#max and billy have a good relationship

[cavinginhisfvce]

'William Orchard Hopper"

Pairing: Harringrove.

Tw: child abuse, mentions of infidelity.

This started out as a headcanon of Jim being Billy biological dad and quickly spiraled into this??? Sorry. <3

Not many people know that Jim Hopper spent a considerable amount of time in California in his twenties.

Jim and Billy's mom, Bria Hargrove met and had an affair that led to Billy being born.

Neil knows Billy isn't his son, and becomes abusive towards Bria and Billy until she can no longer take it. 

When Billy is ten, she leaves and hides a note in Billy's room for him to find. 

The note tells him that Neil isn't his real father, it tells him his real father lives in Indiana. Hawkins, specifically but that he had once lived in California. She tells him that the man is named Jim Hopper. She doesn't give him any other details. Not that it truly matters, Neil is whose on his birth certificate. Neil is who is raising Billy into the man he's destined to be.

Confused, Billy tucks the note away. He can almost forget about it, but the knowledge that Neil isn't his dad stays with him. Even when Neil married Susan, and he gained a step-sister in her daughter, Max. 

It doesn't become a problem for Billy until Neil announces that their new, fragile thing of a family is moving to Hawkins, Indiana. 

He doesn't know if Neil knows he'll be dropping them in the town of the very man his mother cheated on him with.

A week after the move, Billy makes the mistake of getting high after Neil's latest lesson in Respect and Responsibility that ended with Billy nursing bruised ribs and what's definitely a mild concussion. 

The mistake isn't smoking weed, per say. No, Billy's mistake was forgetting just how loose lipped he gets when high. Because, now he's shown Max the letter his mom left all those years ago, he tells her that Neil isn't his biological father.

Max doesn't say anything, she just stands up and hugs her step-brother. 

The blond tenses briefly, before he's sinking into the hug; his own arms winding around her small frame. 

She's gotten taller, so with Billy sitting, his head is pressed into her stomach.

She doesn't comment on the warmth of his tears, she just hugs him tighter.

What does someone say to their step-brother who's father beats him on a regular basis? What do you say when that same boy knows the man who lords his parental status over him, isn't actually his dad? 

Max decides you say nothing. Billy doesn't seem put off by the lack of response. 

It isn't until after Halloween, after Max has plunged a syringe into Billy's neck to sedate him when a panic attack had led to a violent fit, that they're both forced to confront the very thing Billy has tried so hard to forget.

It wasn't the first time Billy lashed out like this, but it was one of the worst times. Her new friends had gotten permission from Neil and her mother to come over, but something set Billy off when she introduced him to Jane.

To his credit, Billy had fled the house when he noticed his breathing picking up. It hadn't helped much, because Max followed behind him, leading her friends to do the same.

When Jane met his gaze, her eyes were soft but unreadable, like she knew she held the last name of the man his mother confessed was actually his father.

It could've been a coincidence, but his mom had also told him the mystery man was training to become a police officer. 

That was too many coincidences, if you asked Billy.

He doesn't remember much after that, not that ever does. 

He knows her friends had been afraid, but for some weird fucking reason they tried to comfort him.

The curly-haired one even called Steve Harrington, declaring that the elder was good in situations like this. 

Billy seriously doubted that, but he'd never pass up a chance to see Steve. Their relationship was still new. New as in they'd only been official for the past week.

Once Steve had arrived, the kids all seemed to lose interest in everything, and retreated into the living room to play video games. Max took some convincing, but eventually, they were able to pry her away from the place she'd refused to leave at Billy's side.

The couple quickly toed off to Billy's room, and Steve wasted no time in pulling Billy into his arms.

Billy felt bone-tired, the sedative given to him never knocks him out, it mostly tires him out. Makes the world fuzzy, and like it's covered in a foggy film.

But, this felt different. This felt like a tiredness that wouldn't be quelled by resting for the remainder of the day. 

The younger boy hadn't told Steve about Jim, so when he asked what triggered this episode, Billy quickly spilled. He spoke until his throat felt raw, and his hands were shaking. 

He spoke until the room felt as if all the air was quickly evaporating. 

Steve waited until Billy's word vomit came to an end, before gently responding, "It's okay, B. If Hop is your dad, he's a good man. A little grumpy, but he's not like…" he trails off, but Billy can fill in the blanks just fine.

"H-how am I even supposed to broach this subject with him, Steve? What if...what if he doesn't want me just like her, and I'm stuck with Neil until I'm 18, or dead?" 

The brunet quickly reaches out to cup Billy's cheek, his thumb grazing the smooth skin. "That won't happen. Even if it did, you've got me. You're never gonna be stuck with him forever so long as I'm alive and breathing, baby."

There's more the boy wants to say, but he just feels so tired. The sounds of the kids all yelling in the other room serve as nothing more than background noise.

It's about an hour later, and Billy's only been fighting his sleep because Steve is showing him various tiktoks and clips of random gamers he enjoys.

Soon though, he's starting to doze on Steve's shoulder, when there's a knock at his door, then a head of brown curls are peaking into his room.

Jane.

His breath hitches, but Steve's hand finds his back and begins to soothingly rub his stress away. 

Metaphorically, of course. Because in reality, Billy is still freaking out.

"Jim is here to pick me up, but he wanted to meet you."

This causes him to bristle, "Me? Why?"

Jane merely shrugs, before turning away. 

Billy has an inkling she does know, but he swallows it down and climbs off his bed to make the short trek to the living room.

When he lays eyes on Hopper, the man is dressed in his uniform, a small grimace on his lips as he observes the sparsely decorated room.

His eyes eventually land on Billy and he offers something that could be considered a smile.

"So you're the owner of that Camaro out front, or is that your dad's?"

Billy wants to laugh out loud at the question, but instead he shakes his head. "No, sir. She's all mine, fixed her from the ground up myself." 

It was true, Billy spent months fixing her up, she'd been all but totaled when he found her body at the junkyard in California. 

He immediately fell in love with the car, despite the appearance and the rest was history.

The chief let out a long whistle, along with an approving nod.

"Damn kid. You lookin' for work? I know the mechanic in town could use someone like you on weekends."

Billy only nods, unsure of what to say. 

"Yeah, yeah that'd be great, actually! Thanks."

Jim nods, his eyes never leaving their place of observing the blond. 

"I'll set it up, just come by my office on Monday and we'll work out all the kinks."

Soon after, Jim leaves with Jane, who promises Max that they'll hang out soon.

Much to Billy's chargin, Steve leaves with the rest of the kids, sans Max, around forty-five minutes later.

Neil and Susan return after Billy has finished cleaning up the dishes from his and Max's dinner. 

His dad seems pissed by something, something Billy can't figure out.

Not that it matters. All that matters is that his bad mood means a repeat of last night. 

As it plays out, Billy doesn't have to wait until Monday, because the man in question all but busts the Hargrove's front door down, catching Neil in the act of wailing on the defenseless blond.

There's a whirlwind of activity that ends with his father in cuffs, and Hopper escorting Billy to the hospital with Max glued to his side while Susan tails the Chief's car.

On the drive there, Billy doesn't expect the chief to blurt out, "Jane heard what you told Steve." Billy wants to play dumb, he wants to pretend he has no clue what Hopper is referring to; but instead he just shrugs and glances back at Max, the red-head at least looks apologetic. 

"Does she always ear hustle that hard?" The large man huffs out a laugh, "you have no clue kid," he pauses, chewing at his lip before he carefully continues, "I knew the last name was familiar, just chalked up to a coincidence. But your ma...you look just like her…"

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" 

"I didn't want to assume, I was gonna do some digging. You know? I didn't know Bria was pregnant when we broke things off. All she said was Neil was getting suspicious. She didn't tell me, if she had…" he trails off, pulling up to the entrance of the hospital. 

"I'm gonna make this right, Billy. I promise."

Billy wants to scoff, but one glance at Max's hopeful face in the mirror has Billy nodding instead. 

"Yeah, okay." His words are soft, lacking any bite. 

It turns out that the police chief busting down your front door to find your "father" beating you bloody, is more than enough evidence to send said man to prison. 

It also turns out that one nicely worded threat is enough to have Neil Hargrove give up parental rights that never rightly belonged to him.

A DNA test for confirmation later Billy was getting a new birth certificate in the mail with the name William Orchard Hopper.

