#hall x murray

[aquakat-draws]

People liked the tally hall and tmc crossover

So here's more (general idea I mighttttt change it)

[l0vergirlatheart]

affection. [TMC]

alt. title; how do the victims react to affection from you?

warnings/tws; mentions of MAD, foreshadowing, mentions of alternates

req. by; none

chars. used; Mark Heathcliff, Cesar Torres, Jonah Marshall, Adam Murray.

song of the day; Ruler of Everything - Tally Hall

a/n's; i love tally hall <333

by continuing from this point on you understand that it is your fault if you see any opinions that you do not agree with and that make you mad. you will not take it out on me or anyone else who enjoys/agrees with them, and you especially will not do anything illegal/dangerous to them or myself.

images do not belong to me and belong to their rightful owners.

by continuing from this point on you understand that it is your fault if you see any opinions that you do not agree with and that make you mad. you will not take it out on me or anyone else who enjoys/agrees with them, and you especially will not do anything illegal/dangerous to them or myself.

images do not belong to me and belong to their rightful owners.

MARK HEATHCLIFF.

so imagine this;

you two are chilling on the couch, infront of the tv

it's off, of course, and we all know why

doesn't stop you two from talking though

and you guys keep talking and when you stop, you guys realize it's super late

and dark

and you shouldn't be heading outside for any reason,

so mark lets you stay over!! (what a gentleman)

and so you get prepared to sleep on the couch and everything,

but mark is like, nonono what are you doing

because he is very nice and doesn't want you sleeping on the couch

it's bad for your posture!!!

"(Y/N), what are you doing?" He asks after seeing you lay your now folded-up hoodie on the couch.

"Getting ready for bed? Why, is there something you need?" You reply, tilting your head to side, as you didn't see as what he was getting at.

"You shouldn't be sleeping on the couch, it's bad for you, you know?"

"Is there anywhere else for me to sleep?" You said, jokingly.

"Yeah, I was going to let you sleep in my bed while I slept on the couch.."

needless to say, that was unexpected

but you couldn't just take his bed and then make him sleep on the couch in his house!!

you keep declining, but he just won't give up..

"It's your house! I can't just kick you out of your own bed!" You said, trying to reason with him.

"You're not kicking me out of my own bed, I'm willingly offering it to you!" He argued back.

this went on for a while until you finally caved.

"Okay, okay! I'll sleep in your bed! It just.. I don't know.." You said, but something told you that you should not be alone. Not now. Not tonight. It also told you that Mark shouldn't be alone either.

"It's just what?" He asked, curiosity getting the best of him after a while.

"Something is... wrong, or no, will be wrong. I don't know what or when, but I just know it." You said, gripping onto your (shorts/pants.) He looked at you and then away, scratching the back of his head.

"I could... sleep in the room with you... if you'd like... Not on the bed, just next to it, on the floor.." He offered, a light blush dusting his face.

well shit

that feeling is telling you to, so obviously you do!!

so now you're in his bed, all tucked in because

who doesn't love being tucked in

like???

but now you're just laying down and all of a sudden

you hear

soft snores

coming from the side of the bed

so you turn around and guess what!!!

it's a sleeping mark fucking heathcliff

IN THE WILD!!!

AND YOU GET TO SEE IT!!!!

"...Lord have mercy on my soul, this is a sight to behold..."

as you look at him longer,, you silently reach your hand out for his hair and start brushing it

he will lean into your hand contently until you fall asleep

and then when he wakes up with you fast-asleep with one hand in his hair

he just...

explodes

526 words.

CESAR TORRES.

now in this case, since he's dead from he start, he's an alternate here, too

but he's friendly!!

to you only, though.

anyone else,,, :grimace:

but because he's an alternate, he hasn't actually really had any affection towards him

so this feeling is new to him

and he's not expecting it, especially not after he just finished driving someone MAD and coming home covered in blood,

so when you hold his hand and walk him to the bathroom to get cleaned up, he is extremely confused

aren't you afraid?

"Come on, now. You're like, 7 feet tall and I have shorter arms than you do, so you gotta work with me and bend down! I have ta' getcha all cleaned up!" You said, struggling to reach the alternate's face. It looked down at you and did as it was told, a small trace of shock across it's face was evident.

"...Aren't you afraid?" He asked as you wiped off the blood on his face with a paper towel.

"Afraid? Of what? You?" You replied, a smile crossing your face.

"Yes. Everyone is scared of alternates, so why aren't you acting scared?"

"Because I'm not. Don't ya' think that if I was scared of you after living with you for months now, I would've gone MAD by now?"

"..."

"Yeah, thought so. Now let's clean up that suit of yours, can't have random people's blood in our apartment, now can we?" You said, grabbing his hand once again.

"Why do you do that?"

"Hmm? Do what?"

"Grab my hand. Why?"

oh poor thing

he has no idea why you hold his hand

so when you tell him it's a form of affection,,, he just

short circuits

like

you, a human, is giving him, and alternate,,

affection???

he doesn't know why, but he does like it

he likes being given affection, and he tries his best to return it

but he's not used to giving nor receiving it, so it'll take a while

You feel two arms wrap around you as you put in a load of clothes into the laundry machine. You turn your head around and then upwards to see Cesar holding you.

"What's up bud?" You say, smiling up at him.

"...Affection."

"Oh? Do you want some--"

"No, I want to return affection.. You always give others affection but I don't see others returning it a lot..."

"...oh. W-well, thank you for the hug, Cesar!"

405 words.

JONAH MARSHALL.

this little mf will be so cocky about receiving any affection from you

like he'd be the type of person to yell out,

"hey ya'll, (Y/N) hugged me and not you, bozos!!!"

you can't tell me i'm wrong..!

imagine in the rare occasion

that he goes into the house

instead of adam, you decide to go in with him because

you're nice like that

and you have to stay there for a night or two

so you lay out your sleeping bag, but guess what?

somebody was an idiot and forgot their fucking sleeping bag.

you're a really nice person soo...

"Aww shit... I forgot my fucking sleeping bag." He sighed out and stopped rummaging through his bag.

"You could use mine. I think I'll just stay awake tonight, just in case. Plus, you seem tired, and I'm not, so it just makes sense." You offered.

"WOAHWOAHWOAH, HOLD IT RIGHT THERE! I AM NOT GOING TO TAKE YOUR ONLY SLEEPING BAG AWAY FROM YOU AFTER I ALREADY DRAGGED YOU INTO THIS HOUSE--"

"It's okay. If you don't want my sleeping bag, that's fine, but I'd recommend using it." You shrugged, stretching your arms out.

"But what about you? You shouldn't stay up late-- it's bad for you and-"

"Would you rather share the sleeping bag then?"

"GRK! WHA-- I mean-- if that's okay with you- I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything.." He mumbled, his face heating up.

so now here you are,

a sleeping jonah on your lap all wrapped up in a sleeping bag

as you sit down, back pressed up against the wall as you keep an eye out for anything

...but you can't help but look at jonah,,

he's just so cute when he's sleeping!

he's so cute when he's not a little gremlin <333

you put your hands in his hair and give it a little floof

you slowly see the sun rise up through the window after hours of keeping your eyes peeled

you smile and finally let yourself drift off to sleep, but not before jonah wakes up and sees you just barely close your eyes.

as soon as you fall asleep, he slowly gets up and turns his body towards you, pulling you into a soft and warm hug.

"I told you to go to sleep, you dumbass." He whispered, rubbing your back.

394 words.

ADAM MURRAY.

he doesn't exactly give out physical affection all the time, it's just not really his thing, but that doesn't stop him from doing so anyways

but he is good at quality time!! (he is very good at that!!)

one time you were falling asleep in the backseat of the car with adam because jonah was mad at him and shoved him back there

so your head just started to lean and then

plop

right on his shoulder

he was surprised, but you were half-asleep and didn't even notice

so he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you a little closer

put his head on your (head/shoulder,)

and fell asleep too.

he woke up a couple minutes later and started whispering innocent, sweet nothings into your ear.

you were still asleep, but he wanted to make sure you knew how much he cared about you.

"...you're so gorgeous. How did I get so lucky to have you right next to me?"

"and you're so brave, going after these alternates and not even catching a slight case of MAD..."

"God, you are so perfect, always here for me and others, you deserve the world... and I'm going to try my best to give it to you, no matter the cost."

to say jonah was a third wheel in this moment would be an understatement

but hey!

you two are happy,

aren't you?

enjoy it while it lasts.

238 words.

THE END.

FANDOM MASTERLIST

REQUEST GUIDELINES

[cuervom]

Spotify.Please.GentlemanJack.Soundtrack.

That's all.

[sapphicnae]

No exceptions?

Summary: Regina was mean to everyone, no exceptions. Yet when she was around you, it was a completely different story…

Pairing: Regina x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Just Regina being her mean self! But mostly fluff!

Words: 1.6k

Requested!

A/N: I really loved writing this one-shot, I’m a sucker for seeing Regina’s soft side for the reader and the reader only. I’m hoping to make a masterlist soon so you guys can see who I’ll write for. I’d love to write for any mean girls ships and I have a Leighton Murray fic in mind too which I’m dying to write. Requests are open!

Regina George had made fun of nearly everyone at school. No one was immune to her relentless teasing, that’s just the way it was at North Shore - so why was it that she had never seemed to target you before? You didn’t seem to mind it at all. In a way, it made you feel special.

The first incident of this type of treatment started when you had been walking rather quickly down a hallway to your next class. You had gotten so carried away studying in the library, that you hadn’t heard the bell ring. This led to you rushing to get to math class, not paying much attention to your surroundings. In the next step, you had felt yourself crash into someone in front of you. Judging from the way surrounding voices became hushed and the way you felt as though the halls had eyes all of a sudden, you could have guessed who it was without even looking at them. It was Regina George. In that moment, as you realised the identity of the girl who towered over you, you had braced yourself for an onslaught of insults. Yet they never came. Instead, upon meeting her gaze, you had seen her eyes soften, followed by her giving you an almost apologetic smile. But, before you could utter your own apology to her, she had already disappeared into the sea of students.

You had imagined that moment to have been a one-time thing. Maybe she was in a really good mood that day - anything to brush off her strange behaviour. But then came the second incident, where you had been heading into the cafeteria to grab some lunch and sit with your usual group of friends. As you had entered the cafeteria, you could already hear Regina’s voice loud enough, making her usual scathing comments about people as they walked past her table. Talking about their appearance, their clothes, or their hair - how trashy they looked. Once again, as you made your way past the table where the plastics were seated, you had mentally prepared yourself for whatever nasty comment would inevitably leave Regina’s mouth. Yet, when she had spotted your nervous gaze on her, all she did in return was smirk. You could’ve sworn she had given a subtle wink at you too, but with your racing thoughts, it was hard not to focus on simply making it past her as quickly as possible.

It was twice now, that you had escaped Regina’s infamous wrath. Which had left you wondering the reasons why - not that you were complaining.

It was actually nice not having to worry about being the target of Regina’s verbal attacks. So, within the next few days, you had grown the confidence to gift her warm smiles whenever you would catch her eye on you.

Then came the following week in the class that both you and Regina happened to share. As usual, you walked in and took a seat right in the corner, tucked away from everyone, ready to daydream your way through the hour. You had spotted Regina surrounded by Gretchen and Karen, chatting and giggling, while the teacher droned on about whatever chapter the class would be asked to read for next week’s quiz. You were finding it a little hard to focus on your own thoughts, as you kept feeling Regina’s gaze on you every so often. She was making it incredibly subtle – but not subtle enough.

What broke you out of your daydream was when the teacher seemed to have had enough of the chatter from the plastics, as she had suddenly ordered Regina and Gretchen to switch seats with other students. The worst part about this wasn’t that your daydreaming was interrupted, but that the student Regina was made to switch seats with, happened to be the student sitting next to you. You watched as she had rolled her eyes in the process of making her way over to the space next to you. She feigned indifference, as though sitting next to you wasn’t a big deal.

She had been waiting for a chance all week to finally get closer to you.

You can feel Regina’s presence next to you as you steal a glance at her before attempting to keep your focus towards the front. You seemed to be succeeding for a short while until, in your peripheral vision, you notice Regina drop her pencil. It rolls towards your desk. You have no time to wonder if it’s intentional or not before you feel her lean towards you, brushing her arm against yours as she reaches to pick it back up. This slight touch causes a flutter in your stomach, which you tried to hide by remaining stoic. Though as she rose back up, instead of returning back to her own space, she leaned in close, her lips next to your ear.

“What’re you doing after school, pretty girl?”

Her voice, low and confident, sent a small shiver down your spine. As she moved backwards you felt her eyes boring into you, in an intense yet nervous manner. Caught slightly off guard, you hesitated, wondering how you should respond…

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

This first interaction accelerated the relationship between you and Regina. You began to grow very close and she was making it much more obvious to people at school that you were hers. You would often go over to her house, sometimes accompanied by Gretchen and Karen, sometimes alone. Nothing romantic had happened between the two of you, yet some strange tension always lingered whenever you were around each other. You hadn’t bothered to question it; you were simply enjoying being placed on a pedestal in Regina’s eyes. Though, some of her passing comments would trigger that same flutter in your stomach as the first time she had spoken to you.

In the same class, a few weeks later, you had walked in to take your usual seat. You then watched as Regina struts in and makes her way towards the student who had decided to sit next to you. In the next moment, you saw them scamper away as Regina had ordered them to move.

“It’s nice to see that pretty little face of yours light up whenever I come around”

She whispered in sultry tone, as she settled into her seat. Until she had spoken those words, you hadn’t noticed the shy smile you had been sporting in response to her making the effort just to sit next to you. The remainder of the hour passed by uneventful.

The bell, which signified the lunch period, finally rang. This meant the majority of the class had packed up and left within a minute or so, leaving you completely alone with Regina. The tension that was always present between the two of you, seemed to fill the room once again. Once you had packed your things, you got out of your seat, ready to follow the rest of your classmates to the cafeteria – yet your plans were interrupted after you sensed Regina leave her seat behind you. You felt a hand catch yours which caused you to spin around to see why she was holding you back.

“Regina, I’m so hungry I’m about to ravage the next edible thing I see. What’s up?” You questioned her, with a sense of urgency knowing you were losing your chance to be first in the lunch line.

“Quit whining pretty girl, I just wanted you alone. I haven’t stopped thinking about you allll day.” The tone of her voice practically made you melt in front of her. It was hard to resist her after the treatment she had given you these past few weeks. From the touch of her hand to her soft voice, you had almost forgotten why you were in such a rush to leave the room. Though, now you were alone, you did have one question that had been playing on your mind from the day she started treating you differently. Until this moment you hadn’t realised how much the shared tension had been getting to you.

“Hmm All day?” You fell silent for a moment, hesitating, before continuing “and how do I know this isn’t all a joke, huh? Out of all the people in this school G, why me? What makes me so different from the others?”  You spoke in a curious tone, though remaining flirty. Judging from her break in eye contact, she hadn’t expected you to question her intentions here, of all places. After a moment, she thought of an idea on how to reassure you, whilst still maintaining the tone of the exchange. She stood tall in front of you, pulling you toward her, gripping either side of your waist now. She looked down at you slightly, moving from your eyes to your lips, then back your eyes again. With the corners of her mouth raised, she replied in a low voice,

“You know what I think of most people in this school? I don't. The only person I ever think about is you. I want to show you exactly what sets you apart from the rest…”  Without allowing you time to respond, she leaned her face down, attempting to meet your lips with her own…

“GUYS HURRY UP, IT’S FRIDAY WHICH MEANS THEY’RE DOING CHEESY FRIES.”

Karen’s voice echoed across the room, causing the two of you to jump apart, startled by the sudden interruption. Being lost in the shared moment, neither of you had heard her come rushing back into the classroom to find you. You felt your face grow red hot and saw Regina clearly sharing the same level of embarrassment. After exchanging an awkward glance, Regina gripped your hand once more and led you towards the door, a mix of excitement and frustration left hanging between you both.

[reaper2187]

Leighton murray x reader

In the hallowed halls of Essex College, a tale unfolds between two vibrant souls: Leighton Murray, the enigmatic and alluring senior, and you, the newly arrived freshman with a heart brimming with both trepidation and anticipation.

As you the campus, your senses are assailed by the vibrant tapestry of college life. Laughter echoes through the dormitories, mingling with the faint scent of coffee and the hum of laptops. It is amidst this vibrant atmosphere that you first encounter Leighton.

Tall and striking, with blonde hair that cascades over her shoulders, Leighton exudes an air of mystery. Her captivating blue eyes hold a tantalizing promise, a hint of untold experiences that pique your curiosity. An older student, she moves with an assured confidence that you find both intoxicating and intimidating.

As fate would have it, your paths cross again and again. In the crowded hallways of the library, you steal furtive glances at her as she pores over textbooks, her lips parted slightly in concentration. At a raucous party, you find yourself drawn to her laughter, a melody that cuts through the din like a silver bell.

One evening, as you sit alone in the common room, lost in a book, Leighton approaches you. With a warm smile, she breaks the ice and introduces herself. As you talk, you discover that beneath her enigmatic exterior lies a complex and intelligent woman. You are captivated by her insights, her quick wit, and the way her eyes seem to sparkle with a mischievous glint.

As the hours turn into a languid summer night, you find yourself drawn to Leighton's alluring charm. Your fingers brush against hers as you reach for a shared book, and electricity courses through your body. In that moment, you know that something profound has sparked between you.

In the weeks that follow, you and Leighton spend countless hours together. You explore the hidden nooks of the campus, from the  library to the  gardens. The bond between you grows stronger with each passing day, as you learn the intricacies of each other's desires and secrets.

