#he is the best guidance counselor

[indecision-incarnate]

AAAAHHHHHH!!!!! JAWBONE!!

I love him so much @caitmayart

[keeksandgigz]

somewhere we can be alone

stage manager!eddie munson x theatre kid!fem!reader

a collab with @reidsbtch- mariah is literally the best person to collab with, it's like our brains were making out the whole time we were writing this. thank u for letting me collab with you to write this absolutely not self indulgent, way too long fic together <3

summary: Now on the tail end of graduating, Eddie Munson is required to take part in an extracurricular activity. He's assigned as stage manager for the school's production of Romeo and Juliet. You, the star of the show, aren't too happy to have your senior performance sabotaged by one long- haired metalhead.

word count: 7.7k words

warnings: no y/n, no physical description of reader, swearing, oral (m & f receiving), enemies to fuck buddies to lovers, mentions of queer!reader, it's actually just fucking smut, fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up), cream pie, use of nicknames (baby, sweets, sweetheart etc), eddie being a stupid lovable idiot

This and all of mine and mariah's works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

He’s been slumped in the guidance counselor’s office for thirty minutes, the wooden chair digging into his bones, growing uncomfortable as he listens to her, hardly believing he’s so close to leaving this fucking school himself.

“You’re keeping up your grades and maintaining regular attendance, Eddie. You’re just missing one last thing to be able to graduate.”

He rubs his face, maybe from the lack of sleep, or the restlessness of finally being able to leave the office he spent way too much time in during the past six years, as long as he keeps showing up to school for the next two months. He groans regardless.

“What would this ‘last thing’ be? Am I gonna be sent on a quest to slay a fucking dragon? Is that what’s gonna take me to graduate?” He snaps, the lack of sleep has finally gotten to him– school doesn’t really appeal to his late bird nature.

The counselor gasps at the crudeness of the profanity “Language!” She exclaims, like he’s never heard that before, daring to swear in front of students, staff and faculty alike, but the blonde lady with the ridiculously coiffed and teased and sprayed hair composes herself again, jutting a look down to his student folder again.

He imagines it to be full of red pen marks, every single one of those a proof of his own failure. He’ll steal it the day he graduates– and set it on fire. Hell, he’ll even roast marshmallows on it.

“Anyways,” she explains in a way that really shows the massive stick up her ass that makes her think Eddie should just stop bothering with school altogether. “You have to partake in an extracurricular activity.”

And he chortles. He was thinking something dreadful like picking trash up at the park or feeding and bathing the old people at the retirement home.

“Something funny, Mr. Munson?” Her nostrils are flared, she can’t wait ‘til he leaves her office.

“So like- like drama club and shit?” His tone is incredulous, he can deal with a couple lines to memorize. He’s had to do way worse for his Dungeon Master role, and even then, Miss George likes him– she’s let him and the club play DnD in her room for the past two years. Should be easy.

The counselor takes her glasses off her pointy nose, letting them hang with a tacky pink, flowery chain around her neck. “Well, yes– that’s one of the options. Unfortunately, your GPA is not high enough for you to partake in the school play, per se, so I can only place you in the backstage crew– building sets and moving things around. We’ll put that brain of yours to work.” She chuckles as she hands him a slip of paper to give to Miss George.

Eddie picks up his bag, “Real funny, huh.” He shrugs his shoulders and heads to the school auditorium. Last time he was there he’d gotten caught by a custodian while Terry Richardson’s face was stuck in between his legs, trousers pulled down halfway down his thighs as she gave him a toothy blowjob. He got suspended for a week.

He sees Miss George sat in the audience, scribbling notes onto a notepad as you recite the famous balcony monologue from Romeo and Juliet. He knows you, he’s seen you around– you’re by no means in the popular crowd, but you stand out, in the way that your clothes always seem to border the fine line of what's socially acceptable and outrageously eccentric.

Even if you’re not part of the popular crowd, there’s no denying that, like the rest of the school, you avoid him like the plague, cute as he is. You interrupt your monologue as you see him smirk down the central aisle of chairs. Miss George turns around at the sudden interruption. Eddie just hands her the slip.

“Oh my goodness!” she coos, “We have a stage manager.” And he wishes he could have photographed the look on your face. “Stage manager?! Miss George, you can’t be serious!” You exclaim as Eddie takes a seat next to her, kicking his boots up on the back of the chair in front of him.

A smirk ever present on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at you. “He doesn’t have any experience.” You continue, not about to have your senior year performance ruined by Eddie Munson of all people. “Shouldn't be that hard to keep a diva like yourself in line, hmm?”

Eddie answers before Miss George has a chance to, the theater now going quiet except for a few snickers from the tech crew. “Alright, that’s enough from the both of you. Eddie, I’ll have our ASM get you up to speed. Now, please continue with the monologue.” The male only grins wider as you glare back, before looking back down at your script with a sigh.

He ventures backstage– not sure what ASM stands for and maybe too embarrassed to ask as he sees kids dressed in black moving wooden planks onto the stage, carrying cans of paints and brushes.

He taps a kid on his shoulder, arranging a prop table, he looks at Eddie like he’s seen a ghost.

“I was looking for the ASM?” The kid is looking side to side, still wondering why Eddie Munson is talking to him.

“Uhhh, she’s in the booth.” He mutters, before turning around and going back to his props. What the fuck is a booth?

Eddie just plainly decides to look for it himself, since nobody’s any fucking help in this school. He opens door after door- a storage closet, a closet just for wood, a bathroom. Arrived at the last door, he isn’t exactly sure he’s ever going to find this stupid ASM- and he still doesn’t know what that stands for.

The noise of a door opening startles you, as you try to put on your dress as quickly as you can to avoid flashing someone. It’s only when you see who it is that you start screaming, and with you, Eddie just pops a hand in front of his eyes, screaming a string of sorries, and that he hasn’t seen anything.

“I was just looking for the booth! Stop screaming!” he screeches, worried he’s gonna get himself in trouble with Miss George if she hears you screaming like you’re getting skinned alive. Thankfully, you stop, as Eddie looks away, aware of your exposed back peeking through the zipper. You clutch the fabric against you, struggling to zip up the back of your dress one-handed.

Eddie makes a whistling sound, distracting himself from the way you seem to be teetering between asking for his help and telling him to fuck off.

“The door to the booth is in the audience, by the way. Off to the side, there’s some stairs.” You huff, slightly getting your zipper up. He goes to turn around, but you stop him. He cocks an eyebrow.

You roll your eyes, lips in a thin line as you keep the door open with one hand.

“Can you make yourself useful and help me with my zipper?”

With an annoyed huff he steps fully into the dressing room, shutting the door behind him as you turn your back towards him once more. Carefully clutching the dress, your eyes meeting his in the long row of vanity mirrors in front of you. You can feel his warm breath on your neck as he steps closer, carefully lifting your hair over your shoulder.

Eddie’s fingers follow the seam of the unzipped garment, barely tracing the bare skin of your back. You try to hold off the shiver from passing through you as he slowly begins zipping it up. A hint of a smirk on his mouth as he notices the goosebumps breaking out across your skin. “Anything else princess? Or am I free to go?”

His fingers now fall away from you, clearing your throat as you try to shake off the arousal that was now coursing through your veins. You wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing how frazzled he had just made you.

Instead of answering, you just groan, eyes lifted up, going past him and clocking him in the shoulder as you headed back on stage. God you were fucking insufferable.

Eddie finds out that ASM means Assistant Stage Manager and that said ASM was none other than Max Mayfield, roped into doing theatre tech for extra credit. And that the booth was where they tampered with the lights and shit. All he had to do as Stage Manager for that rehearsal was oversee the light cues, which proved to be a little more complicated than he initially expected.

He messes up most of the cues in the first act before he finally seems to have gotten a grasp of it. All the while you’re tossing glares his way, using the light cues as an excuse for the harsh looks. But really it’s due to your annoyance at how the mere brush of his fingertips left you wanting more. Wanting more of him, despite your better judgment– you were not about to have him ruin your senior show.

And in spite of that, you closely follow Eddie’s actions. In a lull between scenes he stands up, you follow him with your eyes as he enters back into the auditorium, beelining backstage.

Eddie’s not totally sure what shit designer built the theatre, because he might as well have pissed himself on the way between the booth and the only bathroom in the auditorium. Not only that, but he kept missing cue after cue, followed by the dirtiest looks known to man, straight into his eyes. After the encounter you had in the dressing room– fingers caressing the soft skin of your back, feeling you shiver under his touch, he knew he had some kind of leverage over you.

So when he’s done taking a leak and looks down at the door, he’s sure you’re behind it, slipping a little piece of paper in the crack.

Meet me in the booth after rehearsal. XX

Eddie wouldn’t say he was nervous, his curiosity was piqued more than anything. However, he’s antsy the last half of the show, leg bouncing as he tries to listen and follow Max’s instructions. The girl gives him an annoyed lecture in between cues. But his mind’s a little preoccupied, trying to figure out what exactly you want from him.

So when he re-enters the dark light booth once everyone else has left, he doesn’t expect you to shove him up against the door, locking it with a swift click. His breath hitches in his throat, both in confusion, and at the fact that you’re fumbling with his belt, despite the dirty looks you’ve been giving him the whole afternoon.

“What uh- what are you doing?” His tone is alarmed, stammering as he tries to grab onto the door handle for purchase. You’re too busy getting his jeans down to bother.

“Sucking you off. That okay?” You look at him for a reassurance that comes almost immediately with a violent nod of his head.

He’s confused, but he’s not going to turn you down. After all, he felt the way you tensed under his touch while he was pulling up your zipper, “Shit, fine by me.” He shrugs, acting like he isn’t busting at the seams waiting for you to pull down his pants.

Eddie’s belt makes a clinking sound, along with his wallet chain while you pull his pants down to his thighs. You move his trembling body away from the door, against the table with the light console. His knuckles turn white as he grabs the edges on the table for support.

Gripping the hem of his checkered boxers, freeing his hardened length. Your eyes widening slightly at the sight of it, he’s big— a lot bigger than you expected. Even in the dim lighting he notices your shocked expression.

“Ya gonna just stare at it all night sweetheart?” He asks, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he looks down at you. You shoot another glare his way, before grasping the base of his cock in your fist, licking a long stripe up the shaft. Feeling satisfied as you hear his shaky intake of breath. Eagerly you take him past your lips, as a low groan leaves his own.

“Shit,” he curses as your warm mouth envelops him fully, ringed fingers knotting themselves in your hair. You open your mouth as wide as you can, taking him deeper. Gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat, tears brimming in the corner of your eyes as you try to adjust to his size. He’s by far the biggest one you’ve had.

“Talked such a big game with that mouth of yours sweetness, am I too much for you?” Your fingers dig into the skin of his thighs, his cock slipping from your lips as you pull back.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up Munson?” You huff, but before he can reply with another snarky remark your tongue is swirling around the tip of his cock. Silencing him for a moment as you take him back into your mouth.

Another string of curses falls from his lips, as his hips begin thrusting into your mouth with an abandon you haven’t seen before. Your cheeks are hollowed and he can feel himself getting embarrassingly close.

“F-fuck where- where’d you learn all of this?” It comes out in broken pants, and he can feel a smirk forming on your lips as you take him out a second time.

“One thing about theatre people is that we’re all gonna fuck each other. You should see how I eat pussy,” you shrug, putting him back in your mouth, and Eddie swears he’s about to bust in less than a minute.

“I’m gonna- fuck.” But he doesn’t get to finish that sentence, as you take him out of your mouth and stand back up.

Eddie’s bewildered expression is easy to read as he looks at you like you shot his dog. But you get close, dangerously close to his lips, your nose almost bumping his.

“That’s for fucking up my light cue, idiot,” it’s a feeble whisper against his lips before you’re gone into the darkness of the theatre. Too shocked to react, Eddie’s left with his pants pulled down for a good two minutes before registering what happened.

So he’s left blue balled in that stupid light booth, fuming and confused. There was no way in hell he would let you treat him like that and walk away the way you did.

Eddie had been scheming all week between rehearsals, attempting to find a good time to get you alone. He wasn’t about to let you get away with leaving him like that, but you were actively avoiding him.

But an opportunity fell into his lap without any effort on his part, Miss George asking you to stay behind to work on some blocking with her. As the stage manager he was required to stay behind too, his mind already reeling with possibilities.

So when you duck behind the curtain to change out of your costume, Eddie is quick to swoop in. Offering to shut down the lights and lock up, and Miss George is more than willing to let him.

By the time you get back on stage the theater is dark, the ghost light shining brightly center stage. “Eddie? Miss George?” You call out into the darkness, getting complete silence in return.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding.” You groan, clutching the strap of your book bag tightly. Of course he’d leave you in the dark theater to fend for yourself. “Asshole.” You mumble under your breath, reaching your hand out in front of you as you make your way across the dark stage.

You’ve bumped into multiple set pieces at this point, as you attempted to find the stairs leading down to the audience in complete darkness. Your frustration grows with each passing minute, that is until you hear the shuffling of feet.

“Hello?” You call out again, squinting as if it would help you see any better. Fear stirs in your gut as the theater is silent once more, shadows seeming to come to life in the corner of your eyes.

Once you finally reach the edge of the stage, you grip onto the railing tightly as you fumble your way down the stairs. Sighing in relief as you feel the carpet beneath your feet.

You only make it a few steps further before you feel a hand snaking around your waist, pulling you back into a hard chest. The other hand cupping itself over your mouth to muffle the scream that leaves your lips.

“Screaming for me already sweets? Haven’t even touched you yet.” His voice is mocking, his warm breath fanning across your neck as he laughs. You quickly squirm out of his grasp, a flashlight clicking on to illuminate his stupidly gorgeous features.

“You fucking psychopath! What were you thinking?” you shove him on the shoulder, he laughs as he zeroes in the flashlight on you, red in the face and furious.

“Had to get back at you for how much of a little tease you were the other day,” he croons. You purse your lips together, a deep blush spreading across your cheeks as you try to stabilize your still quickly beating heart.

“Whatever. Fuck you, Eddie.” You spit, but he’s quick to grab your arm and push it behind your back, the flashlight hitting the ground and rolling under one of the seats. His chest is pressed against your shoulder blades as you shudder in his arms.

“You’re not getting away so easily, sweetness.” He breathes against your earlobe as you keen into the warmth of his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck as his free hand goes to your waist.

“This okay?” he murmurs, and you nod. A sharp nip to your earlobe makes you hiss.

“I can’t fucking see you nod, can I?” You can tell he’s having too much fun torturing you, feeling his hand travel all across your torso and chest.

“N-No,” you whimper.

“Exactly. Try that again,” his hand rests against the waistband of your jeans, awaiting an answer, teasing the skin behind the fabric. The tips of his fingers brush the skin there, making you whimper in response.

“This is okay.” you breathe out, and it’s the only answer he needs to slip his hand past your jeans, unbuttoning the offending material to push his hand further down into your pants.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispers against your ear as his hand cups your clothed core. You waste no time grinding against the heel of his palm, letting small, breathy moans escape you. Afraid to get caught in the dead of night getting touched and fondled by the town pariah.

“You sound so pretty singing for me, don’t you sweets?” he whispers smugly. His hand feels a little too good against you, your hips grinding back and forth following the rhythm he was creating, “Hmm, but I think you can be a little louder.”

You gasp as he slips his hand inside your panties, his calloused fingers encircling your swollen clit. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto his thigh. His digits dip lower, teasing your entrance before slipping one inside and curling them up.

You can’t stop the shaky cry from leaving your lips, the sound now filling the auditorium. A smirk tugs at his mouth, using the heel of his palm to press against your clit. “Listen to that… you’ve got such a pretty voice don’t you?”

You dig your nails into the denim covering his thigh, a low groan sounding in his throat. “Wonder what it sounds like when you beg,” he easily adds another finger inside your wet cunt, thrusting them deeper. “N-Never gonna happen Munson.”

Eddie laughs, pulling another moan from you as his other hand drifts up under your shirt to cup your breast. “We’ll see about that.”

His breath is fanning hot and humid against your neck as you reach around to bring his head closer, needing him to be closer.

Nothing he’s saying is registering in your brain, as his fingers pump in and out of you with a torturous pace, feeling his wolfish grin plastered against the skin of your cheek.

He’s watching your every move, your every breath and whimper, biting his lip at the way your eyes roll to the back of your head every time his fingers curl up in a certain manner. You don’t think you have much time left before you release yourself all over his hand, and he knows it.

From the way you keep twitching and tightening around his fingers, he feels you’re getting close, but much like you did that night in the booth, he won’t let you get it that easily.

“Y’close sweets?” he groans, his own hips now grinding against the swell of your ass.

“Uh-huh,” is all you can manage to say, brain scrambled from his words and ministrations.

“You know what you gotta do now, don’t you, pretty?” he bites at the hinge of your jaw, as you cry out, the noise echoing in the empty theatre.

“You gotta beg for it.” And he hears you gasp at that, a dry chuckle leaves his lips. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you cum that easy did you?”

“Mmm- fuck you, Munson.” you struggle against your brain’s desire to one up him and your body’s desire for release.

“C’mon, don’t you want to cum? I bet you’re so pent up from a whole day of staring at me building sets, aren’t you?” and he’s right, your eyes did wander to his arms in his tight fitting t-shirt, with his hair tied up in a low bun as he hammered nails into wooden boards.

His fingers speed up and you can feel it, you’re so, so close.

“Please, let me,” you whine into his arm, biting at the muscle there. You’re getting so loud.

“That’s right, keep begging for me– good girl gettin’ nice and loud for me,” it’s a growl at this point, a string of please please please follow it. Tears pricking at your eyes with how intensely good he’s making you feel.

So close, so close–

He removes his fingers, jerking you out of that hazy state you were previously in. The male now removes himself from you, retrieving the flashlight from under the seat. Your chest is heaving as you turn to face him, anger now coursing through you as he grins devilishly down at you.

“How cute, you thought I was actually gonna let you cum with how you left me the other day?” Eddie’s laughter fills the theater as he steps closer to you. Your bodies almost touching, lifting his fingers that were just inside you up to your lips.

The brunette carefully drummed the digits against your mouth, “Now, be a good girl and clean up the mess you made.” You glare as you let his fingers slip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them in a teasing manner.

You noticed how his breath hitches, his cock straining uncomfortably in his jeans. But there’s no way that you’re helping him out with his little problem now. You playfully bite his fingers that are still in your mouth, as he utters an annoyed ‘ouch’ before taking them back out.

His fingers make their way to your scalp– yanking at the hair, making you hiss. “You think you’re fucking cute? I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal,” his tone makes you tremble, as he takes his hand out of your hair and disappears into the darkness of the theatre, leaving you once again in the dark.

You stumble down the side stairs of the stage and get out of the side door, quickly making your way home.

And it becomes a regular thing, you and Eddie blue balling each other to the point of frustration, like it’s a sick and twisted power game you both play. After rehearsal he offers to lock up for Miss George and you wait for him in one of the dressing rooms, or in the dimly lit booth. He’s become irritable, and you have as well.

If you were insufferable before, now you’re downright hateful as you yell at the light crew to stop messing up your spotlight moment, or that your costume felt too constricting or your prop too flimsy.

Everything has you on edge, but you don’t hesitate to meet Eddie every night that week after rehearsal. Maybe he’ll let you cum this time.

You wait for him backstage, sitting on one of the set pieces, a throne. There’s a dim overhead light shining on you. Eddie’s lip is caught between his teeth as he looks at you on his Dungeon Master throne.

“Get up.” he commands. The shirt he’s wearing is tight, it makes his shoulders look more prominent. You squeeze your legs together.

“Why should I? My legs are tired from being on my feet all rehearsal,” you give him a fake pout as he inches towards you.

“Because that’s my Dungeon Master throne,” it sounds funny coming out of his mouth, voice low and gravelly “It’s mine.”

You chuckle a bit at that, how is this man being territorial over a set piece?

“And what if I said no?” a smile trapped in between your teeth, looking up at him through your lashes.

A dry laugh escapes him as he crosses his arms, “You’re so spoiled huh? Think you can always get your way? Last time I checked, this week it’s been the total opposite, hasn’t it?” and he’s not wrong, he’s given you all but what you want.

“This is my theatre, Munson. I believe you’re on my turf.” and he laughs at that, like you’ve said some kind of joke.

“You do theatre, sweetheart, c’mon you can’t be serious.” he kneels in front of you, grabbing your thighs and moving them apart with ease.

“Don’t be a bitch, Munson.” you hiss, as you feel his lips on your exposed thighs, kissing the skin there.

He whistles, low and sardonic. A wicked smile on his lips “That’s rich coming from you, you’ve had that nasty little attitude this whole week.” he continues with his kisses, while his hand ghosts over your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“I wouldn’t have this nasty little attitude as you call it if you would just let me- fuck.” his free hand ghosts over your panties. Your skin is sensitive, your brain is sensitive. Another touch and you might explode.

“Hmmm, what was that?” he bites at the flesh of your thigh, a high pitched whimper falling from your lips “Need me fuck that little attitude out of you sweetheart?”

And you’ve been wound up so tight for the past week that it doesn’t take you long to rid yourself of your panties. He takes advantage of you standing up, plopping down to take his rightful seat on the throne.

That cocky smirk is adorning his features, but you wanted to smack it off. “As cute as you think you look in this seat… it’s always been my throne sweets.”

Before Eddie has time to mutter another snarky remark you’re climbing into his lap, crashing your mouth against his. You’ve learned throughout the past week that it’s really the only way to shut him up.

His ringed fingers dig into the curve of your hips, eagerly grinding yourself against the bulge in his pants. Eddie moans into your mouth, his tongue licking your lower lip. You part your lips, allowing him entry as your tongues fight for dominance.

He tastes like Twizzlers and cigarettes, a combination you shouldn’t find as delicious as you do. But it only seems to make you needier, the denim becoming damp as you continue to grind yourself onto him.

“Look at you making a fucking mess on my jeans,” he mumbles against your mouth, nipping at your lower lip which causes you to whine as he pulls away. His chest rumbles as he chuckles, grabbing your cheeks in his hand— forcing you to look at him.

“But I’d rather you make a mess on my cock sweetheart.” His words have your head reeling, the male now gripping behind your knees and lifting you up. You squeal in surprise, clutching onto his shoulders to steady yourself. “Eddie, put me down.”

He carefully lets you slide down his front until your feet touch the ground, spinning you around before bending you over the armrest of his throne. His hands travel up your bare thighs, taking his time to appreciate your soft skin.

“Are you going to fuck me or not Munson?” You huff, the male now flipping up your skirt and landing a harsh smack on your ass. “So goddamn impatient aren’t you?”

You hear the sound of his belt clinking open, the zipper being tugged down. It makes you clench your thighs together, something Eddie didn’t miss. His fingers dipping between your legs, teasing you further.

“Trained you well didn’t I baby?” You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, despite how your stomach flipped at the word baby.

And you can feel him then, carefully lining himself at your entrance as you try to grind back into him. A firm hand against your hips stops you. “Ready? I’m gonna go slow,” he mutters, and there’s a gentleness in his words, despite his meanness in how he’s handling you.

You hum in approval and brace yourself. There’s a loud groan coming from behind you as he slips inside your warm heat, reveling in how you almost suck him in, a small gasp leaving you from the stretch.

“Big stretch, huh?” he coos in a cocky lilt, and you almost wanna reach around and punch him, but this idiot has your eyes rolling back from the fullness, and he’s not even all the way in yet.

So you nod, followed by a needy little whine that makes him chuckle low in his chest– you need him that much?

He goes deeper, spurred on by your noises, by how much you need him to fill you up. A sardonic smile on his lips as he bottoms out and slams all the way in, causing you to shriek.

Eddie sets a fast pace, not really giving you any time to adjust, but he’s already nudging that spot deep within you, making you see stars.

You hear him groan, “So fuckin’ tight, aren’t you sweets?” and it’s a rhetorical question, because your tongue feels too big for your mouth and there’s nothing coming out of it besides unintelligible whines and moans as you hold on to the armrest across from you.

Your noises only encourage him to go faster, and it’s almost too much the way he’s hitting that sweet spot inside you. You try to distance yourself from him, just enough to catch your breath, but he grabs your shoulders, using them as leverage to ram deeper into you.

He leans over, his clothed chest against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Goin’ somewhere, baby? Thought you could handle me.” He bites at your earlobe, and there’s just so much going on in your brain that you can’t possibly muster any response to whatever he’s telling you.