Below it read Bria Hargrove and James Hopper.

Billy was in the middle of decorating his new room in Hopper's place when Max barged in, Steve trailing behind her with a sweet grin on his lips.

"Billy, can you take me and Jane to the arcade?" Jane, who Billy hadn't noticed initially just smiled up at him.

The boy shook his head, turning to Steve, "aren't these your charges? Why am I the chaperone?"

Max rolls his eyes, "you're our brother, so you have to! You love us!"

Jane quickly nods her head, a sparkle in her eyes, "Yeah! You love us."

Steve hums his agreement, which has Billy shaking his head again, "okay, whatever shitbirds. Let me change, at least."

They seem to accept that, and slip out the room, leaving Billy and Steve alone.

The latter smiles at him, before crossing the room to plant a light kiss to his lips.

"Alright, now hurry up, Blondie! We can't let the boys get too cocky, Jonathan dropped them off already and I just know Dustin is trying to beat Max's highscores already. They're gonna fight all day."

Once Billy is dressed, he drags Steve out his bedroom, only to run into Hopper. Literally. 

Billy's head bounces against his chest and everything.

The man just grunts and steadies the smaller boy, his lips parting to speak before Billy is wrapping his arms around his midsection, "see you for dinner, Pops!" before he's grabbing Steve's hand and ushering Max and Jane out the door.

Jim doesn't miss the smile that graces his son's lips before he calls out, "be safe!"

He can almost see the way Jane and Billy roll their eyes before responding without missing a beat, 

"Us? Always!" Jim doesn't mention the time he had to put out a small fire from when Billy tried to teach Jane tricks with his zippo.

Yeah, always my ass, he thinks.

[makeadealwithdean]

billy & max in stranger things 2x09 "the gate"

[love-you-inside-n-out]

I love how in most Billy Hargrove x Reader fics, writers always make reader feel like home to Billy. Like that’s exactly what he needs and I love seeing it because the Duffers never let him get the happiness he deserves.

I also recently saw on twitter someone came up with the concept of Billy being put into a foster system and being placed with one of the only foster parents in Hawkins, Bob Newby. I absolutely love that. I wish there was a longer version of it to be honest.

I finally found the original tweet so here you go :P

[chrisbitchtree]

Max is on Billy’s bed, looking through his tape collection, a little pile of ones she’s going to borrow beside her.

She watches Billy as he adds one last spritz of hairspray to his bangs, making sure they’re just perfect. She nods along as he rambles about how excited he is for his first date with Steve tonight, and gives her opinion when he asks her if leaving every single button open on his shirt it too much. It is, Billy.

He can’t find his lipgloss so she runs to her room to grab a long neglected tube of it for him. When she returns, she can smell cologne strong in the air, like it’s just been sprayed. He already spritzed himself earlier, so she doesn’t want to know where he’s sprayed it now.

When Steve knocks on the door, she answers it so Billy can have a moment to himself and regain his composure before stepping out into the hall to greet his date, who’s eyes have gone wide with awe.

[brianwashere]

Ok so—don’t ask about the title. I tried but that was the only one I could think of.

Also the margarita cupcakes come straight from my childhood those slap fr.

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from Stranger Things**

Pairing: the byer-hopper family

Genre: found family

Summary: Billy picked up a new hobby and seemed surprised people noticed.

Tw: cussing, implications of child abuse

Baked

It had been 4 months after Billy had moved in. Four. Rocky. Months.

The first one to notice it was Max, naturally. She was his sister, she knew him probably better than anyone else.

“When did you start baking?” Max interrogated.

Billy kept folding chocolate chips into the cookie dough.

“When are you going to mind your own business?” He retorted with no real bite.

The redhead rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, asshole. Just save me one.” She said as she left the house to meet up with Lucas.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The second person to notice was Will.

Makes sense, he’s very observant.

“Soooooo…” He started off looking at Billy expectantly.

Billy looked back at him slightly confused and shrugged.

“What? You wanna lick the spoon or something?” He asked half joking.

Will perked up.

“Can I?” He sounded a little too excited.

“What are you, seven?” Billy teased as he handed him the spoon he was done with.

“Who cares? I get to have brownie batter.” Will retorted.

“Yeah, and salmonella.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Joyce noticed third.

She had smelled something delightful and walked to the kitchen to find the source of the smell.

She was pleasantly surprised to see Billy, eyes furrowed and tongue sticking out in focus as he piped icing onto some cupcakes.

“Hey, big guy. What’re you doing there?” She asked curiously.

Billy looked up at her like he was only noticing her there for the first time.

“Oh, hey Ms. Byers.” He said quietly.

“Billy, what’d we talk about with the whole ‘Ms. Byers’ things?” She reminded him gently

“Right. Sorry, Joyce.” The blond corrected.

“So, did you make these yourself?” She continued on as if nothing happened.

“Yeah…hope you like margarita cupcakes.” Billy said as he straightened up.

He plucked an iced one from the corner of the rack and held it out to her. She took it thankfully. Billy continued icing the remaining cupcakes.

Joyce took a bite of the cupcake and her eyes widened.

“Holy shit! This is amazing, Billy!” She exclaimed.

Billy looked surprised.

“Thank you, Joyce.” He said.

“Hey, anytime you wanna bake something for me feel free.” She walked out of the room.

Billy felt warm. She liked his baking?

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

El was next.

He had just taken the croissant dough out of the fridge to fold it for what must’ve been the billionth time and fill it with chocolate.

Billy piped chocolate onto the folded pastry and turned to look at the recipe for a split second only to glance back and see El trying to swipe chocolate out of the bowl with her finger.

“Hey! What they hell do you think you’re doing!” Billy shouted.

El flinched back immediately and looked at him with genuine fear.

Billy’s chest felt tight. He hadn’t meant to actually scare her. He lowered his voice.

“I’ll hit you if you try that again.” He joked raising the wooden spoon from the bowl.

Ok if it was anyone else than her he wouldn’t have hesitated to whack them.

El stared at him, searching for his tone. When she found he was joking she grinned as well.

“Here hold your finger out.” Billy said.

El looked confused.

“We’ll do you want some or not?” He pushed.

She held her finger out. Billy wiped some from the spoon onto her finger. She grinned and licked it off.

“Thank you, Billy!” She called as she ran off to her room again.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Jonathan saw him baking next. He was trying to make macarons. Key word: trying.

He cursed to himself as he took the hot tray out of the oven only to see the cookies had sunk in the center.

Jonathan had glanced at them while he got a cup of water.

“Those don’t look too bad.” He offered.

“What’re you talking about? They sunk in the middle and that was the last of the eggs.” Billy said in agitation.

“I’m sure they’re still good to eat.” Jonathan suggested drinking his water.

Billy just shrugged, still angry about how they turned out.

“Well if you’re that broken up about it you can always make more later.” He said poking the hot cookies and quickly retracting his finger when it burned him.

Billy looked at him with a cross between unimpressed and unsurprised.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The last one to notice was Hopper.

Billy was focusing on rolling the thin tuiles but kept breaking them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck!” He seethed through grit teeth; one of the kitchen lightbulbs broke.

“Woah kid, what’s with the harsh language. No need to break a bulb over it.” Hopper glanced up at the broken bulb from his newspaper.

“Not like I was trying to.” Billy snapped.

“No need to get pissy. Just wonderin’ why you’re upset, that’s all.” Hopper said calmly before taking a sip of coffee.

“The damn things keep breaking before I can roll them.” The blond grumbled.

“Try waiting less time before you roll them.” The cop proposed.

Billy’s eye twitched and the light flickered in response. He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples.

“Yeah sure, I’ll try that.” Billy said, exasperated.

As if on cue, the oven went off. He put on oven mitts and took the tray out. He grabbed the timer and turned it to 30 seconds then waited impatiently for it to go off. It only took 10 seconds for Billy to get impatient and try to start peeling the tuiles from the parchment.

“Fuck!” The blond cussed and reeled his hand back. A

piece of metal wall decor flew off from its spot, Hopper just nearly dodged it.

“Ok, kid! I draw the line at murder attempts.” He said jokingly.

He stood and approached Billy, who was staring at him with defensiveness and fear.

“I’m sorry—I-I didn’t mean it. It was—it was an accident, I swear!” Billy stammered.