Leighton's embrace is warm and inviting, her touch like a feather on your skin. Her kisses ignite a fire within you that consumes all inhibition. As you lie entangled in her arms, you feel a sense of liberation and fulfillment like never before.

However, the world outside of your private paradise threatens to tear you apart. Society's judgment looms over you like a dark cloud, whispering that your love is forbidden. But you refuse to be silenced.

Together, you navigate the choppy waters of college life, facing both adversity and triumphs with unwavering determination. You become each other's strength, a beacon of hope in a world that often tries to extinguish your flames.

In the tapestry of your life, Leighton Murray becomes more than just a lover. She is your confidant, your ally, and the catalyst for a profound transformation within yourself. As you graduate from Essex College, you carry with you the memories of your passionate love, a testament to the enduring power of human connection.

And so, as the pages of your life turn and you venture into the wider world, a piece of Leighton will always linger in your heart, a bittersweet reminder of a love that burned bright against the backdrop of youth and collegiate freedom.

[choke-me-joey]

Eddie Munson x fem metalhead cheerleader

Summary: Based on this - how Eddie met his not so typical cheerleader girlfriend and a little exploration of their relationship.

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, smoking, underage drinking, drug use, swearing, flirting, smut.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 1

Eddie knew who you were.

Of course he did, how could he not?! You were the only member of the cheerleading squad who didn't look like a clone of Chrissy Cunningham, for one. And second of all, you wore a leather jacket. Over your cheerleading uniform. It was practically unheard of.

Plus, you were the only member of the cheerleading squad who didn't look at him like he was lower than dirt, except maybe Chrissy herself. God knows why she was with that meathead prick Jason Carver.

Eddie's fatuation with you began when you waltzed in to Ms O'Donnell's class that one September morning, leather jacket draped over your shoulders. It was oversized, with a few band patches pinned to the back - Metallica, Def Leppard, Slayer and Black Sabbath to name a few - and took your usual seat next to him.

It wasn't just the jacket, mind. The jacket was the spark to the powder keg. Eddie had been drawn to you for months. Your pretty little face, your captivating smile, your laugh that made his heart thump in his chest, and your eyes....God, your fucking eyes. They were the most stunning eyes he'd ever seen.

And then there was your body. Toned and lean from your years of athletics, but still curvy in all the right places. One time he'd seen your uniform skirt rise up in the cafeteria, exposing little black booty shorts hugging your shapely ass and he'd damn near choked on the pretzels he was scoffing down. So he'd already had a raging physical and emotional boner for you for a while now.

But now, the jacket.

You'd never worn that before, and judging by the size of it, the way you were wearing it and how worn it looked, he guessed your boyfriend must have lent it to you to protect your uniform from the rain that morning.

But, there weren't very many metalheads that went to Hawkins High, so maybe your boyfriend went to a different school? Or college, even?

Eddie felt himself grow miserable at the thought of you having a boyfriend. Of course you had a boyfriend. You were way too hot not to have been snapped up by now. He'd seen how some of the other guys at school had looked at you in the hallways, heard what they'd said in low whispers when they thought nobody else was listening in to their conversations.

"Tell me she doesnt have perfect blow job lips, dude."

"I saw her at the pool last weekend, she's got the perfect rack, biggest tits on the squad for sure."

"Yo, Anderson told me he fucked her at Murray's 4th of July party last year, apparently she's an absolute freak-"

"Shit, I've got to hit that."

But Eddie saw you as more than a sexual object. To him, you were an angel. You were a goddess roaming these halls.

So, what would you ever want with the likes of the town freak?

While Ms O'Donnell had her back turned, you had leaned over and tapped Eddie on the shoulder, almost making him jump out of his seat. He definitely hadn't been staring out of the window thinking about tonight's Hellfire session, or that new guitar solo he was trying to nail down, or your pretty fucking eyes again-

"Hey, Eddie?" You whisper, a soft smile gracing your plump lips.

Fuck. You knew his name?! And his actual name, not 'Munson' or 'freak'. He turns his head to look at you like a deer in the headlights. It actually concerns you how startled he looks. "Uh, sorry, never mind-"

"No, uh, sorry, just...you know my name?"

You raise an eyebrow, looking amused.

"I've been sitting next to you in this class for over a month now, duh. Of course I know your name!" You giggle softly. "Just like you know mine, right?"

Of course Eddie fucking knew your name. Tonight he'd definitely groan it out as he jerked his cock to the thought of you in nothing but that damn jacket, Christ he was no better than those dickwads in the halls-

"Eddie?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry, yeah of course I do. It's Y/N, right? Or should I call you by your Hell's Angels name now?" He gestures towards the jacket. You giggle again, trying to keep your voice down.

"Y/N is fine, I don't have my motorcycle licence yet." You tease and Eddie swallows, hard. "Can I...can I talk to you later? You have a free period after your next class, right?"

Good lord, you knew his timetable. He swore he was having an out of body experience, you wanted to talk to him outside of-

Oh.

Of course.

Eddie realised what you were after, and felt like kicking himself for thinking you could have possibly meant anything else.

"Uh, yeah, sure, sure, you wanna meet in the parking lot or in the woods. ..?"

"Parking lot is fine, 71 Chevy, right?"

"That's me." Eddie nods and you shoot him a winning smile and God, he can die happy now.

Ms O'Donnell shoots you both a warning glare and you immediately shut up, concentrating on your note taking. Eddie was the master of pretending to look busy, so he pretended long enough until the old bat's back was turned again, and he returned to his thoughts, flicking his eyes to the clock approximately every 5 seconds for the next thirty minutes.

***

Eddie's leant against his van, cupping his hand over the end of his cigarette as his stupid fucking lighter spits out pathetic sparks when you come bouncing over, now wearing that damn jacket properly with your cheerleading uniform almost completely hidden underneath.

"Need a light?" You produce a lighter from the jacket pocket, and Eddie eyes it (and you) suspiciously. "It's new, picked it up this morning."

"Thanks," Eddie says with the cigarette dangling between his lips. He lights it and hands the lighter back to you, only to be even more surprised when you pull out a pack of smokes from your other jacket pocket and light one, taking a drag. "Wouldn't have pegged you as a smoker."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Eddie Munson." You smile coyly as you exhale the smoke away from him. He scoffs.

"I don't doubt it. Not many leather wearing, smoke puffing cheerleaders wandering the halls of Hawkins High."

"Even less of them than have an interest in DnD." You say, mirroring Eddie in the way he was leaning against his van. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I've been doing some research and I'm really quite interested in playing. Do you think I could come by Hellfire tonight and maybe put my name down to join?"

Eddie blinks at you.

"Wait...you don't wanna buy?"

"Buy?" You ask slowly, then the penny drops and you burst out laughing, shoving his arm playfully. "Oh god, sorry! Shit, I completely forgot you do that! No, I'm just asking if I can come crash your campaign later."

"You, Y/N, a cheerleader who rubs shoulders with Chrissy Cunningham, are interested in playing Dungeons and Dragons?!" Eddie's tone makes you frown. It's almost like he's mocking you.

"Yes?" You say, unable to see the point he's making. You puff on your cigarette again. "Look, I get it, I'm a girl, so if you don't want me in your club, that's fine, I totally get it, but don't just assume that because I'm on the squad that means that I'm exactly like the rest of them. I mean, the looks I've gotten from them today just for wearing my fucking jacket, you wouldn't believe it. It's just a jacket! We don't all listen to fucking New Kids on The Block and drool over Tom Cruise."

"You don't?" Eddie smirks, a teasing lilt to his voice. He's perked up a little since you said it was 'your' jacket and not 'your boyfriend's'.

"No, I don't! I like good music-" you gesture to some of the patches on your jacket, "-and James Hetfield is way, way hotter. " You take a final drag on your cigarette and throw it on the ground, stubbing it out with your worn Converse. You hike your bag up on your shoulder. "So? Am I welcome or not?"

Eddie stubbed out his own cigarette under his dirty Reebok before shooting you a smirk.

"See you at 4, m'lady."

Your face lit up and you curtsied, actually fucking curtsied at him, pulling your skirt out to the side and everything.

"I look forward to it, kind sir."

And then with a swish of skirt, leather jacket and high ponytail, you were heading back towards the school building, leaving Eddie to almost collapse against his beloved vehicle of choice, dramatically clutching his chest.

Oh yeah, Eddie definitely knew who you were.

[supernaturalscribe67]

Denial

Words: 5,703

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Castiel x Male!Winchester!Reader

Warning(s): Language, Winchesters being Winchesters, implied sexual content, awkward 'flirting', Dean feeling the same way about Cas x Reader as Sam feels about Destiel, Fluff, Humor

Summary: The reader does NOT have a crush on Castiel. At least, that's what he keeps saying. Sam and Dean, however, aren't convinced in the slightest. What happens when the classic Winchester shenanigans take it too far? Will the reader's true feelings be revealed?

Request:

hi. i love your work very much. I humbly request a Castiel x Winchester!reader, where the reader is the oldest brother and Cas and the reader fall for each other. Cas and Dean are best friends I feel like so Dean might tease and be like "what are your intentions with my big brother" and Cas is like "...wdym........." bc he doesn't wanna admit he has feelings and meanwhile the reader and Sam are on a minor hunt together or something and Sam is like "so when are you gonna make your move" and the reader is like "!!! i do not have feelings for this baby in a trench coat!!! wdym!!!!!" and so Sam and Dean come together and take matters into their own hands and come up with some shenanigans that make Cas and the reader come together and admit how they feel for each other. just something nice and fluffy and sweet. thank you very much 💕

Anonymous

A/N: Happy Monday! I had a lot of fun writing this and I'm glad to finally be getting it out! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

~ Much Love!

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Dean’s laughter erupted down the hallway as (Y/N) left his room. He couldn’t help but shake his head as he slung his large duffel bag over his shoulder. Just as he closed his door, Sam’s door opened. He came out, clad in his usual flannel and jean combination, his duffel resting at his side. When he caught sight of (Y/N), he smiled. 

“You got everything?” (Y/N) asked.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “Let’s head out.”

The two of them made their way down the hall towards the bunker entrance. Dean’s laugh could be heard getting louder as they walked near the library. Upon closer inspection, they could see Dean and Castiel sitting together at one of the tables, Dean’s laptop between them. A bowl of popcorn sat in Dean’s lap, his cheeks slightly puffed from the handful he had just eaten. Castiel’s head was tilted slightly to the side, eyes squinted as he studied the screen. The sound of Bill Murray’s voice echoed through the speakers.

“The Hell are you two watching?” (Y/N) asked.

“Groundhog Day,” Dean answered, words slightly muffled by the popcorn. “Cas hasn’t seen it before.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “Out of all the movies you could pick from, you pick Groundhog Day?”

“Hey, don’t knock Bill Murray.”

“I’ll knock whoever the Hell I wanna knock. Anyways, you got the keys to Baby?”

For the first time since they approached the archway, Dean turned to look at them. He took in their attire and eyed their bags. 

“Where’re you two going?” He asked as he began to dig the keys out of his pant pocket.

“Buddy of mind in Colorado says they have a Wendigo problem that needs fixing. They can’t seem to track it down, so they need some extra hands.”

“Well, why does Sam get to go but I gotta stay here?”

“It’s a Wendigo, Dean. Bringing more people will make things complicated. Four against one is plenty. Consider this your little vacation.”

Dean sighed. “Fine. I bet it’s Bradley Knox who called anyway,” he said as he tossed the keys.

(Y/N) swiftly caught them with his left hand and pointed at his brother. “For your information, it was, in fact, Bradley Knox.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he frowned. “Oh, what? That jackass? Come on, you never said we would be helping him.”

“Because I knew you were going to bitch about it.”

“Who is Bradley Knox?” Castiel asked, his attention turned away from the computer screen.

Dean reached over and paused the movie. “He’s this dick (Y/N) met when he tried hunting solo. A real piece of work. We helped him out a couple of times, and he just shit-talked us the whole time.” He answered.

“He acts like he’s still in middle school. He smells bad, dresses like a pig, and he talks like one, too. Plus, he wouldn’t stop calling me Sasquatch last time.” Sam added. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Look, I know he sucks, but he has a hunt, and we need to stop this Wendigo. It’s already killed five people. We just have to get in and get out. That’s it.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Alright, but if he calls me Sasquatch again-”

“Then I’ll make sure to stop him from hurting little Sammy’s feelings,” (Y/N) reached up and pinched Sam’s cheek.

Sam smacked his hand away. “Get off me.”

“Oh, get the stick out of your ass. We’ll be near Denver, so I’ll take you to that new fancy vegan place that opened recently.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, whatever will get you to not bitch and moan the whole trip.” He flipped the keys in his hand. “Alright, we’re heading out. Don’t get into any trouble while we’re gone, Dean.”

Dean scoffed. “I’m not five.” He grumbled. 

“You act like it,” (Y/N) mumbled before he looked over at Castiel. Their eyes met. “Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Castiel nodded. “I will watch over him.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Dean exclaimed.

“I beg to differ. Then, Cas, when Sam and I get back, I’ll show you a good movie that isn’t poorly acted.”

Slowly, a smile formed on Castiel’s lips. “Okay,” 

(Y/N) returned the smile. “We’ll see you later,” he took a couple of steps backward before he turned his back on them.

Sam gave a small wave before he followed his brother up the stairs and out the front door.

*~*

Dean leaned back in his seat when the heavy metal door slammed shut. The movie on the computer was still paused, so he took a moment to glance over at Castiel. He noted how the corners of his lips were still curled upward, his crow's feet and laugh lines prominent. At the sight, he smirked and shifted his body so he was facing him.

“So…” Dean trailed as he sat the bowl of popcorn on the table. “(Y/N), huh?”

Castiel looked over at him, the smile vanishing, and replaced with an expression of confusion. “What about (Y/N)?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “He’s a good guy, right?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“A really good guy?”

“Yes?”

“Would you say you like being around him?”

“I do.”

“Really like being around him?”

Castiel shifted in his seat. “I’m not understanding this line of questioning, Dean.”

“Do you like my brother?”

“I do, yes, he’s my friend. Did I do something that made you assume I didn’t?”

“No, it’s just-” Dean sighed. “You know what? Nevermind. Let’s just watch the movie.” Without waiting for a response, he reached over and resumed the film.

Castiel stared at him for a moment with furrowed brows. After a couple of seconds, he shook his head and returned his attention to the computer.

*~*

The Impala drove smoothly down the nearly deserted highway. Instead of the loud classic rock that normally played through the speakers, Celine Dion’s smooth voice filled the car. (Y/N) sat in the driver’s seat, one arm resting on the window sill while the other held the wheel. Sam took his usual spot in the passenger’s seat.

“So, what info do we have so far?” Sam asked.

“Well, so far, the only thing we know is that the victims were tourists. Some of those people decided to search for a good hiking trail and then, all of a sudden, they were snatched. At least, that’s what’s assumed.”

“Did the victims know each other?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do we know when they got snatched?”

“Kind of.”

“Where they got snatched?”

“Kind of.”

“Does Bradley even know what he’s doing?”

“Probably not.”

Sam sighed and slouched in his seat, running his fingers through his hair. (Y/N)’s shoulders dropped. 

“Look,” he began. “I know it’s not the best scenario, but any start is better than a blank slate. We know a great deal more about Wendigos than Bradley does, so I’m sure we can knock this out of the park, alright? I say we just talk about something else, get our mind off of it for a while, then we-”

“Do you like Cas?”

“What!?” (Y/N) exclaimed, eyes wide, both hands tightly clenched onto the wheel. “No! I, no, what, why would you ask me that?”

“What?” Sam asked innocently, although he couldn’t hold back the smirk that curled on his lips. “I just asked if you liked him, that’s all. You said you wanted to talk about something else.”

“I didn’t mean that!”

“Come on, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“Well, I think your hallucinations are back because you’re seeing shit.”

“So…you don’t like Cas?”

“I don’t like Cas! Now drop it!”

(Y/N)’s eyes were glued to the road ahead, which allowed Sam to get a good look at his profile. At the top of his cheekbones, next to his nose, sat a red tinge. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. He pressed his lips together and looked away, holding his hands up briefly in mock surrender. 

“Fine, I’ll drop it.” He said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Good. Now shut up, Whitney Houston’s playing.” (Y/N) grumbled, reached over, and turned up the music.

I Wanna Dance With Somebody thumped through the metal frame, the brothers silent as they continued their lengthy trek from Lebanon, Kansas to Denver, Colorado.

*~*

Vacation? What could Dean do on vacation? Stuck in the bunker, no less. He could catch up on some television series that he started, but he knew he would get tired of that soon enough. The Impala had been hijacked, so giving her the fine tune he had been desperate to give was out of the question. Bar hopping wasn’t an option, as he trusted no other car than Baby. What kind of hobbies did people his age get into? Crochet? Cross Stitch? Sudoku? Over his dead body.

In the end, Dean sat on his bed, pieces of his handgun scattered across the blanket as he meticulously cleansed each part until they glimmered in the dim lamplight. It was a task he had been meaning to do for a while. He guessed his ‘vacation’ could be used to catch up on all the chores he had held off.

Smoke on the Water rang out through the otherwise quiet room. Dean stopped his action to look at the screen. Sammy Calling… Dean sat the pieces down, grabbed his phone, and accepted the call.

“Hey, Sam. You guys doing okay?” He asked as he settled on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah, we’re about halfway there. Listen, I don’t have much time to talk, (Y/N) just walked into the gas station for a minute. Did you talk to Cas?”

“Yeah,”

“And?”

“He didn’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I asked him if he liked (Y/N), he said ‘Of course I do, he’s my friend’,” Dean explained with a slightly mocking tone.

“Or, he could have understood what you were asking and just played dumb.”

“I give Cas credit for a lot of things, but this is not one of those times. What about you? Did you ask him yet?”

“I did, and, of course, he denied it.”