“Oh I said that, didn’t I? When we first met. I said I could handle a spoiled little diva like you, and look at that,” he laughs, and you’re sure you’re about to combust. Your fingers reach to grip the cushioned seat of the throne, as another wail leaves your lips.

“Singin’ my praises now aren’t you baby?” The wood of his throne digs into your hips and stomach as he pushes you further into it, a feline movement as he drapes himself off and over you, his hands now gripping the armrest opposite of you for purchase.

Your legs begin to give out, as you beg God or whatever entity up there that he won’t give into his sick little game. That he’ll let you cum this time.

“Shit, sweets, you’re gripping me so tight.” he grunts, a boyish grin on his face as small uh uh uhs fill the room.

“Should we let you cum tonight? We can’t have you being a bitch tomorrow, it’s the end of hell week,” he jokes, and it almost feels humiliating, how he can make fun of you like this and you’re just going to keep fucking yourself back onto him.

“God- Fuck- Please!” you beg, with all the strength you can muster, and he can’t help but let a satisfactory grunt leave his lips.

“Look at you begging, don’t even have to ask now, do I?” and you can feel him twitch inside you. He’s also getting close.

“Ready?” he huffs, with the last little bit of stamina he has, and you can’t brace yourself enough for the wave of pleasure that washes over you with the last few snaps of Eddie’s hips as you come undone with a loud cry, echoing through the dark halls of the theatre.

“Fuck, okay, where should I–” he begins, he’s at his wits end.

“In…side,” is all you can say before he stills himself inside of you, letting his release take over him with a loud groan. His warm cum painting your inner walls, leaving you feeling satiated.

Eddie stabilizes his breath, forehead leaning against your shoulders, days on days of pent up frustration hanging like mist in the air. You’re both able to think clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs, lifting himself off of you as he slowly slips his cock out. You can feel his cum beginning to drip down your thighs, your legs wobble as you attempt to stand. Knees buckling as you try and find your discarded panties.

“Whoa there, I got ya,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his warm chest. It felt good, leaning against him like that. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, “I’m fine Eddie.”

You push yourself off only to nearly fall once more, an annoyed grumble leaving his lips, “Are you always so stubborn?” He reaches down for your panties, guiding you to sit on the edge of the throne so he could help pull them up your thighs.

It was an unusually tender action, and not one that you expected from him. “Thought you didn’t want me sitting here?” You tease, his brown eyes glancing up as he’s kneeling before you.

“I’ll let it slide this one time,” he chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin. A dimple you had never noticed before indenting his cheek, another feature that now found annoyingly attractive.

You roll your eyes at him and stand up, “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after rehearsal.” You quip, as you try to wobble off the stage, he runs after you.

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you walk home like this,” and there’s a tender look in his eyes, something close to genuine concern. “My van is out front, I can drive you.” He points in a general direction behind him, and you want to say no so badly.

But you don’t, and now you find yourself being driven home by Eddie. His dingy van smells like cigarettes and weed and it squeaks every time he goes over a bump. There’s loud music blaring through the stereo speakers and an uncomfortable silence between the two of you.

“So uh, you excited for next week?” Eddie’s the first to break the silence, briefly turning towards you.

“I’m actually kinda nervous,” you admit, sinking into the seat. “It’s a big role, big shoes to fill. I guess I’m just scared I’m not gonna be any good.” You chuckle, almost embarrassed at your admission.

“You? Not good? I’ve seen you, y’know? I’m not just staring at your tits during rehearsal. You’re pretty darn good.” He gives you a half smile at that, pulling up next to your house.

You’re a bit flustered by his compliments, finding yourself not wanting to leave his company just yet.

“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

“And hey, if you still feel nervous opening night come find me— I’ll help you,” he winks at you and you can’t help but laugh, as you see him looking at you with a big grin on his face.

You look at him back, and God, maybe it’s the streetlights or the moon, but he’s never been more beautiful. In a leap of courage you lean over the dashboard and peck him on the lips.

As you detach from him and reach for the door handle, he pulls you back in deeper, searing and intense, one of those kisses that have your tummy flipping. Except it’s not in the comfort of the theatre, and without an underlying motive behind it.

Just you and him. In his van.

You let your lips part, give him access to your mouth, but he stops you.

“It’s midnight,” he whispers against your lips. “Dress rehearsal tomorrow, you need to rest.” He smiles as you place another peck on his lips. Pouting as you reach for the door handle. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you until you’re inside, seeing the light of your room turn on.

Once he knows you’re safe, he starts his van back up and pulls away from your house with the cheesiest grin on his face.

Opening night. It’s finally here.

You should feel excited, and yet all you want to do is lock yourself in one of the broom closets and hide. You’ve never felt so nervous before, thinking of all the different outcomes that could occur. What if you forget all your lines? Or you have an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction during a quick change?

Your mind is reeling as you enter the dressing room, the rest of the cast buzzing excitedly around you. You fake a smile and sit at your station, noticing the bouquet of lilies resting on the counter top. You can feel yourself flushing, opening the card that came with it.

Break a leg Juliet xx.

You ask around the rest of the cast but no one knows who left them, and while you hoped they came from a certain metalhead… you couldn’t be so sure. Your little cat and mouse game had suddenly turned into something very real, and part of you was afraid it would be over once the curtains closed.

You get ready for the show in a daze, now staring at yourself in the dressing room mirror as nerves rage through your insides. The rest of the cast had dissipated, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

“There’s the leading lady,” Eddie’s voice snaps you out of your haze, meeting his eyes in the mirror’s reflection. He must have noticed the look of panic across your features, as he rushes to your side.

You give him a weak smile in return, letting a heavy exhale escape past your lips.

“So uhhh, did you like the flowers?” He asks, and he can see your eyes light up in the mirror, momentarily forgetting nerves, fear and anxiety.

“So it was you,” he coaxes you to face him, kneeling next to you with a large grin.

“T’was I, fair maiden.” He does a half bow from his kneeling position, making you giggle.

“So you’re in love with me now?” You tease, as Eddie’s hands come to rest on your thighs, spreading them as much as he can in your dress before moving in between them.

“I’m literally going to die from nerves, what if I mess up my lines?” you begin, but Eddie seems to have much different plans.

“There she is….” he murmurs, more to himself.

You feel the heat pool in your middle at his words, squirming a little in your seat. Eddie reaches to cup your chin, tilting it down so you meet his gaze. His brown eyes sparkling with mischief, “You know, my offer still stands Lady Capulet.”

“Here? The doors are literally opening in fifteen minutes, don’t you have stage manager things to take care of?” your tone is alarmed, rather, a mix of alarm and excitement.

“My job as stage manager right now is to make sure Juliet feels comfortable enough to go on stage,” he grins, peppering kisses over your hand and wrist.

“But what if we get caught? Or you make me cum so hard I forget my lines?” The nerves make you ramble, as his chin rests on one of your thighs.

“As good as I am at eating you out sweetheart, I doubt that’ll happen.” He bunches the fabric of your costume up your thighs, beginning to give sweet caresses on the skin of your legs.

You seem unconvinced, still.

“Look, I’ll sweeten the deal. If you get all your lines right, which I don’t doubt you will, I’ll take you out on a date.” His lips are pursed in a coy smile.

Your eyes widen, “Like a date date? You and me?” and your heartbeat picks up.

“Who else, idiot?” Eddie laughs, which makes you smile, “Now,” he begins.

“Do you want me to do something about those jangled nerves of yours?” And you can’t help but bite your lip and nod.

His lips begin trailing up your thighs, a shiver running through you from his tender actions. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” He pauses, shifting closer as he switches sides, now leaving open mouth kisses along your opposite thigh. “It is the East, and Juliet is the sun.”

You feel your breath hitch in your throat as he works his way to your clothed center, his eyes flicking up to look at you. “Arise, fair sun and kill the envious moon… and whatever the fuck else Romeo says.” Eddie chuckles before eagerly pressing his mouth against your clothed pussy, his tongue lapping at the wet spot on the cotton.

A gasp bubbles deep in your throat at the sensation, feeling the bliss of his tongue through the cotton barrier, your body easing up from its nervous state.

He looks up at you, “Good, huh?” He hums through the fabric, and you’re wound up so tight you’re already panting.

He taps the side of your thigh to get you to lift your hips, removing your panties in the process.

A low whistle escapes him as you spread your legs for him again, “Talk about eating in costume, baby, jeez.” He chuckles, and the joke makes you laugh too.

A short lived laugh at that, turning into a breathless gasp when his tongue makes contact as he begins to lap up the length of your pussy.

Your hand immediately goes to tug at his curls, not caring that they’re tied up and out of his face to be able to see the cue sheets. The delicious pull at his scalp makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

A low moan falls out of your lips, catching yourself, hand flying to your mouth as you hear the rest of the cast clamoring outside.

“Gotta be quiet, Lady Capulet,” he snickers as he goes back to burying his face between your legs. His tongue darting in and out of you as a hand reaches for your mouth, wetting two of his fingers.

You don’t hesitate to open up your mouth for him, a bite at the juncture between your pelvis and your thigh, “Atta girl.” He mumbles against the wet skin, popping his fingers out of your mouth to tease at your entrance.

“That’s it baby, focus on me.” A whine escapes you as you’re now grinding on his tongue, his fingers enter you slowly, head thrown back in pleasure.

“You nervous, baby?” He asks, a cocky smile on his face. His fingers curl upward, your eyes squeeze at the overwhelming sensation.

You shake your head, still sentient. Not too far gone yet.

“You gonna use me to get off, my lady?” His fingers are pumping faster, feeling tears brimming on your waterline, hoping to not spill all over your face, your stage makeup seems to be in precarious conditions.

A familiar warmth, deep in the pool of your tummy, “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop” You know how much he likes to hear you sing for him. His spare hand grabs onto your thigh, rings biting the soft skin there, feeling yourself teetering on the edge.

“Thaaaat’s it, you’re doing so well,” he whispers. One more pump of his fingers and you cum with a silent cry, biting onto your hand, feeling yourself pulsate around his fingers.

Without much warning he slips them out, sucking on his own fingers, tasting your own delicious essence.

“Places!” You hear Miss George say backstage, as Eddie retrieves your panties for you and slips them up your legs.

Eddie fixes his hair in the mirror, tying them back. He places a kiss on your cheek with a hurried, “Good luck— uh fuck I meant break a leg.” Then he furtively leaves the dressing room.

You feel a blush spreading across your body, finally relaxed and ready to begin the show.

You leave the dressing room, joining the rest of the cast, full of excitement. You know all your love monologues are going to be directed towards a certain metalhead tonight.

The show goes smoothly and you don’t forget a single line, you’re surrounded by family and friends, ready to do it all again the day after.

You go back into the dressing rooms to grab your stuff and change, but a long mop of curly hair occupies your chair.

“Eddie, you can’t be here!” you whisper, as he turns around with the biggest smile plastered on his face.

“Just wanted to tell my girl congratulations in private. You smashed it tonight,” you blush at the nickname.

“Since when am I your girl?” you ask, not letting him see how much it affected you.

“Since you kissed me in my van when I dropped you off, gorgeous.” He flirts, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth.

“So, how about that date?”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

tagging: @thornsnvultures, @xxhellfirebunnyxx, @duuhrayliegh, @ali-r3n, @sunnythevampireslayer, @bimbobaggins69, @jamdoughnutmagician, @eiightysixbaby, @aphrogeneias, @daisy-munson, @gravedigginbbydoll, @s6raphic, @take-everything-you-can, @strangerstilinski

[fanficgirl429]

Being there for Mike

Prompt: Your boyfriend, Mike receives a notice that his Aunt Jane wants custody of Abby. You're there to comfort and support him.

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x Reader

---

The slam of your front door pulls you from your sleep and you slowly open your eyes to see your boyfriend staring down at you. He’s wearing his favorite dark jeans, a gray shirt, and his signature black jacket. His short hair has a slight curl in it and stubble is covering his face. To say he looked attractive was an understatement. 

“Hey,” he says, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hooks next to the front door. 

“Hi babe.”

He walks over to the couch, where you're currently laying and gently taps your foot. You lift your feet up, making room for him on the couch. He sits down and then pulls your legs on top of his, giving them a gentle squeeze. Mike was not an affectant person by any means but there were little gestures that he would do that would make your heart skip a beat. 

It was then that you noticed how defeated and tired he looked. It looked as if he hadn’t slept at all last night. 

“Are you ok?’ you ask, concern in your voice. 

Mike raises his hips from the couch and pulls out a large rolled up envelope from his back pocket. Without saying a word, he reaches across the couch and hands it to you. You give him a questioning look but he doesn’t say a word. Whatever is in here, has caused him major concern. 

The envelope is filled with yellow paper, creating a small booklet. The very first page says everything you need to know. 

“What the fuck?” you say, outraged. “What makes her think that she can get custody of Abby?” You skim through all of the paper but there is a lot of information. Hopefully he was able to make more sense of it. 

Mike lets out a sigh as you hand him back the paper and envelope. “She only wants Abby for money from the state.”

You move across the couch and sit down next to your boyfriend. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and you lean against his chest, wrapping your arm around his waist. 

He instantly relaxes and his breathing becomes more steady. When it came to his younger sister, Abby, he would easily get worked up. He wanted nothing but the best for her. 

“Whatever you need me to do, I will,” you reassure him. 

“Come with me to the meeting tomorrow,” he says. 

You nod and hug him tighter. 

——

Mike's Aunt Jane has it out for him. She is carrying on about how Mike is unfit to care for Abby and how she will do a better job. She even goes a far as saying that he is nodding out at the meeting. 

He barely slept at all last night. You could feel him tossing and turning most of the night before getting out of bed around 5am. As you laid in bed this morning, you could hear him pacing back and forth in the living room. 

His leg moves up and down while he sits and listens to her talk. You reach over to grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his. He squeezes your hand as Abby’s guidance counselor glances over at the two of you. She gives you a small smile before returning her eyes to Jane. 

When Jane is finally finished rambling, the guidance counselor concludes the meeting, telling Jane that she will be in touch. 

You and Mike thank the counselor for the meeting and you stand up and follow him out of the door into the front office. You make to turn left towards the school's front door but Mike turns right and begins to walk down the school's hallway. He stops for a moment and waits for you to catch up. His fingers lace with yours as he comes to a stop outside a classroom. He peaks through the window before opening the door, revealing an empty classroom. 

“This is Abby’s classroom,” he tells you, walking over the window. 

The large window overlooks the playground and you see Abby sitting at the picnic table drawing while the other kids are playing all around her. 

“She never plays with the other kids,” Mike comments with a sadness in his voice. 

You shrug. “She seems to be doing ok,” you reassure him. “If she wanted to play with the others she would. She’s told me about some friends she has here.” 

The door to the classroom opens and Abby’s guidance counselor walks in. She smiles as she walks over to the two of you. 

“I was wondering if I would find you here,” she says. 

She follows your gaze out the window and looks at Abby. 

“You’re doing a good job, you know?” she tells Mike. 

“Thanks,” Mike says, running his fingers through his hair. 

“How are you doing Mike?” she asks. 

Mike shrugs. “I’m ok,” he tells her. 

“We’re going to do whatever we can to make sure that Abby stays with you, you know that right? Have you found a job yet?”

“Not yet. But I’m working on it.”

“That’s step number one.”

The counselor squeezes Mike's shoulder before turning to leave the room.  

“Ready to go?” you ask him and he nods. 

