#cyndi lauper maybe?

[allhailwiggly]

i would like to thank vhs christmas carols for returning a vital starkid element back to me: meredith on bongos

[frankenphetamine]

i saw it in a dream so i had 2 make it

[m-a-d-e-l-e-i-n-e]

Life will never be as simple as it was when I was a little kid falling asleep in the backseat of my parents’ car with one of these songs playing on the radio ever again

[lostmykeysie]

i read THH and TML practically in one go after i started yesterday and i BLAME YOU for my terrible remus & regulus obsession i hate you i love you <3 i can think of nothing else but them they are actually my whole world right now

anywaysss i truly enjoy your writing you are amazing and im so happy i found your fics <3

HI BABE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

first of all i am impressed because omg c&tw is turning out SO LONG. the funniest thing is when i finished THH i said that TML wouldn't be anywhere near as long and i think it's already longer lmao what is my problem???? someone come diagnose me pls

i am so in love with us all just being in love with these loser dudes like honestly same babes same. what are they doing right now???? i've decided that they're currently listening to 80s chart hits at some bar that remus has dragged reggie to, who is pretending he isn't LOVING listening to something that isn't angsty for once

but i think i'm just projecting because i was two beers in writing chapter 16 and i was listening to an 80s playlist because there's a fun party going on in the chapter and then i got so into it that now i've like six drinks deep (i've moved onto gin and flavoured water) and i'm having too much of a good time to continue writing. rip to my neighbours who have basically had to listen to me doing karaoke without the music for two hours xxx

ANYWAY you are the sweetest thing ever you've made me smile like a loon xxxxxxxxx KISS KISS xxxxxxxxxxx

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

♾ 🥺❤️

😊💗💗💗

I put my mp3 player on shuffle and this is what it came up with: “All Through the Night” by Cyndi Lauper

“Keep with me forward all through the night/And once we start, the meter clicks/And it goes running all through the night/Until it ends, there is no end”

[ilovedig]

If Brian lived who do you think he'd have represented up to present day?

[beesarthur]

i am captivated by the puzzle incidentally laid out in the latest Ethicist column in the NYT magazine (gift article link that will get you behind the paywall). 

here is the relevant info:

the letter writer (who i think can be safely assumed to be a man) has been married “for nearly 40 years” as of now, mid-2023, so got married in about 1983 (and not earlier, but maybe a bit later)

“about three years into the marriage” someone (a woman) with whom he had "had a summer-long relationship as a teenager“ started “to make waves in the music industry”

she is now, according to the letter writer’s estimation, well-enough known that  “her music is now instantly recognizable to most people“

the letter writer is a fan of her music, “in part because of the personal connection and memories it evokes”

the letter is about the fact that the letter writer has never mentioned to his wife the fun fact that he dated this now-famous person as a teenager before she was famous, and it has recently come to his attention that maybe this was a weird lie of omission? (which imo is strange, but also like not a betrayal, and i’m pretty *shrug* about that) 

but!! to me this is a “guess the singers this could be!” puzzle. this is what we can infer relatively straightforwardly from the letter:

a female singer who is (at least predominantly) a solo artist

who was not famous as a teenager 

was not famous by 1983

and at least started to become famous in probably 1986 or 1987

but there’s still a pretty wide range for what this person’s age could be:

if we assume that 

the letter writer got married in his 20s or 30s 

and that the letter writer and the singer are close to the same age (let’s say within 2 years) 

we get a maximum range of birth dates for the singer of about 1941 to 1965, but I think about 1945 to 1962 is more likely. 

and remember the extra little nugget that maybe says something about this person’s music and maybe doesn’t do that at all: the letter writer is “in the habit of playing this artist’s music, in part because of the personal connection and memories it evokes. Not long ago, my wife remarked that I am a ‘big fan.’”

who do you think this singer is?

[pupkashi]

love comes easy when it’s gojo

a/n: what are you guys talking about chapter 236 ? the manga ended a while ago lol they’re all happy and safe ! don’t be silly guys >.< (I’m deep in denial no one hmu)

wordcount: 728

masterlist

loving satoru gojo was easy.

it was easy falling in love with him when you first began talking to him, stolen glances and flushed faces when either of you caught the other.

it came to you like second nature to play along with his jokes. your minds practically syncing up the second your eyes connected, silly grins on your faces as you both cracked dumb jokes.

there was something almost instinctive that had you intertwining your fingers with his, the tv on the show now background noise as satoru practically lay on top of you.

“what should we get for dinner?” you mumbled, half paying attention to the action on the screen, eyes landing on the mop of white hair in your lap.

satoru hummed, adjusting himself so that he was on his back and staring up at you, “want me to cook?” there was a smile playing on his lips as you pursed your lips at him.

“depends” you smile, “what is chef gojo gonna cook up for us tonight?” the smile on his face was evident now as he sat upright.

“maybe some instant ramen?” eyes glimmering as he speaks up again, “im feeling a bit fancy so how ‘bout i add an egg in there too.”

“an egg? you spoil me satoru,” you tease, watching as satoru pushes himself off the couch, stretching a bit. the bottom of his shirt lifts a bit and you catch his lower belly, smiling to yourself.

“oh but when you bend over i can’t whistle at you?” he pouts, catching the way you were practically giggling.

“satoru we were in a meeting with the higher ups,” you retort. the sorcerer only scoffs, mumbling something and heading into the kitchen.

it was easy to love satoru when he was carrying you out in the pouring rain, a cheesy love song blaring through his phone speakers in his pocket.

“dance with me!” his dimples peeking out and his eyes crinkling a bit as he laughed at your now soaked shirt.

you want to be angry, you want to scold him because he just got over the flu and this is gonna be terrible for him. but the small droplets of water collecting at the end of his white hair and sticking messily to his forehead make you keep your mouth shut.

you don’t say anything as you extend your arm out, giggling when he quickly pulls you into him by the waist, immediately pressing his lips onto yours, teeth hitting each other as the two of you burst into giggles.

“cyndi lauper is your go to?” you laugh, barely audible over the downpour surrounding the two of you.

“it was either her or whitney houston ” he smiles, turning his infinity on when he sees you shiver in the slightest, being sure to include you in it.

it was easy loving satoru gojo when he was shampooing your hair, kissing your shoulder and wrapping warm towels around you.

it was easy to fall deeper in love with him when the two of you are in bed, sweet nothings being interchanged between the two of you.

“i love you, angel boy,” you whisper, loving the way his cheeks grew pink, the grin on his lips growing as he nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck.

“i love you more, sweets” his voice is softer, more vulnerable, than usual. there’s nothing on his mind except you, and there’s nothing on yours except him.

it’s when the two of you are making breakfast together, movements flowing easily as he passes you the eggs and he plates the pancakes. when you’re both sitting way too close to each other on the huge couch in the living room, pillows and blankets surrounding the two of you.

when you hand each other things without even uttering a word. when you sit in rare silence with your lover, the comfort of each others presence being enough for the two of you.

when he’s bringing home flowers or you’re making him his favorite foods, when you’re blushing at his shower of compliments and he’s running away the second you call him handsome.

it’s in between laundry loads and making plans that you both realize how easy love comes to each other.

loving satoru gojo was easy, especially when you fell in love with him all over everyday.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

[strawberryspence]

Yeah, so Eddie realizes he likes Steve when he saw him biting that bat and yeah, Steve realizes he likes Eddie when Eddie called him “big boy”

But the moment they realize they’re in love with the other? That’s what I want to focus on.

Steve falls in love first, because he always does and maybe he’s stupid for letting himself fall in love with Eddie so fast but it’s so easy. Eddie’s so easy to fall in love with, with his stupidly gorgeous hair, his creativity and kindness and resilience. Steve’s never met anyone like Eddie, with his pure uniqueness and weirdness, tied together with loveliness.

He realizes he’s in love with Eddie on a normal Tuesday night, they’re hanging out in Eddie’s room, doing separate things, but comfortable in each others presence. Music is playing softly in the back as Eddie scribbles on a notebook. Steve puts down the comic he’s been reading, trying to subtly watch Eddie and giving up. Eddie’s hair is up in a bun, eyebrows scrunched in concentration, pencil between his lips as he chews on it. He’s muttering to himself, whispering as he jots down new story lines for the new campaign.

Suddenly, Eddie jolts up, meeting Steve’s eyes. “I got it! I know how to end the campaign!” Eddie’s talking so fast, so animatedly, nothing’s loading up on Steve’s head because all he can think about is how Eddie’s eyes lit up in the orange fluorescent bulb, happiness sparkling in his brown eyes.

It’s a mundane, quiet Tuesday night and he wants this for the rest of his life.

The sky is blue, the grass is green and Steve Harrington is in love with Eddie Munson.

Eddie falls in love harder, because just like everything else in his life he goes hard in falling in love and maybe he’s stupid for falling in love so hard with Steve but it’s so easy. Steve’s the strongest, kindest and most generous person he’s ever met. Steve’s heart is a well, that gives and gives and gives to everyone he loves and he has so much love to give.

He realizes he’s in love with Steve on a Saturday night. The kids are in the living room, screaming and pointing at each other as they fight over monopoly properties. Robin, Nancy, Jon and Argyle are upstairs smoking weed. Eddie’s helping Steve clean up the mess from the dinner. There’s no music, no instrumental playing, just the kids screaming in the background and a few laughter from upstairs. Steve’s wearing an apron as he washes the dishes and as Eddie sweeps.

Suddenly, there’s music. Soft, sweet, almost like a lullaby. Eddie whips his head to look for where it’s coming from. His ears find Steve, singing as he dries the dishes. And god, Eddie wants to laugh and cry at the same time. Steve is singing Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper and it’s so far from Eddie’s usual genre but he wants it recorded on a cassette for his van so he can listen to it everyday.

It’s a hot Saturday night and he wants this for the rest of his life.

The sky is blue, the grass is green and Eddie Munson is in love with Steve Harrington.

[lovebugism]

Some blurb with grumpy fem reader and sunshine eddie?

He's constantly flirting with her and she only teases him or talking him down.

One time some cheerleader trying to flirt with Eddie and reader is so possesive, taking his hand and walking away. Eddie is wide-eyed, big smirk on his face and going after her with jumpy steps full of joy.

✶ ┄ SHE'S SO UNUSUAL !

summary: eddie's pretty sure he's loved you since the day he met you. you're pretty sure love is a neurochemical con job pairing: eddie munson / f!reader word count: 2.8k warnings: none? maybe just the faintest hint of angst? a/n: let's play a game of spot the steven universe reference because a clip popped on my tiktok fyp a couple days ago and even though i've never seen it, i simply haven't been able to stop thinking about it <3 anyways thanks so much for your request! hope you enjoy!

( BLURB SLEEPOVER ) | ( MASTERLIST )

Eddie’s pretty sure he’s loved you since before he understood what the word really meant. He didn’t know a lot of things, really, especially not as a lanky-limbed teenager trying hopelessly to navigate puberty in a world filled with assholes and uncertainty.

The only thing he could be certain of was all the love he had for you.

He’s seventeen and hopelessly stupid and you’re beautiful and eons out of his league. He concludes that having the majority of your gen-ed classes has to be fate and that making fun of you is the easiest way to talk to you without feeling like he needs to throw up. 