“Of course, he did,” Dean rolled his eyes as he laid back against his pillows.

“Get this, though. He was blushing.”

“No way.”

“Yes!”

“And you’re sure it was a blush?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Oh, this is just too perfect. Sam, we have to get those two together.”

“How? Neither of them will admit their feelings for one another. They’re in denial.”

Dean hummed and pursed his lips in thought. “We might just have to get creative. I’m on vacation. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands to think.”

“Yeah, yeah, lucky you.” Sam deadpanned. “Oh, I gotta go. (Y/N)’s coming out.”

“I’ll send you my ideas,” Dean spoke quickly before he ended the call and tossed his phone onto the bed.

Many thoughts formed in his head. Mischievous, Winchester thoughts. If he thought his pranks were good, the ideas that he had to get (Y/N) and Castiel together were to die for.

It had been a personal goal of his for well over a year. He wasn’t ignorant to the passing glances that the two of them gave one another, it was rather gross if he had anything to say about it. He could tell, though, that Castiel’s presence made his brother genuinely happy. If anyone deserved that happiness, it was him. If they got together, perhaps then they could keep their bedroom eyes away from him. If he had to witness it anymore, he was sure to go insane.

As he went to stand from his bed, the familiar clink of metal filled his ears. He glanced down at the scattered handgun parts that littered his bed. With a sigh, he sat back against the pillows and began to reassemble his gun, not caring that the quality of his cleaning wasn’t perfect. Brainstorming could wait until he was finished. He was on vacation, after all.

*~*

“Stupid rich people and their stupid, worthless suits,” (Y/N)’s deep grumble echoed throughout the small motel bathroom.

His brothers snorted in amusement. None of them wanted to dress up for the charity ball they had to attend - as it was necessary to gain intel for their case - so a three-way game of rock-paper-scissors was done to determine which would be unlucky enough to wear the rental suit. For the first time in months, (Y/N) lost. The title of ‘loser’ normally went to Dean, rarely Sam, but the younger Winchesters didn’t want to risk having to put on the constrictive outfit. They seldom rigged the game to get what they wanted, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Castiel sat at the end of one of the beds, eyes fixated on the bathroom door, brows knitted together. “(Y/N) doesn’t seem too happy,” he commented.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be happy either if I got stuck wearing a suit around old people.” Dean chuckled. 

“What’s wrong with wearing a suit?”

“They’re just uncomfortable.”

Castiel glanced down at himself before his eyes settled on the brothers. “I’m not uncomfortable in my attire.”

“You’re used to it, Cas,” Sam said. “We wear jeans and flannel every day. It’s more practical for hunting. Hell, even getting around in our FEDs costumes is a pain. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Who the HELL thought cuff links were a good idea!?” (Y/N)’s loud voice boomed.

Dean covered his mouth to stop himself from spitting up his coffee. Oh, how the simple struggles of his siblings made him smile. Castiel’s head whipped back around as he stared at the door with a look of worry. Sam and Dean took note of it immediately and shared a knowing look. Dean gestured with his head over to his friend, and that was when Sam turned in his chair.

“You know what I think could cheer him up, Cas?” He asked.

Castiel peered over at him and Sam swore he saw those baby blues light up. “What?” He asked, head tilted to the side.

“Compliments.”

“Compliments?”

“When he comes out, tell him he looks nice.”

“Tell him he looks hot,” Dean interjected.

“Yeah! Tell him he looks hot.” Sam nodded in agreement.

“Hot?” Castiel frowned.

“Trust me, Cas, people love compliments, and saying that someone’s hot is a huge one. It’ll make him feel better almost immediately.” Dean explained.

Castiel considered the advice before he nodded. “Okay, I will tell him he looks…hot.”

Dean beamed and reached across the table to give Sam a fistbump. Sam furrowed his brows and shook his head. Dean’s smile faded before he cleared his throat and placed his hands back down on the table.

It didn’t take long before the bathroom door opened and out came a rather irritated (Y/N). The suit looked and felt foreign on him, a massive step from his usual hunting wear. He adjusted the collar of the jacket before he smoothed out the front. Finally, he let out a sigh and gestured out with his arms in a grandiose fashion.

“How do I look?” He asked, voice monotone. 

Sam and Dean pursed their lips, looked him over, and gave supportive head nods before their eyes shifted to Castiel. (Y/N)’s gaze moved from Sam to Dean to Castiel. Their eyes locked and Castiel immediately looked away, seeming to find his hands easier to look at. 

“You look…hot,” Castiel said.

(Y/N)’s brows shot up and his eyes widened. “I, um, I do?”

“Yes,” Castiel gave a small, sweet smile.

(Y/N)’s lips opened and shut rapidly, as if he were a fish out of water. He let out a breathy chuckle as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks, Cas,”

“Of course,”

A soft smile graced (Y/N)’s lips as their eyes connected for a brief moment. It didn’t take long before his eyes wandered back over to his brothers, who were both sporting wide smirks. He wiped the smile off of his face and straightened up as if he had seemingly forgotten they were in the same room. 

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” He swiftly made his way out of the motel room.

Sam and Dean shared a look before they stood from their spots at the table. Castiel followed suit. When (Y/N) was out of earshot, Castiel spoke.

“He seems better,” he said with a bright, proud smile. 

Dean returned the smile. “He sure does, buddy,” He patted him twice on the back before he wrapped his arm around his shoulders and led him out of the motel room. “He sure does.”

*~*

God bless the Men of Letters and God bless good water pressure.

There were countless amenities the bunker had that (Y/N) loved. The stainless steel kitchen appliances, the massive garage, the memory foam mattress, each of them held a special place in his heart. However, the showers take the cake. Who knew water could get so hot? And who knew water could relax your muscles so well? If there was one thing he loved to do after a long day, it was spend a good chunk of his evening in the shower to unwind. 

All good things must come to an end, though, as he had earned his fair share of lectures from his brothers about conserving the hot water. While he understood their point, he felt like he deserved the comfort after years of abuse in the hands of rusty, weak motel showerheads. And, dammit, he was going to get his compensation. 

As he turned off the water, the bathroom fell into silence. Steam warped around his naked form and covered him like a blanket as he stepped onto the bath mat. He absentmindedly reached for the towel rack, but only came in contact with the cheap metal bar. He furrowed his brows and glanced at his hand to find that the rack was barren. He swore he had placed a towel there before. Above the towel rack, a light pink post-it note hung limply on the wall. (Y/N) frowned deeply, reached up, and grabbed the note. He held it close to his face to be able to see the sloppily written words.

This is for putting Nair in my body wash. ~ Sam

“That little bastard,” (Y/N) grumbled and crumbled up the note in his hand.

When had Sam been able to sneak into the bathroom to take his stuff? True, he had been known to mentally doze off in the shower, and lose all sense of himself in the middle of his wash, which had ultimately landed him victim to countless other pranks, but he would certainly be able to hear if anyone were to enter the bathroom and take his towel not two feet away, right? Regardless, at least he was within the safety of the bunker to do so. Having him space out in a motel bathroom could mean the difference between life and death. In the bunker, all he had was his pain in the ass little brothers to worry about.

With a new wave of irritation and not a care in the world, (Y/N) walked to the bathroom door and opened it. He was stopped dead in his tracks, mouth slightly open as he made to call out for his brother when he noticed Castiel standing directly in front of him, hand raised as if to knock. (Y/N)’s eyes widened and he felt a tightness appear in his chest. His mouth went dry and his heart raced. He was frozen.

“Hello, (Y/N),” Castiel said.

“Uh, hey,” (Y/N) replied slowly.

Castiel glanced down at the object in his arms before he held it out. “Sam and Dean asked me to bring you this. It was freshly washed.”

It took every ounce of willpower for (Y/N) to look down at the towel in Castiel’s possession.

“Thanks,” his voice was small as he accepted and brought it to his chest.

“You’re welcome.” Castiel smiled widely, and it was as if time itself had stopped.

(Y/N) returned the gesture as he found himself lost in Castiel’s gaze, a rather common occurrence as of late. He couldn’t help it. It was as if he were a deer in headlights, or a child staring directly into the deadlights of Pennywise’s true form. However, instead of an impending sense of doom, all he felt was peace, like a world of tranquility lived behind his eyes. A world that he wanted to go to.

“(Y/N)?” Castiel’s voice broke him out of his trance.

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

It was impossible to miss the flicker of Castiel’s stare as he looked over (Y/N)’s body before retreating to his face. One good glance at himself made realization dawn on him. He never covered up. His face turned an undeniably dark shade of crimson as he was quick to unravel the towel he was given to preserve what little modesty he had left.

“Uh, yeah, I’m, um, I mean, yes, I’m okay,” he stumbled over his words. “I’m just gonna,” he slowly edged his way past Castiel awkwardly.

As he walked past, he tripped over his own feet and barely caught the towel before he could be revealed again. He chuckled, but it was more forced than anything.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, (Y/N)?” Castiel pushed, a hint of concern in his words.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine! Fine and dandy! A-okay!” He continued to answer as he walked backward down the hallway. It didn’t take long before his back came in contact with the cold, stone wall. He jumped and sheepishly fumbled to the conjoining hall. “There’s a wall there,” he muttered with an inelegant chuckle before he turned and made a mad dash down the hallway and away from the bathroom.

His face was on fire, he was sure of it. He knew Sam and Dean did that on purpose, those idiots. A part of him was thankful none of them were around to witness the interaction. Another part wanted them to be near so he could clobber them. Regardless, he knew he would have to get back at them, and he was going to make it his best revenge yet.

*~*

Itching powder? Too basic. Computer virus? Too complex. Hair dye in the showerhead? Possibly. All of the pranks he could think of were either too childish or had been used before over the years. He couldn’t believe he was forced to sit on his bed and scroll through the terrible articles that included titles such as “15 Awesome Pranks Your Sibling Will NEVER See Coming!” and “50 Best And Funny Pranks To Do On Friends”. None of them were helpful. They just seemed to spit the same suggestions of salt in their coffee, fake bugs on their pillow, and post-it notes over their rooms, all of which seemed bland for the level of revenge he sought.

The bedroom door flung open and bounced off the wall. (Y/N) jumped, eyes wide. Dean came into the room, all but dragging a confused Castiel to the bed. Sam followed closely.

“What the Hell is going on?” (Y/N) asked with a look of bewilderment.

“An intervention,” Dean responded as he sat Castiel down on the edge of the bed.

Without a moment of hesitation, Sam and Dean began to retreat to the exit.

“An intervention? Cas, what’re they- what’re you talking about?” (Y/N) stammered as he stood and began to follow them to the door.

He was too slow, though, as the door was shut seconds before he could reach it. He grabbed the door handle in a futile attempt to open the door but found it to be locked.

“What the Hell? Open the damned door!” He shouted and began to pound on the door with his fist.

“Nope!” Dean’s muffled voice came through the thick wood. “Not until you tell Cas how you feel.”

“What are you talking about!?”

“Oh, come on (Y/N)!” Sam exclaimed. “We both see how you look at him! Just tell him!” 

(Y/N) pressed his lips together, nostrils flared. “Open the door!”

“No.” They said in unison.

(Y/N) growled and slammed his fists into the door, causing it to shake on the hinges.

“(Y/N),” Sam’s voice was quieter. “We know how hard it is for you to say how you feel, but we see how happy you are around him.”

“Yeah, and I’m tired of seeing you guys staring at each other all of the time. If I have to see you guys make bedroom eyes one more time I’m going to blow my brains out.” Dean scoffed.

(Y/N)’s jaw tightened as he leaned his forehead against the door. “If you don’t open this door right now, you both are going to feel my wrath.” He growled and venom dripped from his words.

“Ooo, I’m so scared,” Dean spoke in a childish tone.

“Dean,” Sam hissed. “Just, talk to him, okay? We’ll be back in an hour. If you guys have talked it out, we’ll unlock the door.”

With that, two pairs of footsteps could be heard retreating down the hall.

“An hour!? Sam! Dean! Open the door!” (Y/N)’s shouts echoed in the room.

Once more, (Y/N) grabbed the doorknob to try and pry it open, but quickly found his efforts to be fruitless. After a couple of attempts, and the logical side of him begging to not rip the door off the hinges, he pulled back. He ran his fingers through his hair stressfully and turned back to the bed. Castiel sat in the same spot Dean had put him in, hands folded in his lap. (Y/N) sighed.

“I’m sorry you got roped into their bullshit, Cas,” he said with a soft, sympathetic tone as he walked over and sat beside him. “Whenever those two idiots get something in their heads, they won’t rest until they are proven right, even if they aren’t.”

“Are they wrong?” Castiel asked.

“What?”

“Sam and Dean told me you have romantic feelings for me. Are they wrong?” He tilted his head to the side.

(Y/N) opened his mouth to speak, to deny anything and everything his brothers said. However, as he looked over at Castiel and stared into his eyes, he found the words were lost on him. He looked away, hoisted himself off the bed, and made his way over to the dresser. He leaned against it with his elbow, his opposite hand placed on his hip, back to Castiel. A moment of silence weighed heavy on them before Castiel, too, stood from the bed. 

“(Y/N)?” 

“No, they’re not wrong,” (Y/N) said, his voice quiet, almost mute. “I…I like you.” He snorted. “That’s the first time I’ve admitted it.”

“You like me?”

(Y/N) turned back to Castiel. Their eyes met once again, but, that time, neither felt the urge to shy away. Instead, they kept their gaze, as if to read the other’s expression, as words seemed too complex for either one to be masters in. Slowly, (Y/N) took a couple of steps closer to Castiel.

“Yes. More than a friend. More than family. I mean, I don’t even know how to describe it. I get…nervous whenever I’m around you, but I’m the happiest when I am. No matter how terrible of a day I have, you always seem to make it better just by being near. I don’t know if this is what love feels like, but if it is, it’s strong when you’re around, and I never want it to stop.” His voice got quiet, words spoken barely above a whisper.

Again, they stared in silence, eyes searching for words yet spoken. Although only one had the capability of hearing them while the other was left in the dark. Eventually, (Y/N)’s gaze shifted to silent begging, wanting Castiel to say something, anything.

“I feel the same, and I have for a while,” Castiel finally spoke, never breaking eye contact. “I admit, I was scared to share how I felt. I understand the Winchester’s long history with the loss of loved ones, and I feared you would have your reservations about entering a relationship with me. I, too, have some reservations.”

(Y/N) nodded. The Winchesters had a lengthy list of enemies, most of whom would gain immense pleasure from causing as much pain to them as possible, even if it meant they took the lives of the ones they loved most. Being the lover of a Winchester wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was a death sentence. 

“I understand. But, Cas,” (Y/N) reached up and caressed his cheek, thumb brushing gently against his stubble. “I hate to admit it, but I think it took my brothers locking us up in my room to finally realize that I would rather live a short life with you than any life without you.”

Castiel leaned against his touch. His hand reached up to brush his fingertips.

“May I kiss you?” His voice flowed smoothly, like a river.

(Y/N) smiled. “I would be offended if you didn’t.”

Their lips met and, at first, it felt as if they began to float. Then, the spark. The same spark one only seemed to read out in romance novels or those trashy films Dean claimed to hate. A spark of love, adoration, passion, and lust. It was as if all the words left behind spoke loudly in that kiss. Everything they wanted to say, everything they wanted to hear, was translated into the movements of their lips.

When they broke away, they were breathless, faces flushed, pupils blown. Their mouths moved like they wanted to say something more, but it was lost in their need for one another. They had a silent understanding of what they desired. They kissed again feverishly and fell back onto the bed. 

*~*

“Think they’ve been in there long enough?” Dean asked as he chewed on a mouthful of popcorn.

Sam tore his eyes away from the movie for a second to look at his watch. He shrugged. “It’s been almost an hour and a half. We can go see what happened.”

Dean nodded and used the sleeve of his flannel to wipe the butter from his lips. He paused the movie and both brothers stood.

“You remember the rules of the bet?” Dean asked as they made their way down the hallway.

“If (Y/N) confessed first, you owe me twenty, and if Cas confessed first, I owe you twenty.”

“And if they haven’t confessed yet, the bet is off until they do.”

“Do you really think they’ll do it if they’re forced to?”

“Do you have any other ideas?” Dean asked with raised brows. “The last two things we tried got us nowhere. We know they love each other, they just have to admit it. I think having some time alone together should do the trick.”

“Yeah, but we forced them into that situation. I don’t know about you, but that wouldn’t really put me in the romantic mood.”

“You just know I’m going to win the bet.”

“You’re delusional if you think Cas is going to confess first.”

“Come on, have you seen (Y/N) try and talk about his feelings? He can’t do it!”

“Neither can Cas! If anything, Cas is worse about feelings.”

“Look, all I’m saying is-”

“Oh, Cas!”

The brothers froze as their wide eyes shot towards the end of the hallway where (Y/N)’s door sat. It was silent as they waited to see if anything else would happen. When they heard nothing, they began to make their way to the door, slower that time. As they got closer, a rhythmic thump resounded inside the concrete walls, growing louder as they neared. When they were a couple of feet from the room, they stopped. 

“Fuck, Cas! Harder, please!” The unmistakable moans rang out in the wall. Sam and Dean’s eyes grew wider.

“Say my name,” their friend’s voice was practically unrecognizable by the way it growled out the words.

“Castiel!”

(Y/N)’s loud cry was enough to break Sam and Dean out of their daze. Without a second thought, they turned and scurried down the hallway and out of range from the sounds that were sure to scar them for years to come.

*~*

As the sound of rapid footsteps resonated down the hallway and slowly vanished, a sly smirk fell upon (Y/N)’s lips. He glanced over at Castiel, who sat perched on some of the pillows, fully clothed. Once the footsteps were gone, (Y/N) seized the shaking of the headboard and took his spot next to Castiel on the bed. Castiel lifted his arm and (Y/N) was quick to snuggle against him. 