He leads you out the door and down the hallway towards the front of the school. 

~~~

Mike closes the door to Abby’s room and walks into the living room. His gray sweatpants hang loose off his hips and his black t shirt shows off his frame. A blush forms on your cheeks and you turn away not wanting Mike to see. 

Although the two of you had been dating for almost two years now, Mike still made you blush. What had started out as a stupid crush years earlier, had turned into the best thing that had ever happened to you. You loved Mike and couldn’t imagine your life without him. 

Mike notices how your cheeks turned a slight shade of red but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to call you out and embarrass you. Instead he walks over to where you are sitting on the couch and stands in front of you. He reaches his hand out and you place your hand in his. He gently pulls you up and wraps his around your waist, giving you a tight hug. You pull him against you, not wanting him to let go anytime soon. Hugs from Mike were your favorite thing. 

“Thanks for coming with me today,” he says. 

“Of course. You know I’m always here for you and Abby.” 

“I guess I need to start looking for a job.”

You nod. “Yea. And maybe try not to get fired,” you tease him. 

He shakes his head but a smile crosses his lips. He has a hard time getting mad at you. You might pick on him but it was always in good fun- every now and then he would tease you as well. 

“I hate you,” he teases. 

You let out a loud laugh and then instantly cover your mouth, forgetting that Abby was asleep. “You actually love me,” you say, looking up at him.

“I might,” he says, laughing.

He leans down and presses his lips against yours, kissing you slowly. 

[norrizzandpia]

hey, totally ok if it’s not ur vibe, but i’d love to see an oscar fic where he’s helping his girlfriend or a childhood best friend when she’s feeling a bit down.

i keep thinking about that man helping clean a depression room and telling his girl not to be embarrassed and he’s there to help and they get it sorted and he just holds her. makes sure she’s eaten and drank something.

even if it’s just a drabble, i’d really appreciate it :) need that kinda care in my life rn, even if it’s fictional.

I made this girlfriend because it just felt softer idk

To Be Loved Is To Be Seen (OP81)

Summary: Oscar knows his girlfriend well and it’s obvious to him when she starts breaking down. He’s happy to help or, more specifically, remind her how worth it she is.

Warnings: this one is HEAVY on the family trouble, depression, anxiety, VERY ANGSTY but def cutest HAPPY ENDING

Note: i didn’t know if you wanted reader to be in a rut or have a reason for it so i just made a reason

Y/n’s first few months of university were hard. Not only was it due to the new course load, but also because of her parents lack of interest when it came to her life. It had been a gradual shift, starting from her last two years in high school and only getting stronger as time went on. They had always been there, overbearing at times, but, now, they posted pictures of their trips around the world, failing to answer her calls and texts. She felt selfish for wanting her parents’ attention as much as she did, but it was hard to fight. There were situations she had never dealt with before, she wanted her mom’s wise words and father’s funny remarks to get through it all. But, she sat alone in the darkness of her room without the guidance counselor she usually could count on. It felt as if she wasn’t enough to keep them there anymore. It was heart wrenching and it stewed within her at such volumes, it became too much.

That’s when Oscar noticed. Her boyfriend had always been attentive, noticing small things about her that no one else did, but the second her smile didn’t reach her eyes and her text messages became less frequent, it was almost as if he was staring her down in anticipation of some sort of sign. He didn’t begin to realize it was related to her parents until he caught a glimpse of her phone when they were together, the screen open to her conversations with her mother and all of the recent texts going completely unanswered. He knew she had always had a rocky relationship with them, but she spoke about them with such respect, he knew it would’ve bothered her to feel so unimportant.

Knocking on her door, his hands clutched the bag of her favorite food he had got on his walk to her apartment. He had planned this evening out for weeks, not telling her about it in worry that she would slip into a facade put together with a fake smile that made his skin crawl.

She opened it, her body tense and tired in a ratty shirt and shorts, “Oscar? What are you doing here?”

It was as if he saw her front go up, her posture straightening and that haunting smile which told him all too well how much pain she was in. He smiled softly, “I thought we could spend the night together.”

She closed the door enough to only peek her head through, “Osc, I’m so sorry, but I can’t tonight. I’m so busy.”

He stayed put, “That’s okay. I can wait on your couch.”

“No, Osc,” She said firmly, her face turning in the light and exposing the dark bags under her eyes.

He stepped closer to her, putting his hand on the door and looking down at her with a look that made her feel loved, “Y/n, let me in. I know you’re going through it. Let me be with you.”

Her resolve cracked, her smile dropping for a second and water suddenly pooling in her eyes, “You don’t want to come in here.”

He leaned against the door and cupped her cheek, “It won’t make me love you any less.”

With a sigh, Y/n pushed the door open, beckoning the boy into her home. He knew what to expect, he knew what it was like to reach the place she was in. So, when he saw the piles of clothes, half-eaten food on the counter with old dishes in the sink, and her little accessories put in the wrong places, something she would never usually do, he wasn’t surprised. If anything, he was happy she had let him in, literally and figuratively.

She picked at her nails beside him, swaying on her feet as she analyzed his every move. Part of her was trying to ready herself for him to walk out the door, give up on her because of whatever stood before them, but he gently set the food on the floor and ushered her into his embrace. His cheek laid against the top of her head, nestled in her hair, as he tightened his grip around her body. She smelled his cologne and felt his sweatshirt which made him feel all the more warm. There was something about his presence, she would later learn it was how safe she felt, that made the turmoils of her mind quiet as she began to cry. Y/n had promised herself that she wouldn’t cry for people who clearly didn’t care, but as Oscar rubbed her back and whispered how much he loved her, she realized it was never going to work.

Her breaking down wet the material of his sweatshirt, but Oscar just held her tighter, whispering how it was going to be okay and this would all pass.

“You’re so worth it all, Y/n,” He whispered, pecking the top of her ear as he smoothed down her hair.

She clutched his back before Oscar was moving her hands under his hoodie to feel the bare of his skin. He knew she loved that. And she did. Y/n’s tears began to dissipate as he told her why he was there.

“I’m with you in this. You aren’t alone. I’m here for you and I always will be. This,” He gestured to the space around them, holding her face in his hands and forcing her eyes to meet his, “doesn’t scare me at all, love. What does scare me, though, is the attempts at eating on the counter. Have you been eating other than that?”

She shook her head, “I tried. It’s too hard. I’m not hungry ever anymore.”

He titled his head with a small frown, “Well, maybe your favorite food will help, yeah? We’ll sit together and eat. We can go as slow as you want, or as fast. All up to you, baby.”

He kissed her forehead lightly before guiding her to the living room, one of the less dirty places, and setting her down on the cushions. He set it all behind him, not wanting to overwhelm her with everything he got, and took out what he knew she would want first. There was a dull sparkle in her eyes when he handed it to her, his heart lifted. It hadn’t been there when he first arrived.

She opened it slowly, eyeing the food she once ravished in seconds, and taking a utensil to pick at it. He looked at her, waiting patiently for her to take a bite. When she did, however small, he did too. When she did again, he did too.

She stopped, “Why aren’t you eating faster?”

He smiled, “Because I’ll take a bite when you do. I don’t mind, Y/n. I told you I’m in this with you.”

Her eyes gloss over as they dart between him and the food before taking another bite, giggling a bit when Oscar takes one of his own dish. She eats, he does too and their eyes never leave each other, offering unspoken support.

When the plastic boxes are gone and empty, Oscar has glasses of water randomly appearing in his grip, offering them to his girlfriend who has found herself tangled in that soft blanket he got her last Christmas. Her cheeks are a soft pink from the warmth of it coupled with the candle he lit in the midst of their dinner and she smiles when the cool liquid flows down her throat. Oscar stands over her, hands in his pockets and wondering how anyone could possibly ignore her texts. He wants to take a picture of her, remind her parents of the beauty they have in their reach. But, he also knows that any text he sends to them wouldn’t be one he should send to his potential (very likely) in-laws. So, he stays quiet and looks at her with the love she deserves.

“Do you need anything else?” He asks, pushing the hair out of her face.

She shakes her head, “No, I’m good. What movie do you want to watch?”

He kisses her cheek, “It’s up to you. I won’t be watching.”

Her eyebrows knot together and she cocks her head, “Why not? Is this some random pickup line where you’re going to tell me how you’ll only be watching me?”

He laughs, his head back, as he walks toward her room, “No, but that’s a good one. I’ll keep that for later. You put on whatever you want, baby. I’ll be cleaning.”

She crawls to the corner of the couch, watching him begin to pick up her room, “Clean? What? Why?”

He stops, turning around to look at her through the door, “Because I want to help you feel better and I know your apartment is stressing you out. You shouldn’t have to worry, love. Just relax. I’ll be done in a few hours.”

Her mouth is agape as he moves throughout her room, putting things away as if he knows where everything goes. He does, apparently. And when the shock of it wears off, a smile cements itself on her face as she turns on a random movie. She enjoys the soft humming of Oscar in the other room, answering his occasional question about the plot of the movie she’s watching. When he moves to the kitchen, out in the open and available to see what’s on the screen, Y/n falls asleep to the picture of her boyfriend doing her dishes and taking out her trash. Falling asleep with a warm heart mended by someone that has always loved her unconditionally.

—

She’s awoken by the feeling of soft mattress beneath her and Oscar’s arms heavy around her torso. He’s deep in sleep when she opens her eyes, has her completely enveloped in his grasp on her side. The room is dark, the window open and allowing for a cold breeze to flow through the room. She loves it. It’s cold outside, but Oscar keeps her warm. Her hands move their way up to his head, playing with his hair and staring at the man who has treated her so gently.

Tears fall down her face all so suddenly, sniffling lightly but still waking Oscar in the process.

He’s immediately worried, “What’s wrong?”

Her head drops to his chest, “I just love you so much and can’t tell you how much it meant to me that you stayed here even after seeing the state everything was in, including me.”

His soft hands leave her body and pull her face up to him. His eyes are dilated as he looks at her, “I would’ve done it yesterday and I’ll do it for the rest of our lives. I don’t want you to struggle alone. You don’t deserve that. You’ve done too much of that before you met me.”

If only her younger self could see her now. A younger girl worried she’d never find a man who loved her by seeing her now wholly adored by someone who didn’t just see her, but understood her too. She doesn’t even need to utter the problem, he already knows and she’s caught on to that since the moment he showed up at her door. His carefully chosen words about her worth and how easy it is to love her were all strategically placed in order to fix the cracks deep in her soul that have come undone at the hands of her parents.

“It’s just upsetting that they only loved me.” She whispers and for a second, Oscar doesn’t understand what she’s saying. But, the tense of her words dawns on him and the look on her face unleashes anger in his body. Loved. It’s upsetting that her parents loved her. They no longer do in her eyes. She once had parental support, love, but it’s obvious how transactional, conditional it was now. She got a taste of what it was like to be loved by them, but it was taken away when she needed it the most. She had mentioned to him before that growing up, she felt as if they used her presence to shy away from the problems of their marriage. When she was out of the house, she thought they would separate, but the opposite has happened. She served her purpose, now they throw money at trips to fill the void of what they have refused to face. Disregarded and thrown away, that’s the implications of what she’s confided.

He nods, tears in his eyes, “It’s so unfair of them to treat you this way. They’re your parents. They should be there for you, but they have never known how to love and you were just an unnecessary victim in it all.”

She wipes the moisture from her face, “I should just move on from the way they’ve treated me. I should give them grace because they’re my parents. I should just make peace with it all because this will never be fixed in the way I want it. But, I can’t.”

Oscar kisses the top of her head, “It’s okay that you can’t. That’s completely understandable. Giving grace just because they’re your family members isn’t right, Y/n. Just because there’s a blood relation doesn’t mean you can excuse their behavior. They’re your parents and they have neglected you for ages. You can’t keep giving everything to them, only to get nothing in return. Parents or not, you distance yourself from people who bring you down as much as they do.”

More tears smear against his chest, “But, they’re my parents, Osc.”

It’s as if he doesn’t know what to say because he knows how much she praises their drive and determination, giving her a life of privilege. Though, he stands firm on the idea that no one should be given a second chance if they “love” this way.

“I know, Y/n, and it’s so horrible that you’ve been put in this situation, but I think it would do you some good to let go of a part of them. You’ll go home and see them for birthdays, Christmases, but, in the time between, you don’t have to chase after them. You can find love in other things, happiness in other things. I’ll even do some of it with you. We can take up painting classes like you always wanted, walks in that park down the street that you love, studying in coffee shops, and watching the sunset. Life without them can be freeing.”

He’s right, she thinks. Life without them will be freeing. But, the story of letting go is never easy and finding yourself flipping to past chapters to hold onto something that isn’t there anymore is usual.

However, as she lays tangled in the limbs of Oscar, she finds future chapters to be more exciting, more fulfilling. Her whole life is ahead of her, one including Oscar, and that sudden revelation fills her with an overwhelming relief. His listing of all the things she loves, wants to try desperately reminds her just how in love with her he is. Every action of hers is noted by him and she’s spent years begging for that from her parents. She never got it, but maybe that was because something else softer lied in the cards for her. At times, her parents needed her, but they would always need something else more. Glamorous, shiny, new things that would satisfy them for a time. She would never be enough in the minds of them, but in the mind of Oscar, she was more than enough. It was clear she was everything to him.

A life with him would be different from the one handed to her on a broken, rusty platter. She wanted that with him and the way he looked at her told her he did too. Letting go of the dismissal of people she has killed herself for to make proud was maybe for the best, pushed her in the direction of focusing on Oscar and everything she’s ever wanted. Was this her mending old, deep wounds?

Loved and cherished, she found sleep once more, rejuvenated with hope and a sense of moving on.

[queers-gambit]

When The World Seems So Cruel

prompt: ( requested ) Billy knows something's bothering his girl, so, he follows his instincts and checks on her - family, friends, and slutty cheerleaders in bikinis be damned.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5.1k+

warnings: cursing, smut 'cause why not, boys being assholes 'cause they're losers, misogyny, toxic / abusive / neglectful family, description of background violence, angst, did Cherry really write it if there wasn't a helluva lot of projection and need for revocation of internet access?

"Miss Cahill? I'm sorry to interrupt," you half-smiled at your math professor, "but I was just wondering if you still had my test? I never got mine back."

"Right," she cleared her throat, glancing around your body to see most of the class empty at that point. "I wanted to talk to you about that," she paused to pull out your test from a manilla folder. "I was very shocked to grade this under your name, honey, you're usually such a well-focused and high-achievin' student, I mean, you're on track for the Nat Scholarship! So, to see this... Was shockin', it's... Not your best work," she winced, handing the packet over.

You blinked in shock, frowning as anxiety mounted in your chest when you saw the glaring F in red marker. You mumbled in embarrassment, "I guess I've just been off my game..."

"Honey," Miss Cahill sighed in her light country accent, leaning on her desk with both fists so your eyes met hers, "I can always tell when one of my students is goin' through somethin' at home."

You froze, shaking your head, "No, no, it's not... It's not so bad."

"What's goin' on?"

You shrugged, "I've just been... Really tired," you decided on excusing, hoping beyond hope it was enough.

It wasn't, of course it wasn't. Miss Cahill just sighed and offered, "I can let you retake the test next week - but only after you go see the guidance counselor."

"Right... Um, yeah, okay, yeah, sounds good; um, thanks, Miss Cahill."

You made an escape, distracted by the third failing test you received this week; nearly barreling straight into a meaty, solid chest. "Woah, hey, no need to run 'round lookin' for the man of your dreams, I'm right here, doll," Billy teased, hands grabbing your upper arms to steady you. "What's got you inna rush, baby? You know I pick you up after this class."

You smiled in brief distraction, "Yeah, sorry, baby, I was just thinking about this essay coming up. Hi," you offered, stretching up on your toes to kiss him in greeting. "How're you?"

He half-smirked, "I'm good, you know Mr. Brunson's got a stick up his ass as usual."

"Mhm. As usual, and totally has nothing to do with you provoking him," you teased, latching onto his waist as you shoved your test deep in your shoulder-bag. You neared his locker, and you managed to choke out, "Hey, um... Y-You wanna get outta here?"

Billy offered you a look of mild confusion, smirking with a strange laugh, "You wanna ditch school?"

"Maybe."

"Why?"

"I'm just tired," you offered meekly, "I feel like I haven't slept in a week."

Billy lead you up to his locker, hand on your waist to keep you close as he mused, "This feels like a setup."

"It's not, I promise."

He yanked the metal door open, "Uh-huh. You told me when I met you that I'd have to practically kidnap you to get you to skip class. Huh? 'Member all that? All them lectures you gave me 'bout the importance of goin' t'class if I wanna do anything after this shithole?"

"Yeah, but things change, Bee."

Billy's face dropped, shoving his books into his open locker before turning, leaning his shoulder on the locker next to his, arms crossed as he stared at you. "What's wrong?" He questioned sharply.

"Billy, I'm just tired."

"No, it's something else. What's wrong? What's goin' on?"

You sighed, "You know what? It's okay, nevermind, I actually promised Eddie that I'd help him make those banners for SGA during lunch today, so," you glanced around, "I'm gonna go."

"Nah, baby, hol' up, I ain't mean - "

"I know, handsome," you promised softly, nodding as you reached for his waist to give a squeeze and keep him close. "I just forgot I told a friend I'd help them out, so, I'll just see you after, yeah?"

One hand rose to pet over your cheek, sighing, "You sure you're good? You don't look okay, sugar."

"I'm good," you nodded, deflating into his embrace and hearing him chuckle. "I'm just stretched thin this week, probably shouldn't make promises to my delinquent friends with all the college drama to worry about."

"What'd Munson do this time to only get banner-duty? Huh?"

"Probably got caught skipping or something," you mumbled against his pectoral; inhaling the scent of his mall-bought cologne and finding it a refreshing change from the CVS-brand he used when you first met. "School did something right by makin' everyone in detention serve the SGA for all their shit."

"Definitely got me to shape up," he joked, pecking the top of your head before finishing, "but I mostly missed out on time with you."

"Hey... I was thinking, maybe I can come over this weekend? Keep Max company, maybe keep Neil at bay? Can have a sleepover, too, if you want."

Now Billy's head cocked and his expression hardened, "The fuck you wanna come over for? You know how tense shit gets - "

"Billy."

"Nah, you're not makin' sense, pretty girl," he snapped, pulling back to stare down at you. "What's going on with you? You don't wanna be at home or something? The fuck's goin' on that's so bad you'd rather be at my place?"

You felt tongue tied, but the bell rang shrilly and literally saved you from needing to answer. "Shit, I gotta run, baby. I'll find you later, okay?" You promised, lifting onto your toes to kiss him, promising, "I love you."

He frowned, grumbling, "Yeah, love you, too." He watched you vacate the hall, his mind basically going blank to all other thought beside you. The entire lunch period, he sat on the hood of his car, chain smoking, wondering where he went wrong; what he did to upset you; what could be going on and most importantly, why you couldn't say anything to him about it.

However, after lunch, Billy found you in the library's designated SGA room and thought you appeared ten times as relaxed, laughing with Eddie Munson. When the punk caught Billy's eye, he nodded in respect; gesturing for you to look, and your head turned with a smile. You parted from Eddie and trotted up to Billy, feeling relieved when he grabbed you in a possessive hold; searing his lips to yours.

"Hi," you giggled.

"You seem happy."

"Kinda hard to be in a bad mood around Eddie."

"I can see," he lead you away. He wanted to bring back up about whatever was bothering you, but didn't; fearing ruining your joyful mood. Instead, his fingers just tangled with yours and you entered history together.

What should've been a decently peaceful class turned into a state of confusion for you and Billy when the intercom kicked on, the front office asking for your presence with the principal. Billy glared at the speaker box as you cast him a look of doubt, both confused by the summons; being all too used to them calling his name instead. All of history passed miserably; Billy alone without his favorite person to keep him on track and becoming antsy the longer you were gone. When you didn't return by the end of class, he grabbed anything you left and begrudgingly went to the last two classes of the day.

When the final bell rang, Billy waited for you at his car for a solid 25 minutes with several cigarettes being burned, but when you still didn't show, he grew worried. So, he stored everything in his Camaro, not needing to worry about his sister because Max got a ride home with her new bestie, Jane, and her father, Jim Hopper, and stormed through the school. Anger radiated off his very being, nearly stomping his steps, and just before he got to the front lobby, he saw you exiting the office.

You didn't notice him at first, and for a moment, Billy thought you were going to hurl whatever was on your stomach as you held a few pieces of paper in shaking hands. "Baby," he called your attention, finding your eyes light up at the sight of him. "The hell's goin' on? You were gone the rest of the day, I got worried."

"Yeah, it was some shit wrong with my college applications, but we got it straightened out," you lied, stepping into his embrace. "I'm sorry I worried you, handsome."

He met your lips in a kiss, promising, "Not your fault. C'mon, day's over, our weekend can start once we get the hell outta here."

"Hmm," you hummed dreamily. "Lemme go to my locker and we can get gone."

Billy didn't mind waiting, and when you were done at your locker, he escorted you to his car; only a few students still lingering after hours. He opened your passenger door, winking at you, then quickly jogged to his side and slid in. "C'mere," he breathed, reaching for your cheek instantly; hand sliding along the back of your neck and bringing you in close.

You moaned when Billy's lips molded to yours; all but instantly salivating when his tongue tangled with your own in a messy dance. You had a few rules about PDA, especially in school; but being in his car was neural territory and Billy needed a way to expel his neediness. Praising God for making today steadily warm and that you wore a skirt, you were ready to cry when Billy's hand came down to grip the meat of your thigh.

"Billy," you rushed when his hand traveled under your skirt to ghost over your panties.

"Nobody's here t'watch," he smirked. "C'mon, lemme do this for you, pretty girl. You don't wanna go home yet, right? Ain't got some curfew?"

"Nope," you surged forward to slam your lips to his, moaning when his hand now confidently pet your panties as your legs spread all the wider to encourage him.

"Good girl," he praised quickly, skimming the apex of your thigh to hook your panties and pull them to the side. "Mhm," he hummed with a cocky smirk, "I knew you liked getting fucked in public. Feel how fuckin' wet you are - shit, Goddamn."

You mewled; tension mounting as you tightened up from the stoking pleasure. "Billy - " You gasped when he plunged his fingers into your cunt, easily sliding in due to your arousal. "Ohhh, fuck," you breathed, eyes shut and mouth agape in pleasure, "needed this - needed this so bad. Just needed you."

"You'll get so much more, baby."

You whimpered, "Now, please. Please, please, please."

He smirked, "Wanna get in the back or ride me, princess? Huh? Tell me what you need."

Your eyes locked with his as you thought it over, but then, you smirked as you readjust the passenger seat and turned so your ass was propped up. It gave him a full view of your messy cunt; panties askew from his previous motions and fluid rubbed all around. Billy reached out with one hand to plunge his pointer and middle finger back into your core, the other wrangling open his belt, button, and jean zipper in frantic movements.

He shimmied from the garments and sat up, following your lead in adjusting his seat. He instantly mounted behind you over the center console, licking his palm and stroking his himself to life as he drug his cockhead up and down your wetness.

Billy reached out to move your panties once more, line himself up, and plunge full-hilt. You gasped and grunted, letting yourself be shoved forward a little to catch on the seat; Billy hissing between his teeth as your warmth enveloped him in a sticky-wetness. "Hang on, doll, ah, fuck, there we go," he chuckled, readjusting his position before starting to move his hips to create the most delicious friction.

"Fuuuuck, Billy!" You whined when he held both your hips with only one hand keeping your panties to the side.

"Needed this, too," he chuckled. "Good girl, fuckin' taking me so well. You'd let me do anything, wouldn't you? Fuck you however I want to, huh? Yeah," he lifted one hand to smack the meat of your bottom, creating a ripple; liking the way you twitched and delivered two more, finishing, "I know my pretty baby would let me do whatever I fucking wanted with her - " he clenched his teeth, hips punctuating his words, "'cause she was fuckin' made for me."

"Yes," you moaned, mind blank from all the previous drama of your day; ready to weep like a bitch in heat, "anything, baby, yes, yes, yes, anything you want."

"Good girl," he laughed ruefully; picking up the pace to fuck you outta your mind as he ensured you felt every throbbing vein of his engorged cock. He chased his own orgasm as you were charged with your own; hand reaching for your clit to start applying pressure in tight circles. "Let me cum in you, sweetheart. C'mon, baby, tell me I can cum in you - in this pretty pussy - in my pretty pussy - lemme fuckin' cum in you."

"Billy, fuck - yes, baby, yes! Yes, harder, please, fuck me harder and you can cum wherever you want."

"Even your ass?"

"Yes, Daddy, yes, anything you want! Fuck my ass full of your cum, please, fuck, I need it! Whatever you want, I need. Please!"

Billy's golden curls stuck to his forehead and neck, entire car rocking with frantic, animalistic movements - but anyone lingering around the school to see it wasn't surprised. Billy felt like he went faster than usual, that he got a little rougher; but he was nearing his end and it was hard to keep pace. When you cried out and legs shook from your flash-bang of an orgasm, he knew you had finished and could focus on his own; never pulling out.

He'd fuck your ass later.

"Fuck!" Billy came with a shout; shooting hot, salty, opaque white ropes of cum into your quivering cunt. He stuttered his hips into the meat of your ass, balls contracting; emptying himself inside you as you relished in the feeling of his warmth flooding your lower belly. He chuckled, mocking, "Might just have to get you off that pill so I can get you fucking pregnant already."

"Whatever Daddy wants."

Billy laughed as he pulled out of you slowly, instantly turning again to crash into his driver seat. You went a little limp but managed to turn over, both panting as the windows were fogged up; but aired out when Billy rolled two down to light up his cigarette. "So," he spoke through his inhale and deep breaths, "you wanna tell me whats wrong now?"

"Hmm?"

"Why're you so distracted? Distant? Even with me?"