“Kid I know you can’t control it…yet. Calm down I’m here to try and help these with you.” Hopper clarified.

Hopper grabbed a wooden spoon.

“Alright, how do we makes these damn things?” He asked Billy.

Billy looked bewildered for a moment but quickly shook it off.

“You peel them off of the paper and then wrap them around the handle of the spoon.” He explained.

Hopper nodded and began peeling a tuile from the paper; he immediately broke it.

“Suddenly I see why you were so irritated.” Hopper admit with a chuckle.

“Mhmm.” Billy concurred smugly.

“Why couldn’t you have just done something easy?” The older man sighed.

“I’ve done everything easy. I wanted a challenge.”

“Well it’s a challenge alright.”

They settled into a comfortable silence while attempting to roll the thin tuiles.

Hopper broke the silence.

“Are you happy here, Billy?” He asked.

Billy stopped, staring at the counter. Was he happy here? He had a roof over his house and food in his belly and a father who didn’t beat him for no reason. He had his sister as well.

“…I am.” He finally said firmly.

“Good. I’m glad.” Hopper straightened and ruffled his hair.

Billy stood there, thunderstruck for a minute.

“Also, I think you just broke your last tuile thingy.” Hopper pointed out.

“Oh son of a bitch!” The power went out.

[biillys]

oh ohhhhhhh ohhh wait. wait a fucking minute. listen. listen!!!!

flayed!billy and neil having an run-in a few days before The End. flayed!billy not scaring as easily, actually not scaring at all, compared to actual real!billy. turning right back on neil. except the mindflayer has a soft spot for his host becos the mindflayers fucked like that, so instead of just killing neil, the mindflayer decides to play with it's food for a bit.

real!billy doing his Thing and managing to get that one tear out. becos his dad may be a piece of shit but surely, surely, out of everyone, he would be able to figure out something's wrong. that billy's not billy. the desperation and the hope that maybe this is it, maybe this is only option, maybe making him just that little bit stronger. maybe him getting a 'dad, help, please' with a few more tears out before the mindflayer takes over again. but neil's a fucking coward at most and a piss poor excuse of a father at best, so he takes one look at billy crying, begging, and shakes off any doubt's and worry's, and treats him like he always does when billy turns to water under his weight.

he makes his voice harder, his grip tighter. his words crystal fucking clear.

and then flayed!billy is shoving him off, stronger than neil's ever felt him, and he's laughing, but not in a way neil's ever heard him laugh. and then he's turning to walk right out the door, camaro keys in hand, even though neil just grounded him for the entire fourth of july weekend, except he turns around just before he makes it outside, face completely blank and familiar, but neil's never seen this person before in his life, and says 'when billy and i have finished what we started, i'll come back for you.' and then he's gone.

and neil picks himself up from where he was crumpled against the kitchen counter, shakes himself off, and denies everything that just happened in the past 15 minutes. grips the bench to stop his hands from shaking, and promises himself that next time he sees billy, then he'll really let him have it. that just because billy thinks he's old enough to throw his own weight around, doesn't mean he's gonna get away with it under this roof.

except billy never comes home, and then it's the fourth of july, and neil and susan are trying to enjoy a nice dinner at home, a dinner that both their children were meant to be home for but aren't, but at least him and susan are having a lovely night. they enjoy it right up until the phone rings late that night, and then they're speeding to starcourt mall, and there's smoke and flashing lights and fucking military everywhere, and max is distraught, hugging susan like she's the only family she has left, and no one will tell him anything about billy except for a brief 'billy didn't make it, we're sorry for your loss.'

they won't let him identify the body. won't even release the body to be buried. won't tell him why all those people were in the mall after opening hours, what max and her friends were doing there. what started the fire. why there was fucking military clearing the scene. won't even give him a cause of death.

and every single time he closes his eyes, he hears 'when billy and i have finished what we started, i'll come back for you.'

he starts hearing it when his eyes are open, too, when he's trying to put together the funeral. when he tries to go back to normal life, back to his job, where his boss pulls him aside and gives him time off until his current family situation can stop effecting his work, back home, where there's no longer loud music shaking the doors, no car flooring it up the street, no fourth place set at the table for dinner, no shitty attitude and lousy excuses and brave backtalk.

everything's suddenly so fucking quiet.

so he fixes it. overcorrects. takes his sleepless nights and his workless days out on susan, is loud and brash and a constant immovable object. makes sure it's never quiet again. susan kicks him to the curb within a month, threatening police involvement if he doesn't leave quickly and quietly.

so, he leaves.

(then, susan and max leave for the trailer park, becos neil Left. and that's all susan will say on the matter. and then the upside down comes back with a new big bad, and max is right back in the thick of things in a way she never was before, but then suddenly billy's back. billy's alive, and he's back, and he's pulling himself with his bare fucking hands out of the upside fucking down before reaching around and helping her pull herself out and he's covered in blood and black goo and scars and injuries for days and, honestly, she probably doesn't look much better, but he's coughing and bleeding yet his heart's still fucking beating. and they somehow fucking found and saved each other.

and max is sitting by his bedside in hospital after every single surgery, and she keeps him company and puts headphones over his ears to listen to music and picks out the comic books that she knows he likes to read and she does her best to just never mention anything home related.

billy makes it a week after being back from the dead before he asks about neil.

'he left,' she says, because that's all that matters.

and billy fucking remembers. he remembers how hard he fought, how it took everything within him to overpower the mindflayer, even for those brief few seconds. how the only thing on his mind was this is it. this is my only chance. this is all i've got. and he remembers neil's eyes, wide, scared, fearful, but the second billy broke through, the moment billy shed a tear, fucking begged for help, his voice cracking over the word 'dad', neil went from speechless to loud. his eyes going from uncertain to cold. how the one time billy remembers asking his dad for help, probably the first time he's asked his dad for help since he was a kid, neil didn't even take even a moment to think about it. just took one look at him begging and crying, and steamrolled right over him, fucking sentenced him to death. all because he asked for fucking help.

billy closes his eyes and nods, doesn't think he could ever face neil again without falling apart for good.)

[onearmedlegend]

'Cause nobody wants to go it on their own

And everyone wants to know they're not alone

There's somebody else that feels the same somewhere

There's gotta be somebody for me out there

~GOTTA BE SOMEBODY BY NICKELBACK~

Billy was beyond sick and tired of trying to find someone. He had a person back in California, but knowing that it would come tearing down eventually already put a damper in the relationship. It was just a matter of seeing who’d break down first and cut the other loose.

Turns out Neil was the catalyst.

Trey was always a hopeless romantic; he loved giving roses and kisses on the knuckles at first greetings. It was nice to be loved after a long day of being pushed around by his father.

He also loved to write Billy letters. Pages and pages worth of declaring his undying love. Some of them were poems Billy swore could have been made into love songs.

And Billy kept those letters. They were sweet. He’d turn on the light after everyone was asleep and reread them.

One night, he was so tired that he fell asleep reading them. So, he didn’t hide them in time for Neil to come bursting into his room with sweat already falling down his face.

Panic and cold set in before Billy realized Neil was staring at five love letters, from a boy, sprawled along his bed covers.

With a huff, Neil turned around, opened Billy’s door, and stated, “Pack up.”

A week later, they were out of the house and trekking towards Hawkins, Indiana.

It was utter bullshit, and everyone else knew it. Max didn’t say goodbye to her father, Susan didn’t get to have a last meal with her girlfriends, and Billy couldn’t apologize to Trey and give him a goodbye kiss.

He wasn’t ever going to find someone like that again.

Neil pulled Billy aside before the first day of school, grip tight on his shoulder.

“Don’t fuck this up.”

Billy gulped. “Yes, sir.”

He patted him on that same pained shoulder and grinned maliciously. “Good, now go take Maxine to school.”

He tried. He tried, okay? Girls would bat their eyes at him and slap his arm playfully. They’d chew their gum and wink, hoping he’d follow them around. Or they would think he smiled too lovingly at them, and they’d prance behind him.

That stupid Steve Harrington came into Algebra 10 minutes late.

Billy shouldn’t have looked up, because then he wouldn’t have seen that shine in Harrington’s eye or that charm in his smile.

Harrington took his seat in the front. Then he proceeded to spend the entire class time cracking one-liners at the teacher. And this got the rest of the class to giggle at his will.

Billy mentally punched himself.