“That should keep them away for a while,” (Y/N) hummed.

“Why was it necessary for them to believe we were having intercourse?” Castiel asked.

“Not only so they would leave us alone, but it’s the first part of the revenge plan I have in store for them for locking us in here.”

“You know, if they hadn’t locked us in here, then we would have never told each other how we felt.”

“Stop trying to justify their actions,” he grumbled.

Castiel smiled and pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “I, for one, am thankful for their decision.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“So I’ve come to notice.” Castiel chuckled.

(Y/N) copied his laugh as he wrapped an arm around Castiel’s torso and one leg around his to nuzzle closer. Castiel rested his cheek atop (Y/N)’s head.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” (Y/N) said with a content sigh.

Castiel reached down and softly pressed a kiss on his cheek. “The moments I spend with you make it seem like forever isn’t enough.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Bad For Business: Level One

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.3K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

“You’re late.”

“No I’m not.”

You were. Twenty five minutes, in fact, and your stomach was still swirling from the night before, remnants of cheap beer and cheaper vodka mixing unhappily with the cold, strawberry pop-tart you’d force fed yourself on the way to work. 

Steve Harrington leant against the wall with a grin as he watched you struggle to clock in, the old machine chewing up your employee card before it finally stamped it. You pushed past him, shoulder into his in a way that was awfully familiar now. The blunt words, the eye rolls, the semi serious acts of violence all part of your work day and they had been since last summer. He didn’t give in to you, arms colliding, the smell of his cologne now on your T-shirt too. 

“Hungover?” Steve asked, enjoying the way you squinted against the harsh, fluorescent strip lights. 

The office was much quieter than the arcade outside of the staff doors and you were trying your best to stay away from the sounds of Super Mario and Pac-Man for as long as you could. Except Steve wasn’t making it easy. 

“No,” you lied again. You were so hungover, stupidly hungover. And tired. You’d barely managed to crawl back through your bedroom window when the sun was beginning to rise, the summer outside starting back up as the sky turned apricot and the birds sang. Eddie had walked you home, both of you sharing the last dregs from a lukewarm beer before he bent at the waist and let you use his back as a footstool, groaning and swearing at you as you took too long to grab the end of the broken trellis. “What’s with the fucking interrogation, Harrington? Did Murray die and leave you in charge?”

Outside the office, the arcade machines jingled, beeping and ringing with each win and loss, the constant clinkclinkclink of quarters being dropped into the coin slots, the yells of sugared up kids making your head pound. 

“Nah,” Steve’s grin only widened, an almost smirk that made you grit your teeth together. You busied yourself at your locker, shoving your bag into the too small space, the rattle of the metal hurting your very being. “Seeing you each morning is just the best part of my day.” 

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s blatant lie, snorting at the possibility you could both be anything close to friends. Steve Harrington lived to annoy you, and had done since middle school. He spent the first couple of grades annoying you at recess, pulling your hair and snickering with his friends when you yelled, all pink cheeked and shocked looking when you stomped towards him, indignant, shoving the heel of your buttercup yellow shoe into his toes. 

It went on like that, spitballs launched from each end of the classroom, backs of chairs kicked and faces pulled at the other during presentations. Then you both got older and the words got colder, scathing remarks made in the hallway, lockers defaced with semi serious insults and potential dates ruined by mocking comments said in front of crushes. 

Then high school was over, Hawkins seemed to get smaller and the only job available to get you enough cash to leave the tiny, backwater town was a position beside Steve at Upside Down Arcade. Run by someone who everyone only knew as Murray - a man who had absolutely no time for anyone under the age of twenty five and was utterly inept with technology - the arcade was a staple in Hawkins. As permanent a feature as the community pool, the town hall and the library; the brown brick building looked bland from the street outside, but stepping in the doors led kids into a maze of gaming machines, air hockey tables and neon lights. 

The carpets had seen better days, the Space Invaders themed pattern a headache of dulled yellows, purples reds and greens, the painted black walls barely seen behind the rows and rows of games, all brightly light and beeping, illuminations flashing pink and blue, leaderboard charts mocking on the screens. 

It smelled like burnt sugar and stale popcorn, despite the machine not having worked for over a decade. A heavy mix of all things bad for you: sour candy, old hotdogs, cherry slush stains and pre-teen hormones. 

“If I’m somehow even bringing you the slightest bit of joy with my presence, Harrington,” you deadpanned, “then I’m doing it wrong.” You slammed the locker door shut and smirked when Steve had to yank his hand back, fingers narrowly avoided. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, moving only to grab his name badge from the board, making sure he knocked yours onto the floor when he shoved the bundle of keys into his pocket that opened up all the coin slots. 

“Murray’s not in until later, Donkey Kong is fried and oh,” he clicked his fingers and pointed a digit at you, all faux sympathy making his face soften. “I knocked you off the top spot on Dig Dug. Again.”

You glared. Steve grinned. 

 You wanted to say something sharp, something witty and mean, but your head was still pounding and your throat felt like the Sahara Desert. “Bite me, Steven,” you muttered instead, shoving past the boy so you could get out the door first, for no other reason than simply to feel like you’d won something. 

Steve was too close behind you when he answered, all charm and flirt, the cadence of his voice dropped to the level he used when he flirted with the older girls that brought in their baby siblings. 

“Bend over then, Princess Peach,” he cooed, “at least lemme see what I’m working with.” His voice was at your ear, his stupid hair tickling at your cheek. 

The stupid nickname made your nostrils flare, but the suggestive comment before it had your toes curling. You scoffed, shocked, because as the summer crawled by and the heat got higher, you and Steve’s snipes were getting more and more below the belt.

But that was his bravest yet. 

You didn’t bother turning round, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, and Jesus, you were sure your cheeks were flushed - but if he dared comment on it, you would’ve blamed it on the hangover you told him you didn’t have. 

“You’re a pig,” you bit out, ignoring how he kept close behind you as you finally braved opening the door. 

The arcade was already full to the brim, bursting with kids, a line of them at the desk, ticket stubs clutched in sticky hands, dollar bills ready to be exchanged for bags full of coins. The door almost hit Steve when you let it go behind you, his hands barely catching it as he scowled at your retreating figure. You planned to lurk in the darkest corner of the arcade for your entire shift, maybe sipping on a stolen slurpee, biding your time and waiting for your headache to soften enough in order to conjure a formulated attack on the Dig Dug machine. 

You turned around just before Steve served the first customer, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. He was already behind the cash register, Erica Sinclairs bundle of tickets in his hands as the girl pointed at a toy sword in the cabinet. 

“And don’t even try and pretend you haven’t looked before,” you called back to him, smug and referring to his lewd comment before. “Oh, ‘lemme see what I’m working with’,” you mimicked. “You’re not sly, asshole.”

A few kids tittered at the insult, Dustin Henderson snorting especially loud, but some gasped at how you cursed in front of them, a sure fire way to know there’d be a hand written complaint about on Murray’s desk tomorrow. You’d hoped your jab would make Steve shrink, maybe blush like he used to when you got all brave and bold with him. Shit, maybe he’d even had the right to look ashamed. 

But he simply shrugged, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking at you but his expression was still the same. 

Pleased. Too cocky. Challenging. 

You went straight to Dig Dug. 

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire

biker!eddie x fem!artist!reader

Part 17: A creature of love, I can't be tamed

masterlist playlist

18+ONLY, series typical violence, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex with someone other than Eddie and reader, hate-fucking (consensual), oral (m receiving), sexual harassment, biker!steve, biker!billy, protective!eddie, rocker!nancy

word count: 6.4k

songs: I Hate Myself for Loving You by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, Wild Child by W.A.S.P. and Cinnamon Girl by Type O Negative

The second half of your first night back at the Velvet Hammer heats up with Eddie on stage, Charlene on the premises with Billy, and Steve working through his emotions in a moment of carnal desire.

authors note: It has felt so good to get back to writing this story, I missed our biker boys so much. It will probably be another week or two until the next part, but you won't have to wait too long. Thank you for your patience, I love you.

There came the sound of shrill feedback from the stage, and the drummer twisted his stick around his fingers before clapping the high hat. You took your break and met Eddie over by the carpeted hallway.  The two of you huddled together, out of view from the front half of the bar, including Charlene and Billy.  

“What’s Steve going to do?” You hushed, feeling the familiar anxiety rise inside of you that someone might get hurt again.  

“Nothing for now,” Eddie exhaled.  You put your hand on his chest, and he held it there. “You let me worry about Steve and Charlene, you have enough to do.  I won’t let anything go sideways in here tonight.”

You told him about what you’d just learned from Shana, about Charlene being part owner of the Velvet Hammer, and he gave a slow blink, dragging out a long, ragged breath.  “Why does that not surprise me,” you could almost hear the wheels in his brain turning. “She can’t have this place, it’s ours,” he growled, walking you down the hall and clanking open the heavy metal back door to the alley.  

“But,” you started.  Eddie pulled a pack of smokes out of his front pocket and sparked a flame from his zippo to light the end.  “Isn’t it too late for that? It sounds like she already took it?”

You held two fingers like you were making a peace sign for Eddie to pass you a smoke and he raised his eyebrow at you curiously.  You gave a nod, answering his unspoken question, and he put a second one between his lips to light it for you before passing it over.  

You took a tiny drag and coughed smoke out of your nose at first, but then the second inhale was smoother.  Thanks to so many nights at the Hammer, your throat and lungs were sufficiently coated with tar and ready for the challenge.  

The other owner of the Hammer was a well known real estate investor and builder named Murray Bauman, and he was a friend of the MC.  They’d done several “jobs” for him over the years that were clean by MC standards, but dirty enough to ruin his reputation if they came to light. Murray was also notoriously unfriendly with the Gregson’s, and Eddie wondered how much Charlene had paid, and what kind of scandal she’d dug up on Stephen, to make him give up his share like that.  

Eddie tilted his head back, exposing his throat, to take a long, thoughtful drag, looking up at the clear sky that was blinking full of stars.  “I wish I could go back in time before I ever met Charlene, and avoid her at all costs.”

“I don’t know,” you looked down and kicked the heel of your shoe against your toe.  “She’s awfully determined.  I think she would’ve found you anyway.  Plus, I don’t think it’s you she wants anymore.”

“I feel responsible though,” Eddie muttered, blowing smoke out through tight lips. “For everything that’s happened to the people around me because of her.”

The sound of Nancy saying something into the mic, followed by the crowd cheering, came muffled through the door, and you really wanted to change the subject, to pull him out of his dark thoughts.  “I’d love to see you play tonight,” you told him right before both of your cherries glowed orange at the same time in the dark.  

“I don’t have my guitar here,” he stated the obvious, sucking his tongue on the roof on a sharp inhale, angling his head back to blow smoke up while keeping his eyes on you.  “But I might sing one or two with her.  Just for you.”

“You can sing too?” Your eyes got wide like a little kid watching the twinkling lights on a Christmas tree.

“Hi, baby, have we met?” He scoffed, slipping his bottom lip through his teeth to repress a grin, and then he winked at you and smashed his smoke on the brick wall before throwing it in the dumpster. He caught you by the hips and pulled you flush to him.  “I mean, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

—--------

Back on his stool, Steve rolled a toothpick between his lips while he scanned the crowd, and did his best not to look over at Billy and Charlene. He wasn’t sure what was eating at him more; the fact that she had the nerve to show up after everything, or that she was there with Billy.  

The crew from Lucifer’s Own were known for doing the dirty deeds no other MC would touch.  They ran a high-end escort service on the outskirts of town, and did a lot of blow and opiate smuggling over the border.  It was also a front for an underground fighting ring that was dirty and rigged, and sometimes, the fools who participated ended up with broken bones, or had their lights turned out completely.  

Billy Hargrove and Steve went way back, and they’d actually been friendly acquaintances for a while back in high school, until Billy had pursued a girl Steve liked at the time just to piss him off. Also, to prove to Steve that he could take whoever he wanted.  “Nothing wrong with a little competition, right, Harrington?” Is that what this was? Was Billy escorting Charlene around just to rub it in Steve’s face?

“Yeah, well, you can have her,” Steve mumbled to himself under his breath, thoughts racing so fast that he was starting to talk to himself, head bent to work the end of the toothpick with his fingers.  “Good luck with that one, buddy, you’ll need it.”

There was more feedback from the speakers.  “Hey there Hawkins, who is ready to rock?” Nancy purred into the microphone, one hand gripping the fretboard of her guitar before she slung the strap around her body. People shouted and cheered, and there were a few high-pitched whistles of encouragement.

The bassist with the band looked like a younger version of Eddie, but with a mane of black hair that was thick with tight curls, and the drummer had a black goatee and long, straight hair way past his shoulders.  The backup guitarist looked like he was cut right out of the James Hetfeild playbook.  

“We’re gonna start out with a little something familiar to get y’all warmed up,” Nancy said into the mic.  “This one is called I Hate Myself for Loving You.”

The crowd roared, pounding their fists on the tables.  Nancy said a countdown before she began a slow clap to the beat and the drums kicked in, deep bass vibrating in the walls.  

When Steve looked up, he saw Charlene making her way across the room, either for the payphone or the restrooms, and Steve straightened up, wondering if he should say something to her.  He went up to the bar and patted Thumper on his broad back, asking him to watch the door for a few minutes.  Thumper was three beers and several shots in, but was not yet showing any signs of inebriation.  He fisted a handful of his graying beard and told Steve it was no problem.  

“Midnight, gettin' uptight, where are you?

You said you'd meet me, now it's quarter to two

I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you…”

He followed but he hung back, hiding in the crowd until he saw her go into one of the bathrooms.  When you and Eddie came out from the alley, you found Steve leaning against the wall that was heavily papered in band flyers, next to the payphone.  

Eddie was walking behind you,his hands firm on your hips, moving his legs in time with yours.  You both came to a halt at the sight of Steve, and you had to shove off, back to work, but Eddie took your hand to kiss your knuckles before you walked away.

“Everything cool?” Eddie asked his friend, checking around to make sure no chaos had ensued while he’d been outside with you.  There was a huge crowd there, packed in like sardines.  All of the tables and bar stools were occupied, and plenty of people were taking advantage of the standing room only, blocking most of the walkways.  

“I’m not sure yet, man,” Steve put his head back against the wall, Adam’s apple jutting out.  “But I’ll let you know.”

“I called Van and told him to get over here with Devlin,” Eddie let him know.  “Just in case more of Lucifer’s Own try to cause trouble.”

Steve only nodded, absently, his eyes twitching to the bathroom door every so often.  Eddie clapped Steve a few times on the arm before turning to watch the band as he pushed his way through the crowd.  Nancy made her fingers into devil horns in the air at him and Eddie returned the gesture, raising his arm high.  

“I think of you every night and day

You took my heart and you took my pride away…”

The crowd was stomping their feet to the rhythm and belting out the chorus.  Nancy detached the mic from the stand to make her way across the stage.  

The second Steve saw the door open, he took long strides across the hallway to keep Charlene from exiting, pushing her back inside the single-person bathroom.  She did not protest as he braced the door and locked it behind him, turning to face her with a tight jaw.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Char?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” She hushed it, dropping her gaze as if suddenly she was afraid to look at him.  “I missed you.”

“Jesus Christ, Charlene, you need to stop.” He rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated.  “I’m sorry for how I treated you at the hotel, but this needs to end.”

“But what if I don’t want to stop?” She closed in on him, lifting her hands to hold his face, but he blocked the effort, restraining her at the wrists. “What if I want you so bad, it hurts?”

He met her eyes.  “You miss me and you thought fucking Billy would be the answer?”

“We’re not fucking, it’s not like that with him.  Not like it was with you.”  She struggled a little in his grasp just so he would tighten his grip on her.

Steve scoffed.  “You mean, not like it was with me and Eddie and your husband and every other dude you’ve spread your legs for in this town?” Steve wasn’t one to judge, not with the amount of pussy he’d run through over the years, but still, showing up with one of his rivals was a low blow.  

Charlene slammed forward so that Steve’s back hit the door, her breath hot and urgent on his neck. “No one fills me up like you do.  I need your cock to split me open one last time, Stevie, please.”

She sank to her knees, kissing down his chest as she went, and he let her, releasing her wrists so that she could make quick work of unbuttoning his Levi’s.  She licked around his balls and nuzzled her face in the hair at the base of his thick shaft, making hungry gasps of need as she did so.

He hissed when the fat head of his cock sank into her mouth. “Juss…just one more time,” he groaned as she lapped him up.  She hummed around his length and nodded, looking up at him, agreeing as her lips strained to take the measure of his girth.  

“I know you’re angry, Steve,” she flicked her tongue out over the ridge a few times like a poisonous snake about to strike.  “I want you to take it out on me.”

He fisted a handful of her hair, tight, so that he controlled the movements of her head, and it made her whimper with pleasure.  

—------

The next song Divine Filth sang was an original, a real headbanger that had Nancy growling into the mic and jabbing her devil horn fingers in the air. The bass guitarist’s fingers strummed the keys while the drummer spun his sticks high in the air and caught them.  You noticed that a few of the male patrons were choosing to go outside to take a piss, which meant there was another line at the bathrooms again, but you were too busy to go over and check out why.  

While Erika was on her break, it was your responsibility to go over and check on Billy, since Jackie was working the other side of the room.  Two more of the Coffin Kings had just arrived and Eddie was out in the parking lot having a talk with them, being that it was hard to have a conversation inside with the band playing. 

You made your way over to Billy’s table, noticing that Charlene was nowhere to be found.  One side of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin while he watched you approach, and you wondered if he knew who you were and who you belonged to.  You also wondered if he gave a shit.