You felt panicked by the confrontation, resorting to your last line of defense. "Just dealing with a lot," you answered as your legs spread as wide as you could to start toying with your beaten-pussy. He watched with a stoic expression as you used your fingers to stuff his dripping-cum back inside you. "'S been stressful, guess I just had a bad day," you whined lightly, still playing.

"Fuck's sake."

"Hmm?" You feigned innocence.

"You're just askin' for it, huh?"

"Maybe," you pouted, "or maybe I just need your cum - "

"Cut it out, we gotta go," he snickered, turning the key in the ignition. "Your dad hates me enough, can't have you late for family dinner."

You went quiet as your thoughts were plagued with a screaming voice that begged Billy to just read your mind and understand what was wrong - why you were so upset, so panicked. But you knew better. So, you flipped down your skirt and readjusted yourself, sucking your fingers of his cum before letting his hand tangle with one of yours on your lap.

"Maybe you'd wanna come over tonight?" You asked softly. "Go see a movie or something?"

"You never wanna go out on Friday nights," he chuckled, but something felt terribly wrong about the notion. "You do homework and study on Friday and Sunday nights, you said it was a relationship rule, huh?"

"Things can change," you pouted.

"I told Tommy and Ryan I'd hang with them and the guys tonight," Billy spoke slowly. "But I can cancel if you - "

"No, no, don't," you shook your head, "go see your friends. 'Cause I'll see you in the morning, right?"

"Right."

"And I can stay the night... Right?"

Billy nodded, "Anytime you want, baby, yeah."

"Okay, cool," you spoke softly, deflating in his seat when he pulled up to your house. "Um..." You stared up at the home as if it were haunted. "Do you wanna come in for a little?"

His head tilted and brows furrowed, "I have to pick up Max from Hopper's, remember?"

"Right!" You gaped, but didn't move.

"What's wrong?" He asked with a hardened tone, making you gulp lightly. "You don't wanna go in?"

"I could, like, just go with you?"

"Baby, the fuck's going on? Know I hate repeating myself and shit, so just fucking tell me - maybe I can fucking help."

"Nothing, no, it's just, it's nothing, I'm sorry, I just - I'm sorry," you chuckled. "Guess I'm PMSing and feel clingy or something."

He only hummed as you leaned over to kiss him in parting. Both promised you love each other before you got out, jogging up the driveway and opening the front door; pausing to wave at him and then disappear in the house.

"Yo, dickhead! Hey! Grab me a beer!" Tommy Hagan called to Ryan Sheen as he went to rummage in his uncle's basement fridge. "And grab Billy one, too!"

"Nah, I'm good," Billy refused, glancing at the can in his hand. It was still half-full. He didn't feel like drinking after having time to sit and think about your behavior the past few days, worrying about you more than he wanted to get drunk.

"What?" Tommy laughed obnoxiously, smacking his teeth after. "You don't want a second? What's wrong with you, got some test you gotta study for?" He laughed at his own joke. In Tommy H.'s mind, only fucking losers study on Friday nights.

"Nah," Billy eased, setting his can down as he felt his irritation flare. He was annoyed at Tommy, sure, but also by the idea that something was wrong with you and you didn't trust him enough to say anything. "I actually gotta go, you guys," Billy stood.

"What?" Now Ryan scoffed, slapping a can of beer to Tommy's open hand. "You're not serious, dude! We've only been here, fuckin' what? Half an hour, bro!" He sucked his teeth in annoyance, rolling his eyes, "C'mon, we were going to Alicia's pool party tonight - you're supposed to give us a ride! The fuck's more important than the slutty cheerleaders in bikinis?"

"That Maria chick's been all over you, too," Tommy laughed. "You can't tell us a single thing that's better than Maria Thomas, all soaped up, in that tiny bikini she wore for the car wash. It's all our wet dreams come to life, Billy, you can't seriously consider missing that!"

"Not everybody's desperate to see Maria's tit-job. You know what? Whatever, man, I gotta go see my girl," he tugged his jean jacket on, tugging his blonde curls out of the collar.

Ryan rolled his eyes as Tommy laughed, "No way. Nuh-uh. You're seriously going to fuckin' ditchin' us for that chick?"

"Man, fuck you, guys, I'm ditching your dumbasses for my girl," Billy snapped. "Better what your fucking mouths and how you talk about her."

"Whatever, man. You're just whipped."

"She got you on some leash or some shit? Got you on a curfew like she's your mommy?" Ryan rolled his eyes, groaning, "Seriously, dude, we only see you at practice now!"

"Look, I just know something's up with her, so, I gotta check on - "

"So, what!? She ain't even tell you why she's pissed off? C'mon, man, that is such a stupid fuckin' tactic chicks use to get guys to go crawling back to their spoiled asses! Bitches do the pettiest shit to get us to suck up to them and shit."

Billy turned and easily caught Tommy by the collar of his shirt before he could even let go of his beer can, slamming the loudmouth into the wall as the aluminum can clattered. Ryan and the two other irrelevant guys left in the basement could only freeze, knowing Billy Hargrove's aggression and not wanting to become part of the receiving end.

"I told you to watch your fucking mouth," Billy seethed.

"Fuck offuva me!" Ryan pushed Billy's arms off. "She's just some bitch, bro, you've already fucked most of the school - what's so different with her?"

Billy scoffed, nodding in amusement as he backed off a few steps. "You know? If I wanna go hang with my girl instead of you deadbeat dickheads, 's exactly what I'm gonna do. Not my fault y'all ain't shit and don't know what it means to keep a chick happy."

"Fuck off, Billy! You're so fucking pussy whipped!" Tommy barked. "Ditching us for that crybaby! Dude, it's not even real! She didn't even tell you whatever she's all upset about! You just had a feeling, so, just sit the fuck down, finish your drink, down a fuckin' second beer, and then let's go to the party! See some bitches that are actually worth seeing!"

Billy shook his head, "I ever hear y'all talkin' about my girl like this again," he chuckled dryly, "might be the last time y'all can even form words. Fuck yourselves," he sneered.

Billy didn't hesitate to storm out of the room, ignoring their jeers and sneers about him being "pussy whipped" and all their complaints about him skipping out on being their ride to "the hottest party of the year." The door slammed behind him, rattling a few windows; making a beeline for his Camaro and pausing at the trunk. He found a pair of your sports shoes you'd eventually need, grabbed them in a white-knuckle grip, then got in the driver's seat and peeled away.

When Billy got to your house, he noticed the lights in your bedroom were barely turned on; knowing you didn't like overhead lighting and probably had a string of lights plugged in. On the contrary, the rest of the house seemed wide awake - every single downstairs light turned on. He grabbed your shoes and his school books (left in his backseat) and got out of his parked car, approach the front door, and paused when a barrage of voices suddenly met his ears. He froze.

The screams were full of hate, and while he couldn't make out distinct words, he heard both your mother and father's elevated voices. It was relentless, it was full of anger and hate and confusion and accusations and Billy wasn't sure how long he stood there with his fist raised. With a deep breath, Billy finally knocked at the door... Then again... Then again... And again, using the metal knocker to bang rapidly. He heard the voices lower and stopped knocking; taking a step back, then waited with his best look of indifferent innocence.

When the door ripped open, Billy was greeted by your angry-looking mother, who didn't look at who was at the door when she snarled, "What the fuck do you want!?"

"Uh, yeah, um, hi, ma'am..." Billy waved awkwardly.

"Oh, Billy," she gasped. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize it was you, sweetie. What's wrong? What - What time - ? Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry to interrupt so late, but nothing is wrong," he assured. "I just know your daughter's a little forgetful when there's a test comin' up," he chuckled, holding up the shoes and his books, "and she promised to help me nail this essay for my college portfolio... Did I use that correctly? Portfolio? She's always tryna broaden my vocabulary," he chuckled smoothly.

She smiled warmly, another victim to his charming influence, "Sure, honey, yes, of course, it's Friday or something, right, of course you can come in. C'mon, c'mon in." She stepped out the way to let Billy enter into the foyer. "Baby Girl's just upstairs in her room," she gestured with a wine glass Billy just noticed towards the staircase as she used your childhood nickname. They paused at the grand bannister, her eyes rolling when there came the muffled pounding of a bass-line from some song turned up to the max. "She's always blasting her music now adays, it'll make her deaf," your mother scoffed, taking a long sip, then waved him up. "Go on, get up there, good luck on your essay."

"Thank you, Miss Lady," he purred with a small smirk; nodding as he then watched her retreat to the sitting room, and barely a moment later, your father was exiting the kitchen.

"Billy," he greeted stiffly, glass of scotch in hand.

"Sir," Billy replied with a nod of respect, stepping out of his shoes (per household rules) to leave your parents at the front of the house's sitting room; beginning his ascent to the second level. He'd been there before, so, locating your room was like muscle memory; knocking when he approached the door and pausing when he only heard blaring music.

Another knock, no answer. So Billy opened your door.

You were sat on the ground, back against your bed, record player spinning, and the window you faced cracked open to waft the cigarette smoke out. His heart clenched when he saw you, your sadness nearly tangible as light made your tear-tracks on your cheeks glitter. "Baby," Billy spoke softly, watching you jump in shock. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, I tried to knock."

You nodded absently, "Music's on."

"Yeah, 's a good song," he allotted as he shut your door securely and asked, "want it locked?"

"Doesn't lock," you answered robotically, looking back out the window.

"Can I turn the music down, baby, please? Real hard t'hear you."

You nodded and he lowered the volume - but when he did, he understood why you had it so high. Your parents could be heard arguing downstairs, and even with an entire floor between you, it was still loud. So, he turned the music up just a little, frowned, and moved beside you, grunting lightly as his tight jeans constricted while he sat.

"Can I?" He asked, pointing at the cigarette. You handed it over mutely, your usual quip of "it's may I, not can I," nowhere to be heard. After two puffs, he meant to hand it back, but instead, you just fell into his side as if all energy you had to keep you up was depleted; a nearly drowned-out whimper emitting. Billy saw the coffee mug you had been using as an ashtray and dropped the cigarette instantly, using both arms to tug you into his lap.

Billy held you in a fetal position, gently and slowly squeezing you into his chest as he needed to feel you close; and you evidently needed to feel physical love. Billy had to gulp harshly when he felt your tears soak his shirt first, then the jerking of your shoulders; quivering of your body. This long week had finally caught up.

"Baby," he sighed, kissing your forehead. And instead of asking the idiotic and repetitive 'are you okay?', Billy instead just asked in a hush, "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

Through your tears, you answered in a hiccuping-hush, "I didn't want it to be real."

Billy just sighed again, pulling you in tighter so you set under his chin. He let you simply rest, he just wanted to feel close to you... But something caught his eye. About three feet from you was your slumped, turned-over backpack; spewing contents as if it had been tossed aside in a fit of rage. What was interesting, though, was the crumpled pieces of paper; at least one sporting a huge, uppercase F circled in red marker.

"Yeah?" He whispered, sighing as he wanted to bite his tongue but couldn't. "Seems real enough to fuck up your grades though, huh?"

"I can retake the tests."

"You're gonna have to study."

"I know... 'S kinda hard to study here, though. Can't really focus on anything when all that's, you know, going on."

"No shit, Sherlock."

You snorted through your tears, "Don't make me laugh, I'm sad."

He smirked, "Yeah, yeah, all right. Listen, I'll just... We'll go to the library for tonight, and after, we can go to my place. How's that?"

"Thought you weren't allowed overnight visitors?"

"I'm not, but sneakin' inna my place can't be worse than tryna focus while here, right? Gotta be better than listening to this shit."

You nodded against his neck as a distant glass shattered, making you relent, "Touché."

"C'mon," he decided, kissing your forehead again, "pack a bag, baby. You're comin' with me - don't gotta stay here. Not tonight. Gonna come stay with me."

You pulled back just enough to ask, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, pretty girl," he smirked, caressing your cheek. "Might even let you do that green face goop thing you love bothering me about."

"It's an avocado face mask, and when your skin is literally glowing, you can thank me then."

Billy grinned down at you, taking the moment to swoop down and connect your lips in a long kiss; breathing each other in. When a second shatter sounded from downstairs, you flinched away, but Billy was quick to hush, "Hey, hey, hey," and when your eyes met his, he assured, "you're safe with me. Always safe with me." You nodded, tears shining in your eyes. "And you don't ever have to hide these parts of you - not from me. Never from me. I love you, pretty girl," he whispered, "and all parts that make you exactly who you are. Family included."

"I don't deserve you," you whispered.

"Nah, what you don't deserve is dealing with this shit. So, c'mon, get a bag together. We'll come back for what you need later, but get something together for the weekend."

You thanked him with a kiss, and while you got your things together, Billy mutely reached out to examine the pages in his grasp. He sighed, noting the three different failing tests and knew he had to "step up" his "boyfriend game" if he truly wanted to help you; and for the first time, he knew, without any selfish motives, he honestly did. He figured, for all you've done for him, providing you with something akin to a safe environment was a drop in the bucket; shoving those tests back into your school bag, standing, and helping you gather the last of your necessities.

Who needed slutty cheerleaders in soaped-up bikinis when this, right here, was what true love was? Shockingly, not Billy Hargrove.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[rainylana]

“Stay the night.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: after eddie gets his ass kicked for helping you out, you show up to his trailer to aid his wounds.

warnings: enemies to lovers, fighting, slight harassment, very brief smut sorry y’all, jason carver as his cunt self, mostly told from eddie’s perspective, i don’t want to give away the major plot twist in this so all i’ll say is that there is talk of major physical trauma/abuse, also credits to @vol2eddie for helping me with the idea! also, should i do a part two to this?

pt 2

The only reason he even debated going and helping you was because of Wayne’s golden rule. Always respect women. Help them when they need it. Protect them. Wayne was old fashioned when it came to his viewpoints, but he made sure Eddie was raised well and had a good morale compass. Right now, Eddie was cursing it. Of all people.

He was just about to hop in his van to leave school for the day when the basketball team caught his eye, and the pretty girl they surrounded. He threw his backpack through his rolled down window and rested a hand on his hip, watching through his dark sunglasses. “Oh, shit.” He said, realizing you were the girl who’s attention had been caught from the pubescent young men.

Eddie hated you, and you him. It had been like that for years. Everyone knew it. Everyone knew you too couldn’t tolerate being in the same room together. The school guidance counselor even had to change two of his classes so he wouldn’t have to engage with you. He didn’t like to think about way back when, the days you where once friends. It almost made him sad.

“Fuck,” He turned to get in his van, let it be, but it was clear whatever they were saying to you was making you very uncomfortable. When he seen Jason Carver, enough was enough. “Damn it.”

He trudged up the hill to the patch of grass you were standing in, a beating in his heart indicating his nervousness. “Hey!” He barked, getting the attention of everyone. He tried his best not to look small. 

“Munson?” Carver raised a brow, surprised to see him. “May we help you with something?”

You locked eyes with Eddie, face masked in surprise and curiosity. Jason had cornered you, along with his goons, trying to get you to go out with him. As if you’d ever go out with him. You loathed him. He wouldn’t let you pass, wouldn’t let you say no. By the time he had grabbed your elbow, Eddie Munson had shown his face in the crowd, the last person you had expected to see.

Eddie and you had history. Not good history, either. You used to be very close in 7th grade. Almost best friends. To this day, Eddie didn’t know why you dipped and broke his young heart. You never gave him a reason. It wasn’t important for him to know. Besides, it was easier to hate him.

“Just seeing what the problem was.” Eddie shrugged, looking away from you to Jason, trying to keep his shoulders tall and broad. Jason was significantly taller than him.

“Problem?” Jason shook his head. “No, no, there’s no problem. Just curious as to why you suddenly give a shit about y/n over here.” He laughed, along with his friends.

He laughed, too. Carver had a point. Still, golden rule, Eddie. Golden rule. “Yeah, well,” He took a step toward him. “Just making sure no one was uncomfortable.”

He ignored you completely now. He wouldn’t look at you.

“Uncomfortable?” Jason scoffed. “Freak Munson is getting brave, boys! I think if you don’t step back, man, the only one who will be uncomfortable is you.”

God, he’d almost broken his record. He’d gone almost 10 days without a black eye. He sighed heavily, bringing back his fist.

•

“What do you want?” Eddie was surprised to see you on the porch of his trailer, caressing a first aid kit in your hands. It was late, almost nine o’clock. There was a chill in the air and you had a thick coat wrapped around you.

“You have a black eye.” You pointed out awkwardly, shifting your weight. “I came here to…well, thank you for what you did. And to patch you up. You’ve got a little cut up there.” You lifted your finger.

“Mhm, I’m aware.” He said, holding a cold beer to his eyebrow. “But I don’t need your thanks and I don’t need you freezing to death on my porch. I didn’t do any of that for you.”

You sniffed in the cold, closing your arms to your chest. “Oh? Then why did you?”

He rolled his eyes, debating kicking you off his porch steps. “Look, my uncle taught me to respect women, okay? Look out for…well, your breed.”

You held your head high. “I see. Very admirable of you. You gonna let me in so I can help?” You let yourself in anyways, pushing past him. You tried not to stare and recall the memories of when you’d last been inside his home. It had been many years.

“Hey!” Eddie slammed the door shut. “This is breaking and entering!”

“You’re gonna preach to me about the law?” You raised a brow, taking off your coat. “You of all people?”

“How bout shuttin’ the fuck up, eh?” He plopped down on his couch, glaring at you. “I don’t need any of your help to begin with.”

“But you let me in.” You kicked off your boots, giving him a pointed look.

“I can kick you out anytime, L/n.” He stared at you through his lashes. “I suggest you doctor me up before you’re kicked to the curb.”

Your both stared at each other for a moment before you sat beside him on the couch. He stiffened when you touched his cut with an alcohol wipe, making you apologize softly under your breath. Neither him nor you thought you’d be in such close proximity ever again. It felt awkward, at least that’s how Eddie saw it. It was awkward and unconscious. He wanted you gone, but he couldn’t deny that your touch was almost a little bit comforting to his throbbing headache.

“I really do mean it,” You broke the silence, noticing the small cuts on his knuckles. He’d gotten in several good punches, but he looked like shit. “I appreciate what you did, even if it wasn’t for me. I owe you this.”

He flexed his fingers when you started dabbing at his ring finger. “You don’t owe me anything.”

You wrapped a small bandaid around his pinky finger, switching to his other hand where it had been bruised. “Still. Thank you, Eddie. Those guys are jerks.”

“What did they want, anyways?” He found himself contributing to the conversation.

“Jason was trying to convince me to go out with him,” You paused to look at him, the sudden look of your eyes startled him, his body tense and uncomfortable. “I said no but he wouldn’t listen. He grabbed my arm. That’s when you showed up.”

Eddie scoffed lightly. “Yeah, sounds about right for Carver. Piece of shit, if you ask me.”

“I agree.” You nodded, wiping away dried blood around his knuckles.

You both found it odd that you were having a normal conversation, not a screaming match. It was kind of nice actually. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.” You sighed, wrapping another finger in a bandaid. “How’s Wayne?”

“He’s fine.” He said dismissively.

Your eyes dropped and you looked up at him. He wasn’t looking at you this time, only the floor. It killed you that Eddie hated you so bad. It killed you that you had to hate him. You wished you could explain things to him. Make the world twist back in time. But again, it was easier to hate him. Wasn’t it?

“I’ll get this done so I can go.” You halfway muttered, causing Eddie to look at you. He found himself not wanting you to leave.

“Sorry.” He licked his lips. “Old man is fine. Working everyday. Bringing home the bacon. Same old. You remember that, I’m sure.” He leaned back on the couch, allowing you to decorate his fingers with bandaids. He didn’t question the girly designs on them.

You breathed heavily. “Yes, I do. I miss him.”

When was the punchline? You two didn’t do this. You didn’t coerce with one another. “Why are you really here?” Eddie questioned you.

“What do you mean?” You paused your work.

“You come here to mock me or something?” He raised his brow, an inquisitive tone in his deep voice. “Tell me I shouldn’t have gotten in the way?”

“No.” You said firmly, placing his hand down. “I told you why I’m here.”

“Well, I don’t believe you.” He sat up to glare at you, dark curls tossed behind his shoulder.

“I’m not out to get you, Eddie!” You raised your voice. “Believe it or not, I came here with sincere intentions.”

He scoffed. “Sincere intentions, huh? That what you thought when you ditched me in eighth grade? Was that sincere intentions?”

“You don’t know the whole story, Eddie!” You snapped, gathering your trash and standing up. “You can hate me all you want but it’s not fair. Nothing about anything is fair!” You ranted, throwing your bandaid sleeves in the trash.

Eddie’s eyes were wide, startled. He looked down to his hands, seeing the pink and purple bandaids. An awkward silence ensued.

“I’m really sorry, Eddie.” Your voice broke across the room, making him snap his head up. Were you crying? “I never wanted any of this to happen. It just…I didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” You were crying.

Eddie stiffened. He didn’t know what to do. Here, his mortal enemy was crying in his home. He had the urge to kick you out, yet comfort you at the same time. But how was he to do that? “You’re not making any sense, L/n.” He said awkwardly.

“I know, I know.” You had your back to him, waving your hand. “I’m sorry, I know. I just…wish things could be different. I wish you could know…how sorry I am that things turned out the way they did.”

He raised one singular brow, mouth falling in ajar. He’d never been more confused in his life. “Listen, Y/n, I’m feeling very uncomfortable right now so…you want a beer or something?” He tried to contribute to the conversation in some helpful manor.

You turned, stilling his movements at the sight of your tears and snotty nose. He swallowed hard. “You alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. I just…can we talk about somethings?”

“What things?”

“Things from back then.”

“Back then as….?”

“Eighth grade.”

No, not really. He didn’t want that. But did he? This could be his chance to get some answers, and it was clear you were ready to give them. He halfway wanted to turn you away, but the sight of your tears made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want you crying, oddly enough.

“Yeah, okay.” He gave up with a heavy sigh, patting the seat on the couch next to him for you to sit.

When you sat down next to him, your shoulders brushed and he stiffened. He cleared his throat, fiddling with his hands. You wiped your face with your sleeve. Maybe he should’ve offered you a tissue. Did he even have those?

“You remember my parents, right?” You started, making him scoff.

“Yeah, they’re assholes. Why?”

Here goes nothing. You turned to put your back to him, placing your hands at the side of your shirt. With one movement, you lifted it over your head, leaving you in your red bra.

Eddie jumped like a startled deer, but settled when he saw what was in front of him. Your back was decorated in thick, red marks, splatted across it’s length. Eddie couldn’t help but move closer, his jaw falling slack. He placed his hand on your shoulder to get a better look.

“You knew they hated you.” Your voice was thick with tears. “Especially my dad. He said you were evil and wicked. He said you’d…you’d take- advantage of me. He said if I didn’t stop being your friend then he’d..he’d, he’d kill you.”

Eddie felt like he was going to be sick. He knew these marks were from a belt. A thick one. You were bruised everywhere. He stomach churched and he thought he was going to be sick. He traced a bruise with his finger.

“My parents are creative when it comes to dealing out punishments.” You laughed without humor, a crack in your voice. “Eddie, I know you hate me, but I hope you don’t really hate me. Because I don’t hate you. I never have. It was just easier to let you go. I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”

It was like Eddie had been transported back to eighth grade. His hair was buzzed and he had horrible acne scars and buck teeth, but you were still as beautiful as he’d ever thought. Eddie’s heart had broke and it was as if no time had past, there had been no water under the bridge you were standing on.

He got up and moved to the other end of the couch where he could see your face, and he pulled you in for a hug, careful where he put his arms. “Y/n, I’m so sorry.” He pleaded with you. “Forgive me, I’m so so sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t help but cry in his arms, relishing the feeling of having your friend back. “It’s okay. Just hold me.”

He scooted closer and held you tighter. Mentally, his mind was a battlefield, connecting dots and pieces of a puzzle that he hadn’t known existed. Everything made so much sense now. He hated every bit of it.

Eddie held you for almost an hour. You both laid on the couch where you stayed on top of his chest, torsos flush against the other. It was extremely intimate. Eddie asked the questions he wanted, to which he finally got answers to. It made you feel so much better, a weight that wasn’t no longer pressed against your windpipe.

Within the minutes, you were both looking at each other, staring into each other’s eyes with a gentle softness. Eddie wanted so badly to kiss you, a thought he never imagined would cross his mind. He also hoped you weren’t aware of his slight hard on. After all, a beautiful girl was laying on top of him, shirtless.

“Kiss me.” You said through a whisper, brave and quiet.

Eddie gulped, giving a slight nod. “Okay.”

He leaned in until his plush lips were soft against yours. With a tiny movement, he kissed you, opening his mouth ever so slightly to deepen the kiss. It really wasn’t even much of one. It was so delicate and soft as snow, but it meant the world to you. When you put your hand on his cheek, he took it as a sign to kiss you harder. He did, pressing his face into yours and opening his lips wide to give you his tongue. Your lips lapped and licked and your breath was hard in each other’s faces.

You felt the heat between your legs throb. You couldn’t but moan. He groaned right back. As much as he wanted to have you, now wasn’t a good time. It wasn’t the right time, not of all circumstances. He gave you one last kiss before he pulled away. You were almost sweating. He smiled, pulling you back into his chest. “Stay the night.”

[literaila]

what did reader and satoru do when they got called in to the guidance counselor because megumi beat up some kids 😭

it’s safe to say that satoru handles the talking in this particular instance.

because you’re just looking at megumi, arms crossed, face blank. in reality the silence is probably worse than if you were just scolding him.

but you’re not. this is your third time sitting in this office.

megumi is cowering even further into his seat with each second that ticks by.

“he’s a…” satoru is smiling at megumi’s counselor, and you’re glad that he’s charming in his own, foolish way. “problem child. we’re trying to train it out of him, but apparently restricting food isn’t very effective.”

the counselors face is skeptical. you nudge satoru with an elbow without breaking megumi’s gaze.

“kidding,” satoru laughs. “i’m just kidding. please don’t report us.”

“this is his second suspension,” the counselor says. “if he gets a third—“

“he’ll be expelled?” you ask, raising a brow not at him, but your little boy.

the twelve year old who really knows better.

“yes. we do not tolerate physical altercations, but witness accounts say that mr. fushiguro was defending a child from another student.”

satoru hums and you just stare.

the man sitting in front of you looks very confused. the three of you are communicating in hand gestures and looks that he doesn’t—and shouldn’t—understand.

he clears his throat. “so, we’ll just have you sign this acknowledgment, and megumi can resume class again at the start of next week.”

“great!” satoru claps his hands together. “hear that? next week?” he pokes your side, glasses sliding down his nose.

“uh-huh.”

megumi winces.

“…i’ll sign then. do you have a pen?”

and then the three of you are walking out of the school doors, satoru’s hand on megumi’s shoulder, and your eyes on every inch of him. he’s got a cut on his cheek and bruises along his hands.

