a hot-agitated mess.

“You left it in English, you’re lucky I was the one who found it and not Brooke..” She groaned, narrowing her brows, “I wasn’t planning on reading it, but I was curious… It’s a good thing I did though…” She snipped, folding her arms over one another, “You’re such a whore, you know that?” Venom laced her words, you can tell she was holding that in for a while.

“C’mon, Sidney, don’t be like that.” Stu spoke, trying to break the catfight, though he was secretly enjoying it. He placed a hand on Tatum’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze, hinting for her to get up in there, hoping that some sick-and-twisted porno would break out; having you be the main girl he’d watch.

Something about you being all flustered and crying had his head elsewhere, he couldn’t help but think how your pretty-little face would look in all sorts of positions. Whether it be your face pressed into a pillow, or his hand wrapped around your neck, limiting your oxygen. How you’d most likely cry and scream because everything felt so good, how dumbified you’d be after he was finished with you.

You’d be a sopping-sputtering mess.

Stu quickly placed his hand on his crotch, feeling his jeans tightening around his bulge.

“Fuck…” He mumbled, hoping no one heard as he slyly adjusted himself so no one saw his erection.

“This is my cue to leave…” Randy laughed awkwardly, looking at the fight that’s breaking out in front of him, this caused Stu to fixate his thoughts on something else.

Stu looked at Randy as his classmate started to head towards the school. Stu prayed that his buddy didn’t see the position that he was in.

“Mine, too…” Tatum mumbled, gripping onto Stu’s arm, “Let’s go, Babe…”

Stu nodded, “Uh, yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

You angrily waved bye to your three friends, knowing very well that your argument was making them uncomfortable.

You looked at Sidney, your personality switching from crybaby to angry.

Billy glanced at the two of you, watching the scene unfold, he didn’t like how Sidney was treating you; he hated it per say, but he couldn’t do much about it, not yet at least…

“If you cared to even read it all since you already started, it would’ve said that Billy came over for advice, to see why you wouldn’t touch him, Sidney, he loves you and he came to his closest friend asking for help with what to do.” You heaved, “But no, you read the worst pages I’ve written about myself. Why start snooping if you weren’t going to finish it at all?” You spat, bending over to pick up your journal. “I regret what I did behind Brooke’s back, this is something I have to deal with for the rest of my life, and you know what? I can live with that.” Sidney grimaced at the tone of your voice, “If anyone’s a whore, though, look at what your mother did.” Her eyes widened at the sudden insult, “She had her legs open for every married man in town, and look where it got her…” You started to breathe heavily, “It got her killed.” You snickered, wiping your eyes, freeing them from any tears. You were pleased with what you said, “I am a saint compared to what she did.” You hugged your journal close, “Maybe if you weren’t such a prude, he wouldn’t be sneaking into another girls’ window!”

“You..You, bitch!” Sidney screamed, tears running down her own face. She went to slap you, but Billy caught her wrist. He didn’t say anything, but nodded at you.

Sidney whined, clenching her fist, ripping her arm away from Billy, and stormed off, not looking back.

Billy walked towards you, leaning into your ear, “Was that necessary?” He chortled, taking light in the situation.

The deepness of his voice sent shivers down your spine and coated your arms in goosebumps. Your breath hitched as you gulped down the ball that seemed to form in your throat. The hair on your arms stood as he slowly trailed his index finger up and down your arm, his touch was warm, but oddly cold, he enjoyed seeing you tremble at the slightest touch he’d give. Of course he knew about your ‘little’ crush on him, Sidney wasn’t the only one who read that journal, but him, too. Though, she didn’t read as far as he did. Thankfully because that would’ve ruined the plan.

He knew about Steve as well, why do you think he had killed him? He killed him for you, but do you need to know it, right away? No, definitely not. That’s set for a later date. He and Stu also killed Casey for you, they didn’t like how she was treating you during school, they had to end it together. However, neither of them knew that the other had feelings for you at the same time, that their motivation to end their late classmates' lives was because of you.

As far as they both know, they killed Casey for tormenting you, but also because Stu held a grudge against her. They killed Steve because he was taking advantage of you, but was also a bystander. He was able to fuck you senseless during the late hours of the night, but didn’t have the balls to step in when his girlfriend was being a douche? That didn’t sit well with either of them, plus, they were jealous Steve had you first.

He looked over your face, loving how sun-kissed your skin was. His breath lingered on the slope of your neck as he twirled a strand of your (H/c) hair.

It earned him a slight whimper from you, quickly making you blush.

“I’ll see you in class, okay?” He smiled, his pearly whites glinting. He enjoyed seeing you like this, he might just pay you a visit tonight.

You bit your lip, nodding. “Uh-huh…”

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#fanfiction #billy loomis x female reader #ghostface x female reader #stu macher x female reader #Stu Macher #Billy loomis #scream franchise #stu x reader #billy x you x stu #billy x you #billy x stu #scream 1996 #billy x reader #billy loomis smut #Stu Macher smut #billy loomis x reader #stu matcher x reader #ghostface #scream x reader #Stu imagine #billy imagine