As you got closer, you noticed that he had a pronounced scar from his eye to his jaw, and he didn’t have a ton of tattoos like the other boys, but there was the word “mother” above a heart with a dagger through it just under the sleeve of his t-shirt on his bicep and a Lucifer’s Own insignia on his opposite forearm.  

He was slouched down a bit in his seat, knees spread wide, voice raised to be heard over the music.  “You must be War Machine’s old lady,” he gave you a lift of his chin.

“You are correct,” you said with your best customer service smile.  

“Damn,” his hand made a cage around the pack of smokes on the table so he could pull it toward him.  His eyes locked onto your face, unwavering.  “That son of a bitch always had good taste.”

“If you say so,” you checked over your shoulder, expecting to see Eddie charging over with that dangerous scowl on his face, but he wasn’t inside yet.  You cleared your throat.  “Can I get you anything else?”

He ordered another beer for himself and a tequila for Charlene, even though you knew she was much more of a wine drinker.  

“Just put it on Charlene’s tab,” he said with a wink, alluding to the fact that she was practically your boss now. “But this is for you,” and before you could reach for the 20 dollar bill he had in his hand, he was stuffing it into the waistband of your shorts, fingers grazing your bare skin, watching the discomfort wash over your face as he did so.

You turned on your heel without another word, bee-lining back to the bar, when Eddie stepped through the main door so abruptly, you almost crashed into him.    

Devlin and Van moved around the two of you while Eddie put one hand on your lower back and the other cupped the back of your neck.  “You okay, baby?” He mumbled, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

You nodded, but then Eddie looked over in the direction you had just come and saw Billy there, flicking the flame on his lighter and watching the interaction between the two of you.  You knew what Eddie was looking at by the way his body tensed.  “Did Billy say something to you?”

“I had to wait on his table while Erika was on her break,” you were pulling your boyfriend away as you were talking, practically dragging him back to his seat at the bar.  “Nothing happened, I’m fine.  I just missed you.”

On stage, Nancy lit into a mean guitar solo.

“You sure?” Eddie’s stare was hard.  

“Hey,” you grabbed Eddie’s face, making him look at you. “Baby, can’t you see? He wants to start trouble.  Just ignore him.  Please, for me.”

“Did he touch you?”  His jaw muscles bulged and a dark fell over his brown eyes, making them almost black.

“No baby,” you hummed the lie.  Eddie had quite a bit of common sense, more so than Steve when it came to affairs of the heart, but you knew that someone would get hurt if you told him about the way Billy had slid that money into your shorts.  You had no doubt that Eddie could handle himself, but you didn’t want there to be any more fighting; everyone had already been through enough.  Plus, Billy was not the first guy at the Hammer to overstep, and he wouldn’t be the last.  Sadly, that was the nature of the work, you’d come to realize. 

Eddie took a breath and lowered his forehead to yours, slotting his fingers around your ears so that his thumbs grazed your cheeks.  “I’ll be good, sweetheart,” he promised.

Everyone clapped at the end of the song and then you heard Eddie’s name being said over the speakers.

“We’re lucky enough to have the frontman for Corroded Coffin here with us tonight,” Nancy started.  “And he said he might get up here for a song or two.  What do you say, Munson?”

The crowd went wild at that suggestion, and some even chanted his last name, punching fists into the air.  Nancy motioned him on stage with a few scoops of her fingers.

“I guess I’m doing this,” he said, parting your lips with his tongue for a brief but firm kiss before he made his way to the stage.  The James Hetfield guy was already taking off his guitar to hand it to Eddie before he could protest, and they clapped hands together in greeting.  Your “old man” was adjusting the strap over his shoulder when he looked out over the sea of heads and caught your eye. 

“I love you,” Eddie mouthed, taking the pic off of the chain that he had dangling around his neck.  

—-------

Five minutes earlier, Steve had Charlene bent over the sink in the bathroom, jeans low on his hips, yanking her head back by the throat as he jackhammered himself inside of her.  

“Tighter,” she whined, and his fingers closed in on her windpipe.  He’d pushed her thong to the side and was spitting every so often so that he could watch it slide down her slit and mix with the frothing wet mess of her arousal where his cock sank into her.  He didn’t need the saliva to lube his brutal pace, but he liked the idea of spitting on her, it helped him work through his hatred.  

“God Steve, you’re so fucking good, fuckkk,” she dragged the last word out as hips clapped onto her with rapid, forceful grunts, making her whole body jerk each time he made contact.

He slowed the pace for a few thrusts so that he could spit again, and then he used his thumb to rub the saliva around the pink hole that tightened at his touch.  He���d never been with a woman who had every inch of hair removed like her, she looked like some kind of porn star. He wanted to be in her ass one last time, but it felt too tight and warm where he was.  He was close.

He let go of her throat and clutched her hips on either side in a way that would bruise, angling to finish himself off.  

“You’re such a fucking whore for my cock,” he bit out. He wished she didn’t feel so fucking good.  He wished that his disgust for her didn’t also turn him on in a way that made him uncomfortable.  

Charlene’s eyes rolled back in her head, orgasm mounting rapidly as he buried himself base deep to a point where the line between pleasure and pain was blurred.  She knew this was a farewell reminder, and it made her cry out his name.

“Fuck Steve, I’m cumming,” a few more pumps and she was exploding around his length, legs shaking at the way the wave crashed over her, making her see white.

“Get on your knees,” Steve told her, his hips stuttering.  When she was down in front of him, he jerked himself the rest of the way off onto her outstretched tongue, ropes of cum painting her chin and dripping down to her cleavage.  He made her lick the rest of him clean, and then she sucked her fingers.  

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah, hold your fucking horses,” Steve shouted, pulling his jeans up.  He helped Charlene get her bodysuit back on and zipped up.  He almost kissed her, but then he remembered who she was.  

He checked himself in the mirror and slicked his hair back before letting her know she should wait a minute until after he was gone before she followed him out.  She was cleaning the mascara that had leaked down her cheeks, and was about to apply more lipstick, when she caught his eyes on her in the reflection.  

“What if I told you I had a gift for you?” Her expression was coy.

Steve sighed.  “I don’t want anything from you, Char. This was it, I’m done, I mean it.”

She rolled the red lipstick out of its gold tube.  “What if it was something that would change your life?”

He thought about that, wetting his lips.  “Listen, we’re never gonna fuck again.  I don’t care if you buy me a Ferrari.”

“Well, it’s better than a car,” she huffed a small laugh.  “Let’s just call it a…parting gift.  A way for me to say sorry for everything I put you and Eddie through.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and put his back against the door.  “Yeah, well, if this is about to be some grande gesture from you, I’d like to know what the catch is.”

She turned to him, fixing the ends of her hair around her face. “No catch, not this time,” she took a step forward, holding her black clutch in one hand.  “Listen, I know it sounds childish and stupid, but I think I…I think I fell in love with you.” She furrowed her brow as if the sentiment didn’t make sense to her, as if she’d never grasped the weight of the words before.

Steve couldn’t help himself, he rolled his eyes and barked a laugh, thoroughly amused. 

“I can’t change the past,” she tried to push her chest out, to get her statuesque posture back.  “But I can try to make it up to you.  To both of you.”

“Yeah?” Steve gave her a bored shrug.  “Personally, I think you’re way past the point of redemption.”

“Maybe,” she pressed her lips together and took hold of the door handle.  “I guess we’ll see.”

—------

All of your attention was eyes front on Eddie as he leaned over to discuss something with Nancy, lengthening the strap on his guitar as he spoke.  You barely noticed someone trying to make their way through the crowd until Steve bumped into your shoulder, making you sway on your feet.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he caught you and helped you find your balance.  “I didn’t see you there.”

Steve looked…disheveled, and his face was flushed, as if he’d just run around the block. There were lines in his hair from raking his fingers through it so many times.

“You good?” You called after him, but all he offered was a “thumbs up” over his shoulder.  

It was barely a minute before you caught sight of Charlene coming out of the hallway, following in his wake.  She had a pink flush to the pale skin of her throat, almost a perfect handprint impression, and your brain was busy putting the pieces together when Nancy got back on the mic. 

“This one is called Wild Child,” Nancy started on the guitar and people in the crowd got crazy again.  The Hell’s Belle next to you whistled so loud, it almost blew your eardrum out.  You weren’t too familiar with the band W.A.S.P. before Eddie, but you knew the song, and waited eagerly to hear his voice as he leaned in, moving his fingers along the strings.

“I ride, I ride the winds that bring the rain

A creature of love, and I can't be tamed

I want you, 'cause I'm gonna take your love from him

And I'll touch your face and hot burning skin

No, he'll never ever touch you like I do…”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he sang the first bit, hair hanging down his shoulders, muscles flexing under the ink that covered his forearms and hands.  When his eyes opened, he found you in the crowd, and your heart swelled at the way he cracked a smile around the words at the sight of you.  

“So look in my eyes and burn alive, the truth

I'm a wild child, come and love me

I want you…”

God, he was magic up there.  He looked like a natural, holding that guitar in his hands, the way his fingers flew deftly to each note.  

And he was all yours.  

The chorus came and you sang the words, smiling so hard already, your cheeks hurt.  You’d never known your eyes to “sparkle” like a cartoon before, but you felt like that’s what they were doing. 

“My heart's in exile, I need you to touch me

'Cause I want what you do

I want you”

Someone grabbed your elbow, and you spun around to see who it was.

Jackie had a full tray in her hand, trying to balance it amidst the moving bodies.  “Hey, are you on the floor right now? Don’t mean to be a bitch, but I need you.  A table full of jarheads just showed up.” 

“Oh shit, right,” you’d honestly forgot where you were for a moment, you’d been so caught up in that Munson Magic.  You took another glance at the stage, wanting to catch Eddie’s eye, but he was looking down at his hands, concentrating on where they worked the guitar.  

The table in your section that Jackie mentioned had seven guys in their mid-twenties sporting that type of “high and tight” haircut that you saw almost exclusively with members of military or law enforcement, and you took a deep breath, because you never knew what the vibe would be for those types of men who visited the Hammer.  Either they’d be extremely polite like they just came from church, or they’d be vile and disrespectful.  

“What’ll it be tonight, boys?” You asked, sidling up to their table.  “Buy one pitcher of draft and get the next half off.” 

They all turned to appraise you, not caring that the way their lewd stares locking on your body and tits made you uncomfortable.

“See, I told you,” the dark haired one said to the one in the red and white striped polo shirt.  “The bitches here are super hot.”

You gulped, doing your best to restrain from looking as disgusted as you felt while they talked about you like you weren’t even there.  

“How much for you to sit in my lap?” One of them asked.

“How much for you to suck me off?” One of them whispered, and the whole table guffawed into the type of laughter that was not warranted for something that was so not funny.

You checked over your shoulder for Steve, and he appeared to be escorting someone out who’d just been cut off.  There was a bench outside, and he always had them wait there while he called a member of their family or a taxi to come pick them up.  The guy was having a hard time getting his legs to work, and Steve had to practically carry him out. 

You glanced up at the stage when the other song ended, and you could tell Eddie was searching for you, and so you stuck your hand up in the air to catch his attention.  

“This one is for my girl,” he pushed hair out of his face and the sentiment made you freeze.  A goofy grin stretched across your face and you let out an actual giggle.  You were very familiar with the opening notes of Cinnamon Girl by Type O Negative.  

“So, a pitcher of beer, then?”  You asked, distracted, but in a much better mood than you were a few seconds ago.  The guys at the table were too busy being crass to decide what they wanted to drink, so you chose for them.  They agreed on the pitcher, and ordered a round of shots. 

You kept your attention on Eddie as you made your way across the space, and your heart was in your throat at how proud you were to be his.  His voice was deep and powerful, and it seemed like no one could pull their eyes away. The air was a bit humid inside, and you could see a sheen of sweat on his skin already glistening, bangs sticking to his forehead.  He’d taken off his Coffin Kings cut and shirt, so he was up there in a ribbed, white tank of the Hanes variety, exposing the wash of dark tattoos over his shoulders and arm muscles that bulged from hours upon hours of manual labor.  

“I want to live with a cinnamon girl

I could be happy the rest of my life with her

A dreamer of pictures, I run in the night

You see us together, chase the moonlight…”

At the bar, you considered letting Van and Devlin know that there were some guys there who might start trouble now that Steve was distracted, but then you remembered that you were the bad bitch who stabbed Craig in the balls and brought him to his knees—-you could handle a few young douchebags.  

You gave Shana the drink order while Eddie’s deep voice bellowed, “my cinnamon girl, my cinnamon girl…” to the collective swooning of the crowd.  

You waited on two other couples, lingering in the middle of the room so that you could see Eddie more clearly, dragging your feet before you had to return to the guys with the matching haircuts.  

You took a cleansing breath and squared your shoulders before heading back.  You tried not to be bothered by the way the dudes checked you out as you put the drinks down.  When you were finished, the guy closest to you, with close-set eyes and a thick neck, ran his hand up the back of your leg.

“Hey,” your stare hardened on him and you stepped away, eyebrows pinching together.  “No touching.”

The guys all snickered at that, as if it was so funny that they all knew they weren’t supposed to touch the staff, but they still got away with it.  

“No he’s sorry, really,” said the tall, skinny one who hadn’t spoken up yet.  His face was unreadable, you couldn’t tell if he was being a shitheel or not.  The table fell silent for a beat.  “But we would really like to know how much it would cost for handjobs, all around.  Is there a group price for you girls?”

More idiotic cackling.

You turned to leave them, to go find Steve, to let him know you needed his assistance, but the one with the blonde hair and Limp Bizkit shirt caught you by the arm, digging his fingers in, and yanked you back so that his other hand could roam the curve of your ass.  “Just a little feel, baby, we’ll tip good,  I promise.”

You pushed him off and were just about to yell for Steve or Thumper when you saw the guy across the round table get his face smashed into the wood, so hard that blood splattered and you could hear the sick crack of breaking bone.

You were surprised to see Billy there, standing behind the one who was clutching his broken nose and wailing.  He was smiling, cigarette bobbing between his lips.  “I think you bozo’s should apologize to the lady.”

You hadn’t heard the music stop, didn’t realize that the commotion had drawn most of the attention to you.

In a flash, the guy in the Limp Bizkit shirt was ripped from his seat, and there was Eddie, picking him up by the throat to punch him across the face, sending him flying.

The impact made saliva and possibly a tooth go spitting from his mouth and you screamed at the shock of it.  

“Eddie look out!” You shouted.  The tall one was about to take a cheap shot at Eddie’s ribs while he sank another punch into the guy’s jaw, but you came down with your serving tray as hard as you could and nailed him.

“Holy shit,” Steve cursed when he stuck his head inside to see what the commotion was.  Thumper was nowhere to be found, and Steve figured he was taking a piss.  Starting brawls inside the Hammer was not protocol.  Bouncers were always encouraged to take everything outside, but now it was too late.  

“Get her out of here!” you heard Steve’s voice, he was talking to Devlin, and then you were being pulled back by cautious hands, away from the chaos. 

One of the jarheads was just about to break a beer glass over Eddie’s head, but Billy showed up out of nowhere and kicked him in the back, sending the asshole flying right into Steve’s awaiting fist.  The guy’s body crashed into a table, shattering glasses, and making the other patrons scatter.  

“You better leave this one for me, Harrington,” Billy smiled and wiggled his tongue.  “Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours.”

Billy was helping them, and that was a twist you hadn’t expected.  Perhaps it wasn’t so much for them as for himself, since you could tell Billy had been looking for a fight all night.  

Steve got one of the other guys in a choke hold and began to drag him outside.  Billy made wide eyes at one of the leftover trouble makers and charged after him, making the guy shriek like he was about to pee his pants before running from the building.    

While the one Eddie had been punched was babbling at the foot of unconsciousness on the ground, he took hold of the one with the close-set eyes and the thick neck who had rubbed your leg first.

Eddie had been watching, and quick to cut off before the end of the song to jump down from the stage in a blinding rage.

Devlin held you loosely by the arms, but you shook him off, and stood next to Shana and Erika, continuing to keep your distance for the sake of Eddie and Steve’s peace of mind, and wincing each time one of the other dudes took a hard hit from one of the Coffin Kings.  

Eddie took the guy by the shirt and sent a punch into his stomach.  Mister Thick Neck doubled over but then Eddie took him by the throat and slammed him into the nearest wall.  Eddie had his fist winding back for a punch when Steve shouted his name to get his attention.  

The rest of the dickheads had been escorted outside by a few Hell’s Belle’s, while the rest of the crowd kept their distance.  You saw Charlene in the far corner, touching up her lipstick in a compact mirror, seemingly unphased by it all.  

“Not in here,” Steve pleaded with Eddie, breathlessly.  “Like you said.”

Eddie’s eyes were black and cold like that of a shark.  His mouth trembled with the urge to actually bite into the guy’s face, to mutilate him with his bare teeth and make him beg for mercy.

Eddie banged the guy's body into the brick wall again, locking him there with his forearm.  “Apologize to my girl,” he growled.

The buzz cut guy coughed and struggled, having a hard time breathing. “I don’t know who your girl is, man,” he was only able to squeak out a mild protest under the pressure of Eddie’s grip.  

“Your waitress,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth.

The guy against the wall tried to turn his head to look for you, but Eddie squeezed his face.  “You don’t get to look at her,” Eddie fumed.  “Just say you’re sorry.”

Multiple desperate “sorry’s” followed, and then Eddie told Steve to get the guy’s wallet to take all of the cash out.  A quick count said there was about a hundred bucks.

“That’ll be her tip,” Eddie announced, dragging him by the shirt collar to take him outside with the rest.  

They were all told to empty their wallets of their cash, and Steve made a scene of noting the addresses on their driver’s licenses.  