it’s not that you’re not used to it—more that you’re not used to it on a small little boy.

and megumi is glowering.

satoru tries to get your attention with a hand, but you don’t bother to give him the time of day. honestly, right now you’re preoccupied with your son—your son who is about to be kicked out of school.

“i’m sorry—“

“do your hands hurt?”

you and megumi say at the same time, and his eyes whip towards yours, blue and guilty.

seriously, for someone with no biological ties to satoru, he really does look like him.

“you’re sorry?”

“i know i shouldn’t—“ megumi stops, groaning. he turns toward you. “i just… there were these boys and they were trying to mess with this other kid and i—“

“he was trying to help,” satoru says, ruffling his hair.

megumi nods.

you raise a brow. “why are you on his side?”

“because it was just a normal fistfight,” satoru abswers, shaking his head. “remember last time? with the cursed energy thing?” he’s smiling like he’s won this argument.

you sigh.

“i’m sorry. really. but i couldn’t just watch them bully someone else.”

“of course you couldn’t, ‘gumi. you’re a fighter,” satoru pinches his cheeks.

“we are not praising this behavior.”

“i’m just stating a fact!”

“megumi, what’s the one rule we set for school?”

megumi kicks at the ground. “don’t get into fights.”

“then why’d you do it, kid?”

“clearly, those devil children—“

“satoru.”

satoru mimes zipping his mouth shut and you both look to megumi.

megumi bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “i don’t know.”

at that, your entire body softens. it’s true that you and satoru have tried your best—but the mind of a twelve year old boy is a strange place.

if you hid in the pantry when you were scared as a little girl, then megumi goes down swinging.

you crouch down, finger nudging his chin so he’ll look at you. “if you can’t handle school, being around those kids then we need to figure something else out, megumi. you can’t hurt people—even if they’re being mean.”

“i know.”

satoru messes with his hair again. “ah, he reminds me of myself. so strong and intelligent.”

“you’re not helping.”

“don’t you agree, megumi?” satoru asks the boy, ignoring you.

you sigh, standing up again. “let’s go home. we’ll talk more later.”

this time, satoru moves between you and megumi, slinging an awkward arm around both of your shoulders. “well, i think it all worked out splendidly.”

“shut up, satoru.”

“what? my son won his fist fight and my wife isn’t pouting anymore.”

“i was not pouting.”

“i thought we weren’t supposed to lie around the—“

[captainpondlilly]

Okay! The Gilear plush has arrived. This is my best attempt at all of his lines. Two have been unintelligible to me, and several are pretty long and fast which made it hard to follow.

My search history is.. hospitals near me, foot stuck in object, head stuck in object

You're low, he's low, It's Gilear's day baby!*

A guy on the street kicked me in the nuts as hard he could

I don't like "lunchlad"

Help me to understand what I have done to deserve this

My horoscope says "today is a good day to die motherfucker"

I ate a quick cup of yogurt on the way over here to bolster my spirits after I changed, I'm ever so sorry

What do you mean "When" life gives you lemons

I went to apply for the guidance counselor position but I was usurped by a drug dealing werewolf named Jawbone

In my haste to put the armor on I buckled the leg plate and think I clipped the tip of my penis against one of the leg plates and Everytime I move it feels like it might fall off so I ASSURE you demon I have no pride to speak of!

In highschool I was voted "Most Likely To Get Pushed Out Of A Tree"

My car was repossessed by the ride share app that I was working for

It's actually a good thing that no one came to my birthday party because the bounce house flooded and was swept out to sea

I just discovered that *all* of my emails have been going to everyone's spam

Unfortunately I have been banned from that hot air balloon service not because of anything that happened to me in particular but the guys who run it just sort of know my whole deal

Mmm this yogurt tastes like *potatoes*

I asked the woman at Home Depot why my plants kept dying and she said it seemed like they were reaching away from the sun

I've found out recently that one of my shoes is so filled with mildew because a pipe in my bedroom is leaking and I've developed a fungal infection in my foot which I didn't know was possible for elves to get

I don't think that I've ever "Peaked" in that we started neutral and have been going downhill ever since

I am currently trapped in a storm drain. The bottom half of me is above the ground, the other is below

Another Own Goal for Gilear Faeth, yes

Everyone knows you eat 7 spiders in your sleep every year, but I have a bunch coming into me the backway

My sandcastle I'm afraid was destroyed, as I was about to finish it, the tide came in and with it a man holding a bazooka who shot me and killed me

I know you're not going to believe this but Ive just been kicked by a snake

I found out the hard way that people can legally reject status as an emergency contact

The title of my autobiography is going to be Gilear Faeth: Please Stop

On my way here I was carrying a large bowl of Italian wedding soup which shattered on the ground in front of me and several of the small pasta balls rolled through the cracks and alerted vermin to my presence. I've since learned after a trip to the hospital I am deathly allergic to the sting of millipedes which is a way of me saying I need someone to come down to the hospital and pay for this. There is a doctor holding a gun to my head and now that I think about it this clinic is in the back of a storage unit and I think have gone to the wrong place

he said and I quote "he'd stomp my goon ass" if I ever got on his bus again

Gorthalax it was very nice to meet you, you've made a cuckold of me

We're the throw up boys!*

I've been informed that the brownies I consumed were laced with cannabis and rat poison

I am completely unprepared for the perils ahead and am deeply frightened, I'll go get the coffee

A gorilla monster punched me so hard in the back of the head I died

Today I have been hit by 3 scooters

Everytime you squeeze my hand it breaks several small bones

My imaginary friend as a child ghosted me because he said I was too depressing

Do you want me to go back? I warn you, it will break me

Can I interest you in an herbal soda? You must understand I am an intern at a ponzi scheme*

When I go to sleep at night I dream of a world where I might be able to walk through a field without stepping on a rake or gopher hole

If anyone needs me... I will be surprised.

If it wasn't for bad luck, Id have no luck is both true and what was written upon the billboard I crashed through

I wonder if any of these will feature in Junior year 👀

*Thanks to @cappa-cappa for telling me the lines I wasn't able to make out!!

[little-annie]

In This Lifetime

---

Vecna's dead and the gates are closed and life is finally back to normal.

Well except for one thing.

Eddie's entire view of Steve Harrington has been tipped on its axis, shattered, booted off a fucking cliff. Whatever you want to call it. Because, well, the guy's not an asshole. He's strong and passionate and so goddamn caring. He's probably the kindest, most giving person Eddie's ever met and although he'd like to say he doesn't know what to think of it, we'll he does. And he thinks he's in love.

Steve Harrington is like fucking sunshine and unfortunately for Eddie's fragile heart, that glow of light doesn't fade.

They become friends. Best Friends. Nearly inseparable. Attached at the hip throughout the years.

They move to Chicago together, rent a shitty two bedroom apartment that maybe as well be one because they still have nightmares and being plastered next to one another seems to calm those terrors.

They laugh and they sing and they dance around the kitchen while they smile and cook and inevitably burn whatever meal they had planned, opting to order pizza instead.

Eddie's in a band and Steve never misses a show.

Steve's in school, planning to become a Guidance Counselor and Eddie's by his side quizzing him with the reward of candy in hand.

It's perfect, living life together in domestic bliss. Even if all they are is only just friends.

But it's still perfect all the same and if it was up to Eddie, he'd spend the rest of his life in these years. Repeat them again and again, if only to fall asleep at Steve's side and wake up to honey-brown eyes every morning.

But he knows it can't always be like this and that's why this is the hardest thing he's ever done.

This is the hardest thing he's ever done, and he's done some difficult shit. Like surviving a near death experience in literal hell being the main contender. But sitting across from Steve Harrington as he turns a little golden ring between his fingers and goes over his proposal plan, yeah that's pretty fucking difficult.

And it shouldn't be, he should be excited, he should be cheering for his friend but there's a gnawing feeling in his gut that's telling him it should be him. It should be him that Steve drops to a knee for, it should be him that Steve professes his undying love to, it should be him that'll one day get to call this man his husband.

But it's not. It's not because even though he's known this ragtag group of monster hunters for years now he's never been able to come to terms with telling them that he's gay and he sure as shit hasn't come to terms with telling Steve Harrington that he loves him and loves him in a very much not 'just friends' kind of way.

So that's why when Steve asks him what he should say to this woman [Becky, who quite frankly could double as Eddie's twin] he spills the beans. In a very subtle way he supposes. He doesn't come out, doesn't outright tell Steve he loves him, but as he's telling Steve what to say to his future fiancé, he's letting his emotions come out like word vomit, only wishing Steve knew he was talking about him.

"I don't know man." Eddie huffs, shuffling uncomfortably in his chair, eyes avoiding Steve's as he contemplates his words.

But it's hardly more than a few seconds before they come tumbling out, Eddie sucking in shaky breath before he stares into the carpet and begins to speak, "Tell her she's like sunshine, beautiful and bold and the source of life. That she's like the blood in your veins, forever present in the most beautiful way and the only thing that keeps your heart beating. Tell her that even on the most difficult days that she's the one you want to see, the one you want to hold, the one that makes you take the breath you need and steady your heart when it's beating out of control."

It's a building thing, slowly growing out of control, he can feel his pulse thrumming in his veins and he's beginning to think he might just do something crazy. He pauses for a moment, gauging Steve's expression. He'd gone to get them beer and hasn't bothered to sit back down since Eddie began talking. There's an indecipherable expression on his face and he's stood still, in front of the couch, beers on the coffee table and he's silent, waiting for Eddie to continue.

And you know, if Eddie was a normal man he'd stay in his chair, talk to his friend from an acceptable distance away and not profess his love, but he's not. He's a showman and as his acting skills get the best of him, he's moving, shuffling across the carpet, taking Steve's hand in his own and kneeling before him. Because why not make this a harder interaction for himself. Christ, it nearly feels like the real thing as he looks into Steve's eyes and shuffles the littlest amount closer.

Eddie shudders a breath, taking a single second to appreciate this moment, even if it'll never truly be real and then he continues, "You get down on your goddamn knee Steve Harrington and you say, ' Sweetheart you're the only thing that keeps me alive in this crazy fucked up world. Having you in my arms and my heart keeps me steady and breathing. I've been through some shit, but I'd go through it all again to find you in the end. The blood, the sweat, the tears, nearly fucking dying to be by your side for the rest of my life. I want to grow old with you Darling, I want us to grey and weather together. To find ourselves fifty years from now watching our kids and our grandkids; all the life we've brought into this world. All the love our life together has brought into existence."

Eddie's crying now, because of course he is, he's confessing his love to someone he knows will never hold the same emotions for him, but through a watery laugh and a sniffle he carries on, tightening his grip on Steve's hands.

"I want you in this lifetime and the next, in any way that you'll have me. I can't bear the thought of a single day without you let alone an entire lifetime. I'll find you, I promise I will Sweetheart, but for this lifetime, I ask that you spend the remainder of it with me."

It's cheesy, he knows, but it seems to take effect because as he looks into the eyes of the man above him he sees the swell of tears gathering along thick dark lashes.

The room's suddenly silent, save for the pounding of Eddie's pulse in his ears and the hope that Steve didn't see through his actions or words. That all he saw was his rather expressive friend acting out as per usual.

But a tear finally escapes and rolls down Steve's tanned cheek and a rather aggressive sob breaks past his lips.

Eddie's to his feet in seconds pulling Steve to his chest, one arm firmly around his waist while another wraps around his shoulders and cradles a head of mousy hair as close as he can. Steve's sobbing, short shaky breaths and surely there's snot and tears staining Eddie's shirt, but it's not like he can say much, what with silent tears streaming down his own cheeks and dripping to Steve's hair.

Steve hiccups around a sob, voice shaky and muffled against Eddie's shoulder, "I can't do this."

God, that's not what Eddie wanted to do, he didn't mean to scare Steve away from his impending engagement. No matter how much he wished it was him. He loves Steve, but if he can't have him, he just wants him to be happy. He deserves happiness. He deserves love.

Even if it's not with him.

Eddie cards his fingers soothingly through Steve's hair as he speaks, "Yes you can. I know you can. Steve, you love her, you're just scared. You can do this."

Another sob heaves against Eddie's chest while Steve continues to shake in his arms, "I can't Eddie."

"Why not Sweetheart?"

Steve's knees give out as a pained nose escapes his throat, dropping to the floor, taking Eddie with him, he doesn't answer, only continues to cry and burrow into Eddie's chest upon settling into their new position on the ground.

He's verging on a panic attack, Eddie knows this, he's seen it many times before. The way Steve's fists clench in his shirt and his breaths are short and sudden, gasping for air that's not filling his lungs, he's flushed white and Eddie knows it's only a matter of time before he gets sick.

"Stevie, come on, you gotta settle down. I'm sorry if I said anything wrong, I didn't mean to if I did. We can talk about it later. But right now you just gotta breathe for me okay." Eddie grabs Steve's hand, tight fist and all and holds it against his chest, allowing Steve to feel his steady breaths, "Breathe in with me, come on Big Guy. Take a deep breath in." Eddie takes a large lungful and holds it for a second, waiting for Steve to do the same and even though it's shaky and raspy he manages.

They repeat this process ten times over, Steve's head and hand now resting against Eddie's chest, their backs to the couch, the rooms fallen silent enough that only muffled sniffles are audible aside from the hum of electricity and the joyous screams of children outside.

After a moment, Steve wiggles himself closer, if even possible and again states, "Eddie, I can't do this."

He's not quite sure how to answer, really. Should he push or should he allow Steve to call off the engagement before it even happens. Lord knows where his own wishes lie. "You wanna tell me why you think you can't do this?"

Steve's breathing picks up again, but before he can reach hysterics Eddie's fingers card through his hair and he soothes Steve back to baseline.

"You," Steve whispers after quite some time of Eddie waiting for a response. It's a quiet thing, Eddie wouldn't have even heard it if he wasn't intentionally listening for Steve to say something.

It's a pain in the chest to know he may be the reason for Steve not to propose, sure he wished it wouldn't happen, but not like this. For him to say something so stupid that makes Steve call the whole thing off, "I'm sorry if I-"

He doesn't have time to finish his sentence before Steve's speaking, "No, not like that, you have nothing to be sorry for Eds. Its just- fuck- I wish I could tell you."

Combing his fingers through Steve's hair, Eddie reassures, "Steve, you can tell me. Please. I want to help."

Steve shakes his head, wrapping an arm tight around Eddie's waist, tucking his head in close, "It's nothing you can help with Eddie."

Nosing against the side of Steve's head, hair tickling his nose, Eddie whispers, soft, gentle, scared to frighten Steve off, "Try me."

And then it's silent. Dead quiet and for quite a long while. He knows Steve will answer, he knows he's just gathering his words, sorting things out before he speaks. It's obviously something big, something important to have warranted such a reaction from such a strong man.

It's with a sudden movement that Steve's sitting upright, turning to face Eddie with the appearance of confidence and sheer fear on his face. He looks fucking terrified. Working his jaw, eyes darting all over Eddie's face before he finally settles on his eyes and speaks, "I love you, okay." The words are far from gentle, they're sharp, rushed, sudden, like if he didn't get them out they'd burn a hole in his throat, but before Eddie has a second to even process those few words, Steve's barreling on.

"And when you were down on your knee infront of me, I wanted nothing more than for that to be the real thing, for those words to actually be directed towards me because I love you so fucking much it hurts. And I get it, I do. I know you're straight and we can never be a thing or really even get married but Eds, fuck, I love you so much and I can't marry Becky knowing I feel that way about you. I was going to try because I knew this could ne-"

He knows what Steve was meaning to say, but Eddie had to cut him off before those words could be spoken into existence because they're wrong. It can happen. Holy fucking Christ, Steve's loves him. It can all happen.

"I love you too," he says with such haste, taking Steve's face into his hands as he speaks with so much passion it nearly hurts, "-so much."

Cheeks squished in Eddie's grasp, Steve's eyes begin to well with tears once again, but now, now a smile is fighting its way to his lips, only growing with utter disbelief as Eddie quietly says, "and I meant every word of it. Every fucking word Sweetheart."

Steve's eyes search Eddie's own for only half a second before their lips crash together. It's a feverish thing, years of pent up love and need crammed into a single embrace, but their lips move as if they've met a million times before. And maybe they have. Maybe through the thousands of years this little rock in space has been turning, they've never left one another's side. Maybe they do find each other in every lifetime. Maybe they fall in love against all odds. Maybe this lifetime is no different.

Many Years Later

Turns out, it's not different at all.

When the time comes, so does the real proposal. It's been planned for years and when word of legalisation reaches Eddie's ears he's running to Steve. Dashing through streets, shouldering past strangers and dropping with a painful thud to the hardwood of Steve's office floor. In those few short moments to follow, the life he wished to have so many years ago becomes a reality.

Steve's his fiancé.

Soon to be his husband.

In this lifetime and the next.

---

[goldenhickeysandramen]

Reality checks in Army

Your fav doesn't inhabit a dystopian world where everyone (fandom, company, members...) universally despised him, with you as their sole supporter.

Your fav is an adult living in a democracy as part of the artistic and affluent elite, with the autonomy to make their own choices, free from external control [maybe you are not because of age or type of culture or society, but he is].

Your fav possesses greater knowledge of the music industry and his career than you do. Respect their decisions and give him credit.

Your fav is just that—your favorite. Embrace the diversity of artistic tastes in Army and respect everyone's freedom to choose who they support and stream in this Chapter 2

K-pop incorporates cultural elements like fanservice, skinship, bromance, and the “single” idol for his fans, which are inherent to the industry. So, you will always encounter "shippers" "supporters" " solos". Be respectful of the variety because that's the commercial goal of the whole fucking industry.

Thus, avoid adopting a moral high ground; being a "better fan" isn't solely determined by your hours of support/stream. Respect your fav and the diversity of his fan base +

Remember your fav simply asks you for support in their artistic work and respect for their personal boundaries. If you don’t agree, you have the option to step away.

Your fav is surrounded by a robust support network, including family, friends, advisors, counselors, and lawyers who offer professional and personal guidance when needed. They, along with your favorite, know what's best for them, not you.

You might not have affection for the people your fav cares for and decides to share the time with, but you need to respect them. You cannot alter your fav's relationships, no matter how much you wish to reshape reality. At the very least, refrain from insulting their loved ones; that's not to be the good and supportive fan you claim to be.

Your fav is their own person, not a reflection of your desires. They experience their own emotions, not yours. They lead their own life. Focus on appreciating what they offer you, and don’t try to create your own version of him (the fall will be harder)

Embrace a live-and-let-live attitude within the fandom and be respectful.

The joy will be greater 💜

[cryoculus]

— imagine being loved by me! ⟢

pairing: xiao | alatus x reader

summary: the one where your best friend gives you ten tattoos over the next ten years. the problem? you fall deeper in love each time the ink stains your skin.

word count: 7.1k words

tags: modern au, tattoo artist!xiao, childhood friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, relationship study, non-explicit smut

warnings: emotionally stunted xiao but i fink everyone knows that already, mentions of needles, there's smut but it isn't detailed

notes: this blog's been dead for Months but i thought i'd revive it with this fic that my beloved @delvalentine commissioned me to make! i love u to DEATH, v, i hope i did your requests justice :')

header art cr: yuca7302 on twt

01.

“Ow, fuck! Can you be more careful?!”

“I am careful. You just have a shitty pain tolerance.”

“Wow, that’s not something you should say to your first willing client,” you huff, trying not to pull away as Xiao repeatedly punctures the skin of your forearm with pen ink and a not-so-sterile sewing needle. “My family could sue you if I die from a blood infection, you know.”

Xiao rolls his eyes. “Something this small won’t kill anyone. Plus, you came here on your own volition, so stop complaining.”

“Are you saying you’re just going to let me die of sepsis if everything goes to shit?”

“Pretty much.”

You didn’t know what to expect when your best friend of several years asked if you wanted a tattoo of your favorite constellation. It’s been a running joke between the both of you that the two moles on your forearm looked a lot like two-thirds of Orion’s belt, and that maybe, in another life, you would’ve been born with all three of its stars on your skin. 

You should’ve known that Xiao likes to blow your expectations out of the water—whether he intends to do so or not.

It’s sundown when he finishes embedding black pen ink beneath your slightly inflamed skin. Xiao doesn’t comment when you repeatedly complain about how much that fucking hurt, and that you’re never agreeing to do it again, but you don’t miss the way his eyes occasionally flit up to the starry sky before shifting to your new ‘tattoo’ as he walks you home.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget that night. How you admired the amateur handiwork in the soft glow of your nightlight while thinking about the boy who gave you a star fashioned with his own fingers where others would’ve given flowers instead.

But then you remember Xiao is nothing but your best friend, and it’s a little…weird to be thinking about him like that. 

Must be the sepsis fucking with my head, you muse before flicking off your nightlight, and the room is plunged into pitch black darkness. 

02. 

You’re eighteen when you realize Xiao is completely serious about this tattooing business.

It comes as a not-so-pleasant surprise to you one day when your high school’s guidance counselor approaches you while you’re hurrying over to your next class—asking if you’ve seen Xiao around these days because apparently, your best friend hasn’t been attending his classes for a better part of the semester. 

Of course, you receive the news with a scowl. While you don’t exactly see him all that much at school because of how different your schedules are, you never expected to find out he’s been playing hooky all this time. 

You don’t particularly like sticking your nose into other people’s business—especially not Xiao’s, since you know how he likes to keep to himself better than most. But for some reason, you aren’t able to resist, and end up calling him after excusing yourself from your two-hour Biology lecture. 

Once your classes are done, you head over to a nearby tattoo parlor whose address Xiao texted to you right after you squeezed his whereabouts out of him during that phone call. It’s located in one of the more run-down parts of town that your parents would’ve detested Xiao for inviting you to. But whatever prejudice you might’ve had about the denizens of this district all go up in smoke once you meet the owner herself.

“You should’a seen Xiao practicing with our machines a few months ago!” Beidou, as Xiao had sheepishly introduced earlier, barks out a laugh before slinging an arm around your best friend’s shoulders. “Said there’s someone he wanted to give permanent tatts to. I’m guessing you’re the guest of honor?”

“Beidou,” Xiao groans. “It’s not a big deal. I already practiced on her before.”

You don’t completely catch it when Beidou makes an inappropriate joke as a response to what Xiao just said—eyes trained on the fading dot on your forearm. It’s been two years since Xiao gave you your first ‘tattoo’, and even if the receding ink makes it look like one of Orion’s stars are starting to die out, it’s still there.

“Okay,” you say in the middle of their bickering, startling both Xiao and Beidou in the process. “I’ll let him ink me if he wants to.”

Xiao stares at you with brows furrowed. “You sure?”

No, you’re not sure because as much as you want to support Xiao in what seems to be a budding passion of his, you’re certain that your father is going to kill you when he sees a full-blown tattoo on any part of your body. You barely got away with the artificial mole that Xiao did for you a few years back.

“Positive.” You back your words up with an indignant huff before sifting through the pre-made designs on Beidou’s catalog. “You just have to put it somewhere not everyone can see, I guess.”

Beidou snorts out another jarring laugh when Xiao clicks his tongue to alleviate the embarrassment that’s painting his face just a touch of red. 

Earlier in the day, you intended to scold your best friend for not taking his studies seriously, but ended up going home that day with a new piece inked onto the skin of your left hip: a little spruce twig that you last remember seeing in your old hometown—years before you even met Xiao. 

There’s no particular meaning behind it, apart from a hint of sentimentality and rebelliousness. It’s your first actual tattoo, and one of your best friends gave it to you, free of charge. Even if it hurts ten times more than Xiao’s novice needle method from two years ago, you end up loving it more than you thought. One time, you stare at Xiao’s intricate handiwork in the mirror for so long that you nearly run late for your first class of the day. 

(Another thing that makes this particular piece memorable is the process itself.

Xiao is a person who’s always been startlingly precise in everything he decides to put his head into. When you learned that he wanted to become a tattoo artist, you instantly felt like there’s no other path more perfect for him than this.

Yet you couldn’t help but notice how his fingers sometimes trembled as he gave you your first piece—with you lying chest-down on Beidou’s tattoo chair in nothing but your shirt and underwear. It shouldn’t have been strange. Xiao has seen you dressed down like this dozens of times before. 

But when all’s said and done, he refused to meet your eyes, and you don’t have the slightest clue why.)

03.

You just can’t stop staring when you see Xiao’s half-sleeve for the first time.

It’s meant to be a phoenix, he said, but you can’t really see it because the patterns are too abstract to make sense of. Still, the azure ink sits nicely on top of his built bicep, and you have to tell yourself that you’re just trying to find the stupid phoenix as an excuse to keep ogling him.

Thankfully, your weird fascination lasts for only about a week until you’re back to shitting on him like you always do. 

By some miracle, Xiao manages to graduate high school despite being on probation from his excessive absences. He’s actually smart if he makes the effort to hit the books, but you’re not sure if he’s planning on going to college with how comfortable he is with being one of Beidou’s most in-demand tattoo artists. 

You ask him about his future plans at a party being thrown by the previous captain of the football team in his parents’ lavish penthouse somewhere uptown. It took a great deal to force Xiao into tagging along with you as your plus one, and you’re going to make good on his acquiescence by interrogating him about things he normally skirts around.

“I told you, I didn’t take any entrance exams,” he grumbles against the rim of his red cup. “I’m managing just fine working for Beidou, so I don’t see any reason to go to college.”

You’re about to argue that Beidou’s tattoo parlor won’t be open forever, and that he needs to think about broadening his career options until a bunch of girls with linked arms shuffle closer to where you and Xiao were lounging on the couch. You don’t talk to them a lot, but everyone in your grade knows the infamous Pyro Trio.