So he takes to bothering you every day before class and sitting at the table beside you — despite the fact that it had been assigned to someone else at the beginning of the school year — until the teacher ultimately gives up and lets him sit next to you. He pokes fun at your Blondiemerch and how the same She’s So Unusual Cyndie Lauper cassette has been in your walkman for a week straight and the way you dot your eyes with pretty little hearts.

Every joke is sprinkled with the faintest hint of truth, though.

He tells you that he hates Blondie but that the shirt looks good on you, because everything you wear looks good on you. He says it’s hilarious that you can’t seem to listen to anything other than Cyndie Lauper but that he understands because he’s been obsessed with Metallica lately — and that he’d love to show you some of their music sometime. He says only children put hearts over their i’s, but that it's real cute when you do it, when you do anything.

“You’re so annoying,” you inevitably tell him with the roll of your eyes when he tells you exactly that. He can’t tell if the way the corner of your lip quirks up is from a half-concealed smile or a look of disgust.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he shrugs and knocks his leather-clad shoulder with yours. “It’s not my fault that I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s kinda your fault.”

He says it all with a playful lilt to hide how much he means each word. That he’s in love with you and has been since you were in middle school, when he had a godawful buzz cut and loving Rocky Horror Picture Show was your entire personality — at twelve. 

“Love at first sight doesn’t exist,” you argue while you mindlessly jot down notes from the textbook spread open between you, dotting every i with a practiced heart. “Love takes time and work. At the bare minimum, you should at least probably know the other person — and you don’t have a single clue who I am.”

He’s momentarily knocked asunder at your words, at how profound they are. It’s like a century-old philosopher is using a pretty highschool aged girl as a mouthpiece, and it only makes him love you more.

“Well, I could get to know you,” he retorts with a frown. “You just won’t let me.”

“Did you hear anything I just said?” you squint over at him. 

“Yeah. That love takes time,” he echoes and a grin pulls slow at his lips. “Good thing we’ve got all the time in the world, sweetheart.”

When two years fly by, and you’re finally a senior (and Eddie’s repeating his last year of high school over again because the one before it knocked him on his ass), you realize that he wasn’t kidding around. He still tries hopelessly to get to know you and jokes that he’s a second-year senior only because he “didn’t want to leave you behind.”

“Couldn’t just leave you by yourself, sweetheart,” he says with a defiant shake of his head. “No way. Not with Jason Carver and all the other freaks roaming around here.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re the freaks here, Eds,” you monotone as you put in the combination for your locker.

He immediately notices the use of the nickname. It took you a year to call him anything other than Munson, and now he’s moving into Eds territory? It feels like his heart might burst. But you don’t seem to notice it so Eddie decides to keep it to himself, like sunshine in his pocket, lest he brings it up and he never gets to hear it again.

He presses a hand to his chest and leans in next to you. “Ouch, babe. I’m wounded. Truly. Sorry for wanting to protect a sweet little thing like you.”

You scrunch your nose and swat his hand away when he tries to squeeze your cheek.

“Some would say I actually need protecting from you.”

 “I am capable of pretty dangerous things, sweetheart.”

“Like what?” you scoff.

Eddie only grins. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You ignore the chill that his words shoot down your spine and pretend to be unbothered by the way they make your heart race. You choose to roll your eyes at him and stuff your arms with textbooks. “You better have a massive dick to back up that attitude, Munson, or people are gonna be real disappointed.”

“And by people you mean you, right?”

“Obviously not,” you monotone.

“Well, joke's on you, I’ve already disappointed everyone I know.”

“That’s not true, Eds—” you shoot back but then swallow the words when you realize you were about to say something too sweet. “There are billions of people in the world you haven’t met yet. There’s still plenty left to disappoint.”

“You’re real sweet, you know that?” he jokes with a smile. “Besides, if you’re really worried about the size of my dick, we can always break out a ruler and, you know, test your theory.”

“Ooh, sorry,” you wince. “I left my magnifying glass at home. Maybe some other time?”

“How about tomorrow?” he answers quickly and easily falls into step with you when you shut your locker and head towards your next class.

“I have a date tomorrow, actually. No can do.”

His heart stops and his throat swells and he forgets what words are for a moment or two. He can only blink at you for a few seconds. “A— A date?”

“Uh-huh. Jason Carver. He asked me out this morning.”

“You’re kidding,” he retorts bitterly with a scowl on his face. Then you start laughing at him and the world starts spinning again. He starts laughing too, but it’s more of a sigh of relief than anything else. “You— You are kidding?”

“Obviously I’m kidding,” you shove him. “Hell will freeze over before I am willingly anywhere around that guy.”

Eddie’s freshly beating heart starts to swell. It feels like more of an honor than it already has been, for you to want to willingly be around him.

“Oh, so you were just trying to make me jealous, then?” he squints over at you.

This time, you’re the stuttering mess as you try to figure out what to say.

He chuckles at you. “Because it worked, sweetheart.”

A couple of months or more go by and graduation nears — well, for you. Eddie’s still hellbent that he’s going to have to repeat another year, but you’ve made it your mission to get him to pass English.

He doesn’t even mind that it means he actually has to do the homework, as long he gets to spend time with you in the Hellfire room after school or share a snack with you at the picnic tables at Forest Hill.

It’s got him living in a state of grandeur. He’s hopelessly deluded, not only that he’s in love with you, but that you’re in love with him. And, for obvious reasons, you know that can’t be true.

Neither of you can be in love because you’re kids and you’re stupid and you don’t know a single damn thing about anything, let alone something as trivial and philosophical as love. It’s a neurochemical con job, everyone knows it. It’s not real.

Everyone thought Nancy and Steve were in love at one point, and then she called him bullshit at a party before fucking off with Jonathan Byers.

Everyone thought Jason and Chrissy were in love, too — that they would be everything Steve and Nancy couldn’t — and then she dumped him in front of the entire school after catching him being an asshole to a bunch of Hellfire club freshmen.

So, obviously, no one knows what love is. 

And by that logic, they can’t know when they’re in it either.

So you chalk up the butterflies and burning cheeks you always get around Eddie to being a dumb teenager who’s lonely and touch starved. Because it’s not love. It just can’t be.

Eddie begs to differ, though, and he swears he’s got the test to prove it.

It’s the spring assembly at Hawkins High, which means everyone’s gathered in the gymnasium on bleachers that are not nearly big enough to accommodate everyone, doing fuck all and grateful for not having to do any actual work. 

The cheerleaders do a couple of dances, the basketball team prances around the court — it’s all hopelessly pedestrian as far as you’re concerned.

You and the rest of Hellfire are located at the very top of the bleachers, as far away as you possibly can be from whatever the hell is going on below you. It checks out, though, because everyone else opts to keep their distance from the lot of you, too.

And you’re not exactly sure how the conversation started, but somehow you end up talking about crushes, and Eddie makes the too bold proclamation that you’ve got the fattest crush on him of all people.

“Leave her alone!” Dustin scolds him over the band, the only one actually trying to stick up for you. “Maybe this is something you should discuss, I don’t know, in private?”

You roll your eyes. “There’s no need. Because I don’t have a crush on you, Eddie Munson,” you tell him, stern and unwavering, as you squint over at him. Your glare follows the boy as he paces up and down the bleachers, two levels below you. “Sorry to bruise your ego.”

“Oh, so you won’t care if I tell Chrissy that I wanna take her on a date?” he asks you with a knowing grin.

“Why would I care?” you retort, then grumble. “It’s not like she would say yes anyway.”

“Well, she did ask me first.”

That quietens you instantly “…You’re lying.”

“Wanna bet?” he teases and leans down, resting his weight on the seating in front of him, until his face is level with yours. You can smell the nicotine on his breath and the mint gum he smacks between his teeth. 

If you were alone — and in some godawful teenage drama — you might’ve pulled him in for a kiss right there. At least, that’s what your brain tells you to do because your lips have started to tingle just thinking about it.

You hope Eddie hasn’t noticed the way your gaze falls on his own pink, plump, and very kissable ones. But the grin that paints his features then tells you that he has.

You play it off with a stoic expression and crossed arms. “Chrissy going from dating the captain of the basketball team to the town’s local freak would be an unprecedented low.”

“I’ll be sure to tell you all about our trip to Lover’s Lake tomorrow morning, sweetheart, don’t worry your pretty little head,” he promises before rising and spinning on his heels. He makes the trek to the lower level of the bleachers — a feat made more difficult by the crowd and the distance between it and him.

He makes sure to turn and look back at you every now and again, to make sure that you’re still watching him. You are. Of course, you are. And you hope the seething anger in your chest doesn’t show on your face.

“He’s not actually gonna ask her out, right?” Mike wonders.

“No way,” Dustin denies with the shake of his head. “The president of Hellfire can’t date a cheerleader… Right?”

Gareth shrugs. “He’s obviously bluffing.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t do that,” Jeff agrees. He turns to look over at you. “He’s been in love with you since middle school. He just wants to upset you.”

“Well, it’s fucking working,” you grumble under your breath. Your heart races and your vision swims as you watch him near the group of cheerleaders sitting on the floor of the gym. 

You want to believe that he’s bluffing, you really do, but you don’t doubt that Chrissy’s asked him out.

After she dumped Jason, she’d gotten strangely protective over the Hellfire club — constantly making an effort to talk to them all, ensuring that the rest of the school wasn’t acting total assholes around them. Hell, she’s even started being nice to you and you weren't even in the damn club.

She’s been hanging around with Eddie a lot more lately, catching up in the library and ranting about tests between classes. Everyone’s seen it. You’ve seen it. And it’s made you unbelievably jealous. 

Maybe you never noticed it before now because you used to be the only girl interested in talking to Eddie. But now he’s got the head cheerleader around to keep him company, to ask him out on fucking dates, and it leaves you seething in your rage.

And if love is anger, then you’re head over heels for Eddie Munson.

You rise suddenly from your seat and shove your way through the bleachers, muttering lackluster excuse me’s under your breath as you go and elbowing those who refuse to get out of your way. 

You reach Eddie just before he’s about to tap on Chrissy's shoulder. You take that hand and nearly jerk it from its socket the way you pull at him. Eddie is stunned, for all of half a second, thinking it must’ve been a fuming Jason Carver at the force of the grip around him. 

But it’s just you, all but dragging him out of the gymnasium with the strength of ten men in one angry teenage girl, and it makes him smile so hard it hurts.

He traps the grin between his teeth and locks eyes with the rest of Hellfire from across the room. He brings two fingers to his forehead in salute before he’s pulled out of the gym entirely.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teases as you lead him down a long hallway. “Thought you didn’t give a shit if I asked her out?”

You don’t respond to his teasing. You just keep tugging him by his wrist through the empty school. He’s not even sure if you’re even breathing just now, or if you’re moving strictly on autopilot and rage.

You shove him into Mr. Kamisnky’s vacant classroom and lock the door behind you.

Eddie’s chest rises and falls with the heavy breath he exhales. “Well, shit, sweetheart... If I knew making you jealous was all I needed to do to get you alone, I would’ve done it a long time ago—”

“Say you didn’t mean it,” you interject, less than amused at his teasing.

“…What?”

“That you wanted to take Chrissy on a date,” you elaborate with arms crossed over your chest, protecting yourself, your heart. “Say you didn’t mean it.”

And Eddie laughs. He fucking laughs. Like everything’s a joke to him, like the mere thought of you being heartbroken over him liking Chrissy is funny to him.

It’s not. Well, at least not that bit. It’s laughable to him that you would even think he wanted anybody but you after he’s spent so many years fawning over you.