Max went missing. Neil told him to go find her; she was with Harrington. And three other boys her age. Nope.

He took his fight out on Harrington. If Billy was to feel pain, then he’d give it to the guy that reminded him of what he abandoned back in Cali.

Months went by, and the two didn’t talk. Billy knew when he walked by Steve Harrington in the hallways based on his shiny rich shoes.

They glared and nodded at The Palace parking lot. Turning up his music was the only way to forget Harrington was two spots down.

Billy would drop Max off at the movies instead of going in with her, especially because Harrington was to be their residential babysitter for the night.

Except one night, Neil is out late with Susan. Some dinner with his coworkers.

Billy didn’t hear much.

But Max was out at a movie with those nerds she spends all of her breathing time on. Billy decided to take a nap. He forgot to set an alarm, so when the doorbell rang and woke him up, he ran downstairs and ripped the door open in record time.

Max hit his shoulder as she walked inside. Harrington was with her. Billy choked on his spit when their eyes met.

Steve cleared his throat and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Movie was over, and I drove her back.”

“I see that.” Billy could tell he wanted to say something, and he admitted it—so did he. But where do you start with an apology for almost beating someone to death.

“Well, see you.”

“Whatever.”

Billy slammed the door in Harrington’s face.

That was how things usually ran. Next semester started, and they barely saw each other once basketball ended. Billy didn’t mind.

At first.

Billy missed having stare-downs. He missed giving Harrington a nudge when they saw each other around town with the kids. He missed shoving the guy around. He missed the actual half-conversations they’d managed to have.

What the hell is this.

Then Harrington graduated. Then Billy felt like his senior year was going to be boring as fuck.

Billy saw him at Scoops Ahoy, from afar. He never wanted to get too close. He wanted to apologize officially for his actions.

He couldn’t figure out what to say, though. So, he pulled a paper out from the back of his notebook and started writing.

Harrington,

I’m sorry I beat your face in. I was stupid and it was stupid and this is stupid.

Billy groaned and crumpled up the paper. He rubbed his face repeatedly, creating a rough red burn.

What do you say.

Then the summer happened. He was possessed by some creature and killed people. He even tried to kill the thing himself by standing up to it once and for all. Then it would kill him. Then he’d get redemption for himself.

He felt good about seeing that Max lived. Those other stupid kids. And Harrington. Thank God.

Yeah, he felt good about dying then. But he felt sad. He wanted to hang out with his sister and make up for the shit he pulled these last two years. Hell, the whole time they’ve known each other.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.

Then he died.

Then he woke up.

A monitor was beeping at his side. His vision was blurry, but as he blinked it cleared up. The lights were blinding, Jesus.

What the hell. Where the hell. When the hell.

A nurse walked into the room with a plastered fake smile. But she asked how he was feeling.

Billy thought he said, “Who the fuck are you?”

What he actually said was.

Nothing.

People started coming in. Doctors, nurses, scientists? Everyone wanted to know what he remembered; what he saw, heard, smelt?

They wanted swabs of his spit for testing. He had to piss in a cup for testing, what the hell. After they were done picking and prodding him, an older man walked in.

He had a gravelly voice, good sense of humor, and something of a caring nature.

“Doctor Owens. How are we doing, kid?”

Billy glared.

“Ah, fantastic. Well, William, we’re going to keep you in here for a couple weeks. We good with that?”

Billy glared harder.

Doctor Owens chuckled and left the room.

Max came in a couple days after. Guess word got around. She ran in and hugged him tightly, apologizing for God knows what.

She pulled away, waiting for him to say something. Billy just smiled and waved her off.

“You can’t talk?”

Billy shrugged.

They spent a good, long time being in each other’s presence. A nurse brought in a notebook for him to communicate with everyone. So, Max would ask him how he was. Billy would draw a shit with flies. She would ask him when he gets out, and Billy would draw NEVER.

Max wasn’t pleased. She went home, but she promised she’d be in the next week or so.

The Chief came in. Asked how he was doing. Billy wrote, NOT GOOD. TIRED. The Chief nodded and took off his hat.

“Understandable. Did they tell you what happened?”

Billy shook his head.

The Chief sighed, took a seat, and explained what Billy wanted to be a nightmare.

The Robin girl came in. She had a box in her arms, so she dropped it on the ground. She folded her arms and bit her lip.

“How’s the bod?”

Billy snarled and wrote, FUCK OFF.

“So, it’s awful. Got it. Anyway. Brought you some books.”

She pulled out the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and Billy’s eyes widened. She laughed and placed them beside the bed on the drawer.

“Want me to read them to you?”

Billy ripped a piece of paper, crumpled it, and threw it at her.

She cackled as she waved goodbye.

Mrs. Byers came in. She brought in food. She winked and patted Billy’s hand.

“I was told by a little sibling that you liked lemon bars.”

Billy never loved his sister more. The thought freaked him out, but he was too busy stuffing his face with those dessert pieces.

Mrs. Byers clicked her teeth. “How are you, sweetie?”

Billy sighed, not wanting to answer the question anymore. But he grabbed his notebook and wrote, FINE.

Mrs. Byers definitely knew he wasn’t fine. But she didn’t push it. She just grabbed a lemon bar and held his forearm.

It was comforting.

El came in. She sat beside him, glaring. He glared back.

“You’re not good.”

Billy tried to laugh, but it was wheezy.

He knew he wasn’t a good person.

Not with how he left Trey without another word and came here to the middle of nowhere. He didn’t even send him a letter back.

Not of how much torture he put Max through all these years, especially these last two.

Not of Sinclair when he thought he was bad for Max and caused mayhem. Kid didn’t do anything wrong, Billy knows that.

He didn’t need to be reminded of beating Harrington, almost killing him last year. He wasn’t doing anything, and Billy thought he ruined everything.

Not of all the people of Hawkins when he was possessed and couldn’t fight it. All the confusion when he led them to that drasted place. Their screams when they were tied up.

He didn’t need to be told by a little girl that he almost fed to a large creature. A creature that would have literally eaten her alive.

He wrote, I KNOW. I’M A BAD PERSON.

El looked at his note and shook her head. “No, your body. It’s hurt. You’re tired. Have you rested?”

Billy laughed wheezier, and his coughs could be heard down the hallway.

Max came in that Friday.

Was it Friday. Jesus. What day was it anyway.

She brought in a deck of cards. For Solitaire, Black Ball, Go Fish. Just to keep him occupied in the middle of all the passing doctors to wear him out.

“Have you seen anybody else besides me?”

He nodded and wrote, POLICE CHIEF. ROBIN CHICK. MRS. BYERS. EL GIRL.

Max nodded. “Steve?”

Billy furrowed his brows and shook his head quickly.

“He hasn’t? He’s been wanting to check up on you.”

WHY.

Max shrugged. “He wants to thank you. And between you and me, I think he needs a guy to talk to.”

Harrington came on Saturday.

He looked like a literal kicked puppy; big brown eyes with a swollen purple bruise on the left. Fuck.

He took a chair and scooted it towards Billy. He sat down, stared at the wires hooked up to Billy, and opened his mouth.

Billy glared.

“Okay, I won’t ask you how you’re doing then.”

Billy let out a long, exasperated sigh. He took his notebook.

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR EYE.

“Oh, this.” Harrington laughed. “Russians.”

REALLY.

“Really. They got mean right hooks. That, and good poison to puke off of.” He laughed harder. “It was one hell of a high, though.”

Billy nodded and looked at his own hands. He didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t want to look at Harrington and want him.

Because why would he want Billy?

Harrington bit his lip and tapped his feet on the ground. “Hey, man. I wanted to thank you for saving us.”

Billy looked at the window, away from Harrington. Harrington’s hand squeezed Billy’s arm. Billy ripped his hand off, shook his head, and tried to face away from the guy he knew he’d love if he knew him more.

“Okay, I get it. You don’t think you deserve this.”

Billy felt tears slip from his eyes.

“But I say that you do. The kids say. Your sister. El. Hell, if the whole world knew, they would say, too.”

Billy wrote in his notebook. I WANTED TO DIE. I WAS READY.

Steve sighed. “I know. But—”

Billy glared over his shoulder. Harrington saw how red his eyes were.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

NO.

“Okay, good. Because I don’t want to go home.”

WHY.

“It’s too quiet there.”