“Hey, Xiaooo,” Hu Tao drawls with a smirk, pushing up her sleeve to reveal the branches of a cherry blossom tattooed on the delicate skin of her arm. Behind her, Xiangling and Xinyan snicker like it’s some sort of inside joke. 

You intend to shift your gaze elsewhere. Clearly, you’re not the person these girls want to speak with. But the sight of the ink on Hu Tao’s skin makes the back of your neck prickle with misplaced irritation. Xiao must’ve been the one who did her piece, which shouldn’t be a surprise. Though he’s this year’s most notable absentee, rumors about Xiao’s handiwork haven’t gone unnoticed among the students in your (now) alma mater. 

That doesn’t mean you have to like the idea of your best friend inking other people that aren't you, though.

You decide to excuse yourself from Xiao’s company—given that Hu Tao is giving him plenty of attention already as is. Your best friend utters something you don’t quite catch as you walk away, and you don’t bother turning around to ask him to repeat himself.

(As you stuff your face with shot after shot, you force yourself to just keep dancing to the rhythm of whatever song is blaring to the speakers. You didn’t give two shits about the fact that Hu Tao keeps feeling up the stupid phoenix tattoo on Xiao’s arm. Nor did you care about the fact that your best friend—who’s normally evasive when it comes to casual contact—seems like he doesn’t mind at all.)

The night ends with Xiao begrudgingly getting behind the wheel of your car, since you’re obviously in no state to be driving anyone home. When he announces that he’ll bring you back to your apartment, you slur out a drunken protest—asking if he can take you to the tattoo parlor instead.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Why?”

You huff, curling in on yourself on the passenger seat. “The cherry blossoms you gave Hu Tao were ugly as shit. You can do a better piece on me. Y’know, as practice.” 

Both of you know that you’re bluffing. Xiao’s pieces are one of the most intricate you’ve ever seen, even if he is a rookie tattoo artist, and that you don’t have a lot of points of reference to compare to. But instead of taking offense at your mindless jab at his work, Xiao slots the keys into the ignition with a defeated sigh.

“Fine. You mentioned wanting spider lilies a while back,” he says before propping his arm against the car seat as he backed up on the street. It’s the perfect angle to moon over his not-so-phoenix tattoo, and if you were any more intoxicated, you would’ve reached out and squeezed his arm. 

“Where do you want it?”

You know he meant to ask where you wanted him to put your prospective tattoo, but the question sends your mind straight into the gutter. Thankfully, you still have some semblance of coherence lingering in your drunk thoughts, and you answer with:

“Right hip. Opposite end of the spruce twig.”

When Xiao heaves another sigh and steps on the gas pedal, you don’t think much of it—still convinced it’s completely normal to expose such intimate parts of yourself to your best friend so he can tattoo a fucking flower just above the swell of your thigh.

04.

“You have been watching way too much anime.”

“Come on! At least I’m not having you tattoo the names of my shitty ex-boyfriends on my ass, right? Just give me my modified Tanjiro hanafuda and Fullmetal Alchemist flamel!”

“...Is this your way of coping with taking up a nursing course? Is it that stressful?”

You whine as you hold your phone closer to your ear, already picturing the look of disbelief in Xiao’s face when you asked when he’s free to give you your next tattoos. You still go to college in the same city, but it’s been weeks since you last saw him. 

“You have no idea,” you groan. “It’s like my first year, and I’m already burned out! How is that even possible?”

Your best friend grunts on the other line. “Maybe if you stopped being such a perfectionist, then maybe you’ll learn to be more content. Less stress on your part, too.”

“Ah, no can do. I never do anything that isn’t perfect,” you chuckle. “

“Yeah, I saw you score at the top of your class during your, uh… what was it again? Biochem exam?” 

For someone who doesn’t exactly give a damn about anything outside tattooing and other similar forms of artistry, you find it endearing to know Xiao actually remembers all the things you rant about in the wee hours of the morning. You don’t hate biochem, but if you have to draw another chemical configuration, you might just pop a vein. 

“Okay, let’s say I agree to tattoo those weird doodles you sent,” Xiao propositions, “do you even have any free days? You usually study on weekends, right? I don’t think you’re free to drop by the shop even if you wanted to.”

Fuck. He’s right. You still have a few major exams coming up in the next two weeks. If you wait that long until you get your silly weeaboo tattoos from Xiao, you would’ve already gotten over your momentary hyperfixation on the TV shows that were salvaging your sanity in the middle of the semester. It wouldn’t feel as thrilling to get them anymore.

“I’m free…” You trail off, eyes darting to the digital clock by your desk then to the course notes you have opened on your laptop. You haven’t studied as much as you wanted to for your upcoming anatomy test, but…

“Right now, actually. Can you pick me up?”

You can hear him frowning. “Don’t you have a car?”

“I do, but I don’t wanna drive when I have plastic wrap all over my body.” 

“You’re exaggerating. It’s not all over your—”

“Jesus, get the hint, Xiao. I miss my best friend, and I want to have a quiet evening cruise on his motorcycle before he gets me inked again!” 

Xiao falls silent, and this time, you’re having some difficulty picturing what expression he’s wearing on his face. You like to think you’ve startled your un-startle-able best friend, but that’s pushing your influence too much. 

“Okay,” he says, more agreeable than you thought he’d be. “I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.”

05. 

When you introduce your first serious boyfriend in a while to Xiao, you’re a bit annoyed with how prickly he’s being. 

Sure, it’s wired into his system to be the snarky asshole everyone knows and loves, but if there’s anyone else who knows about the tragedy that is your love life better than yourself, it’s Xiao. When you finally land a decent guy to settle down with, you at least expect him to be a bit more supportive.  

“Actually, we came here ‘cause we planned on getting matching tattoos,” your boyfriend, Yin, explains with a dimpled smile. “Isn’t that right?”

You stifle a soft laugh, a bit embarrassed to agree, but too in love with your boyfriend to protest. 

A few years ago, you distinctly remember drunkenly rambling to Xiao about how stupid it is to get couple tattoos especially when relationships these days are built on flimsy foundations. 

If you break up, what then? You have a physical reminder of that person on your body for eternity? No fucking thanks!

“Sorry, we’re closed right now, as you can see,” Xiao grunts before jabbing his thumb at the sign he just turned at the door. “You can try some other time, though.”

At the time, you were pissed at Xiao for denying your little request. He always agreed to ink you during ungodly hours of the day, but now he’s playing the ‘shop’s closed’ card just because he doesn’t like your boyfriend?

But then, you end up grateful for his attitude exactly a month later. 

“Fucking cheated on me with some bitch from his Physics lecture,” you sniffle on Xiao’s ratty sofa as he makes you some tea in his kitchen. “I can’t believe I nearly tattooed our anniversary on my wrist! I would’ve had to fucking amputate it in the end.”

Xiao sighs before placing a piping hot cup of honey lemon in front of you on his coffee table—crossing his legs together. He doesn’t tell you I told you so, like others probably would if they were in his shoes. Your best friend just stares at you with withering understanding, no matter how stupid the choice that got you here in the first place turned out to be.

That’s one of the many things you loved about him. 

“You were supposed to have ‘XV’ inked together, right?” he asks. 

You huff before tossing some of the soiled tissues you used into the bin. “Yeah. We made it official on September 15th.”

“Well, if you still want the tattoo, you could just give it a different meaning.”

Scowling, you stare at Xiao as if he just grew a second head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Is he really suggesting for you to get the same tattoo that he denied you and your ex a month ago?

Xiao shrugs noncommittally before taking a sip from the tea he prepared for you. “It’s been fifteen years since we became best friends. That’s worth commemorating, at least. Unless you suddenly don’t give a shit about that, too?”

Your jaw hangs agape at the sudden reminder. October 15th. When you were four, you accidentally spilled orange juice all over Xiao’s teletubbies backpack, and when he forgave you on the spot, you crowned him as your first bestie. 

That was fifteen years ago. Holy shit.

He startles when you abruptly shoot back to your feet, earning yourself a perplexed stare from Xiao who just wants you to sit down and drink your damn tea—

“Is Beidou’s shop open?” you ask. “I want her to do our matching tatts.”

Xiao grimaces. “Our?”

You nod brusquely, tugging at his arm. “Yeah, I’m allowed to have matching tattoos with you, ‘cause you’ll never walk out of my life, right, Xiao?”

He’s always been a stubborn little shit, so you don’t really expect Xiao to relent as quickly as he does. You nearly stumble to the carpeted floor when he lets you pull him up—faces hovering so close to each other, you nearly choke on your own breath.

It doesn’t help that Xiao has definitely…put in a few inches of height. Back then, you used to tease him a lot for being taller than him, but now?

“Never,” he whispers so softly, you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren't as close to him as you are. “Now drink your stupid honey lemon tea so we can head to the shop.” 

About two and a half hours later, you’re sitting on the vacant seats in the shop’s waiting lounge—a familiar sting still sizzling beneath your ribcage from where you had your first matching piece with Xiao permanently inked. You made him swear to have his own ‘XV’ tattoo made on the same place, and he makes good on his promise when he emerges from the workroom, wearing nothing but his dark-washed jeans.

Unlike yourself, you rarely see Xiao in various states of undress. The most skin you could get out of him on most days is the lean muscle of his tattooed biceps, and sometimes those are enough to have you staring dumbly at him for several minutes.

Now, though?

You learn that he has several tattoos on his torso—spread across his skin like patchwork. It makes you wonder if he did some of them himself, or if he had Beidou work on them for him. Still, despite the plethora of new ink stains to gawk at, his weird phoenix tattoo remains as your personal favorite.

Along with the newest piece he got not five minutes earlier—the tattoo he shares with you.

“Are you happy now?” he grumbles, letting you marvel at the perfect roman numerals just below the jut of his ribs. “It’s a good thing Beidou gave it to us free of charge, you know.”

You giggle. “All of my tatts so far have been free of charge.”

“That’s only because you’re special to me,” Xiao sighs before freezing up in the next moment—like he didn’t mean to let that slip aloud.

You smirk. “Mm? What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck off.”

06. 

Much to Xiao’s disappointment, your shitty taste in men doesn’t exactly end with Yin.

About three months after getting the tattoo to commemorate your fifteen years of best friendship, you meet Kaeya. He’s an exchange student, and you know better than to form any sort of attachment to someone who isn’t going to be in the same continent as you by next year. 

But you let him in anyway. 

You allow Kaeya to get to know you in ways that not even Xiao is familiar with. The smooth-talking foreigner likes to kiss every single one of your tattoos—lamenting the fact that they’re all inked in spots hidden from view. You laugh every time he brings it up, saying your parents are going to kill you and Xiao if they saw any of the pieces your best friend did for you over the last six years. 

“That best friend of yours…” Kaeya muses once he’s done bringing you to paradise and back, smoking a cigarette that makes you wrinkle your nose with distaste. He would’ve been perfect, if only he wasn’t such a chronic chainsmoker. “He’s in love with you, isn’t he?”

You nearly fall off the bed at his bold declaration.

“W-What the fuck are you talking about?” you stammer. Xiao? In love? With you? 

Kaeya shrugs. “I dunno, sweetheart. If I was a tattoo artist, I wouldn’t let anyone freeload my craft as many times as you did—even if you are my best friend. Unless I was down fucking bad for you, of course.”

Xiao doesn’t like Kaeya, but the reasoning behind it is a bit different from why he doesn’t like your ex. He knew Yin wasn’t a good match for you. Kaeya, though? The two of you had inarguable chemistry. The only problem was he was a free spirit that didn’t like to be tied down by commitments—something you clearly struggle with. 

When you reassured Xiao that Kaeya is nothing but a way to scratch a passing itch, he merely scoffed and told you to do whatever you wanted.

Could his dismissiveness be because…he’s in love with you? 

That can’t be right. You’re the one who knows Xiao best. If he hypothetically does catch feelings for someone—much less, you—you’ll surely be the first to notice, right?

Right?

Kaeya chuckles before tracing the XV tattoo along your ribcage with a cold finger—almost like he’s teasing. You roll your eyes before crawling back on top of your midnight lover, kissing him just to shut him up. 

When you drop by Beidou's the next day, Xiao is nowhere to be found.

“Didn’t he tell you?” She gapes. “Our boy’s starting his own shop downtown! He had the soft launch and everything a week ago. I was wondering where you were.”

“Uh…” 

You’re not sure how to break the news that Xiao has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got together with Kaeya. But finding out that he put up his own tattoo parlor without even telling you? 

If Kaeya turns out to be right, and your best friend really was in love with you, he sure as hell wasn’t acting like it. 

Deciding to play along with whatever game he’s playing, you make an appointment to get a new piece inked under a fake name. Xiao accepts it right away and schedules you for an early evening slot. You make it a point to arrive twenty minutes late just to get a rise out of him. 

When he sees you at the entrance to his shop, you almost let yourself feel smug about the unadulterated surprise on his face. Almost. You’re still pissed off that he didn’t invite you to one of the most important milestones of his life.

He fulfills your request in silence—the French word for green inked unassumingly on the underside of your shoulder blades. Xiao doesn’t say a word about his evasiveness, nor does he address the fact that you, his literal best friend, are standing in the shop he’s kept a secret for god knows how long. 

When he still refuses to talk, you slam your payment on top of a nearby table—intent on storming out of the building even if he hasn’t wrapped your newest piece in a protective layer of plastic yet. Xiao barks that he doesn’t want your fucking money, and you end up throwing your hands in the air, asking:

“Then what the hell do you want?”

You expected him to blow up in a fitful of rage. He’s never been good at anger management, you knew this well. But instead, he crosses the distance separating the two of you and crushes your mouths together.

“You,” he whispers hoarsely, desperately against your lips. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Kaeya calls you multiple times that night—even leaves a text message asking where you are and if you’re free. You aren’t able to answer any of them though. Not when you’re busy being railed into the next life by your best friend of fifteen—going sixteen—years in the same bed that Kaeya just had his way with you a week ago. 

When Xiao’s lips graze each and every tattoo he personally inked onto your pliant body, it’s leagues different from when Kaeya does it. It’s like your best friend is leaving a trail of fire sizzling beneath your skin everywhere his mouth trails along your hypersensitive flesh. 

Even the way he makes you fall apart from a blistering orgasm is ten times more intense than every session you had with Kaeya and Yin combined.

There’s no affection nor is there adoration in Xiao’s gaze as he fucks into you—golden eyes fueled by something carnal and zealous, but you knew better than to call that love. 

When morning comes, Xiao isn’t here with you, and you don’t know which emotion to feel. 

Kaeya, at least, has the decency to leave a note whenever he has to depart early. But all that your best friend leaves you with is a sinking feeling in your stomach, and a glaring realization that you did not want to make when you’re crying all alone in your apartment at the crack of dawn.

Kaeya was wrong. Xiao isn’t in love with you.

You’re in love with Xiao, and you immediately know you’re in deep fucking shit because of it.

07.

It’s two weeks into your mission of complete radio silence when Xiao finally breaks.

You’re in the middle of a pharmacology lecture when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You knew it wasn’t Kaeya because he’d already packed his things last week and headed back to his home country. The bastard even asked you for a quick farewell fuck, but you turned him down right away and gave him a kiss goodbye instead.

When you find out it’s a text message from the same person you’ve been trying to avoid all this time, you’re all too quick to parse through its contents.

Xiao: I'm sorry. Can we talk?

That’s how you wind up standing right outside of his new tattoo parlor. 

You haven’t been able to take a good look at it the last time you were here—too frustrated with your best friend to really make sense of your surroundings. But he’s put up his new shop in a pretty good part of town. You wonder how Xiao managed to afford it all. 

Then again, he’s been working at Beidou’s shop for years. You knew he had a decent number of regulars, as well as potential clients that are highly interested in his work. 

For once, you let yourself be proud of him. Even if he didn’t put your name on the guest list for his soft launch.

Xiao looks a little sheepish when he lets you inside and flips the sign on the front door to give the two of you some privacy. You aren’t faring any better. The last time you saw him, he was balls-deep inside of you—fucking you like you’re the most despicable woman in the world.

“So there’s this…collage piece I wanted to try,” he starts, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

Of course when Xiao invites you over to talk, you shouldn’t have expected any actual talking to take place. That’s just not his style. He’d rather make up for whatever mistakes he made by inking another stupid tattoo on your body, but honestly? You’ll take whatever you can get.

When you saw his sketch of a Statue of David peppered with four-leaf clovers, you couldn’t even dream of parsing the meaning behind the piece. The only thing that makes you relent is an old memory of you and Xiao hunting for four-leaf clovers in your mother’s garden—even putting the effort to plant whatever you could find in a pot in hopes that they would grow bigger.

It takes him hours to complete the entire thing. This one is probably the most realistic piece he’s done for you, and you can’t help but watch the intense concentration on his face through the mirror on the wall as he inks it a few inches above the last tattoo he did for you. 

You’ve never really realized how…breathtaking he looks like this.

His fringe falling across his pretty gold eyes, the comfortable set of his jaw as he focuses on his work, and the soft slope of his cupid’s bow despite how harsh the words that come out of his mouth can be.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You really are in love with this guy.

When he’s finally satisfied with his work, Xiao puts down his machine before wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. He already looks so fucking good while he’s working. How is it fair for him to look even more gorgeous right after the entire process?

“Come on, let’s wrap it up,” he says before stretching his limbs. The action makes the cropped shirt he’s wearing ride up his torso a little, and you’re teased with a glimpse of the tattoo he matches with you.

Your heart nearly leaps to your throat, and if it weren’t for the dull sting of your newest tattoo, you would’ve been entranced by the sight of him entirely.

“Sure,” you say, even if your heart is begging for you to just be honest with him. To let him know how you’ve felt all this time because frankly, you can’t keep carrying the weight of your own feelings for much longer.

But then you remember how…apathetic Xiao looked like the night he dared to tell you he wanted you. There was no love to be found in his animalistic gaze, and you fear that he’ll turn you even further away at the slightest hint of more-than-friendly affection from your end. 

You can live with this. His fleeting yet heated touches. His deep, piercing stares. 

You’ll do anything to preserve what you have with him now—even if that means sacrificing everything else you could still dream of.

08.

Sometimes, you think Xiao is making you hope on purpose.

Sure, your friendship was more or less salvaged after offering your Statue of David tattoo as a quiet apology. You’re back to teasing him for all the most minuscule things, and Xiao is back to being your voice of reason in no time.

These days, though, you don’t really have much time to hang out with him like you usually do. You’re in the last year of your nursing degree, and your shifts at the hospital on top of your regular academic workload render you much too exhausted to catch up with any of your friends. Xiao included.

But there comes a night when he visits you in your apartment when you’re busy studying for a tricky surgery exam—a bucket full of fried chicken, and a bottle of sparkling water in hand. What kind of fiend would turn away an unannounced blessing like that ? 

You munch through the midnight snack Xiao brought for you all while forcing him to do your flashcards with you. He knows the drill, anyways. Though he’s been out of school for years, Xiao is still familiar enough with your study habits to be of substantial help during these trying times.

While you’re in the middle of differentiating the different types of sutures, though, he proposes an idea.

“It’s been a while since I inked you with a sewing needle and pen ink, isn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes, taking a swig of your carbonated drink as your gaze flickers to the pseudo-Orion’s belt on your right forearm. The third star has all but faded from view over the years.

“Yeah, why are you asking?”

Xiao rummages through his knapsack for a few seconds before bringing out what seems to be a small sewing kit, and a jar labeled ‘Indian ink’. You gulp in equal parts dread and anticipation.

“I figured out how to make the tatts stay longer,” he says, a gentle smile settling over his face. “You want me to give you a new one? I can even revive good old Orion, too.”

You sigh. Who are you to turn the love of your life down anyway?

Xiao gets to work while you’re lying sideways on your bed, flinching every now and again because he decided to outline the spitting image of the flower vase sitting on top of your nightstand along the curve of your waist. 

Unlike your first experience with manual needling, your pain tolerance is much better. The only reason you’re squirming every time Xiao embeds the ink into your skin is because you’re fucking ticklish. All those years of being intimately acquainted with Beidou’s tattoo machine were all the sensory training you needed, it seems. 

When Xiao is done with this piece, he pulls you into an upright position, making you hold out your arm so he could resurrect the first tattoo he ever gave you. You roll your eyes, but let him do as he pleases anyway.

At this point, you’ll let him do anything with you.

It’s nearly three in the morning when you’re putting away the dishes and glasses you and Xiao used for the night. He’s kind enough to throw out the trash while you clean up in the kitchen, and when he meets you back in the living room to exchange farewells, you don’t really want him to go.

“You have morning classes tomorrow, right?” he murmurs as he pulls you into a firm embrace, careful not to press down too hard on your new tattoo. “Take care. Don’t burn yourself out too much. All your hard work will be for nothing if you end up keeling over before graduation.”

You can’t help it. The soft timbre of his voice coupled with the fond look in his eyes tears all your defenses asunder. As you look up to meet Xiao’s uncharacteristically doting gaze, your chest twists more and more as you keep yourself from lunging in for a kiss.

“You’re such a pessimist, it’s almost funny how caring you sound,” you chuckle. “Go on, now. Shoo. It’s late.”

Before you can push him out of the door, however, Xiao catches you by surprise when he leans down to peck your lips. You stay frozen in place even as he pulls away—smiling so prettily, you can hardly believe this guy is your perpetually pissed off best friend.

“Good night.” 

Unlike the last time he left you all alone in your apartment, you’re filled to the brim with an emotion you can’t quite name. It’s far from the emptiness that made a home in your heart when you thought you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back. But you’re not about to call it happiness either.

Whatever this strange feeling is, you let it sit in your chest for a while longer, and it lingers even when the memory of Xiao’s lips stops prickling against the skin of your own.

09.

On the day of your graduation, Xiao asks you to drop by his shop after the rites have concluded. You tell him that he’s self-centered as fuck, and that this is your day, so if he wants to use your body as a practice canvas again, he’s going to have to wait tomorrow.

You don’t tell him that you’re sulking because he didn’t even show up to congratulate you for surviving four gruesome years of nursing. But you suppose that someone who never went to college in the first place wouldn’t be the best at sympathizing with this particular milestone in your life.

He shows you his latest sketch when you make it to his shop the next morning—and you can’t contain the look of disbelief that colors your features when you realize what it is.

“A bouquet that’ll never wilt,” he chuckles, one finger expertly pointing out the flowers he’s drawn on the neat page. “Orchids and hydrangeas: your favorite. Violets: you press a bunch of these in books every summertime. Pink baby’s breath ‘cause you wouldn’t stop gushing about them at your sister’s wedding.”

You aren’t able to stifle the flattered giggle that spills from your lips. “Can’t believe you actually remember all that. What’s the lily of the valley doing there though?”

“Oh, this?” Xiao hums with one brow raised. “Your mom had lots of them in her old garden. Those are my favorite.”

“And, pray tell, why is your favorite flower going to be permanently tattooed on my body?”

Xiao doesn’t humor you with a verbal answer right away. Instead, he wheels his revolving seat closer to you so that he’s close enough to press your foreheads together. Your breath hitches when his mouth curves into a loving smile you’re starting to get used to seeing.

“Because you’re mine,” he says simply. “Now, are you going to tell me where you want me to ink your eternal bouquet or not?”

10.

You’re a complete sap when it comes to weddings. Everyone knows this.

It’s for that reason that none of your guests are surprised when you end up crying in the middle of exchanging vows with your fiancé. Xiao sighs before taking out a handkerchief from his front pocket, dabbing at the tears streaming down your face. For someone who comes on so tough to other people, you’re awfully sentimental.

“Sorry, sorry—” you sniffle, thanking every single god out there for the invention of waterproof mascara. “Okay, I’m ready now.”

The rest of the session proceeds swiftly. You get to kiss your best friend of more than two decades and call him your husband in front of some friends and family. The matrimonial rites were held in a private resort at the base of a mountain. Both you and Xiao wanted to preserve the intimacy of your wedding as much as you could. After all, you didn’t need all that flashy and grandiose wedding prep to prove to the world just how much you want to spend the rest of your life with Xiao. 

Your thoughts stay the same even as he lays you down in the king-sized bed of the cabin you had to yourselves. He sighs in between kisses as he strips you off your wedding garbs. You’re surprised he’s taking his time with you. Xiao has been eye-fucking you since you started walking down the aisle. It was so bad that even Beidou made a few off-hand remarks about the sexual tension during the reception. 

“I was thinking,” you breathe as he grinds his hips against yours, “of getting another tattoo. My last one.” 

Xiao lifts his head for a moment, one brow arched. “You’re married to a tattoo artist, and you think the tattoo you’re getting after the wedding is your last one? You’re dreaming, princess.”

“Fine. Point taken.” You roll your eyes. “But anyway, I want a dragon tattoo riiiight…here.”

Your husband watches with rapt attention as you guide his hand to the spot you’re talking about—just below the collection of your favorite flowers inked above your waist is a blank stretch of skin. Xiao’s lips twitch into a fond smile as his calloused fingers graze your flesh.

“Still against having showy tatts?” he asks before pressing a soft kiss on the spot you pointed at. 

“Mhmm. You see, my dad doesn’t care if I’m married and have my own life. If he sees that I have tattoos, he’s still going to murder me,” you chuckle. “So yeah, tatts are staying under my clothes until he grows old enough and forgets that he hates seeing ink on other people’s skin.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind then.”

When Xiao ravishes you for the first time as your husband, your chest overflows with love for him. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their best friends by their sides for as long as you did, yet you ended up tying the knot with yours. Although the entire process was more than twenty years in the making, you suppose there’s no point in rushing anything.

After all, Xiao is as permanent in your life just as much as the ink stains on your body.

“Look,” you chuckle once Xiao is done cleaning up in the bathroom and settles down right next to you on the bed, “Kaeya sent us a postcard. He says congrats on overcoming the emotional constipation.”

“Throw that thing away,” your husband grumbles, pulling you away from the pile of postcards on the nightstand. “Why are you even keeping touch with him still?”