“Of course, I didn’t mean it,” Eddie scoffs. He tries to take a few steps closer to you, but you back away, not believing him. He softens. “I just wanted to make you jealous, sweetheart. I didn’t wanna… hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you monotone.

The boy’s brows furrow. “Hurt your feelings or make you jealous?”

“…Yes.”

A smile pulls slow at his lips. He tries to hide it but fails miserably. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I just wanted to see how you would react. And I am very pleased by this reaction… Even though my wrist feels like it’s broken.”

“Sorry,” you murmur to yourself, already embarrassed at how angry you’d gotten.

“Don’t be sorry,” Eddie declines with the shake of his head. This time when he walks toward you, you don’t back away from him. You even let him take your elbows in his hands and rub his thumbs over your warmed and jealousy-prickled skin.

“Actually, you know what, do be sorry,” he corrects playfully. “And make it up to me by taking me out. Somewhere fancy.”

You purse your lips to the side in attempts to hide your smile. 

“Benny’s Burgers?” you offer after a moment.

“Ooh. Burgers, fries, a milkshake, and a hot date?" he lists with a nod of approval. "You really know how to get a guy to swoon, don't ya sweetheart?”

[lesbianrobin]

i'd be the prom queen (if crying was a contest)

3,561 words

robin & steve: an alternate meeting

“Your 1985 Prom King is, drumroll please..!”

Kids pound their legs and any nearby tables, some stomping wildly in place and others simply screaming until the noise bouncing around inside the gym seems to make her bones rattle. Robin halfheartedly pats her thighs along to the horrendously out of sync drumroll, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. It’s going to be him. It’s going to be him, and she’s going to lose what’s left of her sanity, and then since he’s single now he’ll take Tammy home and they’ll have gross sex and he’ll definitely suck at it and Robin could totally do better even though she’s never kissed anyone before. She’d just be better by default because Steve sucks.

“Steeeeve Harrington!”

The room erupts in a cacophonous mix of cheers and taunts. Robin drains the last of her punch as they lower the crown over his stupid hair, and for what certainly won’t be the last time tonight, she wishes that it had occurred to her to sneak in alcohol before she’d already arrived and gotten a peek at Christina Brown’s “hidden” flask.

“Woo!”

“Yeah, Stevie-boy!”

“Aw, fuck off!”

“Homo!”

“Go Steve!”

It doesn’t escape Robin’s notice that the more encouraging remarks tend to be from female voices, while all of the jeers are male. At least one guy is whistling in support from the back of the room. Steve soaks it all up, the adoration and envy alike, with perfect, shining hair and a pageant smile.The student council president whose old lady name she can never remember shushes everybody so she can announce who won Queen as Steve waves to his adoring fans. Robin doesn’t know most of the nominees. They’re upperclassmen, cheerleaders and high achievers who’ve never given her a second glance.

“Heather Holloway!”

The pretty brunette in a nice pink dress gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth like she’s just won the lottery. People cheer just as loudly as they did for Steve, though nobody heckles her. Steve claps, whoops like he’s not onstage and still way too close to the microphone, and it makes her sick. Heather accepts her crown and sash gracefully before being whisked offstage by some muscular asshole who must be her boyfriend, and the DJ starts up “Time After Time.” Steve takes the stairs down, and Robin forces herself not to follow his path through the crowd. The shitty finger foods on her paper plate are far more interesting than Steve Harrington.

Robin likes Cyndi Lauper alright, but this song just… sucks. It just sucks. It sucks almost as badly as the stale crackers left on her plate now that she’s eaten all the grapes and cheese. God, what did she really expect, getting dropped off at prom by her parents to meet up with a bunch of friends? They ditched her to dance as soon as they got inside, and sure, maybe she could get up and join them, but it just… it just sucks. None of these stupid couples will last after high school, and the ones that do will end up miserable together, but there’s still a jealous pang in her chest whenever Robin looks up to see some girl’s nicely manicured hands laced behind some guy’s neck, the way their ties and dresses match and they lean in close to whisper right into each other’s ears.

“Wanna dance?”

She looks up. The first thing she sees is a glint of light.

“With you?” Robin immediately pinches her own leg through the layers of polyester and tulle that her mother’s forced her into for the occasion. Shit, it stung. It actually stung.

Steve Harrington glances around like he might’ve missed somebody else in the conversation, light glinting off his crown, before shooting her a winning smile. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” she says instinctively.

He frowns, and of course he does because the asshole could never even imagine somebody not wanting to be with him, but his eyes go a little dull, a little tired, a lot sad, and something seizes in her chest, and this is why Robin doesn’t always do well in social situations, because panic seizes her throat and stimulates her vocal cords without her permission.

“No, I meant I don’t mind! So I do. Want to dance.”

The sadness dissipates with an airy Steve Harrington laugh. The winning smile returns as he raises an eyebrow. “With me?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” she says easily, shoving down the anxiety swirling in her gut and raising a hand because she’s read this script before. She must’ve delivered her line right, because Steve takes it, pulling her lightly to her feet and leading her out onto the dance floor. Her heart pounds faster as they weave their way to the center of the floor. So many people are looking at them already. There’s not a familiar face in sight, which should be statistically impossible for a school this size, but Robin doesn’t know any of these people as more than faces in the hall, and she really should have stuck to her instincts. Why did she take back the “no?” That was the smartest “no” in the history of the world, and she went and screwed it up like she always does.

Steve taps someone on the shoulder, and tugs her through a wall of people, and suddenly they’re right by the stage. Nestled between the speakers it’s almost… intimate. The music is loud, but the people aren’t so much. It’s better. Steve smiles softly as he arranges her arms, taking one hand gently in his own and placing the other on his shoulder. He moves his own hand slowly to her waist, like he’s waiting for her to stop him, and she can’t help but snort.

He makes a face at her and grips her waist properly. “Alright, alright.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, I said I’d dance, right?”

“Jeez, I can’t be polite?”

There he is. Steve “the Hair” Harrington, asshole extraordinaire. She knew he’d come out sooner rather than later.

“...Why me?” Robin asks, “Steve Harrington couldn’t get a date to the prom?”

She almost regrets her harsh tone when he averts his gaze, pretending to be interested in whatever’s going on over in the little photo studio in the corner of the room. Steve sighs.

“Well, I saw you admiring me all night,” he says with a wry grin, neck craned just a bit, eyes fixed in the corner. Robin’s stomach fills with lead. He’s gonna Carrie her. This is a Carrie somehow. It has to be.

His eyes flick back towards her as he chuckles, then they flick away, still focused on something over her shoulder. It feels cruel, nothing like the laugh she heard earlier, and the hand on her waist is hot like a brand, and he must feel how sweaty her hand is, and this is when he’ll tighten his grip and—

“Kidding. Uh, I don’t know. You looked about as miserable as I am, I guess.”

“What?”

Steve swallows. He finally meets her eyes with a weak grin. “Didn’t want to bring someone down with my shitty mood, but I have to dance. So I figured maybe you wouldn’t mind taking a spin and helping me out. Can’t be worse than just sitting around, right?”

“That’s a pretty big assumption.”

He blinks at her. He smiles, really smiles, and tugs her closer so that they might be able to rest their heads on each other’s shoulders, if they wanted to. She doesn’t.

“What’s your name?” he asks conversationally, like she can’t feel his breath on her shoulder and his hand in hers.

“Robin,” she says, and it sounds so raspy, he probably thinks she’s, like, into this or something, which is pretty much as far from the truth as humanly possible. How did this even happen? She’s been facing the stage most of the time, but Steve has been rotating them as he slowly sways, and now she can see some faces out in the crowd. A few are familiar. A lot are looking at her.

“I’m Steve.”

“No shit,” she bites out, fighting the urge to dig her fingers into his shoulder in the hope of bruising it.

“Okay, yeah,” Steve says placatingly, “Obviously you know that. Uh, you look familiar.”

“Click’s class. You sat, like, right in front of me.”

“Oh. Really?” Steve sounds genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, really.”

“Shit,” he whispers, and she probably wasn’t supposed to hear it, the music as loud as it is, but his mouth is, like, right next to her ear, and it’s not her fault that Harrington doesn’t understand how sound works.

She scoffs. “Relax. I didn’t really expect you to remember me. You never really even looked at me.”

“No, it’s not — ” Steve sighs, and she feels more than sees it when he shakes his head. All she can see is the crowd. There’s Catherine, and Ally, and Jeremy and David and Rachel, all looking at her. He’s stopped rotating them now, sticking to the slow sway, so she’s stuck unless she wants to force him, and instinct tells her that Steve Harrington isn’t someone who lets people force him to do anything.

“ ... just don’t remember a lot of shit, now.”

Her attention snaps back to Steve, to his hand on her waist and face nearly buried in her shoulder. “What?”

“Forget it.”

“Why the shitty mood?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

Tammy Thompson’s wearing blue. Her dress is… awful, honestly, it’s horrendous, like a big blue garbage bag, but she wears it well, like with a smile and a toss of her hair she could make an actual garbage bag look even better.

“Alright,” she finds herself saying. “Then ask.”

“...Okay. So, Robin,” he says, deftly maneuvering the clammy hand he’s cupped in his own so that their fingers are entwined, “Why the shitty mood?”

Tammy’s dancing with Sam Reynolds. They’re just friends, Robin’s pretty sure, or at least they’re nothing serious, but it hurts all the same. She’s absolutely glowing.

“Well, as you can see, I came alone.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a good time,” Steve counters. “There’s music, and food, and you look absolutely gorgeous.”

Robin can’t help how her face scrunches in disgust. Steve must feel her tense up, because he huffs out a laugh.

“Calm down, I’m not, like, coming on to you. But I can see, you know.”

Tammy looks away from Sam.

Their eyes meet.

Robin freezes, or she tries to, but Steve loosens his grip on her hand and it’s enough to jolt her back into reality. She squeezes both his hand and his shoulder, probably a little too tight, but if it bothers him he doesn’t say anything. Tammy is still looking.

“I didn’t come with the person I wanted to,” she says. It’s the truth, but it leaves the same sharp, sick aftertaste as a lie. An opening. Asking to get caught.

“Guess I don’t have to give you my answer now,” Steve says lightly.

“Yeah?” she asks.

Tammy’s lipstick is just on the tasteful side of pink. Just a bit brighter, just a bit more eye makeup, and it would be garish, but of course it isn’t, because it’s Tammy. She licks her lips, so quickly Robin can barely even see. What does her lipstick taste like? Is it bitter? Or is it decent enough that she can wet her lips whenever she’d like without worrying about washing the taste out of her mouth later? She’ll wear it away, then, and Robin can’t help picturing it, Tammy leaning in close to the mirror to reapply, and what if they ran into each other in the ladies’ room, and Tammy asked if she could be a doll and help her out?

“Well, no point in repeating ourselves.” Steve takes a harsh breath, and it’s weird, being so close to another person that she can feel his chest expanding just a bit more than it has been. They’re so close, and she should be uncomfortable, and she is, technically, in the sense that her shoes are pinching and her dress is hot and the whole room smells like sweat, but Steve’s hand in hers isn’t too bad. Pathetically enough, it’s almost nice. She’s so desperate and lonely that even Steve “the Hair” Harrington holding her hand is a comfort.

Tammy hasn’t broken eye contact yet. There’s something in her gaze, though, something Robin’s never seen directed at herself before. Tammy frowns at her, pulls Sam in close, and shuts her eyes as she continues to dance.