They turned on the TV and watched it until the sun set. The nurse had come by for the night round and saw Harrington passed out in the chair. She almost tapped him on the shoulder, but stopped once she saw how Billy looked at him.

He didn’t want Harrington to go. He looked at the nurse and shook his head. She nodded and grabbed a blanket from the wardrobe they had set up by the door.

She made sure his medicine was replaced and running, tucked in his feet and poofed his pillows, and bid him goodnight. He waved at her with a gracious smile.

Steve finally looked peaceful when he slept. He looked like Sleeping Beauty, and that made Billy chortle.

He took out his notebook after a long time of staring. He started writing an apology.

Harrington,

I’m sorry for everything I ever put you through. I was an awful person. Hell, I probably still am.

My point is, I took so much of my anger out on you, and that wasn’t fair. I was so angry at how careless you were. Are.

But you care so much about everyone around you. The kids love you. Their parents love you. I think even that Byers dude with your ex loves you, too. That Buckley girl definitely loves you; you’re probably her best friend. I know her in school, she doesn’t have many friends to talk to.

Anyway, I appreciate all of what you’ve done with Max. You’re her second older brother. You’re doing what it’s hard for me to do. I’ll get there, I promise. Once I get out of that house.

Trey was my first love. He was amazing, funny, and charming. I loved him, I think. But I left him behind and I regret it.

Billy sighed. The pencil danced above the paper for a second. Then, he wrote the most heartfelt, honest words he’s said in years.

I’m not a good person. I know that. I want to be better, and I’m going to try. For the kids, for Max, and for you. Especially for you.

Because I want to love you. I want to take you out and dance with you. I want to kiss you on your doorstep and hope that you’ll kiss me back.

I understand that it will take time, and I want you to know that I want to wait. I can wait.

And I promise that I will love you.

Billy’s hands shook as he finished the letter. He looked at it once over before folding it and placing it on top of the Lord of the Rings.

He’ll give it to him tomorrow.

[ghosttotheparty]

diff anon here- im glad to see i've found someone who thinks similarly! the only difference is that i find myself a little more open to people writing redemption arcs or alternate timelines in which he joins the party some way or another. not complete ooc rewrites, thats just people being in denial, just some canon divergence. but ive been keeping that to myself because im too scared someone will call me out and tell me to pick a side or something like that, so seeing your answer gave me some hope in making friends in this fandom just yet!

yes!! i would be so down for billy to have a redemption arc or for him to grow as a character but it never happened and most ppl act like it did in the final scene w el just bc she showed him a memory of his childhood

i read a fic a while ago (can’t remember what it was called) in which steve said that he wanted to try to explain to billy what was going on and why max was at the byers house w steve but billy went inside before he could say anything and i think that could have been a good arc moment; billy might not have listened just bc of who he is a character but if he’d seen something (like a demo dog or the nail bat or something else that’s just Weird enough for him to actually ask questions instead of throwing hands) i think it would have been nice for him to grow as a person and become a big brother for max (and obv he’d have to grow as a person in regards to his racism and apologise to lucas)

i also think max rly rly deserves a big brother which is why i love her and steve’s relationship so much but it would have been nice for billy to just,,, not be such a douche

[viennakarma]

Everything I Wanted I.

LESTAPPEN X READER (Part 1)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 7.1k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport categories inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. I know I said it was a oneshot, but the thing got out of hand, and I had to split it in half. Soon there will be a part 2! English is not my first language, so please ignore any mistake!

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“They’re not friends, you understand? They’re rivals, and that’s all they’ll ever be.”

You stand, hugging your helmet firmly against your chest, your dad’s words louder than the ringing in your ear from the way he slapped the side of your head. You were 9 and it was your first time competing in a karting competition. You tried to befriend the other kids your age, but as soon as your dad called you away, fuming, you knew it was a mistake.

You followed your dad’s orders, and didn’t talk to any of the boys again. Max was already cold towards you, so he pretty much ignored your existence. But Charles was more talkative, and as you stopped answering him, he became taunting, annoying, but you didn’t fall behind, you used to clap back at him with the same intensity.

Sometimes you eavesdropped on their conversations, initially it wasn’t intentional, but they were always complaining about you, calling you names, and you realized your dad was right, they would never see you as a friend or equal, only as a rival.

One day you’re walking by when you hear your name in their conversation.

“Nah, don’t worry about Y/N,” Max shrugged, his accent thick, as he pointed to the side of his temple “she’s a little slow, but maybe she’ll catch up.”

You stood there, his words echoing in your head, she’s a little slow, that was a kind way to call you stupid, which, compared to the way your father called you that many times, it was much sweeter. You shouldn’t have let that get to your head, specially said that way. But then again, you were 11, and you kept hearing those words again and again in your head. You never considered yourself dumb, your grades in school were average, and whenever you had time off of karting to study for your exams, your grades became even better, a little above average.

And despite knowing that, after going back home after the competition, you spent the whole Saturday at the local library, studying everything you could find on motorsports and Formula One. You lent books on strategy, history, and even mechanics. Every spare time you had, you spent reading those books, or lending others. You didn’t want to be slow as they had called you.

After that, you stopped talking to Max completely.

“This is a waste!” Your dad shouted, and you flinched, taking a discreet step back, away from him, trying to avoid him getting physical.

You had argued with him, which made him more furious. You tried to tell him it wasn’t your fault, you were just as good at racing as everyone else, maybe better, but no one was willing to give a girl a chance. It made him even angrier.

“You had one job! You get into F4 on your first try!”

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t your fault. That they weren’t willing to give a girl a chance, even if you were better than half of the boys who made it to F4. But your dad didn’t care about any of it, he wanted you to succeed or nothing. He used to always say that anything below first place is failure.

So he decided you, at 14, weren’t worth the money he spent on karting. And he simply left. Making peace with the fact that your dad never saw you as his kid, but more like an investment, was hard.

“You’re never going to be a Formula 1 champion.” Was the last thing he said to you, before dropping you at your mom’s to never come back.

Living with your mom ever since your dad gave you up was something else. She had lost everything after the divorce, thanks to a prenup she had naively signed without knowing anything about it. So when you moved in with her, you noticed how the house was smaller than your dad’s, you two slept in the single room that was there. Your mom worked two jobs living paycheck to paycheck, and you barely saw her. But she was kind, comforting.

You soon realized that she wouldn’t be able to provide for your karting career. So you lied, you told her your dad was still paying for the karting, and you found two part time jobs to pay for racing. You mom worked so much, she didn’t notice your absence in the afternoons, when you went to work in an auto repair shop. Sometimes, on the rare occasions she was off work in the afternoons, you lied and told her you were out with friends, or studying in the library or even doing extracurriculars. You had the best intentions, you used to tell yourself at night whenever you laid awake, you knew she would blame herself or even work herself to death to provide for you.

The entirety of the next year was a constant struggle, and you worked, and scrapped and lied your way through the entire karting competition. It was one of your last chances to get into F4, and you weren’t sure you could live another year that way, without a sponsor.

When the competition ended, you were second place overall. Your kart had problems during the race and you were sad that it affected your performance in a race you could’ve won.

You walked closer as you saw a few of the other boys gathering around some adults, you eyed them curiously. As soon as you noticed who they were, you swallowed. They were probably scouts, it was very common in finals of these competitions, you were used to it. You also were used to being ignored by all of them scouts. You had tried many times before to make connections and make yourself known, maybe even meeting a potential sponsor, but they always ignored you. They weren’t interested in a girl, they didn’t care about a woman in motorsports. Your only hope was that one day you would meet a female scout and she would see your potential.

But meanwhile, there were only men, and they didn’t give two fucks about you. So you didn’t even get close enough to join, you heard Charles and Max talking with them, and you just turned around, going back to your kart.

You pulled a few tools from your backpack, working to fix the difficulties you felt during the race.

“What are you doing?” A man approached you, crouching close to watch your work. You briefly looked up, the guy was wearing sunglasses and a cap, just a normal guy, looking like someone’s dad.

“I’m fixing my steering wheel, it was a bit stuck during the race so I had to double the force used to be able to make it work,” you explained, and he nodded.

“You finished second, right? Why are you here by yourself?” The man asked.

“The other kids don’t like me very much. And they’re talking to the scouts,” you shrugged, trying not to think about all the opportunities they would get and you wouldn’t.