“So I can use him as an excuse to get you jealous, and have you fuck me rough?”

“Oh, princess. If you wanted it rough…” he starts with a sigh, rolling his neck with a smirk. You gulp, wondering if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew this time around.

“All you had to do was ask.”

⟢ end notes: it's been a while since i wrote for genshin, so i hope you liked it! thank you sm for reading ^^

[steddieas-shegoes]

you are the best thing that's ever been mine

for the @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 1 (prompt: high school or college AU) rated: T wc: 638 cw: n/a tags: established relationship, angst with a happy ending

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

Being with Eddie had been easy. Two years at college, pretty much sharing a dorm unofficially, studying together whenever they weren't working their shitty jobs, annoying Eddie's roommate Gareth constantly.

But when graduation came, and real life set in, they realized quickly that what they thought was hard was nothing.

They had a small apartment on the outskirts of town, rundown and barely worthy of the rent they had to pay, but it was theirs.

Steve managed to find a job at an elementary school as a guidance counselor right after graduation, but Eddie struggled for a while. It didn't seem like anyone was hiring for a music teacher, and he started to wonder if he'd made a mistake in his degree.

He thought he'd taken a safer route than just going into the music industry, or trying to, but clearly he'd been wrong.

"Baby, we're fine. I make enough to cover what we need, we just have to be on a tight budget," Steve told him after Eddie had explained how useless he felt not contributing to their bills yet.

They were lying on the couch, Eddie tense under Steve.

"But you shouldn't have to, Steve. I'm basically the same as the spider we refuse to kill in the shower," Eddie groaned.

"No you're not. You're trying to find a job and you're going to," Steve insisted.

"And if I don't?" Eddie said, pushing Steve off of him so he could stand up and pace. "If I end up searching for a job for months or years, how long until you get sick of having to support us both? How long until you kick me out because I can't give you what you want? We can't ever have a family on just your income in this shitty apartment."

"Eds, you won't be unemployed forever. We've got time."

But Eddie didn't want to listen.

He walked over to their window that opened onto a fire escape and climbed through it.

Steve saw that it was raining, but knew Eddie wasn't going to come inside until he was ready.

If Eddie had to be in the rain, then Steve was going to be with him.

Steve joined him a moment later, cringing slightly at the cold rain instantly soaking his clothes.

"You remember our senior year, when I was convinced I'd have to drop out because my social work for students professor hated me? I cried every night for three weeks about his class and his attitude. I was awful. But you listened to it all, held me through it all, helped me study for tests and prepare for my final presentation. You remember what you told me the day of the final?" Steve asked, keeping some distance between them while he spoke.

Eddie shook his head.

"You said that one hard class wasn't going to keep me from being what students need. You told me that I was going to be fine because I already cared about kids I don't even know yet, and anyone who couldn't see that was an idiot. And you told me you loved me for the first time."

Eddie looked over at him, brows furrowed, hair dripping wet from the rain.

"You loved me through a tough schedule, and being broke, and complaining about someone who ultimately didn't matter. You loved me when I was an asshole to you and everyone, you loved me when it was hard. Now it's my turn, okay? Let me love you through it all."

Eddie didn't answer for a moment, but then he leaned in and kissed Steve's forehead gently.

"I never thought I'd have someone who loved me like this. You're the best part of my life, you know that?"

"And you're mine," Steve replied, kissing him on the lips as the rain continued to fall.

[shakirawastaken]

dsmp if...they were teachers part 2

ANON I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED UR REQUEST IM SO SORRY IM GONNA CRY BUT here it is :D with techno too :) please people send in some requests for meee check out part 1 here!

techno: english (with 1 mythology class for seniors): - hates his english classes wishes he could just teach mythology - would make all the students do a little project on a greek mythology story - rivalry with mr soot  - “ill give u each 10 dollars if u go to mr soots class tmrw talkin about how im a better teacher” - supports each and every kid no matter WHAT even if its not english related - holds detention in his room cause no one wants to fuck with him - like dream he doesnt anyone to get fucked over his english class so he hosts after school office hours like its college - has read all the classic novels and makes his classes read them. he wont move to something else unless some kid IS REALLY passionate about it - “ranboo we will not be reading the diary of a wimpy kid series even if you resonate with greg heffley on an emotional level” - BUT for his english classes he makes them do a general book report project so he can see and appreciate his student’s taste in books  - albeit not the biggest fan of romance novels but knows it ends with us for some reason - brings all the projects home and keeps them in a big storage bin. he loves showing them off to future classes and even you - light. acadmeia. dresses formal, long sleeves, hair tamed, glasses on the bridge of his nose - “tommy please stop swearing. tubbo calm down?” - hold detention with him cause no one fucks with mr blade

phil: principal - best principal ever - has a great relationship with all the staff tbh  - wilbur and techno and tommy arent his sons wdym - no ones rlly scared of getting sent to the principals cause like yk theyre like “oh phil??? hes nice”  - everyone calls him phil - ok i lied everyone BUT tommy isnt scared of going to phils - “I DONT WANT TO GO TO PHILS” “tommy calm down-” - hates the school board, lets the teachers teach what they believe is best for the students - can deal with the consequences - once wilbur got him to play a role in on of the school’s productions - big year for the dsmp high thespians tbh - is married to the guidance counselor kristin - who by the way is a GOOD COUNSELOR - actually does guidance - phils whole office is green - always wears his bucket hat tbh - besties with the other school’s principals

foolish: architecture/woodworking - i think this one was another “duhhh” one - builder man teaches builder children - starts the year with teaching them the basics of everything and then sort of lets them go wild  - is so scared some kid is gonna get hurt - has goggles in every corner of his room, gloves, whatever safety stuff  - loves it when kids work together to make some big project - IN YOUR GUYS’ HOME YOU HAVE A SHELF full of little sharks all the kids made for him its so cute - he makes stuff for you in class and uses it as an excuse to teach  - wears muscle t-s or normal t-shirts never dresses formal  - “it would get in the way of the wood?? duh” - id want to be in his class - is besties with mr jacobs and mr punz the random coach who shows up just to coach basketball in the winter - another teacher everyone simps over - once refused to teach tommy cause he didnt want to “catch a case”

i kinda want to write for the bench trio so here’s STUDENT EDITION

tommy: junior in high school, ta to mr wastakens math class  - tommy signed up to TA for wilbur but then wilbur said “absolutely not” so he got put into dream’s introduction to stats class  - but he also has dream for the period after that for his ap stats class - so hes stuck there for like 2 and a half hours  - dream groaned when he saw who his TA was - makes tommy grade papers and stuff but never tests  - he doesnt trust him with that - tommy is a good kid and usually doesnt disrupt class but when he does its hilarious - expect mr blade doesnt give a second shit about tommy in his class  - tommy is rlly good at drama and math (even though hed never admit hes good at math)  - his locker is a mess  - besties with tubs and ranboo ofc - phil is his father dont tell anyone - he is so adamant on walking home bc he doesnt want people to know that his family works there - always has his red jacket on  - never gets school lunches says they are cursed

tubbo: junior in high school, ta for mr quackity’s spanish class - tubbo likes quackity so he signed up to ta for his class - he isnt good at spanish tho- - quackity knows that but likes tubbo so he lets him be  - sapnap ADORES tubbo for some reason - “TOBY!!! WHATS UP!” “hi mr sapnap” - sapnap thinks tubbo is such a good kid - but  - mr notfound knows tubbo is a menace - “good morning toby” “good morning mr notfound *innocent*” “sit down and get started please” - SO FUNNY LMAO  - tubbo is a menace - pulls a bunch of pranks on the teachers but then the blame always ends on tommy somehow “wHAT- TUBBO DID IT” “no he didnt” - besties with tommy and ranboo ofc - tubbo is rlly good at science but isnt so hot at english - but mr blade is rlly nice and takes him time to help tubbo  - tubbo appreciates it so he gets mr blade a gift at christmas - mr blade teared up - runs thru the hall dragging tom and ranboo behind him no regrets - “STOP RUNNING THROUGH THE HALLS” “no” ranboo: junior in high school, ta for mr blades mythology class - lOVES ta-ing for mr blades class - mr blade kinda lets him chill in the back, stapling papers - no interaction whatsoever - he also now cant wait to take that class next year - mr blade refers to him as my protege a lot  - i hope i used that word right - besties with tommy and tubbo - all the teachers are nice to ranboo and kinda sorry that hes friends with tommy and tubbo LMFAO  - “hi ranboo u doing ok” “yes thank u mr jacobs” “RANBOO! LETS GO! PUDDING DAY IN THE CAFETERIA” “thats my cue mr jacobs” - ranboo usually doesnt get into trouble when he does oh boy its good - not pranks on teachers but school wide pranks - is shy but when someone picks on tommy and tubbo he GOES OFF - attacks them through words - when he gets comfortable in a class he lets out these small comments that get the whole room laughing - so not the class clown but people know hes funny and people respects him 

[gerrystamour]

i am thick tar on the inside burning

Rated G | Steddie Week Day 6: True | 1600 Words | Complete

Related to run it back (give me five whole minutes)

[ READ ON AO3 ]

“Y’being mean t’my boyfriend again?” Steve jumped at the sleepy voice mumbling against the back of his neck, shivering as Eddie kissed him there gently. “Wasn’t saying anything,” Steve deflected instead of trying to lie. “Didn’t hafta,” Eddie chuckled, tugging Steve until he rolled over and faced him. “You got all tense when you woke up, then tried to sneak away.” This is my entry for @steddie-week Day 6: True & Misunderstandings Basically, @patchworkgargoyle mentioned possibly added a convo about Steve's negative self-talk into run it back and I felt like a convo at that point would've been more than Steve could handle at the time, but I def wanted to write a convo, especially after seeing the tags of some of my fellow RSD sufferers. So here! A fic with one of the best coping mechanisms I've learned for RSD!

Steve slowly woke up with Eddie spooned up against his back, long arms around him tight. It was so nice that it took Steve’s mind several moments to catch up and remember what happened last night.

“Hey! Don’t talk about my boyfriend like that.”

The memories of Eddie walking in on him like that had embarrassment flooding through Steve, his ears burning with the heat of it. Yeah, Eddie was comforting last night, and yes Eddie was gentle and perfect, but again Steve was the one to be comforted and taken care of. Eddie did all the emotional labour and hadn’t he been through enough ? Couldn’t someone just take care of him for once? After all Eddie overcame, he had to be saddled with a boyfriend who couldn’t even handle one bad day at work?

The thoughts were spiraling, just as they always did when left to his own devices, but he was determined to stop them before Eddie woke up. Normally, he would mutter to himself, shame himself into knocking it off the way his father would. Sometimes, even smack himself a bit to get it to sink the fuck in . But he couldn’t do that with Eddie against him so tightly.

Maybe he could slip away from Eddie, go downstairs to start on breakfast and deal with the swirling thoughts there? It was worth a shot, so Steve carefully tried to sneak out from under Eddie’s arm, only for the man to murmur in his sleep and somehow tighten his arm around Steve.

Steve suppressed a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes and counting backward from one hundred to try to calm himself down. It was something a guidance counselor had once told him to do when he felt his anger or frustration mounting, except Steve struggled with counting backward like that, which often caused more frustration. But it was a different frustration than whatever was bothering him, so it did kind of loop around to being helpful.

“Y’being mean t’my boyfriend again?”

Steve jumped at the sleepy voice mumbling against the back of his neck, shivering as Eddie kissed him there gently.

“Wasn’t saying anything,” Steve deflected instead of trying to lie.

“Didn’t hafta,” Eddie chuckled, tugging Steve until he rolled over and faced him. “You got all tense when you woke up, then tried to sneak away.”

A hot blush overtook Steve’s face as he glanced away. “How long’ve you been awake?” he asked guiltily.

“Been kinda drifting for a couple hours,” Eddie said, reaching up to stroke Steve’s cheek gently. “Do you talk to yourself like that a lot, Stevie?”

Steve refused to look at Eddie as he shrugged. “I mean, I guess. It’s not like I’m saying anything people aren’t already thinking,” he said, his mouth twisting. “Or will think, eventually.”

“If I ever decide you’re the worst boyfriend, you will absolutely hear about it because I will say so,” Eddie said firmly. “Which is not going to even happen anyway , because you’re the furthest thing from a bad boyfriend, let alone the worst . I mean, dragging my half-dead corpse out of Hell is worth like, a billion Best Boyfriend Ever points.”

“That’s not how shit works , Eddie,” Steve said explosively, and when he moved to roll onto his back and Eddie tried to stop him, he said firmly, “Eds, I can’t have this conversation like this. I’m not trying to leave; I just need a bit of space.”

Immediately, Eddie relaxed his arms. “Sorry, Steve,” he said quietly, and guilt swarmed in Steve’s head.

“No, you’re okay, you didn’t do anything wrong, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t do that , Stevie. You need space, you can have it,” Eddie insisted, retreating from Steve a bit, but keeping his hand resting on his waist.

Steve sighed and rolled onto his back, idly playing with Eddie’s fingers where they were now splayed across his stomach. “You can say I have all these points for being a good boyfriend, but the bad shit will always take more points than I can gain,” Steve said, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“That’s—ugh, Steve, the ‘good boyfriend’ points pool is entirely separate from any other pool. You can’t lose those. But I’m done with this metaphor because you’re focusing on the wrong shit,” Eddie said with some frustration and Steve cringed. “Don’t take that like a criticism of you, babe, because it wasn’t.”

“How was that not a criticism of me ?” Steve asked angrily, hurt by Eddie’s words and how it felt as though Eddie was trying to redefine how words worked entirely.

“Okay, listen,” Eddie said, sitting up to look down at Steve and crossing his legs. “I used to say mean shit to myself all the time, still sometimes do, and a lot of times I justify it as me just ‘saying what everyone was thinking,’ too, okay?”

Steve blinked up at Eddie, confused and frowning. “I thought you didn’t care what anyone else thought about you,” he said after a bit, trying to reconcile what he was hearing with the Eddie he had come to know.

“Oh, Stevie, I was full of shit with that whole shtick in high school. I cared very much about what everyone thought back then, I just worked really hard to make it seem like I didn’t,” Eddie confessed with a laugh. “By my third senior year, I was closer to not caring but still. I did. A lot.”

“How do you stop, though?” Steve asked and Eddie sighed, shrugging.

“I just think about what the person actually said,” he said, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I already do that , Eds,” he huffed, looking away.

“No, you think about what they meant , not what they said ,” Eddie said, turning Steve’s face toward him again with a finger on his chin.

“It’s the same thing,” Steve bit out, again feeling frustration building at Eddie just deciding that words didn’t mean what they meant .

“Okay, I said ‘you’re focusing on the wrong shit’ which I will concede, the swearing was maybe too much, sue me, I swear. How did you take that?” Eddie asked.

“That I’m wrong, that I can’t even pay attention to what you’re saying. That I’m stupid, slow,” Steve said in a rush, forcing himself to hold Eddie’s gaze.

Eddie’s expression turned so sad that Steve regretted saying anything. “Okay, now repeat what I actually said ,” Eddie instructed.

“That I was focusing on the wrong shit,” Steve said flatly, still not seeing the point of the exercise.

“Did I say you were stupid? Or slow?” Eddie asked, and Steve shook his head lightly. “Did I say you were wrong, and that you couldn’t focus on what I was saying?”

Steve opened his mouth to argue that Eddie had said that but when he turned the sentence over in his head, he realized that Eddie hadn’t. Yes, those words were used, but not in the order necessary for Steve’s understanding to be correct.

“I was just stating a fact. I tried to comfort you with a joke and got you caught up in a metaphor. That’s it, baby, it wasn’t me criticizing you,” Eddie said emphatically.

“But most of the time people do mean it like that,” Steve insisted, and Eddie nodded.

“Yeah, probably, but that’s not your problem,” he said with a shrug. “If they’re not going to be up front about it, fuck’em.”

“It’s not that simple, Eds!” Steve insisted, covering his face with both hands.

“Okay, listen, I’ve never had to describe how I shut my brain up when it’s being annoying, so give me a second,” Eddie said with a determined huff. When Steve looked at him again, Eddie was thinking hard and obviously hamming it up a bit, propping his chin on his fist while he hummed.

When Steve laughed lightly, Eddie looked down at him again with a tight-lipped grin.

“Okay, so, when someone says something to me and I immediately start beating myself up about it, I stop and think about the actual words and if I said that to someone I cared about, how would I mean it?” Eddie eventually said.

“I would mean exactly what I said,” Steve supplied, understanding starting to break through.

“Exactly. And every time my brain tries to insist it’s a mind-reader, I just keep repeating the actual words. Ignore the tone, think about the words until the brain stops,” Eddie said, shrugging. “It takes a lot of work, but I call myself stupid a lot less and that’s a bonus.”

Steve blinked up at him, turning the words over in his head. “That’s genius, Eds,” Steve said softly before frowning. “But what about when the people do mean it?”

“Honestly, babe, fuck those people,” Eddie said with a shrug. “You can’t control what they think, so what’s the point making yourself sick over it? And still, unless you’re a mind-reader or they admit to it, you’re still just assuming.”

Steve smiled up at Eddie. “You make that sound so easy,” he said after a minute and Eddie tilted his head.

“Just have more practice working on it. Like I said, I still deal with this shit, and sometimes I still slip up, but it gets easier,” Eddie said, then he sprawled out on top of Steve with a wide grin. “But I promise, right here and now, that I will only ever mean exactly what I say when I say it to you, okay, Stevie? No matter my tone, no matter my face, the words out of my mouth are the full message.”

“Nothing between the lines?” Steve asked, his voice almost a whisper as he stared up at Eddie in awe.

“Why would I do that when I can just as easily say what I mean?” Eddie replied, kissing the tip of Steve’s nose.

“Okay,” Steve said, then took a deep breath. “And I promise I’ll try your way of dealing with this stuff, too.”

“Good,” Eddie said with a happy sound. “Now, gimme a kiss.”

“Your breath is rancid, Eds—”

“So is yours! Gimme kisses!”

“ Fine … Love you.”

“Love you, too, Stevie.”

[AO3 LINK]

I hope you enjoy and please consider reblogging! Taglist! @scarcrossdlvrs, @steddie-there, @indigohightide, @steddieas-shegoes, @steve-harringtits, @mylilplanet, @afewproblems, @xenon-demon, @inairbinad, @matchingbatbites

[queers-gambit]

Dating Billy Hargrove HC's

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

warnings: cursing, abusive parents, dysfunctional relationships, toxic lovers, romanticism of toxic character. borderline NSFW because sex is a part of relationships (and this is Billy we're talking about, so...) please proceed maturely.

• strap in - let's fucking GOOOOOOOOO

• this boy is something else, okay? he's like nobody you've ever met, anyone you've ever dated - he's unlike anybody in this small town that you've grown up in your whole life.

• he's a Cali boy - he even smells like trouble!

• oh, but Billy Boy isn't all that meets the eye. he's complex, he's damaged, he's confused, he's harboring a lot of anger and resentment.

• his mom's been gone and out of the picture for so long, one might worry he's taken on a harmful view towards women. however, that's not the case at all.

• you meet on his first day of school - i know, i know, how cliche, right? only it was completely unavoidable. you were a star student, all right? your grades weren't stellar but they weren't bad; you tested decently well; maybe you played a sport and had a club or two you attended.

• it makes you the perfect student for the guidance counselor to select "randomly" to help show the new kid around.

• he's not very warm when you first meet. he's got this look in his eye and they way he totally shmoozed Miss McKenna (the principals own middle aged assistant) was enough to make your mind throw up multiple red flags.

• so you show him around. answer a few questions but when he tries to get personal, maybe asking what you were doing after school, you insist the tour's over and he could find his way from there.

• you don't give him a second glance as you leave him alone in the hallway and Billy's lips are pulling in a smirk.

• he was unlike anyone you knew - but you were the exact breath of fresh air Billy needed.

• so, he pines. poor baby doesn't know what to do when a girl isn't melting on the spot when he looks at her. in fact, he's not seen you or spoken to you since you showed him around.

• drives him a little crazy but he's fine. because eventually, he finds you one day, after school, looking distraught. it's obvious you want to be alone based on your location and Billy's never been the comforting type, all right?

• doesn't stop him from approaching you and silently taking the seat on the pavement beside you. he doesn't speak. just lights a cigarette and hands it to you before lighting one for himself. the silence prolongs until you break it.

• "what're you doing here?" you sniffled, trying to hide the emotion you felt.

• and Billy would shrug, "just hangin'. looked like you could've used some company."

• you're vulnerable, so, you admit you're waiting for your father and when you mention you don't have the best relationship, he goes rigid with understanding and empathy.

• an emotion he's NOT accustomed to.

• he learns your father and mother divorced years ago and he's been in and out of your life since. however, he called that morning and begged to pick you up from school so you could have some 'father-daughter time'... yet here you were, tears in your eyes, waiting on a man who wouldn't show.

• Billy offers you a ride home and finds he enjoys your banter so much, he offers to drive you home the next day.

• you're a little suspicious but he doesn't make a single move. he just drives you home after school, both of you lost in some ridiculous conversation that you're not even sure how it started.

• it then turns into him picking you up before school, too. just for a little extra time together.

• oh, and then, he was coming to your house on the weekends.

• he didn't mind you fussing in his hair if it meant he could light a joint and relax without the fear of his father.

• in fact, Billy becomes so dependent on you and the escape your presence provides him that he keeps a small duffel bag full of clothes in your closet. for emergencies, you know?

• and there are a few emergencies, sure. you're pretty used to him crashing a night there. you'll wash the dirty clothes he leaves and put them in the duffel after for next time.

• again, he's a Cali boy so he smokes. and he'll be really critical of the weed in Hawkins 'cause he's used to 'good shit'.

• but considering the small town, he takes what he can get.

• you have a lot of open, honest, vulnerable conversations when smoking because both of your filters will go down.

• he doesn't realize it until later but those are the moments he's opening himself up to you most in. while scary, he feels something akin to relief and gratitude to have someone to share parts of himself with.

• your friendship starts off innocent; just two people hanging out, cracking jokes, complaining about their home life. but it changes around December.

• you become close to Max - it's almost impossible not to. you're fond of Billy and would do what you could to help take him away from the pain of his father, but Max didn't really have anyone.

• until the party adopted her, but outside that, she got used to seeing you around a lot. and no, you never minded when she'd ask for your help on something; be it boys, school, friends, or her skateboard.

• you and Max bond by her teaching you to skate. and Billy won't admit it, but his heart felt ten times lighter the day he looked out the window and saw your hands clasped in Max's, rolling on her board, both of you laughing so hysterically, it made you fall to the grass.

• the laughter didn't end for the rest of the day, and Max wondered if this was what a sister felt like.

• in December, you accept to help her get ready for the Snowball Dance! precious babies!

• you bring a whole suitcase full of clothes, a tote bag of shoes, make-up, and hair accessories. and of course, a few magazines for references.

• when Billy opens the door, he smirks as he takes in your baggage, "movin' in, princess?"

• he reaches to take the tote bag off your shoulder so you wouldn't carry the weight.

• but Max is there, nudging him out of the way, "she's here for me."

• when Billy's puppy-eyes turn to you, you can't help but sigh lightly and hand Max the wheeling suitcase. she dashes back for her room and you stand in front of Billy, hands flattened against his waist as you tease lightly, "you're gonna have to share me, you know."

• his eyes would roll lightly, "says who?"

• "behave," you chuckled, moving to help Susan get Max ready. and by the end of the night, you're waving the redhead off with Billy's arm slung around your shoulders. "see what happens when you're patient?"

• Susan and Neil dropped Max off before going on their own date, meaning you and Billy were home alone.

• you might've felt nervous but he never pressured you. instead, he seemed a little more tender as the holidays drew on and you had a sneaking suspicion he was mourning the life, and family, he knew before.

• so, what do you do? you're pulling ingredients out in his kitchen and insisting he helps you make a batch of cookies. the radio is flicked on and Christmas carols ring around the room.

• he's not good at baking but he laughs more in those two hours than he had in a full week. his eyes get soft and he might even act on the way his heart feels vulnerable, pulling you in for a slow dance around the kitchen.

• snow MIGHT even start to fall outside, marking this as your very own Snowball Dance.

• Billy kisses you that night, your lips tasting like the batter your finger had taken a dollop of. it's a searing kind of kiss, the one that feels like a long time coming - finally arriving and making your body explode with pinpricks of hormones.

• needless to say, you two were joined at the hip from that day on. Neil wasn't the biggest fan of you because you were just so fucking nice - it confused him what you saw in Billy.

• but you saw all the best parts of him, despite Neil's conditioning to showcase the worst.

• so, you're dating now, right? beautiful. doesn't mean it's perfect, okay? Billy's still a little bent outta shape that he requires time and understanding.

• he's doing his best, okay?

• he curses, like, a lot. at you, near you, in reference to you. but he’ll never resort to cheap ploys and will always comes to your defense if someone’s out of line.

• big fan of the whole ‘total dickhead to everyone except so-and-so’. cause that’s you and Billy.

• but when Billy's your boyfriend, oh, lord! get ready for the PDA 'cause he's chomping at the bit to touch you every moment.

• it shocks you to learn physical touch is his love language, what with the way Neil abuses him; you'd assumed touch might trigger him.

• but Billy explains to you that your touch could never hurt him and he relishes in the warmth your hands provide. instead of the fear Neil instilled, your touch gave comfort. warmth. hope, and peace.

• so, you run with that information. walking around the mall? your hands are conjoined or an arm is around someone's waist. at school? your hand might stray to run through his curls in the cafeteria, earning his attention. grocery store? boy's got his hands around your waist, or somewhere near your neck, while you push the cart lazily up and down the aisles.

• yes, yes, yes, Billy comes to you when anything goes wrong. he's never been like that, he doesn't understand why now, all of a sudden when he's overwhelmed, he's sneaking out and running to your house. but you're a safety net for him, and you wipe his tears; how can he not feel safe with you?

• your mom don't like him 'cause she's heard all the rumors. she even once belonged to Karen Wheeler's bookclub but left it because all the middle aged ladies were talking about her daughter's boyfriend hyper-sexually.

• she had a hard time looking Billy in the eye after that.

• it makes your mom a bit uneasy. but she respects your wishes and your want to be in a relationship. so, life carries on with a few back handed or passive aggressive comments.