No point in repeating themselves. She might be hopeless, but Steve Harrington didn’t get the girl, either.

“That’s really it? You just won Prom King, and you can’t get over whatever girl turned you down this week?”

“You know, you’re kinda harsh, Robin.”

Robin might be hopeless, but she also has a mean streak. She shrugs, and Steve’s hand moves from her waist to rest on her back, like he might pull her into a hug at any minute, and it feels better. Less performative.

He continues, “I don’t think that’s really it for you either.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”

Robin shakes her head. “You know, you can’t just keep dodging questions with other questions forever.”

“Who said anything about forever? The song’s at least halfway over.”

She hums like she’s disappointed. “One and done, huh?”

It’s the third time Steve’s laughed since they first started talking, and this one makes Robin smile too. He shoves his forehead against her shoulder for a second, shaking, before he lifts his head again and says, “We really never talked in Click’s class?”

“Uh, not unless you count that time I dropped my paper and you said, hey, is this yours, and I said yeah, and you handed it back to me. That was pretty much it.”

“What a waste,” Steve says.

He says it like he means it. Like he really regrets not talking to her. She kind of believes him.

“What’s the other reason, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I came alone and I’m going straight home afterwards because I’m failing pre-calc and I have remedial work to do. These shoes barely fit. I can’t sleep, I can’t remember most of last semester, and I can’t go anywhere near the picture line without feeling like I’m gonna throw up. And I’m pretty sure half the basketball team just campaigned for me because they knew all the girls up for Queen already had boyfriends and I didn’t have a date. It’s funny for them, you know? Makes me look like even more of a loser.”

There’s… a lot there, but he rushed through the stuff in the middle, and something tells her that he sandwiched those things for a reason. What’s his problem with pictures? Does he mean he can’t sleep like he’s up all night tossing and turning, or like he’s torn awake by night terrors? Did he forget most of what he learned last semester, or like, most of what happened over those few months? It’s just… a lot, too much, and none of it really makes sense.

So Robin rolls her eyes. “You know, dancing with me isn’t really gonna help you with looking like a loser.”

“Jesus, shut up. Like you’re not cooler than all the girls in here. You know this is all stupid. This shit is who I am, but it’s not who you are. So why do you care so much?”

Steve Harrington is just as irritating as ever when he’s being nice. Maybe even moreso.

“Oh, you know who I am?”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

She wants to challenge him. Tell me, she’d say, go on, I’m listening. I want to hear what you think. What do you see when you look at me, huh? What do you hear when I talk to you? Do you know what I want? What I’m afraid of? Who I want to be, and what I’m terrified of becoming? Do you hear it when I cry every night? Tell me, Steve, where does the weight of the world sit on you? Is it crushing your chest, too? Or does it sit nice and high up on your shoulders? Go on, tell me. Who does the great Steve Harrington think I am?

But some questions don’t need to be answered. Besides, those questions are meant for the great Steve Harrington, and this guy is… something else. Something sadder.

“... It’s not really about them,” she tries. “Or it… it won’t be. It is, right now. But it’ll be about someone else eventually.”

“That’s… good, right?”

“No,” she says plainly. “It’s gonna be the same way then, too.”

“What makes you think that?”

Robin tries to laugh. It feels like more of a sob. “Call it instinct.”

“Time After Time” fades into something energetic and upbeat. It’s probably big right now, based on how everyone reacts by immediately breaking away from their partners to form big dance groups with their friends, but Robin must be listening to her Walkman too much, because she swears she’s never heard it before in her life.

“Well,” Steve says, not letting go, continuing to sway, “I think your instincts are bullshit.”

“Don’t,” she chokes, “Please.”

Steve unwinds their fingers, and it almost hurts, but then he pulls her into a hug, one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. She reciprocates without thinking, pressing her face against the fine material of his suit jacket. He’ll probably have to wipe her makeup off later.

“Look,” he says, and his voice wavers, just for a moment. “I know… Hawkins sucks. It really fucking sucks, more than anyone realizes. But you don’t. It’s not… we just met, basically, but I know that whatever it is, you’re not the problem. Okay? It’s just… other people.”

He doesn’t know. He can’t. He can’t, or he wouldn’t be holding her like this, and saying these words, and treating her like...

“Other people suck,” she says.

Steve’s shoulders slump forward, and she realizes that he’s been tense all night. Their hug feels different, now. More like the hugs that her mom used to give her when she was little and she couldn’t sleep. The music is a blanket of noise around them, her eyes shut and face tilted down into Steve’s shoulder, and Robin could almost forget they were in the same gym where she plays dodgeball on Thursdays. Fifty feet away from the locker room with the tiles she’s memorized, with the forty-six holes in the drain on the floor and the small remnant of somebody’s old gum stuck in the grout. They’re standing in warmth, and sound, and maybe it’s a veil of denial or ignorance but Robin can’t really bring herself to care when it lets her believe that maybe someone understands.

“Get a room!”

“Fuck off,” Steve lifts his head to shout at whoever said it, and Robin flinches.

She opens her eyes. She lifts her head. She takes a step back.

“Robin?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?” Steve leans in to speak clearly over the music.

Shaking out her shoulders and forcing herself to smile, she says, “Yeah. I think I ruined your suit, though.”

He frowns, glances at his shoulder, and laughs at the perfect imprint of Robin’s face loud enough that some nearby dancers turn their heads for a moment. It’s a nice sound. It makes Robin want to laugh, too.

“You want to get out of here?”

Fuck.

“I’m not…” she says, glancing back toward the table Steve had approached her at. None of her friends have since sat down.

He runs a hand through his hair, dislodging the crown and then fumbling awkwardly to save it before it falls onto the floor. He settles it at a crooked angle on his head and Robin snorts.

“Not like that, geez. I’m not even looking for anything —” He cuts himself off.

Steve takes a breath and continues. “ I just… we could get burgers, or something. You’re paying, obviously,” Steve says as he gestures to the makeup stain, but his fidgeting hands betray his confident tone.

There’s no way this doesn’t end badly. No way that Steve Harrington doesn’t try to make a move on her, or somehow figure out she’s a raging lesbian, or drive her out to an old abandoned farmhouse and turn her skin into a suit.

Robin hasn’t felt this good all night. She’s on the brink of tears, but she hasn’t felt this good in weeks, maybe fucking years, and if there’s just the slightest chance that she might actually just go and get burgers with a friend and make her junior prom a night to actually remember… well, she’s willing to take that chance.

“I’ll pay my half, obviously.”

Steve grins. “Then come on, my Queen. Or, uh, princess, or whatever a king’s, like, friend —”

“Are you trying to say my chariot awaits?”

Steve presses his lips together. “...No?”

Robin rolls her eyes as she holds out her arm, and Steve takes it. “Come on, Your Highness. Our totally platonic chariot awaits.”

This time, they laugh together, and Robin doesn’t bother to think about whether it was the fourth time or the fifth. She’ll hear it way too many times to count.

[bookshelf-dust]

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 5,163

warnings: swearing, cops, talk of jail/billy's abuse, neil, fluff and love

a/n: well, here it is. this is the very last part of my very first series. i am very proud of the ending i've created for these two. i like to think i've given billy what he deserved. i'm so grateful for all of the feedback and support you've given me on the previous parts. also, a part of this relies heavily on hopper’s letter from season 3, so that’s that, and then some of his other dialogue. i’ve found that it fit billy effortlessly. i really hope you enjoy this and maybe find some solace in it. i love you all <333

before you read, listen to: time after time by cyndi lauper and/or the promise by when in rome

————

The first night without Neil, Hopper sits in his car outside the house. He promised no one would hurt them. He means it.

Nicky went to high school with both Hopper and Joyce. In fact, she was suspended for dealing them weed under the bleachers at one point. She regrets nothing to this day.

Because of that, it really wasn’t too difficult to have a heart-to-heart with the man, to get him to sit down with Billy. And Max and you. Susan.

Hopper had shown up at the house to speak with Neil. When he arrived, he told you to keep Billy in his room, though that hadn’t mattered. The second Billy realized he might actually get out of this, that he might live without fear of his own father, he buried his face in your chest, tears wetting your collarbones, your t-shirt.

You’d let him get it all out, stroking his loose and frizzy curls, occasionally laying your hands over his ears to muffle any shouting. Billy squeezed you each time you did so.

Even if he was a little hopeful this might work, Billy couldn’t help but think about that night when he was a kid. When his mama left him with Neil.

He’d sat on his bedroom floor, trying to be quiet while his dad showered, pleading with her.

“Please mom, don’t do this. Please come home.”

“How long? How long?”

“I miss you.”

She was the last person he felt safe with, before you. And she’d gone, leaving her boy with him. Trapped. Part of him wasn’t sure this would work out. He’d hoped for so long that his mother would return, and she hadn’t. Neil had dictated everything in Billy’s life so far, so how was it possible for anything to change?

Hopper had given Neil Hargrove one option.

“You’re gonna sign these papers,” he’d said, gesturing at the divorce packet lying on the table, “and I’m going to quietly take you down to the station and expose you for the piece of shit you are. Lock you up for abusing your child.”

Neil had started screaming about how Hopper had no right to do any of this, to barge into his home claiming all of this.

“Sure, yeah, pitch a fit. Like that’s gonna change anything,” Hopper said, entertained by the fact that Neil was acting like the victim.

During one of the intervals where your hands were pressed to Billy’s ears, the hoop in the left one biting into your palm, you’d caught something Hopper said.

“I suggest you shut your mouth before you give me something else to report.” By the tone in his voice, you could imagine that he was inches from Neil’s face.

“You’re a coward,” Hopper had said. “Beating on your kid because your life didn’t turn out right. Well let me tell you something, that’s not his fault. It’s yours.”

There’d been a knock on Billy’s bedroom door followed by Hop’s gruff voice. 

“Y/N, kiddo can I have a minute with you?”

Billy had looked up at you, eyes puffy. “I’ll be right back baby, I’m not leaving, I promise.”

You’d pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he’d held onto your hand until it was too far out of his reach.

Shutting the door carefully behind you, you’d looked at him. “We’re taking him away,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?”

“Really. He signed, so Susan is good to go.”

Hopper considered letting Neil run away, making him just disappear, but he didn’t want to chance him doing this to someone else. He’d already done that once though, hadn’t he?

“I’m really proud of you for helping him through this, kid. You remind me of your mom.”

His hand had been warm on your shoulder.

“If you want me to be honest, he’s lucky this prison isn’t very big. But that doesn’t mean nothing will happen if others figure out what he’s in for.”

You nodded, knowingly.

“Powell and Callahan just got here. We’re gonna be quiet. No lights, nothing. I don’t want to make this worse for Billy. But if he wants to see, we’re going soon.”

“Thank you, Hopper,” you’d said, hugging him. He’d let you. He’d had his fair share of a shitty father as a kid. Helping someone like Billy is something he’d always wanted to do.

Back in Billy’s room, you’d taken his face in your hands.

“Baby, they’re taking him now. Do you want to watch or stay inside?”

His back had straightened. He knew what he wanted, and he told you as much, so you led him through to the back steps, holding his hand the whole time, Max behind you, resting her chin on her brother's arm.

Billy got to watch them shove his father in the back of a police car, hands behind his back.

He was finally free.