“I have a memory like a steel trap,” Steve lied, pointing to his temple, grabbing the guy in the red and white polo by the side of his neck, getting up in his face.  “If you so much as walk by this place ever again, or tell the cops about this, you’ll see me in your nightmares. Now, get the fuck out of here before I call your mommies.”

You sank in next to Eddie’s side just outside the main entrance, and he put his arm around you.  “Will things ever calm down around here?” You asked with a heavy sigh, watching the broken group scurry and limp away down the street.

Eddie gave a low laugh and hugged you a bit tighter.  “God, I hope so, baby.”

Divine Filth started another song, to try and get things back to normal, and most of the crowd returned to their drinks as if there had not been actual bloodshed just five minutes ago.

No one but Shana heard the phone next to the cash register ring over the sound of the music, but after a few seconds, she shrugged by you and Eddie to stick her head out and scan the sidewalk.

"Steve?" She craned her neck to look for him.

"Yeah, that's me," he came from around the back side of the door, flicking his cigarette, knuckles split and bloody again.

"Some guy named Dustin called," she said, merely passing on a message. "He said Suzie just went into labor."

-----

Love love you all for cheering this story on, hope you enjoyed this one. Your thoughts and reblogs are appreciated and cherished.

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Taglist: @notsobubblybaby @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @falling-solar-system@secretdryrose

@whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @kurdtbean@dandelionnfluff @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@laylaloves-ed@dashingdeb16@eddiiiieeee @ick90 @dashingdeb16 @polyestermonster @trixyvixx @atomickaratel8dy @kiyastrf94 @allthingsjoeq @eddiesxangel @razzieth @corrodeddeadlydoll @erinekc @angietherose @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @moonbeamsandmayhem @brianamunson92 @joannamuns9n @bellalillyrose @alba8688 @chevelle724

[skyesdaisys]

character's i write for

welcome to my list of characters where i have many of them from many fandoms that i write for

requests: temporarily closed

bolded names are ones i really wanna write for

yellowjackets (shauna shipman, jackie taylor, lottie matthews, taissa turner, van palmer, nat scatorccio, laura lee, callie sadecki)

dc titans (dick grayson, jason todd, kory anders, gar logan, donna troy, dawn granger, hank hall)

fear street (deena johnson, sam fraser, ziggy berman, cindy berman, kate schmidt, alice hart, simon kalivoda, tommy slater, young!nick goode)

teen wolf (scott mccall, stiles stilinski, isaac lahey, malia tate, kira yukimura, lydia martin, liam dunbar)

american horror story (violet harmon, kit walker, lana winters, zoe benson, madison montgomery, kyle spencer, misty day, cordelia goode, jimmy darling, tristan duffy, ally mayfair-richards, kai anderson, winter anderson, mallory, brooke thompson, montana duke)

the summer I turned pretty (jeremiah fisher, belly conklin, taylor jewel, shayla wang, conrad fisher)

miscellaneous: maeve rojas (one of us is lying), leighton murray (the sex lives of college girls), miguel diaz (cobra kai), brooke davis (one tree hill), maeve wiley & ruby matthews (sex education), kate bishop (hawkeye), roronoa zoro (one piece live action), daisy johnson (agents of shield), zach dempsey (13 reasons why), nate archibald (gossip girl)

another thing i'd like to add, i wouldn't mind writing poly ships x reader like dickkory, jackieshauna, stalia, sameena, lottienat, jaygar, etc. (or a poly ship with crossover characters like dick grayson & kate bishop for example)

i will write for fluff, angst, and maybe smut (there's only so much i am comfortable with though) if you ask nicely. and i only write for fem & gn readers

and as a reminder, you guys can request for the following fandoms for oneshots, headcanons, or just sending your fluffy or horny thoughts in my inbox (i don't judge)

[aquakat-draws]

Have some tally hall catalogue doodles

Excuse the wonky expressions lolll

[jjsmaybank20]

Hey! Love your work! It all is so amazing!

Could I request a Leighton x reader where the reader isn’t feeling good and comes down with food poisoning but is on the soccer team with Whitney and Whitney notices and calls leighton to come get them and it’s just pure fluff of Leighton taking care of them. Thank you!

Food Poisoning

Leighton Murray x fem!reader

Summary: Whitney notices that you look sick at soccer practice, so she pulls out the big guns: Your girlfriend, Leighton.

Warnings: FLUFF FLUFF, allusions to R having a rough childhood, R throwing up

Word Count: 747

A/N: I'm so happy you like my writing! Hope you like this! Apparently I like writing Leighton as super protective in SickFics.

navigation  the sex lives of college girls masterlist

---

You were raised in a family where you weren’t allowed to show weakness. Your father was a very harsh man, who would berate you constantly until you finally fit the mold that he wanted for you. When you finally escaped his wrath by going to college, you hadn’t meant to take his lasting impression on you with you, but you couldn’t help it.

When you had met your now-girlfriend, Leighton, you found it easier to open up to her than anyone else in your life. She helped you break away from your family, and be able to express yourself, happy or sad. Sometimes, though, you fall back into old habits slightly.

Which was exactly what was happening during soccer practice. You were typically a star soccer player, but today, you looked as if you were about to collapse at any moment. You were barely running, and you had made barely any shots.

Your teammates would ask you if you were feeling okay, and you would immediately say yes. Halfway through practice, you were swaying on your feet. Your face was pale, and you looked as if you were about to pass out. That was when Whitney set down her foot and pulled out the big guns.

She pulled out her phone and shot a quick text to Leighton. She immediately got a response, with just the sentence, ‘I’ll be there in 5.’ She grinned, knowing that no matter how much bigger than Leighton you were, there was no way you could resist her power for long.

As you sat down for the fifth time, just claiming that you needed to catch your breath, you caught sight of your girlfriend storming towards you. You let out a quiet, “Oh, shit.” A few of your teammates heard it, making them giggle. You scramble up, trying to look as okay as possible, and you shoot Whitney a glare.

As Leighton bears down on you, you let out a weak, “Hey, baby!” Leighton doesn’t say anything to you as she grabs your shirt and turns around. She starts walking, dragging you behind her, causing you to whine. All your coach does is nod at you before starting practice up again.

While you are dragged towards your dorm room, you let out protests and grumbles about how you were fine, and that everyone was overreacting. Leighton ignores you, and when you get into your room, she practically throws you onto your bed.

You try to get up, but she immediately pushes you back down and gives you a dangerous look that you know not to disobey. As you get comfortable, she stands over you with her arms crossed. She finally begins to scold you for working yourself so hard when you felt sick.

“I mean, what the fuck were you thinking? What if you had passed out on the field?” You sheepishly look away from your girlfriend, not knowing what to say. As you are about to say something, you get the sudden urge to throw up that makes you run down the hall to the bathrooms.

Leighton follows you and holds your hair back while you puke, rubbing your back. She helps you back to your bed, significantly less angry than before. As you settle in, she gets a cold washcloth and places it on your forehead.

“When did you start feeling like this, baby?” You shrug your shoulders, weakly replying, “At practice, I think. It was after I ate that egg and cheese wrap from the cafeteria for breakfast.” Leighton nods her head in understanding. “Babe, the first rule of Essex. Never eat anything with eggs or cheese from the cafeteria. You got something with both. I think you have food poisoning.”

You realize that her logic makes sense, and you sink even deeper into your bed in embarrassment. Leighton lets out a giggle at your bright red face, and she grabs a bowl for you just in case before climbing into bed and snuggling up to you.

You wrap your arms around her waist and snuggle your face into her chest, making her giggle. As you fall asleep, she strokes your hair. When she hears your breathing get even, she finally lets herself relax. She may worry about you too much sometimes, but you know it’s because she loves you.

Until you found Leighton, you didn’t realize how nice it was to be loved and cared for. Now that you had found it, you were never letting her go.

---

@lovelyy-moonlight @pnsteblnme @nrm5656

Join my taglist!

[sawyerconfort]

more winona characters x reader, please!

winona ryder is turning your kids gay 51!

so I decided that, in celebration of that, I would take this old request and make it a special preference for her birthday!

here we go, preferences with my favorite Winona characters (the best known ones too, because it would be easy for everyone to read and recognize the situations), to celebrate her birthday!

Masterlist is pinned on the blog!

Enjoy!

Got any requests? Please send me an ask!

===========

First “I Love You” With Winona Ryder characters 

W H A T  H A P P E N S  W H E N...

(Veronica Sawyer, Joyce Byers, Kim Boggins, Lydia Deetz and Mina Murray)

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

Veronica Sawyer

You were lying on her bed after an exhausting day at school. Veronica was your one and only girlfriend, and all the times you had spent together were your best moments.

But in the midst of it all, there was JD. Jason Dean and his obsession with Veronica, on the sickest level imaginable.

You knew he wanted Veronica, but it annoyed you a lot and you thought you were insufficient when she paid attention to him and fell for her charms. However, he never asked your girlfriend if she had feelings for him.

At least not until now.

“Seriously, (Y\NN), why are you so sad?”, Veronica asked, while you were cuddling on the bed. She was the smallest spoon and had noticed how distant you seemed as you petted her.

"I'm not."

“Yes, you are,” she nodded. "Actually, I think I already know why...", Veronica smiled and took your face with both hands. “Is it because of JD?”

You swallowed hard but didn't respond.

“Oh, (Y\NN), that's bullshit!”, she smiled, still with her hands on her face. "Everyone knows he's a little shit looking for attention, and that I only have eyes for girls... in fact, one girl in particular who is the most beautiful girl in the world..."

Veronica kissed you in a quick peck, and you remained speechless until then. She was still holding her face when she broke the kiss, and close to her lips, whispered a loud, resounding, "I love you," just so you could be sure she was yours, and would never be anyone else's.

Joyce Byers

It all happened after what happened with Will. It had been a difficult time for Joyce, and you had come along just in time, as the savior of the homeland, heroically returning to the city and helping her and Deputy Hopper solve the mystery of the Hawkins Lab and its shenanigans.

Now the two of you were sitting on the porch of the Byers' house, smoking casually, you amused that Joyce was no longer a smoker. Suddenly, she turned and smiled at you.

“I probably would’ve died without your help, (Y\N).”

“My help?”, you widened your eyes. "I didn't do anything, Joyce, really."

“Yes, you did” she whispered, calmly. “If it weren't for you, I never would have found out where Will was. And I would never have had the courage to go into that horrible place and suffer those psychological tortures with that half-baked doctor, you know?”

Joyce smiled and took you free hand. “Remember how cowardly you were in high school, (Y\N)?” that was funny. “No, I'm serious. You couldn't even kill a fly. Seeing you like this reminded me of something I had promised myself I would forget...”

“What something?”

You dropped the question, knowing you'd regret it later.

Joyce cleared her throat and pressed her fingers through yours. "I used to like you. I loved you. Since high school, when you were a coward,” she sighed. “And since then, I've never been able to love anyone .I love you, (Y\NN), since we were eighteen..."

Kim Boggs

In fact, the whole thing happened because you were talking to Kim's family after Edward disappeared. She was visibly shaken, because she loved him more than she could have predicted, and she didn't imagine that one day he would leave her for good, despite her faults.

She was casually walking down the hall when she overheard you talking in the kitchen:

"I don't know how I'm going to do it, sir, actually..." You cleared your throat uncomfortable. “I don't know how I'm going to be able to tell her I love her even after what happened. I'm in love with Kim, but she hasn't gotten over the loss of the boy with the Scissorhands..."

Kim cocked her head into a corner of the hallway, hoping you wouldn't see her. And she did, because she was good at hiding.

"And not that I hate it, I understand it more than it seems, because..." you sighed. “I also feel guilty and shaken by his escape. The boy had so much to teach us and he just decides to leave...” You took a step forward. “But the point is, I love Kim, and I'm not giving up on her until I can make her happy again. But for this to come true, I will need your blessing.”

Kim listened for a few more minutes behind the wall, but collected herself when you passed her. In a split second, Kim lost her posture and grabbed you by the arm, kissing you in surprise.

“I'm in love with you too, (Y\N). I love you, sincerely.”

Lydia Deetz

“Alone again, Lydia?”

“I wish it were like this every day.”

You smiled, sitting down next to her. People used to say Lydia Deetz was just a weirdo, but you didn't think that of her. At least not that she remembered. Lydia had her personal problems and her anger at the world, but that didn't mean it made her weird or mean.

You wanted to do everything to make her happy. You liked the rare moments when her smile lit up the dark environment in which she was isolated.

"If you came here to see me, it's because you're in trouble, right, (Y\N)?"

"You're right, Deetz," you replied, smiling awkwardly. “Not that I expect you to be able to help me, but I wanted to ask you for advice. It's about a girl, one of those girls I'm in love with right now,” you sighed. “She's beautiful, but she doesn't see it. And she lives in her world, she fascinates me day after day. But I don't have the courage to tell her that..."

“What are you afraid of, exactly?” Lydia returned the question.

“Of rejection.”

"Serious? Dammit!” she yelled, a little loudly. “I don't know why you fear. You're one of the nicest girls I know, there's no way anyone can turn you down. Unless he's someone like Beetlejuice.”

"You think?"

Lydia shrugged, and you hoped she'd change her mind, but she just kept saying, “Not only do I think you're one of the nicest and nicest girls I know. No one has ever been as good to me in their life as you have been. They always think I'm weird, weird, out of the ordinary... and you think I'm normal. Someone who rejects you has chicken brains for a head.”

You blushed a little and replied, in the lowest possible voice:

“I think…I'm sure I'm in love with you, Lydia Deetz. Even more so after that declaration of love.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes. “It wasn't a declaration of love, idiot,” but she turned around and pressed a kiss to your cheek suddenly. “It really wasn't.”

Mina Murray

"MINA!"

You screamed, but it was too late. The woman, now a vampire, stood with her arms out in the sun, waiting for certain death to come. You were trying to save her, but Mina was on the higher side of the mountain, where she was cold—she obviously wouldn't feel that cold.

“I told you to leave me alone. I can bite you,” she said, taking a deep breath, her voice muffled by the noise of the fog.

“I WON'T DO IT!” you yelled back. “AND YOU WON'T BITE ME ALSO, BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU. I DON'T WANT YOU TO FEEL THREATENED BY ME, MINA.”

“Go away,” she pleaded in a scream that was cut off, her voice cracking. “Can't you see I've become a monster now? A demon, like who bit me?”

Suddenly, the sun hit Mina's skin full. She fell, moaning and screaming as you ran to help her. Holding her in his arms, he could see a trickle of blood running down and the fangs showing.

"Are you…afraid of me…are you…" Mina whispered weakly. “It was what I feared, but I knew it would happen. That's why I wanted to keep you out of my existence as one of them..."

You squeezed her closer. “I'm not afraid of you, Mina! I want to save her.”

She was silent, eyes open towards the sun. And then, minutes later, she pressed your lips together in a kiss, which ended with something that felt like a moan, like she was forcing herself not to hurt herself and not to hurt me either.

“I love you, Mina. Vampire or human, you will always be my Mina.”

“I love you more,” the girl breathed. “I love you more than my existence.”

[qnewsau]

Bill Armitt: A trans man in the bush in 1950

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/bill-armitt-a-trans-man-in-the-bush-in-1950/

Bill Armitt: A trans man in the bush in 1950

After a trip to the Big Smoke to consult Sydney’s leading gynaecologists, trans man Bill Armitt caught a bus back to the bush and disappeared from history.

In 1950, 22-year-old Bill Armitt lived in the 100-year-old slab hut where he was born. Home-schooled on a farm 60 kilometres from Goulburn, he grew up with no other kids to play with. Although assigned female at birth, Bill stopped wearing dresses at seven. He cut his hair short, wore men’s clothing and took up the tough life of an Aussie bushman.

The Sydney Truth interviewed Bill twice for newspaper articles, once at home in the bush, and again during his trip to Sydney.

Bill told the paper he worked six days a week, getting out of bed at 5 and making breakfast for himself and his elderly father. He then made himself two thick jam sandwiches for lunch, and walked two miles into the bush where he worked until dusk clearing scrub and grubbing out stumps. Back home, he made dinner from cold mutton and boiled potatoes. He read a Western novel by the flickering light of a kerosene lamp for about an hour before bed.

Once a year, he went to the pictures in Goulburn and saw a Western.

But, happy as Bill seemed, he “worried for years as the the nature of [his] sex.”

A Macquarie St specialist told Truth it was possible Bill was a man whose sex just needed adjusting by an operation: intersex.

Bill Armitt in Sydney

Bill left the farm and headed for Sydney where he saw the sea for the first time, rode an escalator, and a train… and was examined by gynecologists.

They declared him medically a woman, devastating the young man.

“I know in my heart that I am a man and that I will always be a man.”

The gynaecologists referred Bill to a psychoanalyst who confronted Bill with his choices in life.

Dress as a woman and superficially live life as a woman: “a fish out of water, a social misfit.”

Or go back to the life he knew and loved – the hard life of a bush worker. Kudos to this 1950s psychoanalyst for recognising Bill’s truth. He already lived his authentic life. It was a tough life but the life he loved.

At 5.10 on a Thursday afternoon in 1950, Bill Armitt caught the bus back to Goulburn, returned to the family farm and never again made news.

His father died in 1956 and Bill about two decades later in 1974.

Trans Men in Aussie History:

Eugene Falleni: The trans man who killed to protect his identity.

Newspaper apologises for outing Bendigo trans man 143 years ago.

Revisiting Bill Smith, Australia’s first transgender jockey.

And overseas….

1945: When Kiwi transman Mr X got married.

Murray H. Hall: trans political operative shocked New York.

Charles Winslow Hall, ‘exposed by illness’.