“You should be there, no? Meeting scouts is important for your career.”

“They’re not very interested in a girl racer. Believe me, I know.” You muttered, finishing with the steering wheel, testing to see if it was working all right. You turned, fixing your left rear tyre. The tyre wasn’t responding very well to the braking, “besides, my kart won’t fix itself, right? Look, you see how this tyre is slower to respond to my braking? It messed up with my balance during the race. I could have won.”

“Shouldn’t you take your kart somewhere to get it fixed?” The man asked, helping you unscrew the tyre.

“Can’t afford it,” you said, “I’m saving to try and get into F4, so I can’t spare any money on this one.”

You weren’t usually this talkative with new people, mostly keeping to yourself. But maybe you were missing a grownup figure in your life since your dad had dipped and your mom was always busy. And that man sounded really interested in your stuff, so it felt natural explaining to him.

“So, no one sponsoring you?” He asked, which made you look at him again, hesitantly.

“No, uh, I had one but he dropped me last year” you said, leaving out that part that it was your dad.

“You know who I am?” The man asked and you looked at him, shaking your head.

“Someone’s dad? I mean, I haven’t been introduced to all the kids and their parents yet, but you’re kinda familiar, so-” As you were babbling and trying to explain, he took off the cap and sunglasses, and you immediately recognized him, “oh my god!”

“Shh, shh” he silenced you, putting the disguise back.

“You’re Kimi Raikkonen!” You whispered, and he nodded.

“I’ll be your new sponsor, eh? What do you say?”

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he nodded.

"How do you know I'm good enough for a sponsorship?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, are you good enough for a sponsorship?" He asked. He had been keeping an eye out at that very category, and you had caught his attention as seemingly smart and emotionally controlled with the kart.

"I'm the best of the bunch," you smiled at him and you won him over with that answer.

Kimi became your lifeline, in a way. His family was quick to embrace you in an affectionate way you would’ve never expected of them. They invited you for their little New Year’s party, and you eventually told everything about your life to Kimi. His wife Minttu had also taken you as one of her own and their kids liked you a lot.

Under Minttu’s suggestion, Kimi also enrolled you in language classes, so besides English, you spent the next years learning French and Spanish, and you also caught a little Finnish from being so close to them.

You kept pushing your way up from F4 to F3 and so on, but instead of climbing it steadily like the boys, you had to win two or three times more than them to prove you were worth taking the next step.

You were 16 when your paths crossed with the boys from your childhood again. They recognised you, but they never really talked to you, so they didn't this time around either.

Coming out of the bathroom you once again caught a conversation, and you stopped dead as soon as you heard your name.

“No, not really… I don’t see her like that at all- she’s- uh-” Charles was speaking, probably looking for the words in english, “-she’s more like one of the boys.”

You paused, your breath hitched.

“Yeah,” that was Max, “I don’t see her like that either. I guess she doesn’t care about the things girls her age do.”

You felt a lump in your throat, retreating back to the bathroom. You stood in front of the mirror, watching your face as the tears fell down on your cheeks. You were dressed in your regular racing day attire, cargo pants and a sweater. You didn’t wear makeup and your hair was all frizzy because of the helmet.

The next time you went to the Raikkonen residence, you pulled Minttu aside one moment.

“I want to be pretty. Will you help me?”

You two went through a long chat with Minttu reassuring you that you were pretty in your own way and you insisting you wanted to be pretty like other girls, more feminine and girly.

When you entered F2 after the winter break, you felt and looked like some better version of yourself. Minttu had helped you set a skincare routine that was already helping clear your face from teenage acne. She also took you to a hair salon, where you trimmed your hair and made a few highlights. She upgraded your wardrobe, and even if you tried to refuse saying it was too much, she said it was a Christmas gift and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Your path until reaching F1 was slow and steady, and you were a reserve driver for two years before finally getting a seat at McLaren. You knew Kimi probably had a hand in getting you a chance, but he denied every time you asked.

Kimi told you the raw truth before the season started. He and Minttu sat you down and talked about how the world and Formula 1 would expect more of you than of any other rookie. How they would stress your mistakes tenfold. How they would diminish your achievements with the same intensity. You weren’t afraid, really.

“I’ve lived with my greatest hater more than half of my life, I can handle strangers” you had laughed to the couple.

Still, Kimi taught you everything about his Iceman persona, and told you to pick whatever you wanted from it. Minttu also convinced you to start therapy, which you accepted.

The hate started as soon as you were announced. Beyond the regular misogyny, they were calling you too old to be a rookie at 24, they were questioning your abilities even with numerous championships from other categories to back you up, even with the fact that your mentor was Kimi fucking Raikkonen. But you didn’t let any of that get under your skin.

Sebastian Vettel was quickly drawn to you, and he became your first friend in Formula 1. He had been close with Kimi from the time they were teammates, and he kinda adopted you.

The guys your age didn’t want to get too close to you. The very few times they talked or walked with you, it sparked romance rumors, and soon they pretty much ignored or avoided you. You knew their intentions weren't to be mean, they were probably just avoiding problems with the media and their girlfriends or wives, but it didn’t hurt any less every time they walked straight past you.

One of those times you were going to the group press conference and all three of the guys walked past you as you tried to chat with them. Your shoulders slumped, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“What was that?” You jumped at the sound of another voice. You looked behind you to see Fernando Alonso walking up to you. Up until that point, he had been polite to you.

“Oh,” you stumbled over your words, “being seen talking to me is bad press, apparently.”

“Una tontería,” he muttered, shaking his head, which made you laugh, surprised. He put a friendly hand over your shoulder and led you to the media session.

Simples as that, Fernando too became your friend.

You asked your PR manager, Amanda, to bend a few rules to make sure you would always be at the press conference with Seb and Nando or at least one of them. Most of the time, you did. But sometimes you were unlucky and had to sit stiffly through rounds of absurdly odd (and downright misogynistic) questions by yourself.

Soon you gave up on befriending the other drivers and being charming to the media. You realized the Iceman persona of Kimi looked like a good way to protect yourself from the clutches of the motorsport world. By the sixth race of the year, you gained the Lioness nickname. An agile hunter in your driving style and just as fierce in your answers.

“You’re always seen more comfortable with either Sebastian or Fernando, who are way older than you” some reporter said, “why is that?”

“I believe we’re closer in maturity age,” you said, face expressionless. You heard snickers around the room and you looked to Fernando who was visibly holding a laugh.

“So you’re saying the other drivers are immature?” The reporter pressed, but you didn’t want to talk anymore.

“No,” it’s all you answered, putting your mic down.

Everyone already thought you were arrogant, selfish, and superficial, and as you embraced your cold persona, you just fed into their assumptions. You couldn't care less, it was a good way to protect yourself, to be distant from the media who were constantly trying to drag you to the dirt. 

“You mentioned the other day that you believe you should’ve joined F1 around the time the guys your age did. Why do you think that didn’t happen?”

“Because of what’s between my legs, Brian” you deadpanned.

You had to prove yourself two or three times more than the boys every single step of the way, to get into F4, F3, F2 and now F1. You made it, you were there, between the 20 best of motorsport in the whole world… and still… Still you had to hear questions about how you managed to race with a period, questions about boyfriends, questions about hair care or skin care, or whatever. You wouldn’t mind any of that if those were common questions, if they were asked of every driver, but they were only asked of you.

“I would like to express that, from now on, I will only answer questions that would be asked of the male drivers too, about the sport, about the cars, about strategies and everything that revolves around racing,” you warned one day before the end of a media conference when someone asked if your PMS interfered in your racing.

You started to not give two fucks about the media. Every time someone asked you a misogynistic question you just stared at them and put your mic down. So those types of question died down a little bit.

“Do you think you would’ve already been world champion had you entered Formula 1 earlier, let’s say at age 19/20?”

“Yes.”

Most of the guys ignored or avoided you, but your path always clashed with Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. They always hinted at not liking you in the slightest, and the media and the fans started catching up to it, throughout your rookie year. They would shamelessly shade you, and you never backed down, giving it as hard as you got.

You walked to a reporter, still using a towel to dry your face at the post race interview.

“Did you hear what Leclerc said about your move as you left the pits?” The man asked you.

“No, I didn’t. Do I look like I care about a man’s opinion?” You said, loud and clear.