————

Susan pawned most of Neil's more expensive things, that way she'd have money to cover bills for a while and have something to put towards the house payment. She hadn't really been trusted with the financials when Neil was around, aside from basic spending. Now that she had two children to look after, she really didn't want to be in a bad spot.

She had a feeling most newly divorced women would use the money to buy themselves something nice, but she didn't see any point in that. This wasn't about her. This was about making a life where Billy and Max could feel safe.

Even if Billy had whined about it to you at first, having dinner with Max and Susan at least three times a week to start was helping. And he would never admit this, but Susan was actually a pretty damn good cook. Whenever she'd prepared food pre-inmate Neil, they'd been kind of shitty. Billy supposed this had been her tiny form of protest.

It's pretty late now, but Billy is sprawled on the couch watching reruns of whatever. He's really not even entirely sure what's happening on tv. He thinks this might be Cheers. It's the fact that he can be on the couch that he's doing it. He doesn't have any particular reason to hide in his room unless he wants to.

He's missed this couch. It's the same one he's sat on since he was a kid. Since his mother was still around. It was one of the few items that made it to Hawkins when they moved.

Susan has the day off tomorrow. She said so at dinner. Hence why she's still up.

Billy hears her footsteps and looks up when she walks into the room. She gives him a gentle smile.

"I'm making Max some hot chocolate. You feel like some? I have marshmallows too, if you want those."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks."

She smiles again and then disappears for a while before returning with a mug that has a six-year-old Max's hand print on it.

Billy sits up and takes a sip. He can't remember the last time someone made him someone other than you or Nicky made him something like this.

Susan sits down a little ways away from Billy in an oversized chair that Max usually claims as her own. The only time anyone else gets to sit in it are in times like these when she's being forced to do science homework with Dustin yapping in her ear. She'd asked for help, not an entirely new lesson. Dustin did not care.

Susan starts to read a book, and Billy almost forgets she's in the room when she speaks.

"Billy?"

His eyes rove across from the television to her over the top of his mug. She sets the book down.

"I just wanted to apologize. For not doing anything to protect you from your dad. I don't really have a reason other than selfish ones, like I was afraid he'd start on me, or Max. I guess I just thought if he got it out things would be okay." She buries her face in her hands.

"God, I'm so sorry, Billy. This is your home, and I came into your life and took you away from where you'd grown up, and I never stopped to think about what it was doing to you. I was only thinking about myself."

“I should’ve helped take care of you. You were just a kid. You’re still just a kid. And I’ve done nothing but let you down. I want to be better. I’m not saying I want to replace your mom or anything, but I don’t want you to feel unsafe or unwelcome here anymore.”

Billy keeps drinking his hot chocolate but he has to hold it with both hands because they’re shaking now.

“I feel like I don’t even know you. And maybe that’s because you didn’t want to know me, or maybe because I just avoided you.”

“I’m just so sorry, Billy. I want to try. I am trying. The both of you deserve so much better and you don’t have to accept this. I just wanted you to know that and that I care about you.”

Billy is quiet and for a moment it scares Susan, but she understands he might not have anything to say. He might not want to say anything. He might be waiting until he can afford to move out of this fucking house.

But Billy finally sets his mug down. It’s empty. He looks at Susan and he nods.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “I understand. I don’t blame you and I appreciate that you want to try. I want to try, too.”

Susan nods back, a sweet smile on her face. It’s gentle, the look she’s giving him.

Billy does understand though. His being the target of Neil’s abuse prevented both Max and Susan from it. He understands that Susan was afraid of her husband and the man that she might not have known he’d unveil to be. She was scared. He understands.

He’s willing to try. To let her in.

She stands and picks up Billy’s empty cup. “Was it okay?” she asks, “It’s just the store bought kind.”

“Yeah. Yeah it was great.”

When she grins at him she looks young. She looks tired and upset, but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it means change. Maybe it means she’s learning. She’s trying.

————

“Wear mine.”

Billy looks at you through the mirror in front of which he’s been primping. He claims he doesn’t like it when you say he’s “getting pretty.” His blush says otherwise.

“Yours?”

He rolls his eyes and puts down the hairspray he was holding. “Yeah. It’s fuckin’ cold tonight. Just put mine on. I don’t want you to walk all the way back to your house just to get something I have.”

You snort, making for his closet door. “All the way back?”

He bumps your hip with his, a common you-little-shit gesture.

“Because I live so far away.” You greet the pornstar taped to the thin wood before sliding it open.

“Should be on the right,” Billy says, ignoring your comment and shoving cologne down the front of his pants while you aren’t looking. It’s a habit at this point. Shit, he doesn’t even think about it, and he knows he doesn’t have to impress you.

You push around the clothing hanging in his closet, a couple button-ups, leather, a sweater you’ve never seen him in. It’s this cream color, thick and cable knit. You pull it out. 

“How come you don’t wear this?” you ask, holding it up to him. He unsnaps another button from his shirt and your eyes follow the movement even though you don’t mean to ogle. 

Billy looks the sweater up and down like it’s grossing him out. “I wore it once,” he tells you.

“Once,” you mock playfully, putting the shirt back into his closet.

Billy’s hands are on your hips in an instant, spinning you around. “I thought you were getting a jacket, not raiding my belongings.”

You stick your tongue out at him. It’s childish and you know it, but you do it anyway. He smacks your ass in retaliation, and you go to squeeze his but he grabs your wrist, pulling it to his mouth so that he can kiss your pulse point.

“Barf.” The voice makes you turn your head, and Max has pushed the door open fully where it had been cracked. 

“Hi, Max,” you say, pulling your hand from Billy’s grasp, even if he pouts, and moving to actually retrieve the denim jacket you’d been instructed to wear. 

You can feel Billy and Max staring at each other. “What do you need?” he asks her. 

“Just came to see if we were planning on leaving today or if I should maybe hitch a ride elsewhere.” She enters the room and sits down on the edge of her brother’s bed. 

Billy glances at his watch. “You said to have you at El’s by seven-thirty. We’ve got time.” 

She crosses her arms and Billy faces the mirror again. He thinks he’s finished. “Did you even finish packing your bag, shithead?”

You shove your arms through the jacket sleeves, looking at Max. She raises her eyebrows. No, she definitely did not. There’s a flash of red hair as she hops up, and then she’s gone, the sound of dresser drawers being yanked open and shut echoing down the hall. 

You start rolling up the cuffs, and Billy reaches for the collar, adjusting it for you. You’re focused on getting your hands free when you feel Billy’s finger lifting your chin up. He brings his lips to yours, kissing you once. He pulls away and you move back in, wanting one more. He obliges, albeit grinning at your eagerness. When you’ve gotten your fill, you kiss his cheek, and that’s the one that makes him blush. 

He moves away from you, pulling on his own jacket. “I’m gonna go start the car, okay?”

“M’kay.”

Max let it slip once that Billy always went out to warm up the car before taking them to school. She wouldn’t have assumed it was for her right off the bat, but when she realized he didn’t do that when it was just him in the car, she figured out it was him being nice. Now he just does it for the both of you. You won’t ever say anything about it. 

You look at yourself in Billy’s mirror, listening to his footsteps down the hall and out into the living room. You put your hands in the pockets of his jacket, and to your surprise you feel something. It’s not spare change, or a lighter–anything you would’ve expected to find. 

It’s a sheet of paper. You pull it out, thinking it might be homework he tucked away or a receipt or something. It’s not, though. It’s notebook paper, and it’s been neatly folded like it was done with purpose. 

You sit on the edge of Billy’s bed, and unfold it. To your surprise, it’s a page covered in his handwriting, that pretty, sometimes faintly cursive scrawl. There are some lines scratched out because he used a pen and couldn’t erase. But the thing that catches your eye is the very first line. It’s just your name. It’s a letter. A letter for you. 

Your heart starts to race and you find yourself beginning to read, sinking further into his mattress. 

There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, it reads. 

Feelings. Jesus. The truth is, for so long I’d forgotten what those were. I’ve been stuck in one place. In a cave, you might say. A deep, dark cave. And then I sat with you at lunch, and bought you a book, and suddenly you were part of my life. For the first time in a long time, I started to feel things again. I started to feel happy. 

But, tonight I’ve been feeling distant from you. Like I’m pulling away from you or something. I’m sitting here and I’m thinking about the way you looked at me that first night at the record store. The way you held on to me when I slept over for the first time. I’m not even sure if you remember it, but every time I tried to move throughout the night you whined like you were afraid I was going to leave you. Like you needed me. 

But you didn’t know about my dad or that I was falling in love with you then. And I can’t stop thinking about how I raised my voice at you when I came over today.

You pause, realizing when it was that he wrote this. The day he fought back. 

And I’ve been afraid for so long that I might turn out like him. That I might be just the same. And I’ve been scared that you might realize that too and leave me behind. But I didn’t feel that way today when you spoke to me like a human being and you wanted to work things out. I’m changing. You’re changing me. We’re changing. And I guess, if I’m being really honest, that’s what scares me. I don’t want things to change. Because there’s a part of me that worries you might still change your mind. The rest of me knows you won’t. 

So I think maybe what I’m saying is that when you didn’t know about how I felt or who I really am on the inside that it didn’t feel like I’d lose you. But now I’ve let you in and you can see all of me. And now that you’ve said you love me I really don’t want things to change. I don’t want to lose you or want you to go. 

But I know that’s naive. To think you’ll leave. That’s not who you are. I know you’d look at me and say that’s not how this is going to work. 

My whole life everyone has picked someone else over me. Left me behind. Left me on my own. And I know that’s how life works. It’s moving. Always moving and people change whether you like it or not. But you’ve taught me that change can be good. That it doesn’t always mean people changing their mind about me. About caring about me or that I’m good enough to keep around. 

And sometimes change is painful. Sometimes it’s sad and sometimes it’s surprising. 

Happy. 

So you know what? I don’t think change is bad anymore. I think I’m supposed to learn from it. I think that when life hurts, because I know parts of it are going to hurt and there will be things that always hurt, I should remember it. Because the hurt is good. It means I’m out of that cave. 

I just want you to hold my hand while I figure it all out. 

You finish reading and fold the letter back up, putting it back where you found it. You hadn’t realized you were crying, but you were, and you spend the next few minutes fixing yourself in Billy’s mirror. 

When he returns he thinks you’re the one primping. 

“Ready, baby?” he asks. “Max is in the car.”

You turn to him, and he smiles at you. That pretty, pretty smile. You kiss him on both cheeks and then shut off his bedroom light. 

“I’m ready.”

————

Billy pulls away from Hop’s cabin after dropping Max off, but he’s quick to stop the car again. 

You were quiet the whole way there. Sweet as always, no doubt, but it was clear something was bothering you. He doesn’t like it when things upset his girl. 

“What are you doing, Hargrove? We’re gonna miss the movie if you keep this up.”

He raises his eyebrows at you. “Well excuse the hell outta me, hon’.”

You slap your hands against your face, peeking through your fingers at him in hopes that he’ll go ahead and scold you.

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong, baby.” Billy doesn’t have to elaborate. You never seem to have to explain your feelings to him much anymore. It’s like he’s figuring you out, like he understands and knows when something’s bugging you or if you’re hurting. 

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” you say.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.”

You nod, and reach into the pocket of the jacket, pulling free the paper. It’s seconds before Billy sees the striped sheet that he remembers what it is, what he’d left in there. 

It all comes back to him, his wrist hurting from pouring his heart out, the relief he felt at putting his feelings somewhere. 