• you don't like the smell of cigarettes so he won't smoke around you. you know it's a hard habit to kick and sometimes he'll ask if it's okay, but he'll definitely refrain from smoking cigarettes around you.

• he might even start to feel a little insecure and leaves an extra shirt in the trunk of his car to change into so that your nose isn't pressed right against the smoke-filled fabric.

• Billy's a big ass baby, man. look, he's a total sucker for not doing shit; throwing a movie on and literally laying on top of you. one of your hands would run through his hair as the other caressed the skin of his neck and cheek. one leg laid flat along his as the other bends to lean against his hip and keep him cocooned in your love.

• he'll often fall asleep like that. big ass baby. God, i love him.

• loves when you play with his hair. you're the only one he allows - no, i'm serious! others have tried, others really want to, but Billy never let them. until you and then it felt like your hands belonged in his silky tresses.

• don't get me started on Billy being protective. cause that's his whole thing, okay?

• shit, got me started. look, so, Billy gives a WHOLE new meaning to being protective. he's defending you against anyone - even his own father - because nobody talks shit about you.

• he's been handed a few beatings by Neil for raising his voice in defense of you.

• but he says he'd do it again and again. nobody got to say a single word he didn't like about you. girls in the locker rooms? yeah, all that gossip stopped after Billy confronted the cheer captain before Chrissy.

• few boys at a party looking at you like you're a piece of meat? oh, look! a heavy arm is slinging around your shoulders to turn you; a hand gripping you cheeks to pull you in for a bruising kiss. due to the intensity, you know he's staking his claim; sliding your tongue into his mouth as distraction.

• does the trick because he's groaning when you pull back. his hand's on your ass, telling anyone watching who you belonged to.

• he'll approach those dudes later and growl, "i catch you lookin' at my girl again, it'll be the last time you have eyes."

• is it aggressive? yes, but so is Billy, and so is his determination to protect you. he doesn't always know the best way to do that but he's figuring it out as he goes.

• you often have talks about his protectiveness but you understand he's very unsure how to go about all of this, so, you both take it in stride. if he catches your glare when he's acting up, he'll begrudgingly back down but that's okay. why? 'cause you're taking his hand and pulling you both away from whatever situation set him off.

• and he's a sweetheart when he wants to be. baby boy can't stand to see your tears, so, if you start to cry, every defense he has is dropping.

• he's been the reason for your tears a few times and he's gutted by the idea. so, you see the progress he makes in avoiding previous issues to avoid your tears.

• communication's difficult for Billy but he tries, only for you. he knows you can't read his mind and he needs to verbalize his needs; maybe doing it a little roughly but he was doing it at least. and practice makes perfect, so, it's fine.

• because your relationship is a partnership that you both have equal stake in. your job isn't to judge, but to encourage.

• but you also get him to open up communication with Max and Susan - since Neil is a lost cause.

• you've never seen Neil physically strike Billy but you've heard the yelling and you've heard the impact of a few slaps from your place in Billy's bedroom and theirs from the kitchen.

• on those days, Billy's darting back into his room and closing the door before leaning against it. his cheek's red and swelling slightly, making you stand in worry. but your movement shakes him from his thoughts and he's sniffling, "get your things, sweet girl, we're heading out."

• "where?"

• "anywhere that isn't here. i can't have you here when he's riled up like that, we gotta go."

• always protecting you.

• ayo, y’all know that medallion he wears? well guess what? he placed it around your neck and claims it’ll protect you when he can’t. he wants to see it on you. my fucking HEART.

• Billy comes to you for any academic help. he doesn't give a single fuck about school, didn't even bring a pencil his first week. but he doesn't want to flunk out and repeat so he puts in just enough effort.

• sometimes, it's not enough and he's coming to you to help proofread his essay to ensure he got at least a 75% to weigh his grade to passing.

• he gets an 88% and fucks you into the mattress.

• you're a lot more inclined to help him with homework after that.

• he's a private person. so, even if you're left in his room while he showers or goes to handle whatever Neil's yelling about, you're not able to see many personal things. everything's hidden and you're not about to snoop through his shit.

• eventually, after a particularly hard day, he's holding you in his arms, on his bed, and then reaching for a wooden box under it. inside are pictures and memorabilia, explaining he hid it so Neil couldn't weaponize it against him.

• and in front of your eyes, he takes a polaroid photo of you two and places it in the box for safekeeping. "because i treasure you, my sweet girl," he'd whisper. "don't want anyone taking this from me."

• heart melts.

• Billy dominates you. like clockwork.

but y'all ever see Game of Thrones and Khaleesi rides Khal Drogo for the first time? he comes in ready to dominate her and she's like nah, l got this and rides him to oblivion?

• think THAT but with Billy.

• he'll want you to be a plaything one day, but the next, he's mewling like a bitch in heat while you ride him. he'll even let your hand wrap around his throat when you're on top.

• he won't admit he likes it but you can tell.

• Billy likes telling you how pretty you are. you get all flustered and he adores it, finding it funny that he'll be balls deep in you, telling you all kinds of profane things he wanted to do to your pussy and you'll just eat it up - but the moment he tells you you're beautiful, you're all embarrassed like a school girl.

• spurs the nickname "pretty girl". he'll call you other pet names, too, but he'll always resort back to "pretty" or "sweet girl".

• big sucker for the troupe, 'never calling you your government name unless angry' cause that's Billy. like 100%. he won't call you your name unless angry (at you) or trying to be serious. meaning it's always a pet name rolling off his tongue.

• HA! good luck trying to leave Billy without a kiss goodbye. it does NOT matter if you literally run up to him because you forgot your chapstick in his jacket pocket and have to get back to practice - he's pulling you in for a kiss before you leave. going to work? where's his kiss, huh? oh, you thought you were getting out of this car without a kiss? that's illegal. the toll tax is now three kisses.

• the boy melts when you kiss him and your hand will hold his cheek. so simple but so intimate for him.

• and when cuddling, he's a big fan of feeling your nails against his skin and scalp. he even likes it when you trace over his face with a fingertip, leaning in to peck his lips quickly before huddling back under his chin.

• Billy often wonders what he did to deserve you - often comes up with jackshit.

• he says he loves you first but it starts as a fight. probably over something stupid, like Tommy H. hitting on you in calculus, but it'll snowball out of control because he's scared of what he's feeling, and over the very idea that someone could take you from him.

• when Billy's scared, fight or flight kicks in and his natural instinct is to fight then flee. so, he'll pick at scabs and old wounds to make them bleed so you won't try to stop him when he leaves.

• but you've been around long enough to know how he ticks.

• the conversation will be instigated by you, begging him to tell you the fucking truth, and he's shouting, "because I'm in love with you, for fuck's sake!"

• mmmmh, yeah, you get fucked on the couch that night because you can't make it to his room. thankfully, nobody was home because y'all are like frantic rabbits going at it. and when you're on top that night, you tell him, "i love you too," against his lips; that fucking hand holding against his cheek.

• he goes a little feral and will wrap his arms around your waist to hold you in position before jackhammering his hips up into yours. growling, sweating, just desperate to be as physically close to one another as possible.

• he wants to hear you say you love him all the time now. Billy needs a lot of reassurance and you've plenty to give. he'll make it a point to remind you he loves you even when in a fight - the very idea of you thinking he didn't anymore enough to make him want to tug his hair out.

• baby boy feels like his mother didn't know / hear how much he loved her, and that's why she easily left him behind. so, he'll be damned if he lets you think the same thing.

• don't try the whole words of affirmation shit because it'll literally always end in a fight. some abusive conditioning can't be changed.

• doesn't mean you let Billy forget his value. and oh, fuck, is he grateful for you. he's insecure under all that bravado and telling him you see his value is almost as good as hearing you loved him.

• in public, he's usually whispering in your ear some shitty joke. arm around your neck and shoulders. just happy to be near each other and never once giving a fuck about PDA.

• you never touch a door, you hear me? never. Billy opens all doors, even if he's pissed off.

speaking of -

• nobody angers him like you, because you're so close.

• but also, nobody can bring Billy back to reality like you can.

• he stops beating people up because he worries about your opinion of him; and he never wants to give you reason to be afraid of him.

• but when angry, he's loud. he throws shit. he'll curse and when overwhelmed, he'll cry and break down in earnest confusion.

• his anger takes over and makes his heart feel heavy; but after the initial storm cloud, he's vulnerable and stripped bare of his defenses as you're cuddling him close.

• Billy tells you he doesn't like to be so angry and he's trying to find other outlets.

• and you assure him that it's okay to feel overwhelmed and like he's gonna blow his top off. it's okay to have emotion, and it's okay to not know what to do with it.

• fuck and that smile? man, he's got you like putty in his hands when he flashes that blinding smile.

• it's cool though 'cause he's totally whipped and if you pout, he's going to get whatever you asked him for. baby boy's a sucker for your puppy dog eyes, making it your secret weapon. you don't use it often but when you do, Billy swears his heart beat stops and speeds up all at the same time.

• he really likes kissing you. if you're not in the mood to fuck, you're tired, stressed, whatever, he's fine with it as long as you're game for a little make out session. honestly? you're never not game.

• Billy's a big cuddler but never in front of people, only ever in private.

• but he's very proud to be your man so he looks for any reason to touch you. it's a sense of both protectiveness and possession; daring anyone to come and relinquish his claim so he might have reason to beat the shit outta one of these punks looking at his girl.

• or so his brain tells him. he's much more even tempered with you but every now and then, old habits flare up, and it's up to you to safely defuse the time bomb that is Billy's anger.

• Billy often doesn't feel worthy of you, so, he'll start fights. you're quick to shut it down.

• and when it's good, it's really good.

• boy will bring you flowers because it makes him feel like he's doing at least something right. and the way your lips will spread in a beaming smile has him making a mental note to pick up another bouquet sometime soon.

• picnics. i know, he doesn't seem the type, you thought so as well. but it's solitary for you both; peaceful and away from the crazy shit going on in town. besides, when he's with you, he's not looking at anyone or wondering about their opinion - his focus is 110% on you.

• which means he can read your body language like he's fluent. nervous ticks? he knows 'em. gotta pee? he can tell. feeling some pent up sexual frustration? he's not sure how it's possible but he knows what's going on, and he's taking action.

• he knows your birthday and anniversary too, so, he's always prepared. never before had he cared about ANY of that - but then you happened, and it all changed.

• ugh - changing Billy's attitude around. he's not so much of a dickhead once he starts dating you. everyone at school notices it.

• he's stupid sweet and gentle with you. he'll stand at your locker and curl your hair behind both ears as you talk; completely focused on all that you are.

• rejects other girls (harshly) because he's enamored with you. and he doesn't like people hitting on him when they know he's with you, it feels like blatant disrespect.

• forehead kisses like a motherfucker.

• Billy telling you you're the calm he needs in life.

• he's adores you, kinda thing. you can do no wrong, kinda thing.

• he pulls you into his lap a lot. again, PDA ain't no worry to him. just no cuddling... but hanging on his lap with an arm around his shoulders is A-OK.

• in fact, he takes it a few steps farther and sees where the most public place you two can have sex is.

• so far, the movie theater was it but that was complicated and not a whole lot of fun considering you were freaked out the whole time.

• but you made it up to him by taking him up the water tower and going three rounds.

• sex is a staple in any relationship, okay? but Billy's never pressured you and always lets you drive the situation. he honestly likes spending time with you, so, if you don't fuck, he doesn't care.

• only your boyfriend is stupid hot and you look for reasons to jump his bones. mmh...

• and when he's feeling randy and wanting to dominate - LORD! the way that boy makes you feel should be borderline illegal. his touches like hot rocks against your skin; kisses from pillowy lips that tasted suspiciously like your chapstick; tongue sweeping over your neck and making your mind go a little fuzzy.

• you go with him on his 18th to get his skull tattoo. you make a joke about getting a matching one but he's really turned on by the idea. you consider it for a few months.

• maybe you do it, maybe not. but you do get a tattoo and Billy's almost humping the air when he sees it.

• nope, he's not letting you paint his nails but he'll give you his opinion on colors. in fact, he'll catch a little bit of an attitude when he notices the once cherry red color of your fingernails has turned into a midnight blue, asking, "your other boyfriend like this color?"

• "baby, i can pick out my nail color."

• "just usually ask me my opinion," he'd huffed.

• you ask him before you change it now.

• matching his and her sunglasses.

• listen to me: nobody touches a fucking thing in Billy's Camaro. okay? but for you... yeah, okay, he's actually okay with you changing the radio station. and adjusting the temperature in the car. and sure, he'd probably kick anyone else out if they tried this, but he actually smiles when your feet escape your shoes to curl under you in his passenger seat.

• you're the only person he trusts to drive his car, too. doesn't happen often but twice now, he'd gotten shitfaced at a party and it was your responsibility to get you both home.

• clingy drunk Billy. might even fuck around and pout at you. Definitely just wants you to lay with him, touch him, be close to him.

• he's not used to being loved so it's a learning experience for you both. but when his head is nestled between your shoulder and neck, breathing in your scent while a hand lazily traces along your belly, there's nothing he'd rather do than this life with you.

• you're the calm, he's the fury. you're the eye, he's the storm. you're the soft and smooth, he's the rough and jagged. but i'll be damned if this relationship isn't exactly what he needs.

• you're unyielding in your love and affection, and he's silently thanking God as you lay in his arms. his eyes might even well with unshed tears as he thinks over in his head every reason he doesn't deserve you, but every reason he'll selfishly keep you.

• oof, but Billy operates on a short fuse so when he's feeling touchy, you have to tread carefully. due to how close you guys are, you're usually the first line of defense he takes his irritation out on and that results in you ignoring him for days.

• but Billy's full of remorse; knowing Neil made him feel like shit and it wasn't fair to in turn take it out on you, just so you'd feel the same. so, he's going to Max for advice.

• i know, holy shit, right? it's just, he's not used to fucking shit up and then wanting to fix it - he usually just runs. but he's tired of running, so, he asks Max to help.

• and Max loves you and thinks Billy's a different person since meeting and dating you, so, she agrees. and the Hargrove / Mayfield siblings are concocting some plan.

• turns out, he doesn't need a big plan - he just needs honesty. he'll get you your favorite flowers and crawl up the oak tree in your yard, balance himself, and knock on your window.

• '80s parents and guardians are oblivious, so, nobody hears him sneaking in and out almost every other night. call that child safety.

• but it's been 3 WHOLE days since he's seen or kissed you, and poor baby is going a little crazy. he'll present the flowers and crawl into your bed, the pair of you dedicating that moment to talk about what happened and how to avoid it in the future.

• and Billy might let a tear or two fall, asking, "why do you forgive me so easily?"

• "because i can see you're genuinely upset by this, baby," you'd sighed, pushing a few curls from his forehead. "but that doesn't mean this can continue. you've gotta do better, baby, please."

• "for you? anything."

• "do it for the both of us, hmm?"

• it's not all sunshine and rainbows when loving a complicated man, and i can't even say it'll be worth the inevitable uphill battle. but it's definitely a love for the ages and you wouldn't want anyone else.

• only guy who's ever made you squirt and he's very proud of that. it's now a personal mission of his to see how many orgasms he can coax from you in a single night. current record: seven. yeah, that boy wants to be soaked, wow. absolutely mesmerized by you when he gets this kind of physical reaction.

• he's always proud of you, too.

• if you're a cheerleader, he's picking you up in his arms and telling you how flawless your routine was (even if you know there was a few missteps).

• if you're an athlete, best believe he's at every single game just to cheer you on. he might even keep record of your stats.

• you passed that stupid hard final in your AP History class? you're literally rushing down the hall, spying Billy, and when he sees you coming with a grin and that fucking packet clutched in your hands, he's stooping low to catch you in his embrace and spin you around, "aha! my smart girl! i knew you'd do fine. you were worrying for nothin', huh? that's my girl."

• and when he calls you 'his girl', your stomach's in a flurry of butterflies no matter how often you hear it.

• you have a deal that you can't call him this in public but he doesn't all the way hate when you call him 'baby boy'.

hmmm, maybe i'm projecting...

• Billy talks about taking you to Cali with him. and you go visit his grandparents during spring break.

• when i say they adore you, i'm talking they fucking adore you to the point they're asking 18 year-old Billy when he's gonna pop the question.

• makes him choke a little out of surprise but recovers, "soon. you'll be the first to know when it happens."

• you can't help but joke, "wouldn't i know first?"

• "nah, i'd tell them before asking you," Billy smirked, nodding at his grandparents across the table.

• he's just so fucking different when in a good, loving, healthy relationship. he's toxic as fuck - we know - but he can recognize his wrongdoings and attempt to rectify them.

• he's constantly offering you compliments about anything.

• "God, you look adorable in that skirt - c'mere."

• "damn, baby, i didn't know Playboy was lookin' for new models."

• "you forreal wrote this essay? baby, this is really well done."

• "hey, superstar."

• mmh, breakfast dates are his favorite. breakfast foods are his favorite, so, you've gotten in a rhythm to cook for him on the weekend mornings.

• oof, wait! the dates! he's broke as shit, cool. but he can make anything an interesting time by just being there.

• so, you go to a lot of parties together but usually duck out with a handle of vodka to head for the quarry overlook. he likes to hang out there, laid back on the hood of his car, looking up into the vast nothingness of the universe while contemplating life.

• Billy's a deeper than we give him credit for. again, it's all hidden under a mask of indifference and dickheadedness, but it's there!

• nature hikes 'cause ain't sit else to do in this small town!

• he'll take you to concerts out of town; diners; long drives; fairs in the summer; he might've even arranged with his neighbor to let you guys in their backyard to hang out with the litter of puppies their dog just had.

• honestly, anything he can think of to make you smile, Billy's finding some way to make it happen.

• trust and believe you can handle his anger and outbursts. you don't shut down, you stand strong while rationally, logically trying to navigate his feelings. when he crosses a line, you'll end the conversation and walk away because he needs time to cool off.

• you're usually very forgiving but not always with Billy - who needs to learn there's often consequences to actions and words.

• hard lesson to learn but he's an avid student.

• Billy offering massages. his hands are Godly and you never refuse.

• might sound really out of character, but he's a fucking professional at handling your period. know how he keeps a duffel at your place? he's got one for you, too, at his. but it's period supplies so you never got a moment worrying about it.

• he'll pour some rice in a sock, tie it up, heat it for a minute or so, and lay it against your lower stomach before crawling into bed with you. sometimes, cramps might make you curl up a little in pain, but Billy's there to get you pain killers, water, snacks if you want them, but especially just to hold you.

• and he'll tell you he read some article in a magazine about how sex is supposed to help with period pains and cramps. what a horndog, you know? don't tell him, but it helps.

• Billy's an ass man. i wish i could explain it but if you get it, you get it. if you don't, that's okay. 'cause he's been known to be titty guy but it's your ass, man. Billy Boy loses rational thought when his hands are all over you.

• he gets you new earrings because you often accessorize your outfits with them. it was a fun yet subtle way to show off originality and Billy finds himself looking through a few jewelry kiosks at the mall.

• you cannot convince me otherwise that Billy doesn't get you a necklace with his name on it. i won't hear it 'cause he's definitely the type to, okay?

• his leather jacket is your favorite because it's oversized and has a musky undertone to the usual smell of his cologne. he knows this and will drop it over your shoulders without needing to ask if you're cold.

• but hey - you're a big fan of wearing your man's clothes, okay?

• he'll come pick you up for school and see you walking out in one of his shirts and have to swallow from the way his mouth salivates.

• finding empty classrooms during lunch or study hall to fuck in.

• Billy doesn't understand 'aftercare' until you. he'll stand from the bed to light a cigarette and tug his boxers on, peaking over at you and noting the way your legs trembled. he'd realize and grab his shirt to clean you up before laying right back beside you.

• "did i hurt you?"

• "no, i'm okay," you'd assure; the feeling of his bare skin on yours something close to Heaven on earth. and the way his finger tips would drag over your bare body, unsure of the patterns he's drawing; but sinking further into his embrace? yeah - God sent.

• while you don't often fight, if you piss him off, he's a loose canon. you remind yourself he's feeling defensive and like he has to lash out, trying not to take things to heart. but he's still Billy, still a dickhead, and he's still going for the jugular.

• he won't look at you for days. won't pick you up, drop you home, give your flowers, kiss you, won't even fucking acknowledge you.

• fuck, it hurts.

• but he's the one then showing up one morning outside your house as you get your shoes on to catch the bus.

• knowing he was over his initial irritation, you'll cautiously approach the car as he gets out.

• "here to insult me a bit more?"

• and his hand is running through his hair, eyes sad and downcast, ringed with red to indicate unrest and emotional turmoil.

• "i'm so fucking sorry, baby, i really am."

• here's the thing - Billy doesn't know how to apologize. he doesn't do it often to anyone, so, the words never really formed naturally on his tongue.

• but with you, he's on the verge of panicked tears as he's word vomiting to you how sorry he is. he'd never stutters over his apology to you because you're the only person he considers worthy of his genuine remorse.

• and you definitely punish him by making him hang out with you, Max, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley and the other party members.

• no, you don't get him to play D&D with them - mostly because Max warned them not even to mention it.

• but he's a good sport and will let the kids get in his car, the others in Steve's, and might take them to the pool despite being off for the day. only because he knows he has to make it up to you.

• look, he's got some flaws, okay? but Billy definitely tries his best when it involves something he's genuinely interested in. you're the first person in X number of years to warrant this kind of feeling in him, so, he's adamant on keeping this love.

• i can fix him, your honor! give me a chance!

[beetlethebug]

so we know that like, Kristen's whole deal is religion and such, right? I'm just kinda thinking about the other Bad Kids and the Gods. Maybe it's my own multi-deity pagan ass just wanting to consider what it would look like. (I'm using primarily Forgotten Realms Gods and my absolutely vague knowledge of them).

This got long so read under the cut ;u;

Gorgug is absolutely Garl Glittergold's favorite child. He loves the shenanigans. Do you think he starts connecting with Gruumsh when he starts connecting with his birth parents? Baby Gorgug leaving bits of metal and toys he accidentally broke on the altar the Thistlesprings' have in their workshop. Gorgug pre-artificer offering up the songs he makes as a tricky sort of "metal" working. Feeling a connection to Gruumsh in the heats of his rage, the nudge of a hand during his frenzy guiding him to the right target. Keeping bits of scrap from their enemies to melt down into his next artificing project. He also probably talks to Helm, sometimes, asking for guidance on how to best protect his friends. Gorgug has big protector energy.

Adaine who is, in a way, a deity in her own right, depending how revered the Oracle is. I don't know if Adaine would connect with Elvish gods, but she and Oghma vibe. I think that after the Bad Kids all talk and bond, Kristen makes a joke about her being a Gruumsh follower with her furious fist and so Adaine jokingly buys a pin to wear in offering. Jawbone also had a talk with her about sometimes it can help to talk to someone about your anxiety--whether that be a counselor or even the Gods, sometimes. Just Adaine praying to Gruumsh to have the strength to punch her anxiety in the face is very beautiful to me. Azuth is the god of wizards, so he and Adaine might vibe. Adaine feels like the type to vibe with the Gods mostly in jest; she talks to them sometimes, but they're silly little guys to her. Because of Tracker and Jawbone's lycanthropy, I think she either has a small shrine to Galicaea or has the biggest beef with her imaginable. Maybe a little bit of both.

Riz. God. I think once Riz meets his Father, he definitely like, sets up a little shrine to him. Ancestor work feels really important to Riz. He dedicates a lot of self-care things to his dad, I think. Mainly sleeping and drinking water. Does he do them? No. But it's the thought that counts. Riz is definitely the like, mundane acts of worship. Incorporating it into miniscule parts of his day that would go undetected unless you knew him and where to look. He also probably has some devotional jewelry to Yondalla; I think that Penny probably had a habit of repeating prayers while touching the beads of her bracelet (kind of like a Rosary) and that rubbed off on him, especially when she was babysitting him. The whole family also probably have at least some sort of worship to Tyr due to their connection to justice and law enforcement. I think Sklonda is more connected with some of the deities associated with Goblins, specifically Gruumsh (can you tell I love him?) and Maglubiyet. He prays to war gods to get through the absolute shitshow of Adventuring school. He and Adaine probably dedicate their research to Oghma.

Fig is really interesting because I feel like she is probably in the vein of demon work instead of divinity. Although I think that she unironically thinks Riz's dad is super cool so like, playfully worships him. Fig is the Bad Kid that I feel like collects all the different pieces of her friends and wears them proudly upon herself. She dedicates concerts to Kristen's new deity of the week. She sighs and asks Oghma for help on exams; she includes prayers to Gruumsh in her tracks. I feel like Fig also might have a tendency to like, worship the people in her life. She thinks they're so important and she cares about them so much. So she elevates them to the status of a God in her mind. They are invincible. They are young and powerful and the bonds they share are much, much magical then some God who pretends to be high and mighty. Her body is an altar--she wears jewelry and draws sigils and uses so much color magick. She is, in a way, a walking beacon to the gods, saying, "Look at us! We're just as good as you, and if you doubt it, then we'll kick your ass!"

Fabian Seacaster my beloved. This man follows his Father's footsteps for a long time. He worships Gods of the tempest, of the sea and sailing. Yondalla holds a special place in his heart. Riz nearly has a conniption when Fabian corrects him on a prayer to Yondalla, and the two of them bond about it. But once this man starts dancing, this man worships Corellon Larethian with his whole chest. He does a lot of his worship through dancing. Moving his body, getting in touch with his roots. Because of the fire elemental, he also does some like, elemental magic? But I think a lot of his forms of worship come through bodily experiences. Braving a storm, dancing in front of a crowd, making just the right maneuver to protect his friends in battle. Sometimes he and Fig and Gorgug will sit together and make devotional playlists!