You got as many fans as you got haters, especially as you messed with Leclerc’s and Verstappen’s loud fanbases. It wasn’t really on purpose, but one of them would usually jab at you in interviews, and when word got back to you, it would anger you to no end, and you would shade them back, and in an insane amount of back-and-forths until your rivalry was in articles, the news, twitter threads, and in the mind of every single reporter in a race week.

“Verstappen talked about your overtake at lap 49, he said it was a dirty move.”

“Like he did to me back in Silverstone?” Your eyes held a mischievous glint as you scoffed, “Funny, you didn’t see me whining about it back then.”

You had the best rookie year ever since Lewis Hamilton debuted. You almost reached the same overall numbers as him, getting six podiums and your first ever Formula 1 victory. You finished the driver’s championship in fifth place, over older drivers that were literal champions of the world.

The first time Lewis Hamilton really engaged in conversation with you was during the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony by the end of the season. You were proudly smiling, holding your Rookie of the Year trophy. He had been polite to you before, but he always looked unattainable, in a way. He was beyond the world of Formula 1.

“Congratulations!” He smiled at you, sitting by your side. Your heart thrumming in your chest, trying not to fangirl too much. Sometimes it was unbelievable sharing casual conversation with legends you grew up admiring from afar.

“Thank you, Lewis. Congratulations on the championship!” You said.

“I’m sorry for not realizing most of the boys were excluding you. I chatted about it with Seb, and he told me your only friends are him and Fernando.” Lewis whispered, looking genuine, “I guess I was so focused on the championship that I didn’t bother to check on you. I’m sorry, really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you raised your trophy, “I made it, right?”

“Succeeding despite the adversities… I see traits of a champion in you, congratulations” Lewis got up, raising his flute in a toast for you, “see you around, Lioness!”

Soon the next season you realized you had a competitive car. More than the year before. As for the first few races of the season, you had a win and podiums, which put you as a contender for the driver’s championship. Unfortunately the other people competing closely with you were none other than Charles and Max. Your rivalry had died down a bit when they noticed that you only shaded them when they provoked you first. So as their jabs became few and far between, it meant your clap backs did too.

The season was as good as it could get, that is until Monza.

You had felt the problems braking specifically during qualifying and your team tried to fix it but there wasn’t much anyone could do due to parc fermé. So you spent part of the night before the race working with your strategist to find a way around your braking problems and the best way to preserve your tyres.

The data had shown it would take a bit more strength to brake, which would eat up at your tyres quicker than usual, but other than that, everything seemed normal.

You all were wrong.

As the race went on, your brakes got progressively worse, to the point that curves were taking your body strength so much you could feel your muscles sore.

“We are considering retiring the car,” Jace, your engineer said. You inhaled, trying to calm down.

You were barely holding your P5, when you saw a Red Bull approaching you. You weren’t in position to fight, so he overtook you turning in a chicane. But your brakes didn’t work as you tried to slow down behind Max’s car, you tried not going into him but your tyres locked as you tried to avoid his rear. You drove straight into his rear, making the two of you lose control of your car. You braced for impact against the wall but luckily the gravel slowed you enough that you just touched the barrier.

After checking with your engineer, you left the car and saw Max leaving his, both DNFs.

You knew of your fame of being a reckless driver, often known for risky maneuvers and overtakes, but you never dove into someone intentionally because you knew trying to take someone out would mean yourself getting taken out too. As a marshal took you back to the garage on a motorcycle, you were ready to swallow your pride and apologize to Max for accidentally taking him out.

But as soon as you stepped down from the motorcycle, Max was in your space. His face was red and his hair all sweaty and disheveled, when he fronted you, chest to chest. You knew there were dozens of cameras pointed to you, so you tried to diffuse the tension for once.

“Are you insane?! Why did you drive into me?!” He kept advancing and for each of his steps ahead, you took one back to try and explain. But he didn’t give you a second screaming all kinds of curses and blame, “you should’ve never made it to Formula 1!”

His words were like a slap to the face, and you stopped trying to apologize or explain. You put both hands to your back, inflating your chest to face him.

“You don’t get to fucking decide that! You dipshit! Who the fuck do you think you are?” You said to his face, that’s when someone from the RedBull garage ran closer and stood between you.

You watched as he was taken away from you and inside his garage. At the same time your PT found you and walked you back to McLaren.

Changing from your race suit, you tried to cool down before going to the media. You gulped down your water as you watched Charles leading the race, and getting closer to the championship than you.

“There was an altercation between you and Max Verstappen, can you comment on that?”

“He was visibly upset with the racing incident.” It was all you said, after chatting with your PR manager before stepping out to chat with the journalists.

“And what happened at that incident? Can you walk us through it?”

“Yes, uh, we’ve been feeling something wrong with our braking system since yesterday. The data showed us it would require me to be more forceful during braking, which seemed feasible. But the brakes were wearing off during the race and we were about to retire when I completely lost the brakes. I really tried to avoid him but my tyres locked and I ended up hitting Verstappen.”

“Are you sure this accident has nothing to do with the ongoing rivalry between the two of you?” You got offended by the reporter's words.

“Of course! I would never intentionally do something to put myself or other drivers at risk. I have all the data to back me up and anyone can check my onboard.”

The FIA investigated your altercation with Max, and you ended up getting an unsportsmanlike behavior penalty. Two points in your super license.

“What the fuck?! Why the fuck would I be punished for that! There are fourteen different angles from that argument and all of them show how Verstappen aggressively came on to me first!”

It got worse when you heard that only you had gotten a penalty and Max didn’t even get a reprimand.

Everyone close to you noticed how you were on edge next week. During media day your answers were short, dry, and every single journalist seemed to want to talk about the penalty.

“Yes, I do have opinions on my penalty. But no, I won’t talk about it, only the FIA’s opinion is relevant” Your words during the press conference were enough to express a little dissatisfaction and to put an end to those questions. Everyone was surprised at the fact you chose to be quiet about the whole ordeal, they were all expecting your complaints and harsh words.

When you went back to your driver’s room, you went straight to lay your head on your mom’s lap, feeling a bit down. You stayed quiet as she ran her hands through your hair softly untangling it. She knew you were upset and why, so none of you bother to voice anything, bashing in the comforting silence.

The best thing about Formula 1 was being able to retire your mom from working, now you didn’t have to worry about her burning out and she didn’t have to worry about bills or mortgage or debts. Now she had a new, bigger and better house, everything was paid for and you even gave her a credit card for hobbies or whatever she wanted. She sometimes went to the races, but she usually stayed at home, relaxing.

“I know things are hard right now,” you mom started, her voice soft, caring, “but I know you can do it, honey. You’ve faced pushback since the beginning of this dream, but you always came out on top.”

“Thank you for believing in me.”

“You will be a world champion, honey. I know it.” She smiled down at you.

You sat up as your mom removed her watch, handing it to you.

“I wanted to give it to you on your birthday, but I feel like this is the right moment,” she turned the watch, showing you the inscription that read strong woman, and you felt your eyes water, “this was my grandma’s. She gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, and now it’s yours.”

That week you got a victory, raising your P1 trophy for your mom, who was watching you with a hand on her heart, crying happy tears.

As the season progressed the championship became even tighter between the three of you. Mere points set the three of you apart, and with each week result, the P1, P2 and P3 shifted between you. It had become one of the most competitive seasons in the sport.

When the third to last race came in Qatar, you were P3 in the championship, and you needed at least P4 in that race to keep fighting for the championship. You didn’t care about anything other than getting a podium, focused on your racing mindset, no distractions. If you only got that win, it would mean getting back that P1 in the championship and you would go down in history.

You were P3 after your last pitstop of the race, you had a small window of time to take advantage of being with new mediums while everyone else was with old softs. You had to pull ahead and open at least ten seconds, so you could become first when Max went to the pits. You had the perfect opportunity for an undercut.

That was until you overtook Charles’ Ferrari for P2. You passed him easily, he hadn’t gone to the pits yet, so he had old tyres. But you frowned as Jace warned you about Leclerc trying to take the position back. He couldn’t fight against your new tyres, everyone knew that. You accelerated to open a distance, but as you went fast into turn 4, you only felt the hit to your side, making you lose control of the car.

It was barely a few seconds that you couldn’t wrap your head around, so shocked you couldn’t brake, only feeling your stomach churn as you braced for impact. The second hit came against the barriers even harder than the first, it shook your whole body, leaving you dizzy and out of breath.