You hand it to him. He unfolds it and scans it over. “You read it?” He knows you did.

“Yeah.” You smile shyly at him, and it’s the same smile you gave him that very first night that you came to check on him. Billy wants to kiss you, so he leans over the center console and does; he presses his mouth to your forehead, warm and sweet. His presence is all-encompassing: heady cologne, minty gum. So very Billy. So much like home. 

He hands the paper back to you. “Feelings, huh?” he says, his mouth pulling up at the corners. 

“Feelings.”

You sandwich your hands between your thighs, taking a deep breath. Your eyes start to water and you can’t help it.

“Billy, I would never leave you, okay?” You were hoping the tears wouldn’t spill over, but it doesn’t matter because your voice fails you. It wavers and you sound fragile, young. And then he’s taking your face in his hands, wiping under your eyes even though there isn’t anything to wipe yet, just soothing motions over the apples of your cheeks, calloused thumbs and warm skin.

He stares at you, his eye contact unbreaking. When he looks at you like that, blue eyes boring into yours, you can’t help but feel a little full. Because he’s looking at you like that. You. 

“I know that. I know.”

You nod, and he nods with you, so much that it looks silly, the both of you nodding, and you start to laugh. 

“I made you feel that way? Really?”

“Of course you did,” Billy says. “My whole life I’ve felt like I’m like a black hole or somethin’. You don’t make me feel that way.”

Your heart aches for him. For this boy who’s had no one tell him how good he is. Who’s finally let you in. Who’s finally realized he can have better, and that he deserves to. 

“I love you, Billy.”

He kisses you on each cheek, your face warm against his lips. He grins and you can feel it on your face. 

“I love you too.”

When you get to the movie theater, you do pay for popcorn, and you do hand him the snacks you kept in your bag after you take your seats. Your mother said movie candy was getting much too expensive. 

You pop a handful of Sno Caps in your mouth, and Billy opens his mouth. You sprinkle some in his, and then reach for his hand. 

He looks down at your clasped fingers while a kid almost faceplants with a bucket of popcorn on the way up the stairs. Thankfully their father caught them first. 

“You did say you wanted me to hold your hand.”

“I did,” Billy says.

—————

“Sit still, I’ll be right back, I swear.”

Billy crosses his arms, but it’s hard for him to look entirely brooding when he’s got plum shadow on his eyelids. You stand. “Here, Max, supervise.” You hand her the brush between your fingers, and she snorts at her brother from where she lays across your bed. 

You make for the living room, suppressing a grin at the sounds of laughter emanating from the area. Susan and Nicky sit on opposite sides of the couch, watching The Golden Girls and talking about whatever it is that mothers-of-dating-children talk about. 

“Mom,” you say, coming to a stop in front of her. 

“Hi, honeybee. What’s the matter?” 

“Can I use some of your makeup? There’s some things you’ve got that I haven’t and–”

She smiles at you, adjusting the well-loved pillow squished behind her back. “You know you can. Whatever you need.”

Her grin is contagious, and you find yourself smiling back just the same. “Thank you.”

She nods. “Playing dress up?” Your mother gives you a knowing look, thinking about the idea you’d had in mind ever since you watched Rocky Horror with Billy that first time. 

“You could say so,” you tell her, and then you’re off to raid her bathroom cabinet, pulling free the large and full bag of goodies. 

You start to rifle through the corduroy pouch, but decide it’d be easier to take the whole thing with you to your room, so that’s what you do.

When you return, you settle on your knees in front of your boyfriend, still finding it odd that you get to call him that now, even if that is exactly what he is to you. Your pretty, pretty boyfriend. Your boyfriend who’s letting you do his makeup. 

Max hands you your brush back, raising herself up on her elbows so that she can watch the show better.

“Hi,” you say to him, pressing a kiss on the tip of his nose. 

“Hi,” he responds, his voice showing all signs that he’s both enjoying this, yet also grumping about the fact that he let you do it in the first place. He settles back on his hands, legs spread so that you can sit in between them and reach him. You pull free both the pencil of thick liner you’d been looking for, and a pot of blush you know to be much pinker than the one you’ve got. Yours has also been broken on multiple occasions so that now it’s just little bits of pink powder sliding around in the pan. 

You uncap the liner first, a warm brown shade, clearly freshly sharpened by your mother. “Close your eyes, pretty please,” you tell him. He obliges, lids fluttering shut. 

You reach out, and starting to drag the tip of the pencil across his skin, you realize your hand isn’t as steady as you’d like, considering the fact that you’re also half-focused on not kneeing Billy in a place you’re quite sure he’d prefer to not be kneed. 

You let out a frustrated sigh, and Billy blinks up at you. “What’s wrong?”

“This isn’t working. Just–” You shove the eyeliner pencil into his hands, and then move from between his legs. You grip his calves and move his legs together, then crawl forwards a little and straddle his lap.

He grins up at you, a cocky and mischievous look. “Comfy?”

“Shut up and close your eyes again.”

“Well you don’t want much.” 

You pinch the squish of his side and he swats blindly at your arm. You take Billy’s face in your hand, resting the pinky of your dominant one against his cheekbone. This go around you’re able to drag the liner effectively across his eyelid. A tap at his face signals he needs to look up, and when he does, you do the same to his lower hip. Afterwards, you take a super small brush that Max found and use it to smudge the eyeliner out some, that way the lines aren’t so harsh.

You finish and take Billy’s face in your hands again, turning it to face Max. “Thoughts?”

She taps her chin, though smiling all the same. “Very nice.”

With a little more manhandling, you get some mascara on those lashes of his, though not without a little pleased squeaking in the process. It’s at the blush that you get excited enough to make him laugh. You swipe your brush heavily across his cheeks, and then the tip of his nose, where you’re probably much too generous. You don’t care. He looks so, so pretty, all blushy like this. 

“Part your lips.” You say, thumb tugging at his bottom one. You put a gloss on Billy’s lips and almost lose it for good. He’s so gorgeous. 

When you finish, you wipe your hands clean on a towel and back up a little ways from him to survey your work. 

You clap your hands. “Max, help me. Would you look at this?”

She does, laughing gleefully. “Oh my god, this is so good.”

You look Billy in the eyes, and Max hops up off of your bed to get a better look. “You look so gorgeous, my love.”

He’s thankful for the blush in that moment, because without it you’d see the effect your using that name had on him. 

“Thank you,” he says.

“Wanna see?” God, you look so happy.

“Do I have to?”

You bite your lip and Billy pulls it free, taking the little handheld mirror from you. 

And, honestly, he thinks he looks kinda hot. You picked a good eyeshadow color, one that makes his blue eyes stand out even more, and he just looks pretty. Just as you’d said. 

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. You did a very good job.”

He goes to kiss you, but you stop him. “Nope. You’ll mess up my work!”

Billy rolls his eyes and flips Max a bird when he sees her giggling at your enthusiasm and his compliance. 

“Can I take a picture?” you ask. 

Billy holds up his hands. “Oh hell no.”

“Billy, she needs to document her masterpiece,” Max says, though really she knows it’d make great blackmail. That and she loves how happy the both of you seem. She’d like to remember this too. 

“Please?” You give him your very best puppy dog eyes, making sure they’re watery and everything. You know he’ll give in. 

“Fine. But you show this to anyone, and you’re both dead.”

You laugh, grabbing for your Polaroid camera. “Who the fuck do you think I’m gonna show? Everyone I know is in this room.”

Billy’s smiles then, and you’re just quick enough to catch it. You get another after you kiss his sparkly forehead. And when you’ve finished, you stick them in the frame of your mirror so they’ll always be there. 

That night, after Max and Susan have gone home, you sit in the bathroom to help Billy wash the makeup off, but only when you’d let Nicky see, and she thought he looked stunning. Showstopping, she’d said. 

And it’s then, as you wipe the rosy tinge from his cheeks, revealing his freckles once again, that you realize months before this you’d been so alone. You’d ached for a moment like this. 

And here you were. So even if the journey to get here had hurt, even if it’d been hard and pushed you to your limits, it’s okay. Because that’s how life works. It hurts sometimes. And that’s okay. 

Because the hurt? The hurt is good.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[hotluncheddie]

stop being a goblin and let me kiss you

part 3

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

‘ok. ok! you just, you just gotta be cool munson. be casual. chill. just like, vibe, yeah? yeah. no more funny business.’ eddie holds his fists up to himself in the dinky bathroom mirror. a couple of jabs, a quick one two, that’ll clear his head.

clear his head enough to go out and deal with steve fucking harrington again and his stupid stupid face and neck and tongue and like pretty fucking ankle bones. fucker.

see eddies not blind, and he’s not that dumb, he knows he flirts with steve and he knows steve flirts back. he just. cant deal with it just yet. it’s like every time he’s around the guy he blacks out and resurfaces red faced and half hard. but the point at which his vision fades and all hell breaking loose seems to vary so completely that he can’t stop it happening.

their conversations will start normal, a jolly lark, a guffaw here, a story there but then bam! someone said or did something that shifted his functioning brain capacity from 60% on a good day to like -5% and that’s being generous.

he just can’t get his ratty little self to either 1) stop liking steve harrington in a gay, gay, homosexual way. or 2) accept that someone like steve harrington could possibly like aforementioned rat himself eddie munson and actually process his feeling into a reaction that’s more than; red, red, half a boner, sweaty palms, red.

so he took a second to hide in the bathroom. that’s fine, that’s kind even. self care, as robin likes to say when she paints her nails on top of steve’s head when he sits on the computer at work. he likes to make the chair super low because apparently it helps his posture and he need to keep an eye on his posture or else he’ll end up like his great uncle melvin, or something.

self care time is over however because robins knocking on the little bathroom door, hollering about needing to get home to practice for her english presentation tomorrow. so it’s time for eddie to put his big boy pants back on and get in steve’s car.

eddie full body shudders.

‘finish writing you sad boy poems on the stall walls in there? roses are red, violets are blue, i like big dumb jock boys but can’t seem to accept they like me too, even if my very cool very in the know friend robin tells me too. hm?’ robin slings an arm over his shoulder and steers him back to the table.

eddie sniffs, crossing his arms ‘that last bit doesn’t rhyme so, i will be ignoring all of it. F for u buckbey.’

‘not everything has to rhyme perfectly u know. it can still fit together just fine as it is.’ she tugs on one of his curls before slipping back into steve side, finishing off the last of his milkshake and hauling him out of the booth because she ‘has shit to do dingus.’

too smart for her own good that chick. eddie loves her. he’s also going to move away and never talk to her ever again, maybe steal her collection of berets too, become a hat guy, once he reinvents himself. yeah.

steve is putting a few bills on the table, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. ‘just fries tonight ed’s? that makes you kind of a cheap date don’t you think?’ tapping eddie under the chin before following robin to the door, smacking his palm on the frame above on the way out. because of course he does, the neanderthal. all broad shoulders and biceps and ass.

there a second where eddie thinks steve could smack him like that but then he feels his vision spotting. can a guy not catch a break around here? jesus!

the car ride is a blissful reprieve due to cyndi lauper coming on, which had steve and robin performing a duet. which then needed to be tweaked and discussed in detail ready for the next time that specific song came on the radio.

it was honestly nice to watch. eddie had walked to family video that day because his van keeps playing up after it’s stint hidden in the woods. poor girl just needs a day off once in a while so eddie walks and then listens to car duets from two very much none singers. but it nice. makes his heart all yucky and warm.

until robin is leaving. leaving him alone to be a big nerd with a future. leaving him alone to make a fool of himself again. his ego is big and he likes to keep it that way.