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

[bookclub4m]

Episode 192 - Non-Fiction Graphic Novels & Comics

This episode we’re discussing the format of Non-Fiction Graphic Novels & Comics! We talk about what we even mean when we say “non-fiction,” comics vs. graphic novels, art vs. writing, memoirs vs. other stuff, and more. Plus: It’s been over 365 days since our last gorilla attack!

You can download the podcast directly, find it on Libsyn, or get it through Apple Podcasts or your favourite podcast delivery system.

In this episode

Anna Ferri | Meghan Whyte | Matthew Murray | Jam Edwards

Join our Discord Server!

Things We Read (or tried to…)

Moi aussi je voulais l'emporter by Julie Delporte

This Woman's Work by Julie Delporte, translated by Helge Dascher and Aleshia Jensen

Sông by Hài-Anh and Pauline Guitton

Kimiko Does Cancer by Kimiko Tobimatsu and Keet Geniza

Why I Adopted by Husband by Yuta Yagi

The Art and Life of Hilma af Klint by Ylva Hillström, translated by Karin Eklund

Go to Sleep (I Miss You): Cartoons from the Fog of New Parenthood by Lucy Knisley

Nuking Alaska: Notes of an Atomic Fugitive by Peter Dunlap-Shohl

My Brain is Different: Stories of ADHD and Other Developmental Disorders by Monzusu, translated by Ben Trethewey

The Comic Book Guide to Growing Food: Step-by-Step Vegetable Gardening for Everyone by Joseph Tychonievich and Liz Kozik

Other Media We Mentioned

Fun Home by Alison Bechdel

Fun Home (musical) (Wikipedia)

Maus by Art Spiegelman

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, translated by Mattias Ripa

Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands by Kate Beaton

Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud

The Essential Dykes To Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel

Displacement by Lucy Knisley

Pedro and Me: Friendship, Loss, and What I Learned and Judd Winick

Melody: Story of a Nude Dancer by Sylvie Rancourt, translated by Helge Dascher

Kid Gloves by Lucy Knisley

The Mental Load by Emma

The Secret to Superhuman Strength by Alison Bechdel

What Is Obscenity?: The Story of a Good for Nothing Artist and Her Pussy by Rokudenashiko

Homestar Runner

Button Pusher by Tyler Page

Last of the Sandwalkers by Jay Hosler

Clan Apis by Jay Hosler

Ping-pong by Zviane

Dumb: Living Without a Voice by Georgia Webber

When David Lost His Voice by Judith Vanistendael

Blankets by Craig Thompson

Smile by Raina Telegmeier

Dog Man by Dav Pilkey

Sensible Footwear: A Girl's Guide by Kate Charlesworth

Links, Articles, and Things

Harvey Pekar (Wikipedia)

Joe Sacco (Wikipedia)

Japanese adult adoption (Wikipedia)

In the name of the queer: Sailor Moon's LGBTQ legacy

The Spectre of Orientalism in Craig Thompson’s Habibi

Cultural Appropriation in Craig Thompson’s Graphic Novel Habibi

35 Non-fiction Graphic Novels by BIPOC Authors

Every month Book Club for Masochists: A Readers’ Advisory Podcasts chooses a genre at random and we read and discuss books from that genre. We also put together book lists for each episode/genre that feature works by BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour) authors. All of the lists can be found here.

This Place: 150 Years Retold

Zodiac: A Graphic Memoir by Ai Weiwei with Elettra Stamboulis & Gianluca Costantini

Nat Turner by Kyle Baker

The Talk by Darrin Bell

The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui

I’m a Wild Seed by Sharon Lee De la Cruz

Messy Roots: A Graphic Memoir of a Wuhanese American by Laura Gao

Stamped from the Beginning: A Graphic History of Racist Ideas in America by Joel Christian Gill and Ibram X. Kendi

Wake: The Hidden History of Women-Led Slave Revolts by Rebecca Hall and Hugo Martinez

The 500 Years of Resistance Comic Book by Gord Hill

Good Talk: A Memoir in Conversations by Mira Jacob

The American Dream? A Journey on Route 66 Discovering Dinosaur Statues, Muffler Man, and the Perfect Breakfast Burrito: a Graphic Memoir by Shing Yin Khor

Banned Book Club by Kim Hyun Sook, Ryan Estrada, and Ko Hyung-Ju

In Limbo by Deb J.J. Lee

This Country: Searching for Home in (Very) Rural America by Navied Mahdavian

Mexikid: A Graphic Memoir by Pedro Martín

Monstrous: A Transracial Adoption Story by Sarah Myer

Steady Rollin': Preacher Kid, Black Punk and Pedaling Papa by Fred Noland

Citizen 13660 by Mine Okubo

Your Black Friend and Other Strangers by Ben Passmore

Kwändǖr by Cole Pauls

Worm: A Cuban American Odyssey by Edel Rodriguez

Power Born of Dreams: My Story is Palestine by Mohammad Sabaaneh

A First Time for Everything by Dan Santat

Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood by Marjane Satrapi

Grandmothers, Our Grandmothers: Remembering the "Comfort Women" of World War II by Han Seong-Won

Death Threat by Vivek Shraya and Ness Lee

Palimpsest: Documents From A Korean Adoption by Lisa Wool-Rim Sjöblom

Big Black: Stand at Attica by Frank "Big Black" Smith, Jared Reinmuth, and Améziane

Victory. Stand!: Raising My Fist for Justice by Tommie Smith, Dawud Anyabwile, and Derrick Barnes

The High Desert by James Spooner

They Called Us Enemy by George Takei, Justin Eisinger, Steven Scott, and Harmony Becker

Feelings by Manjit Thapp

The Black Panther Party: A Graphic Novel History by David F. Walker and Marcus Kwame Anderson

Now Let Me Fly: A Portrait of Eugene Bullard by Ronald Wimberly and Braham Revel

Bonus list: 21 Non-Fiction Manga

Give us feedback!

Fill out the form to ask for a recommendation or suggest a genre or title for us to read!

Join our Discord Server!

Check out our Tumblr, follow us on Instagram, join our Facebook Group, or send us an email!

[psyduckappears]

The Silent Treatment for stoncy?

read it on ao3 for less terrible formatting x

will i ever write something short for one of these? unlikely. thanks for the prompt!!

Nancy

When things finally begin to settle after everything with Will, and the Upside-Down, and Murray Bauman’s article, Nancy doesn't let them drift apart again. After their first go-around, Jonathan had faded into the background, keeping his distance despite their efforts. She had tried and tried to get him to join them for lunch, had asked him in when he dropped off Will, had even tried to get him to get to know Steve a little better. Steve himself had tried his best, too, even though he refused to admit that the camera was his idea.

Jonathan Byers is a stubborn bastard.

But then she fought with Steve, and Nancy and Jonathan went to Bauman, and Steve did whatever he and Dustin were doing before they all ran back into each other, and Nancy was sick of it all. She was sick of Jonathan always trying to take the back seat. She was sick of Steve being so unbearably perfect and bending over backwards for her and then having the nerve of saying he was a shitty boyfriend and that you should go off with Jonathan.

So when it's all over, Nancy doesn't do what everyone expects her to do, she doesn't just go off with Jonathan, and she doesn't just let Steve take the loss and disappear. The day after Will comes back to himself, she calls both of them, meets them one by one, and tells them in no uncertain terms that they are going to make this work. That all this petty, teen drama bullshit is ending here and now.

She puts some of her mom's fancy wound cream on Steve’s bruises and cuts and apologizes for what she said at that party.

She tells Jonathan thank you for understanding her and that she cares for him, but that she thinks it would be better for her not to date either of them for the time being.

By the next week, they're having lunch together every day.

They build a tentative friendship, all three of them. It's good because not just Steve and Jonathan are beginning to get along, but because Nancy is finally getting a chance to get to know each of them without the pressure of dating the most popular kid in school or the rush of adrenaline that comes with nearly dying over and over again. She learns a lot about them, and they learn a lot about her too.

It would be nice if it wasn't so terrifying.

It doesn't even occur to her how much she is risking by letting them so close until a series of events over the weekend leave her waking on Monday morning in a terrible mood.

Now, Nancy is quiet in her anger. She has long found that if she is too loud with it, she will be dismissed, a woman, too emotional, too much. She also finds that if she voices it, no matter to whom, it comes out in daggers, cutting and harsh and unkind. So when she steps into the school, Nancy resolves to keep the buzz under her skin to herself, to say nothing at all if speaking means potentially tearing through this new, fragile bond they have so painstakingly built for themselves.

So what if Steve frowns that's sweet, worried frown of his when instead of answering his questions about her weekend, she smiles and deflects and rushes off to class? So what if Jonathan finds her in the lunch line and doesn't quite seem to believe her when she says she's just a little tired, that that is the reason she was so quiet in their shared class when she would usually throw herself into the discussion. She just doesn't want them to see—or rather, she doesn't want them to remember because they’ve both had to face it before—that harsh, ugly side of her.

So what if, when she gets home after school, she explodes it all over her family instead? They, at least, are obligated to love her.

Jonathan

Steve has changed. Jonathan knows that; he's seen it with his own two eyes, has seen him laugh without a mask, has seen him help out Will and the other kids, be kind to younger students in the halls, goofing around on movie night only to badly hide his tears minutes later because something mildly sad happened. He’s seen him risking his life over and over for people he barely knows and people he didn't know he loved.

Still, some days Jonathan sees him leaning up against his Beemer, sunglasses over his eyes and grinning that easy grin at Nancy, and it's easy to forget. Sometimes, unthinking, Steve will say something or do something that will remind Jonathan of how different things used to be and of how different their lives still are.

He supposes it's stupid, really, to get upset about something like this.

Nancy isn’t there for it. She’s been … distant, the past few days, but Steve assured him once that she just gets like that sometimes, that she’ll close herself off for some reason that she won’t talk about, and that the best way to help her is let her, leave her alone, and wait for her to reach out. (She’s a little like you, that way, Steve said one of the first times this happened, needs her time to brood things over, sometimes. If you come to her before she’s ready, she’ll growl at you like a cornered animal.)

So, it’s just him and Steve, that afternoon. It’s not the first time the two of them have spent time together without Nancy there, though it’s usually reserved for when she’s busy during lunch, doing something for the school paper or studying for some exam. Still, on rare occasions, Jonathan has lingered for a while to talk when dropping off Will at Steve’s place, and Steve has done the same when giving out rides to Dustin or any of the other kids.

Today is not quite that. Nancy hadn’t been at lunch again, the second day in a row, and Jonathan has at this point accepted Steve’s explanation but is slightly bummed out because he wanted to ask her to see a movie that’s just come out, one that Will is too young for. Jonathan doesn’t have a problem going to the movies on his own, but now that he has actual friends, it would be nice … not to.

“I can go with you,” Steve suggests easily when Jonathan mentions it in passing, taking him by surprise. It seems to be obvious because Steve raises his eyebrow with a small grin. “What? You think I’m scared of your weird artsy movie choices?”

Jonathan gives him a glare for the comment, but he isn’t actually annoyed. Steve’s comments have long stopped being snide and mean and tumbled over into teasing territory, instead.

“No. I think you won’t understand my weird artsy movie choices. It’s in French.”

“Bullshit. You don’t know French.”

Jonathan shrugs. “Subtitles.”

“Hah!” Steve exclaims, way too loud and all but jumping out of his seat with the energy of just having unmasked a villain on Scooby-Doo. “Well, sorry to break it to you, Byers, but I can read.”

Involuntarily, Jonathan grins, which Steve looks much too pleased about. Sometimes, Steve still acts like every smile he gets out of him is a victory, proof that things between them are getting better and better by the day. It’s actually kind of sweet, not that Jonathan would tell him that.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, but he tells Steve to meet him at the theater at seven, anyway.

It goes too well for too long. They meet that night, Steve actually more or less on time, and get their tickets from the bored teenager at the box office. Jonathan thinks he recognizes her from school, maybe someone from Steve’s year, if he had to guess, but Steve doesn’t make any indication of knowing her as he smilingly pays for his ticket.

Inside, Steve buys an overly large bucket of popcorn and insists on sharing it with Jonathan because how was I supposed to know it would be that big? Where he would usually protest, Jonathan lets himself believe the excuse on account of Steve probably rarely getting popcorn at the theater. He imagines it’s pretty gross to make out with all that stuff stuck between your teeth.

“So, what’s this thing about?” Steve asks when they’re in their seats, nice and central in the back row because Hawkins doesn’t exactly have much of an audience for movies like this one. In fact, Jonathan is pretty sure it’s only getting this one viewing at the Hawk.

The commercials haven’t started, not that Jonathan is much interested in them, so he takes his time explaining the premise of the movie they’re about to see. Steve, against all odds, actually seems pretty intrigued.

They watch the movie. Steve talks a little bit throughout, but not enough to be annoying. If anything, his commentary is funny, and the other people sit far enough away not to be bothered by them. At some point, Jonathan reaches for some popcorn and immediately feels his neck warming up when his hand knocks against Steve’s in the bucket.

It goes too well for too long.

They smoke outside on the curb before they go, chatting a little about the movie but mostly staying quiet. It’s late, and it’s dark, and most of Hawkins is asleep by now. Later, Jonathan won’t even quite remember what it was that Steve said there, in that moment, that made his insides coil together, froze him down to the bone until he was stiff and breathing ice.

He doesn’t say anything. Jonathan learned at an early, early age to pick and choose his battles, to keep his mouth shut for as long as humanly possible. He can count the number of times he’s fought back to anyone on one hand and have some fingers left, monster encounters not included; there’s his dad, twice out of a million provocations – one time before he left, and one time when he came back – and then there’s Steve, going and going at it when Jonathan was already this close to snapping.

This isn’t that. Jonathan is pretty sure, later, that Steve doesn’t even know that what comes out of his mouth comes out the way it does, surely doesn’t realize how it lands on Jonathan like a punch to the gut.

Jonathan learned to pick his battles, keep his mouth shut. He can take a few hits, no problem.

He clams up, there in the parking lot, steps on his half-smoked cigarette until it’s out and mutters something about needing to get home. Speaking up brings more trouble than you can handle, most of the time; Jonathan will keep to himself, keep away from Steve, until the ice inside him has melted and he can look at him again without fear of cracking.

Steve

Nancy resurfaces on Thursday, back to lunch with that warm smile and her never-ending supply of flashcards. She frowns when she puts down her tray opposite of his and notices Jonathan’s absence.

“He’s in the darkroom,” Steve shrugs, going for casual as he stabs at his mushy lasagna. “Lots of work to do, you know how he is.”

She accepts that easily, starts at her lunch, and asks him about his week, which wasn’t very exciting. Carefully, he turns the question around on her, which has her blush but not angered. She twists a strand of hair before tucking is behind her ear, the same way she always used to when she was nervous around him.

“I honestly spent most of it working on that essay for English class. I had a … weird weekend.” She isn’t looking at him, focused on her plate, and Steve doesn’t know how to tell her that he understands, or thinks he does, and that he doesn’t mind. He likes to think he’s done some growing up since they started going out, and he would prod at her when she was upset until she exploded on him. If nothing else, that Halloween party surely taught him his lesson.

“Well, now that you’ve written your world-changing essay on …”

She laughs, half-exasperated, but indulges him. “Macbeth.”

“On Macbeth, why don’t you come over tonight? We can order takeout, whatever you want, and we can watch a movie, or you can demolish me at Scrabble – hey, demolish! I better write that down.”

“Demolish has eight letters, Steve,” she grins, but she’s already nodding. “But yeah, alright.”

Steve doesn’t tell her the real reason Jonathan isn’t coming when she asks him and he claims he has work. If he’s honest, he isn’t completely sure what he did, this time, but knowing himself and knowing Jonathan, it was probably something really stupid.

Friday night is DnD night, but when Steve drops Dustin off at the Wheelers’ house, Will is already there, his bike in the front yard. Jonathan doesn’t let him bike home after dark, not even if their mom is out and wouldn’t know, so he must be sleeping over. Nancy asks him in, but he waves her off with a smile and a promise of another time, as if he had anything better to do.

Nancy gives him a tight-lipped smile and a nod. He wonders if she’s talked to Jonathan, if there’s two people angry at him, now, but he doesn’t ask. He’s never been good at asking.

He doesn’t see either of them over the weekend, and at lunch on Monday, he lights a joint behind the gym and stays hungry after a granola bar. It’s funny, considering how good he’s always been at being loud over his quiet. There’s always something to talk about that doesn’t matter, something that doesn’t make his hands shake. When he wakes from an afternoon nap bathed in sweat because he couldn’t sleep the night before, sometimes he’ll call Nancy to ramble at her about some rumor he heard at some point that is vaguely amusing but that ultimately neither of them care about. When he fakes his dad’s signature on his report card, he’ll tell Dustin about the best basketball game he’s ever played, even though the kid barely understands the sport.

He doesn’t tell Nancy, I’m scared of the monsters under our beds.

He certainly doesn’t tell Dustin, I think I might not have a future. I think I know middle schoolers who’d do better on the SATs than me, right now.

When he plays his cards right, nobody hears it, either.

Nancy corners him at his locker on Tuesday morning. She doesn’t frame it as cornering; she’s wearing that concerned look, paired with that fond smile, leaning against the locker next to his. But he needs to get his books, and he can’t exactly just turn and run now that they’ve already locked eyes, can’t skip class just because he doesn’t want to face her.

So, it’s kind of still cornering him. She’s smart like that.

“Hey, Nance,” he manages, fiddling with the lock to get to his things.

“Hi,” she says. “You alright?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. ‘Course.” Maybe he isn’t looking at her. He has to find his books, okay? It’s not like he can do that without his eyes.

“Steve,” she says, in a voice. The voice that tells Steve that he’s right, she is cornering him. The thing is, he has nothing to tell her. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. And he knows when he tells her that, she will look at him like that, that way that says You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington, but not in that nice, fond way that she still says it in sometimes. She seems to know he isn’t going to say anything now, and the bell is about to ring, giving him the perfect escape, so she settles on an almost pleading look and asks, “See you at lunch?”