‘you coming up here then’ steve shifts slightly, looking as far as he can over his shoulder at eddie huddled behind the drivers seat. ‘no’ he squeaks because last time steve got all up in his face getting his tape box out of the glove compartment. rifling through it while it was on eddies lap. so close eddie could smell the apple from his shampoo and the cigarette they’d shared earlier.

self care.

‘ooh you want the full harington taxi service do you? i see, well then govna, where too is it?’ steve tips his invisible cap and has the most awful cockney accent eddies ever heard, and he did middle school theatre.

‘geeze, just take me home dude.’ eddie shoves through the gap between the seats, landing heavy in the passenger. crossing his arms and trying to hide his smile behind his hair.

‘there he is. out of the shadows.’ steve tucks some of his curls behind his ear. eddie sees the soft smile out of his peripheral. tries to swallow the cotton in his mouth. steve turn back to the road ‘let’s rock ‘n roll’ he revvs the engine, wiggling his eyebrows, before checking his blind spot and pulling away into a cushy 30mph.

eddie looks out the window and hides his grin in his palm.

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

part 1 (eddie) part 2 (steve) part 4 (steve) part 5 (eddie) part 6 (steve) part 7 (eddie)

tags! ( ty for asking to be tagged wow so lovely can’t believe it hehe :3c ) (sry if i missed anyone or u didn’t want to be tagged just let me know!)

@bidisastersworld @sadcanadianwinter @mightbeasleep @butterflysandpeppermint @gregre369 @fandomz-brainrot @satan-is-obsessed @resident-gay-bitch @grtwdsmwhr @forsexyscience

[stobinesque]

@steddie-week day 3: first kiss | 2.1k words | G or T

Steve and Robin were about halfway through a rewatch of Clue when the phone rang, and Steve was across the living room before it was halfway through its second ring. “What’s wrong?” He asked without preamble. His heart was already racing; too anxious to consider the possibility that it could be someone calling for his parents—or even that it might be a non-emergency call. It was past ten already, and most of The Party should have at least been pretending to sleep by then.

“Steve?” The voice on the other end of the line was a bit distant—drowned out by the staticky sound of rain hitting pavement.

“Eddie? Are you alright? Where are you? Did something happen?”

Eddies’ van was out of commission, so he’d been relying on rides from Steve and the rest of the Corroded Coffin crew to get him to and from places for the past few weeks. If he was out somewhere and in trouble, he was stranded there.

“Yeah—I-I mean, no. Nothing—nothing happened. Just—could you come get me?”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?”

“I’m out at The Hideout.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll be there in ten—maybe fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I said I’d be there in ten, Eddie.”

“Okay.” 

Steve hung up the receiver and turned to make for the foyer to find Robin standing behind him—jacket on, back slung over one shoulder, and a pair of his shoes in one hand. “Picking Eddie up?”

“Yeah.” Steve took the shoes from her hands gratefully, and started pulling them on.

“Can you drop me off on the way without slowing yourself down?”

“Yeah, I budgeted Robin home-delivery time just in case.”

“Well, hop to it then, dingus.”

~*~*~*~

When Steve pulled up in front of The Hideout after dropping off a surprisingly acquiescent Robin (Eddie needs you more than I do right now, dingus), it was to find Eddie sitting atop one of the wheel stops of The Hideout’s small lot, looking like a drowned rat. 

Eddie was up and yanking open the door to the beamer before Steve could so much as put it in park, and Steve pulled out of the lot as soon as Eddie had his seat belt buckled across him.

“You okay, mann?”

Eddie shrugged.

“What happened?”

“Don’t really wanna talk about it right now.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

“Sorry to interrupt movie night with the missus.”

Steve laughed. “She already forgives you. Provided that you were actually having a crisis and not just faking one as a ploy to get me alone with you.”

That startled a laugh out of Eddie in turn, and he turned in his seat to shoot Steve a mischievous grin. “Now, does that sound like something I would do, sweetheart?”

“According to Robin? Yes.”

“Ah, I see who the brains of the operation is, then.”

“Was that in question?”

“Well—whether or not there was a brain behind you and Robin’s whole deal was a little up in the air.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Silence fell between the two of them, and twenty seconds in Eddie started rooting around in Steve’s glove compartment.

“Dude. What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a tape in here that doesn’t suck, man!”

“What are you talking about? We have, like, half the same taste in music!”

“Yeah, but the only thing you keep in your car are mixtapes! And I’m sorry, Steve, but some of the things the kids have made you are—objectively speaking—extremely cursed.”

“You could put in the one Robin made.”

“It’s hilarious that you think there’s only one Robin mixtape in here. But also: I’m not in the mood for Cyndi Lauper.”

“Cyndi Lauper’s not in the mood for you,” Steve snarked under his breath—more because he knew that’s what Robin would say if she was in the car with them than for any other reason. Raising his voice so that Eddie knew it was meant to be heard, he added, “I think there might be one from Jon in there?”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Eugh. No thanks. My night’ been shit enough.” He kept rooting around for another minute or two, until— “Aha!” he emerged triumphant, an sparsely labeled tape held aloft in one hand. It looked like one that Steve had made for himself years ago—long before he’d gone knocking on the supernatural’s door. If he was guessing right, it was a mix of Queen, Bowie, and Fleetwood Mac. “How have I never found this one before?” Eddie asked.

“Because in spite of your loud protestations to the contrary, you usually just let whatever music is playing in the car happen to you.”

Eddie gave a considering hum as he stuffed his find into the tape deck. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

The two of them fell silent again as “The Chain” poured from the speakers, and the rest of the ride passed without conversation, the only sounds between them besides the music was the steady beat of rain against the windshield, and Eddie’s fingers drumming along to the beat of the song.

~*~*~*~

Steve killed the engine as he pulled up in front of the Munsons’ trailer. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Eddie said, pulling a strand of hair out to cover his mouth as he did so.

“Yeah—any time, dude.”

Eddie made to get out of the car, but froze in place as he leaned half-in, and half-out. “Could you—wanna come in?” There was a put-upon air of casualness to his tone in a way that made Steve suspect that he was being asked to stay the night. He wasn’t sure why Eddie felt so shy about the request, though—it wasn’t like this would be the first time.

“Oh. Yeah, man. Of course.” All he ever wanted was to be helpful. So Steve took his keys from the ignition, and trailed after Eddie as he led them both inside.

Eddie started peeling out of his soaked clothes before the front door had finished closing behind them, and made a beeline for his bedroom so he could pull on a pair of boxers and a bleach-stained t-shirt, before flopping down onto his bed. Steve followed after him, toeing his shoes off inside the door, and crawling into bed beside Eddie once he was finished changing.

"Wanna talk about it now?" he asked, as Eddie tucked himself up against his side.

Eddie shrugged. He took one of Steve's hands into both of his own and started idly playing with his fingers. "Bad date."

"Oh yeah? People aren't going mad over a metalhead who was only recently cleared of all murder charges?"

Eddie shoved at him. "Low blow, Harrington."

Steve stole his hand back to hold both of them up in surrender. "Sorry, man."

Eddie yanked Steve's hand back and held it covetously in both of his own, and Steve reached down with his own free one to tangle it into Eddie's wild mane of curls, which were still damp from the rain. "Whatever, dude. It wasn't that. He just…he was just kind of an asshole.” Eddie shrugged again, sounding a little resigned. “The regular kind."

Steve was silent, but ruffled his hand through Eddie's hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. 

"I just…I don't know. I don't know why I even bother trying to go out on dates at this point.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's like…I don't know. Just feels like I'm chasing after something I'm never gonna find."

"I get that," Steve said, tone soft and understanding.

"Really? Figured you'd have people falling all over you."

Steve snorted. "I don't think I've gone on a date since I went to the championship game with Heidi back in March."

Eddie jerked a little in Steve’s grip. "Why not?" He sounded…genuinely very confused.

Steve shrugged. "I don't know, I just…haven’t really felt like it. Honestly, I’d already felt like I was circling the drain back at that point.”

“...Huh.”

They both went quiet, Steve still running one hand through Eddie’s hair, and Eddie still tangled his fingers through those of Steve’s other hand. 

“So, how do you…?” Steve trailed off with a frown, unsure of how or whether he should finish his question.

“How do I…?”

“How do you, y’know, find guys? To go out with? Who you aren’t scared of knocking your lights out, that is.”

Eddie shifted in Steve’s arms to get a better look at him. “Wait, wait. Have you not been on a date with another guy yet, Harrington?”

“No…?”

“Then how did you—?”

“How did I, what?” Steve felt a little on edge; a little on the defensive. Like there was some unseen standard he wasn’t living up to.

“How’d you figure out you were into them, then?” Eddie sounded a little bewildered. A lot incredulous. “Figured you were the victim of a drunken make-out discovery or something.”

Steve laughed, because that did sound like him, but— “Nope. Never been kissed.” He tilted his head toward Eddie with a little smirk. “By a guy, that is.”

Eddie propped himself up on one arm and stared at Steve like he was a puzzle to be solved, and there was a glint in his eye that made the hair along the back of Steve’s neck stand on end. “D’you wanna be?”

Steve’s heart skipped a bit, and his hand stilled in Eddie’s hair. “Uh…what do you mean?”

“Do you wanna be kissed? By a guy?”

Steve laughed, feeling awkward. “Are you offering?”

Eddie shrugged, just a touch too casual. “Sure, why not?”

“I don’t know. Wouldn't it be weird?”

“Doesn’t have to be weird if you don’t make it weird, man.”

Steve turned that over. It’s not like he and Eddie didn’t already spend most of the time they spent alone together tangled up in one another. There was a quasi-romantic edge to their friendship that Steve wasn’t really used to—well. Except for with Robin. But that was different, for obvious reasons. And, granted, the dynamic between him and Tommy had been…intense, but it still hadn’t felt like this. 

Regardless—kissing Eddie wouldn’t change anything about their friendship if they didn’t want it to. “I guess you’re right.”

Eddie half-turned in Steve’s arms. “Yeah?”

Steve repositioned himself so that they were facing each other, hitching one shoulder up in a nonchalant little shrug. “Sure, why not?” he parroted back.

Eddie smiled, and it made his whole face go soft and gentle in a way that had Steve’s stomach twisting up in knots. Oh, he’s beautiful.

Eddie reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear, and then let his hand drift along the line of Steve’s jaw until he was gently gripping his chin between two fingers. Steve’s lips parted in anticipation, and the two of them breathed into the silent space they’d created between them. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and his arms breaking out in goosebumps.

It didn’t make any sense though. It wasn’t like it was his real first kiss. And he’d known he was attracted to men for ages, even if he’d never acted on it. It wasn’t even exactly news to him that he found Eddie attractive. But…none of their interactions had been this charged before.

Eddie closed the space between them, and pressed a gentle, but firm kiss to Steve’s lips, grinding the trajectory of Steve’s thoughts to a halt. It was a simple kiss. And it could have remained like that—soft, sweet, and almost chaste—except that Steve couldn’t hold back a sharp gasp in response, as his breath hitched in his throat. 