And how could he ever say no to that?

He should have said no, he thinks later, when they sit at lunch in the awkward atmosphere of Jonathan’s brooding quiet, Nancy’s obvious annoyance at being left out of the loop, and Steve’s desperate attempts at pretending everything is normal, chattering away about this impossible homework assignment he got for his stupid history class.

“Jonathan, aren’t you in that class, too?” Nancy asks pointedly a little while into his complaints. Jonathan looks up at her first wide-eyed, then betrayed, but Nancy doesn’t let that bother her. She just gives him a slightly sardonic smile. “Maybe you could do the assignment together!”

“Oh – I’m sure it isn’t actually that bad,” Steve jumps in. He should have seen this coming. “I’m just being dramatic, really.”

“But you told me you like company when you’re doing school stuff.”

“I said that because I wanted to make out with you!” he squeaks. Predictably, he goes bright red immediately while Nancy looks way too pleased with herself. He glowers at her and tries not to notice how Jonathan is staring down at his tray like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s seen in his life. “Plus, Jonathan probably hates company while doing school stuff. Right?”

If he thought Jonathan would help him, he underestimated the absolute lack of social skills in the boy. He blinks up at him owlishly like he didn’t expect him to address him directly. Which, fair. He’s spent a decent amount of time avoiding him.

“Uh – I, I mean I wouldn’t say I hate –“

“Great!” Nancy cuts in, clapping her hands together. “I’m babysitting tonight, so I know you won’t have to look after Will, Jonathan. Why don’t you two get together and work on your assignment, and then we can all do something fun together soon, when you aren’t so busy with school work anymore. Really, boys. There’s only space for one overeager nerd between the three of us, and that’s me.”

Against his expectations, Jonathan actually does show up on his doorstep that night, history book and a notebook that’s seen much, much better days sticking out of his messenger bag like he shoved them in there while running from a horde of demogorgons.

“Hi, man,” Steve says when he opens the door. He feels like he can’t be blamed for sounding a little bewildered.

"Hey," Jonathan mumbles, going in only once Steve steps aside and makes an awkward waving motion. “So, uh, where do you …”

“Living room?” Steve shoots out. “It’s uh – my room is kind of a mess, so that’s probably not the best place…”

It gets him a nod, and then Jonathan is perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, notepad in his lap where he picks at the edges of the paper. No wonder it looks like that.

“You want anything to –“

“I’m fine, thanks,” Jonathan cuts in. “Let’s just …”

It’s painful, but it works. Steve was only partly telling the truth when he told Nancy he only wanted company while studying because he wanted to not study; he does work better when he has someone there to shoot stuff back and forth with, someone whose presence will keep him on topic.

Then again, Jonathan’s presence is also pretty distracting. From the tension between them, it feels more like it’s two years ago, and some teacher forced them to do a group project. Not like they’ve become, oddly, friends. Not like they’ve killed monsters together. Not like they just went to the movies together a few days ago, and Steve actually thought they were having a really good time, even without Nancy there.

It stings more than it probably should. He never even realized he’d started to really care about Jonathan until he started getting the cold shoulder from him again.

They get the assignment done pretty quickly, in the end. It takes them just under an hour until Jonathan declares that should do, and Steve shuts his textbook with a sigh.

“I hate history,” he says, even though it’s not true. Half the time, it’s actually kind of interesting.

Jonathan shrugs. “It’s alright.”

There’s a quiet few moments before Jonathan clears his throat, cramming his stuff back into his bag as messily as before. “Well, I should probably…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I just –“

“You don’t – I mean, you don’t have to go. We could… hang out for a bit. If you want to.”

But god, when did Steve become so socially awkward? He’s almost too busy cringing at himself to notice the way Jonathan looks at him, considering. Why does he hope so much that Jonathan will stay? It’s not like if he did have to go, it would necessarily mean that Jonathan is leaving because of him. He might very well have somewhere to be, or … something. So if Jonathan were to leave right then, that wouldn’t necessarily mean their young friendship is over.

“I mean … yeah, I could stay for a bit,” Jonathan finally decides. Steve even thinks he smiles a little bit when he accidentally lets out a very dramatic sound of relief, and it’s almost worth the eternal embarrassment he feels the second it leaves his lips. He’s so pathetic.

“Cool,” he says. It doesn’t sound casual at all. He probably looks like a fucking tomato. Jonathan smiles a little wider.

Sadist.

“So, uh, what did you want to do?”

He did not think that far. Steve tries to think back to their night at the movies, go over all the details of what he could have done wrong. Maybe his talking had gone on Jonathan’s nerve, even though it didn’t seem like it at the time. Steve is terrible at shutting up, so a movie is probably out. Maybe it was because he’d smoked, and Jonathan secretly hates smoking, Steve thinks for a manic second before he remembers that Jonathan had smoked right with him.

Steve comes up blank, so he shrugs. “Dunno. Nancy likes to destroy me at Scrabble, so I got a board. If you wanted a shot at my self-confidence, too.”

Jonathan huffs a laugh but shakes his head.

“Hmm. You are a man of few words,” Steve says, carefully teasing. It’s going pretty well, he thinks. Maybe he can do this without ruining it again, and then Jonathan will tell him what he fucked up last time so he can … not do it again. That’d be pretty nice. “So, no Scrabble. I don’t really have any other games, and the … three or so movies I have lying around here will probably make you gag.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Jonathan lies, blatantly, shamelessly. “Why do you have a Scrabble board if you only play with Nancy? Doesn’t she have one herself?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Steve shrugs. “She said that, too, actually, but she never actually brought it with her when she wanted to play because she didn’t know she wanted to play before she came over, and then when I was at her place, her mom always wanted to play with us, which is, like, sweet and all that she wanted to spend time with us, but I really don’t need Mrs. Wheeler to know what an airhead I am.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes, kicking his socked feet up on Steve’s coffee table. It’s so familiar, it gives him hope. “You’re not an airhead. You’re not like, booksmart, maybe, but – you got, like … emotional intelligence, or whatever.”

“Bullshit,” he snorts.

“No, seriously. Like, you’re really good with the kids. And … I don’t know. Just believe me.”

“If I’m so emotionally intelligent,” Steve manages, deciding to be brave, “why do I have no idea why you're mad at me?"

It clearly isn't what Jonathan expected, this outright confrontation. He's almost gaping, the way he's looking at Steve, and his pale cheeks are quickly flushed with pink. He takes his feet back down onto the ground one by one and folds his hands in his lap to fiddle with his fingers.

“I'm not ...”

“Jonathan.” Steve gives him a look that he hopes communicates how much he doesn't believe him. “Come on, man. If you're not gonna tell me what I did, you can't really expect me to, like, learn from it, I guess. Or apologize. Or tell you to fuck off because you're being stupid. And then this is just going to keep on happening, and Nancy will kill us both.”

Jonathan actually laughs at that a little bit. He crosses his arms over his chest, stopping his hands from twitching but essentially just going from looking like a child being scolded by their parent to looking defensive. Steve, unwilling to give up when he's made it so far, turns so he sits sideways on the couch, right leg folded up while his left toe digs into the soft living room carpet. Once he gets eye contact, he refuses to let go.

Honestly, he expected Jonathan Byers out of old people to be better at staring contests.

“It's not really anything you did,” Jonathan finally offers. “It's probably stupid.”

“I'm kind of an expert on stupid. So if it is, I promise I'll tell you. Come on, spit it out.”

“It's just ... sometimes you say stuff, and it doesn't, I don't know, sit right with me, I guess. I know you don't mean them the way they come out, but it's just...”

“Yeah?”

For the first time since he started talking, Jonathan is carefully looking up at him again, looking scared, as if he expects him to start laughing, or calling him names, or something else that he might have done before everything happened. For now, Steve will just pretend that it doesn't sting.

“It's just hard not to get defensive.”

Steve looks at him, considering. He still doesn't quite get it, he thinks, but he gets feeling defensive, knows that rapidly rising heat that's often faster than reason. In some way, Steve thinks that this is one weakness that they have in common, him, Jonathan, and Nancy.

“Okay,” he says, nodding slowly. “Then ... next time I say something like that, something that like, upsets you, just ... tell me.”

Jonathan frowns, like it never occurred to him that it could be so easy. That makes Steve laugh, this time. Maybe he really is the emotionally intelligent one between the two of them.

“Like I said, it's not like I can read your mind, and no offence, but your method kind of sucks. I mean, what's your plan here? Just ignore me for a few days every time I piss you off and then go back to normal like nothing happened until it happens again?”

That, along with the teasing tone, earns him another one of those almost-smiles. “Well, if you put it like that it just sounds stupid.”

Steve laughs, delighted. “Lucky you have your emotionally intelligent friend to come to your rescue, then.”

“Should have known that would inflate your ego even more.”

“You love it.” Steve uses the foot that's up on the couch to poke Jonathan in the thigh. “Seriously though, just tell me. I know I run my mouth sometimes. It's kind of hard to spend this much time with Nancy and not know. So you can just tell me, and I’ll know, and I'll try to cut back on the accidental assholery. Deal?”

The reluctant way in which he smiles and the soft, begrudging yes from his mouth remind Steve a little of Will, one time, when Steve talked to him after finding a crumpled bit of notepaper in his bag that said ‘zombie boy’ on it. He told him if anyone knew that people like that weren’t worth his time, it’d be Steve, and next time something like that happened, he should just give them the finger and walk away like he doesn’t care. And if it doesn’t work, you tell them about that time your brother beat up some meathead jock from the basketball team for you, that’ll shut them up real quick. Deal?

He shakes himself out of his thoughts just in time for his grin not to seem delayed, and Jonathan takes the clap to his shoulder in stride, long not flinching anymore.

Things stay a little strained between them for a little while because they’re still Jonathan and Steve and being weird around each other is a habit that’s easy to fall back into. Nancy’s smile the next day when she finds them at lunch is worth all the communication and emotional vulnerability, though; it figures, Steve finds himself fondly pondering, that Nancy would need no more than a look to know that something’s been resolved.

Nancy

There are two things, really, that Nancy is excellent at keeping to herself. One is, of course, her anger. Recent history has proven once again that angry women will be heard whether the world wants to listen or not, but towns like Hawkins take their time at getting the message. A woman who shows her anger is anything from overdramatic to hysterical, but in no way to be taken seriously. So, Nancy keeps her anger to herself, lets it brew until she finds a way to make the world hear her – like with Jonathan, and Murray Bauman, and that tape. She’s long learned how to bide her time.

The second thing are surprises. She’s had her poker face perfected since age four; she’s kept secrets, good or bad, prepared surprise parties and hidden gifts for months and months. She has it down to an art.

Friday night isn’t meant to be a surprise, not necessarily. If Jonathan and Steve had ever started hearing themselves, they would have come to this conclusion on their own, she is sure. Sometimes she wonders if they already have and are just too scared to do anything about it.

She can’t say she blames them, in that case; she’s never been more scared in her life than when Jonathan picks her up on Friday to bring her along to Steve’s house. Still, she gives him a smile as she buckles herself in and leans back into the passenger seat, sighing contentedly. The car smells like Jonathan, and a song she doesn’t recognize is just beginning to say something about in this charming car, this charming man, and smooth leather in the passenger seat, which makes her want to laugh.

She does, and Jonathan must have been hearing the same part, thinking about the same car, because he laughs along, right to the irony of it.

Steve greets them at the door minutes later with a bemused smile at the shadows of their laughter and lets them in. He has the stereo on so quietly that Nancy can’t identify the song that’s on, but she knows for a fact that Jonathan has several cassette tapes stuffed into his coat pockets to argue with Steve over later. Nancy herself has a bottle of wine in her bag, one her great aunt gave her mother last Christmas and that she has been glaring at distastefully since, claiming it’s her least favorite kind. It won’t be missed.

“Special occasion?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised when she puts the bottle down on the kitchen counter. All Nancy does is smile at him innocently, which makes Steve laugh and get out some of his mom’s fancy, delicate wine glasses from a cupboard.

It’s supposed to be a regular movie night, as far as the boys know. Nancy has spent all week reminding her mom that she can’t babysit for this week’s DnD session and neither can the boys, just to make sure that it would all work out, but neither Jonathan nor Steve know about that. She’s picked out a movie that she knows neither of them will protest but they also won’t be mad if it gets … interrupted. She’s wearing a sweater that hugs her nicely around the waist.

She’s a girl with a plan, and the plan is to kill the last shreds of awkwardness between the other two and go after what she wants without a shred of guilt.

(The last part is easier said than done, but she’s working on it.)

The movie does its job. It holds everyone’s attention well enough that Jonathan doesn’t really seem to initially realize when Nancy’s head comes down on his shoulder, and Steve’s hand traces her ankle like muscle memory when she rests her foot delicately in his lap. They each sip at their wine, sweet and heavy on the tongue, and Nancy can feel it settling in a comfortable warmth, like a small flame flickering in her chest.

When Nancy slips her hand into Jonathan’s a little while later, he finally tenses a little, turning his head with a confused look only to see their collective position. He swallows, wide-eyed, looking like he’s about to say or ask something that would break the moment. She stops him with a warm, conspiratorial smile and a squeeze to his hand. Jonathan’s lips press into a thin, nervous line for an extended moment, but finally he smiles back, careful, and small, and sweet.

Steve stays oblivious until they’re all running out of wine, and he’s in the middle of asking if he should get up and get them all something more to drink when he cuts off midsentence, having looked over and noticed their predicament. He’s staring, is the only way to describe it, and Nancy and Jonathan are staring back, the former patient and hopeful, the latter like a deer in the headlights.

Red is rushing to Steve’s cheeks like it’s on a deadline. Nancy offers up her unoccupied hand, nudging her fingers softly against the back of Steve’s.

“I –“ he says, tongue flicking over his lip and eyes flicking between Nancy and Jonathan, right there next to him.

Nancy’s heart is beating some insane rhythm, waiting for one of them to do something; she’s brought them this far. Anything more would feel too much like a push, and on the off chance that she’s misread … everything, she doesn’t want that guilt on top of the embarrassment.

“Is this …?” Steve still hasn’t taken Nancy’s hand, but at this point, it’s become the sole object of his attention, like he couldn’t take his eyes off it if he tried. Nancy suspects he isn’t trying very hard, truthfully.

They’re all silent again, now. Steve has the air of a shy deer, peeking out from behind its tree to see if the air is clear, Jonathan that of a weary fox, expecting to walk into a trap at any step. Only the movie is filling the room with voices, the antidote to uncomfortable silence that Nancy hoped it would be. It’s still tense, but at least this way, the silence doesn’t feel quite so unbreakable.

“I don’t understand,” is what Steve finally lands on. His voice has gone quiet in a way that’s strange and unfamiliar on him.

“I’m, uh, I’m actually not that thirsty,” Jonathan finally blurts out, cutting through another threat of waiting for someone to say something. It might not be the perfect method – now, Nancy and Steve are both looking at him in confusion, which makes him blush violently.

Nancy notices not for the first time that it reaches up his neck and wonders if under his hair, the color is also tinting the tips of his ears. He sighs heavily before he offers an explanation. “I just mean – don’t get up.”

Which makes Nancy laugh, softly, because that’s right, Steve was about to get up to get something to drink just a minute ago. The stunned look on Steve’s face makes it worse, and she’s losing it because god, why did she ever think this would go any smoother than this? They may be a good team in action, but their communication is truly a work in progress.

They watch her gather her wits back for a minute, some mixture of confusion and fondness, and when she stops laughing, the smile stays faintly somewhere in the pull of her lips, even though her satisfaction might very well still prove premature.

She licks her lips, briefly, and then feels the smile rush back to her lips, like she just can’t help it. Her right hand is still in Jonathan’s, and she runs her thumb over the back of it as she reaches for Steve’s again, a little more decisive this time. It takes no convincing at all, in the end, for Steve to let her do just that, and then she’s playing with his fingers and looking between the two of them.

“I just …” she says, and only goes on when she feels both their hands squeezing hers, as if they’d done it that way a hundred times. “I really, really like you idiots.”

That sends them laughing, this time around, and it’s contagious, so she’s back in it, too. She tries to speak through it, a couple of times, tries to call them assholes for laughing now, when she’s just done all of the work for them all, goddammit, but she can’t help herself.

It’s Steve who catches himself first, grinning that wide, Steve smile that’s so much more like him than whatever had been happening on his face the past few minutes. He quiets, and grins, and squeezes her hand again, and then he leans forward to put his forehead on her shoulder and says, “I really, really like you idiots, too.”

He stays like that, hidden against her shoulder. She can smell his fancy conditioner and hairspray, and she’s missed that scent an embarrassing amount, an amount that she will never, under no circumstances admit to either of them because Jonathan would mock her to no end, and Steve would grin and tell her he knew it all along, that she was into his hair.

Jonathan has been notably silent since Steve began speaking, but when Nancy turns her head somewhat to look up at him, he’s looking back at them fondly, with a rare, special smile that makes her heart skip.

“What about you?” she feels brave enough to ask.

He huffs that soft, breathy thing that is laughter but for the quiet places, for moments like this when a real, big laugh would stir everything up and break into that soft, familiar peace that’s settled over them. Her head is still on his shoulder as she looks at him, and he bows his own head a little to press his nose to the top of her head, almost a kiss but not quite.

“Hmm,” he eventually says. “Yeah, I think I really, really like you idiots, too. Even though you’re the worst people to watch movies with.”

Steve raises his head at that to look at Jonathan with a grin and that glint in his eye, the one that always let Nancy know she was in trouble. “Well, we do have a lot more experience not watching them, don’t we, Nance?”