He should pull back. He knew he should pull back—but he’d always been greedy, and Eddie was making no move to put any distance between the two of them either. So Steve surged forward, capturing Eddie’s lips into a more passionate kiss, and savoring the small whine it elicited. Eddie gave as good as he got, winding an arm around Steve’s waist, and slotting a thigh between both of Steve’s legs with a force that startled a little “Mmpf!” from him. 

All in all, the kiss probably lasted little more than a few moments. But for all Steve knew, whole civilizations could have risen and fallen in that soft, gray space of time he and Eddie had their lips pressed together. 

He wasn’t sure who finally broke away, but once they did, both of their breaths came short and heavy.

“That was…really good?” Steve said, a high-pitched note of giddiness and wonder in his tone. 

Eddie smiled with cheshire-style grin, eyelids heavy and low. “Yeah? Wanna make it even better?”

Steve smiled right back. “I think I might.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

a steddie request eddie invites a few people to an open mic night and makes sure steve sings something, and they are both really into each other singing ty

Sorry that I have become obsessed with the idea of Steve singing Cherry Bomb at the top of his lungs like his life depends on it (maybe in my head this is his Vecna song what of it). I think it would absolutely send Eddie into a whole spiral because that is NOT what Steve usually listens to and that is NOT the vibe he expected for the evening here. This was a fun little break between two very serious requests and I hope you all enjoy something fun and cute! - Mickala ❤️

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Steve hated karaoke. He hated watching it, he hated performing, he hated that he was usually in a loud bar when it happened.

But Robin insisted he come, insisted that Eddie wanted him there, and it would be “fun.”

And maybe if he’d been drinking, it would have at least been entertaining. It wasn’t.

Drunk girl after drunk girl took the stage, all of them butchering Joan Jett and Cyndi Lauper and ABBA.

Steve was extra mad about the ABBA.

But he was trying to let it go, trying to relax. Robin was having a blast, Eddie was having a blast, even Nancy had put her name on the list to sing.

Eddie wanted everyone to sing something, but Steve had avoided putting his name on the list so far.

Or he thought he did.

“Steve Harrington!”

The announcer said in the mic.

Nope. No. Not happening. Whoever did this was going to die.

He shook his head and glared at Robin.

“I’m not getting up there.”

“Come on! Eddie wants you to!”

“Why should he want me to? Why isn’t he going?”

“I am going. Right after you,” Eddie said from behind him, an annoying and attractive smirk in place.

“You should take my turn.”

“No, you should have a little fun.”

“This isn’t fun for me.”

Eddie shrugged.

“Okay.”

But the way he walked over to his seat, not quite pouting, but close to it, had Steve already reconsidering.

His stupid cute face and his stupid excitement and stupid sad puppy eyes when his hopes and dreams got dashed.

Ugh.

Steve stood up.

“Fine!” He threw his arms up and started walking towards the stage area.

He heard everyone talking behind him, and when he looked back, Eddie’s smile was huge.

That alone was worth it, he supposed.

He approached the announcer, hands in his pockets.

“What song did he sign me up for?”

“Cherry Bomb.”

“Of course.”

Steve couldn’t even be that mad.

It was a good choice, underrated for karaoke, and one of Steve’s favorites.

Eddie knew that, but no one else did.

“You know the words or do you need the sheet?”

“I know the words, thanks.”

Steve could probably sing this song backwards.

He stepped on the stage, walked to the mic, and waved to the group he came with. He would get this over with, finish his drink, and head home. Simple as that.

Eddie was beaming back at him, and when the music started, Steve felt nerves hit him.

Everyone in the bar cheered when the music started, including Robin.

Something in Steve shifted when he started singing. He felt like he needed to commit completely, put on the best performance he possibly could. Make Eddie proud.

So he started getting into it, growling into the mic and throwing his head back, letting his hips move in ways he usually reserved for the bedroom.

It was very ridiculous, but it was worth it to see Eddie’s reaction.

His jaw was wide open, eyes barely blinking. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Steve, even when his friend Gareth tried to nudge him.

Steve didn’t think about it, didn’t want to let himself hope that somehow Eddie might actually have feelings for him.

As soon as he finished the song, his adrenaline levels crashed.

His hands shook as he left the stage, and his vision blurred around the edges. He walked straight to the bathroom, barely registering the announcer calling for Nancy.

He needed a moment.

But he didn’t get one.

The bathroom door crashed open just as he was leaning over the sink to splash some cold water on his face.

Robin was standing there, hands on her hips, scowl on her face.

“You broke Eddie!”

“What?”

“He can’t even get up. He’s broken.”

“How is that my fault?”

“You were like…sexy or something.”

Steve snorted.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I don’t know! He hasn’t moved and hasn’t spoken. He’s broken.”

Steve splashed his face carefully, didn’t want to spend the rest of the night soaked. The cold water helped him calm down and regain some feeling in his extremities.

“He’s the one who signed me. He’s the one who picked the song.”

“I don’t think he would’ve if he knew you’d go full Freddie Mercury up there.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“I did not.”

“You did! For someone who didn’t even wanna come, you sure gave 120%.”

“I just sang the song. I got it over with. I might head out actually.”

“Before Eddie sings?”

“You just said he was broken.”

Robin huffed, crossing her arms against her chest.

“Can you just come out there and watch?”

Steve knew he had to. He couldn’t just leave, not after that, not after Eddie reacted that way.

“Okay.”

His shoulders fell, and he settled himself in for a long night.

They both made their way back out to the table where everyone was watching Nancy completely butcher Blondie. It was fine when she did it, she was having fun and she deserved to have fun. They all did.

Robin sat in the end seat, forcing him to sit next to a suspiciously still Eddie.

They didn’t look at each other, but their thighs were so close, Steve could feel the heat coming from his body.

He was going to die.

He hadn’t even told Robin he liked Eddie yet, had barely come to terms with it himself. Not only did he have an entire crisis about liking a man, but that man was Eddie.

That crisis was actually worse.

Steve watched Eddie’s fingers drum on the table in front of them, not going to the beat of the song wrapping up.

“Alright everyone! Got a real treat for you next! Eddie Munson’s gonna play and sing for us tonight!”

There were some cheers, most of which came from their own table, as Eddie stood up and hustled over to the accouncer, who was handing him an acoustic guitar.

Eddie didn’t usually play acoustic, did he?

What was happening?

Everyone at the table was staring at Steve.

What was happening?

“Hi everyone. Thanks for letting me break the rules a bit for karaoke,” Eddie said softly into the mic, nothing like his usual big personality coming through.

He was usually comfortable on stage, not scared to be even more over the top. This wasn’t like him at all.

Steve felt like he might puke and he didn’t even know why.

Eddie strummed a few times, wincing when he realized it was a bit out of tune.

“Sorry, just give me a second to tune it.”

Everyone seemed patient, mostly curious as to what he could possibly be doing.

And then Eddie started playing for real. It took everyone in the bar a minute to really know what he was playing, but when he started singing, Steve melted.

Eddie Munson was playing an acoustic version of Time After Time in a packed bar. And he was looking at Steve while he sang.

Steve couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed over the attention, he was too busy being completely in love.

Eddie was a metalhead through and through, made fun of all of Steve’s music frequently, and never seemed to like anything that didn’t have wild guitar solos.

But if he was performing this song on his own up there, that meant he’d not only been listening to it a lot, but also teaching himself the guitar for it and the words.

Steve knew it was for him. It was obvious it was for him.

Everyone in this bar would probably figure out it was for him if they followed Eddie’s gaze.

That was a risk, but Steve honestly didn’t care right now.

Robin squeezed his knee, smiling over at him like she knew.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” She asked innocently.

“You knew. That’s why you dragged me here. That’s why you made me come back out of the bathroom.”

Robin shrugged.

Did everyone in their group know?

He looked around at them, everyone’s smirking faces pointed right at him.

These motherfuckers knew.

“You guys are…okay? With it?”

He couldn’t help but ask, his eyes focused back on Eddie so he didn’t have to see any type of disgust or disappointment on their faces.

“Dude, Eddie has had the hots for you for so long, I kinda forgot you weren’t into men for a while. It just felt like you two were dancing around each other, ya know?” Gareth replied from the end of the table.

No, he didn’t. He didn’t think he’d ever been obvious, often putting extra space between himself and Eddie when he felt like he would do something stupid like kiss him.

“You are into him though, right? He’s not doing this for no reason?” Jonathan added, suddenly concerned that Eddie was making a fool of himself for nothing.

“No, I’m into him. Unfortunately,” Steve replied, eyes focusing back on the way Eddie managed to hit the high notes.

As he finished, the crowd gave a standing ovation, probably just glad he hadn’t gotten up there to sing Black Sabbath or something like he usually did.

Steve watched as he handed the guitar back to the announcer and slowly turned to look back at the table.

The announcer was saying someone’s name, but Steve didn’t hear it.

The way Eddie was looking at him.

He stood up and started walking towards the bathroom again, hoped Eddie would be smart enough to follow him.

He was.

The moment the bathroom door closed behind Eddie, Steve was on him, his lips meeting Eddie’s like they were magnets.

Eddie groaned into it, his hands grasping at Steve’s hips and pulling him impossibly closer, pushing their hips together until all they could feel was each other.

When they finally came apart, just enough to rest their foreheads together, Eddie huffed out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“If I knew singing Cyndi Lauper would get you, I would have done this a year ago.”

Steve rolled his eyes and leaned in for another kiss.

They started to get carried away again, Steve’s hands running up Eddie’s chest and settling over his heart.

“You always make fun of my music.”

“Because it’s terrible music.”

“But you just sang it in front of about 100 people.”

“I sang it in front of you. Other people were just there.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot. Right?”

He suddenly looked nervous, like he spoke too soon or assumed too much.

“Of course you are. I’m so stupidly in love with you, I can’t let you be anyone else’s idiot,” Steve said, leaning in for another kiss.

“You love me? Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Holy shit.”

Steve smacked his chest gently.

“Do you love me back or am I just here to confess my stupid feelings in a bar bathroom alone?”

“I just sang Cyndi Lauper in front of 100 people for you. I think it’s clear I love you.”

Steve smirked.

“Good.”

[lila-pitts-apologist]

nothing intelligent left in my brain, so here’s what artists I think each Hargreeves would listen to as adolescents (so in the 2000s)

luther- I feel like luther would listen to Coldplay and U2, along with all the older stuff we see in his playlist for sloane and whatever allison liked

diego- this one was the hardest, so I just put whatever I think teenagers who punch holes in the wall would listen to, so MCR, Fall Out Boy, Green Day, whatever made him feel way edgier than he actually was

allison- I KNOW this woman loved pop and R&B. Aaliyah, Spice Girls, Beyoncé, Mariah Carey, and some older stuff like Whitney and Cyndi Lauper. girls really do just wanna have fun. I’d like to think she and Klaus had dance parties to Destiny’s Child as well

klaus- I know this doesn’t make sense time-wise but you can’t tell me klaus isn’t Tame Impala personified, I mean c’mon. and of course Queen, along with whatever allison listened to with him, and maybe musicals? like the Rocky Horror Picture Show

five- five was definitely one of those boys who’s had old man taste since day one. I think he’d tap his foot or whatever to Chet Baker, Frank Sinatra, Fred Astaire, Billy Holiday, grandpa stuff

ben- ben my snarky little emo shit <3 he’s a huge fan of MCR. need I say more

viktor- viktor is hard because I feel like he’d be preoccupied with his violin music, so mainly classical. but I do think he and ben would share music taste that viktor might’ve stopped listening to after he died