You talked with Jace, telling him in a shaky voice that you were okay but out of breath, and you unlocked your seatbelts with trembling hands. After removing your steering wheel, you tried to get up but you were dizzy and your legs felt like jelly. A marshal helped you out of the car, but as soon as your feet were on the ground, you stumbled to your knees. The nausea got the best of you and you puked against your balaclava and inside the helmet. The marshals made a small shield around you, as one of them helped you remove the helmet and balaclava, still dry heaving. The marshal gave you a towel, and you cleaned the best you could as the ambulance was coming.

You looked behind you to your destroyed car.

And just like that, you had lost any chance at the championship.

You held your tears as you went through the medical procedures and examinations. The world had been muted in the background and you could only hear the noise of the crash, visualizing your ruined car, and your dreams being crushed once again.

But as you came back to the hospitality, you found your mom, and sobbed quietly against her chest.

“It’s ok, honey. It’s okay,” her voice was so soothing and the pain meds were working, so you cried yourself to sleep while she held you.

Later that day, you watched the replay of your crash. Leclerc had gone way too close to you, but in turn 4 he hit the curbs and lost control, hitting your car right in the middle, full force. Your car had spun out a lot then hit the barriers. It was lucky that you had come out of the crash relatively unharmed, it was ugly and could’ve been a lot worse, from the way you spun and the G force your car hit the barrier with.

“You’re still watching that?” Your mom’s voice sounded in the middle of the night.

“He shouldn’t have tried to fight for the position back, he didn’t even have enough tyres for that! And he was way too close, look!”

Your mom closed your laptop, putting it on the coffee table. She took your hands in hers and smiled gently.

“I’m sorry about the championship. But I’m glad you’re okay, that was one of the scariest couple of seconds of my entire life,” she whispered, teary eyed.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, ashamed that it didn’t cross your mind how worried she might have been.

“It’s okay, honey. There’s always next year, I’m sure you will be world champion. And will be there cheering for you.”

The next week in Jeddah, you felt like the world was out to get you when they put you in the press conference with both Max and Charles, as well as Lewis and Sebastian.

“Y/N, how are you feeling after last week’s crash? It looked pretty bad.” Someone asked.

“I am doing ok, thank you,” that’s all you said into the mic.

“Unfortunately, the crash ultimately took you out of the championship, what do you say about that?”

You were so tired of that question, so tired of your PR manager talking in your head about not blaming Charles publicly, despiste your desire to scream to whoever may hear that the monegasque just wanted to take you out of the competition, so he could fight only Verstappen for the championship. You just wanted the season to be over, in all honesty.

“There’s always next year, right?” You echoed your mom's words, that were also your rehearsed answer. You looked to the side, feeling Sebastian’s hand softly on your forearm, a silent show of support.

You left as soon as it was over. You knew Charles had been trying to talk to you. You supposed it was to apologize, but you weren’t having it. You were still so angry at him that you worried you’d punch him as soon as he was in your face. So you just avoided him like the plague. You didn’t want to see him, and you couldn’t afford another punishment if you acted on your anger.

“Charles has been looking for you,” Sebastian said, walking up to you as you were finishing braiding your hair for the race.

“I have been avoiding him,” you said, not looking at Seb, still focusing on your braids.

“He just wants to apologize.”

“And I want to punch him in the face, so what? We can’t always get what we want” You clenched your jaw, using an elastic band to finish.

“Y/N…” Sebastian sounded tired.

“Don’t Y/N me. I just want this season to be over, ok? The championship was in my reach, and now it’s not. And it wasn’t even my own fault. So no, I won’t see him.”

Sebastian didn’t say anything as he walked to you and pulled you in an affectionate hug that made you want to cry again.

During the driver’s parade, Fernando acted almost as a guard dog, not letting anyone close to you. You talked with him and Lewis about the crash, explaining how it felt to you.

When the season ended, you got a third place trophy during the Prize Giving Ceremony. You remembered your dad’s words throughout the entire night. Coming down from the stage, and you met with Minttu and Kimi, they congratulated you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of failure. You looked at Charles on the stage with his P2 trophy.

“Anything other than the first is failure, right?” You sighed, eyes glued to the stage, where Max got the trophy of Champion of the World.

“What crap is that?” Kimi said, suddenly.

“My dad used to say that when I was a kid.”

“Well he was an asshole,” Kimi said matter-of-factly, “and he never made it to F1. He didn’t even make it to F4, he has no reason or power to get in your head. You were just a kid. You understand?”

“Yes, Kimi," you swallowed, feeling some kind of wheight being lifted from your shoulders. Kimi had done many great things for your life with very few words, and his succint way of being was great to pull you back to the present whenever you anxiety got the best of you.

You ended up getting the Personality of the Year award too, which was such a surprise that it worked wonders to lift your spirits and to end the season with a sweet note.

Even being in a better mood, you didn’t stay at the party too late, saying your farewell to your friends as you dropped Kimi and his wife at the hotel. You were removing your makeup after a shower when there was a knock on your hotel room door. Thinking it was an emergency, you rushed only to be faced with Charles Leclerc.

“What are you doing here?” You looked around the hall, confused.

“Can I talk to you?” Charles was still dressed in his formal attire, black tie. He fiddled with his fingers as you let him in, afraid someone might see him at your door.

“What?” You crossed your arms as you closed the door.

“I’m really sorry about the crash in Qatar,” he waited for your answer with bated breath.

“Can we have this conversation when next season starts?” You proposed. You knew you weren’t ready for that talk yet, too much anger was still clouding your judgment for a level-headed talk.

“It wasn’t my intention to take you out-” He started but you cut him off.

“Look, you’ve never liked me, I’m aware, and you cost me an entire championship, so I don’t know if I believe you.”

“It really wasn’t intentional, the accident cost me the championship as well,” you could see in his eyes that his patience was wearing thin. But so did yours.

“No it didn’t. You still had a chance even after that DNF, you just didn’t win anyway,” your anger simmered again, making you raise your voice.

“Fuck you! You treat me like this because you always felt like you were better than everyone-”

“I treat you like this?! Be fucking for real, Charles! You hate me so much you took my chance at the championship away!”

“If you had more wins during the season maybe this wouldn’t be a problem right now!”

“Unbelievable! Because you are so much better than me, all you got was second place!”

“Shut up.”

“You’ve always hated me for absolutely no reason-”

“Shut up.”

“And now you think you can barge into my room and tell me you think I’m a shitty driver? I’m not standing for-”

“Shut up!” He shouted, which was so surprising you actually stopped talking.

The both of you were breathing heavily, in one second you were sure you could strangle him, in the next, his lips were against yours and his hand gripping your hair. The kiss was nasty, all teeth and lips and tongue, his hands going down your body, pressing you into him, and your fingers tugging at his suit, ripping the buttons. You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Charles’ lips found your neck and he bit into your pulse point.

“Fuck you, Charles” you said, breathless, opening his trousers and he ripped your little sleep top with his bare hands.

It was so hot as you stumbled backwards and he followed you, tossing your top behind him, you took off his shirt and undershirt and he helped you kick out your shorts.

Charles pressed you against the wall, kissing you aggressively again, and you moaned as he placed his thigh between your legs, and you ground against him, turned on, dampening his trousers with the wet of your panties. You pressed your hand against his bulge, and he groaned, pressing into you even harder, humping like horny teenagers.

You didn’t even bother to get him naked, with his trousers half undone, you just pulled his cock out, heavy in your hands. You watched his pained expression as you spit on your hand so you could masturbate him.

“Fuck it,” you moaned, knowing grinding on him was not nearly enough.

You pulled your panties to the side, and lined his cock up into you. It was so tight as he slid into you, that your eyes rolled in pleasure, and he raised one of your legs against his waist to make room for his hips. He pulled back and snapped his hips into you again, his cock stretching you so good you were shaking. You put one arm around his shoulders holding on him and the other hand you held his ass under his loose trousers, your nails biting into his flesh as you pushed him even deeper.

“Fuck, ah-” he moaned in your ear, “so hot- putain-”

The loud, wet sounds of his hips pistoning into you were obscene. You angrily bit him, his shoulders, his chest, his jaw and he went even harder, your back hitting the wall behind you, and you pulled his hair, sweat starting to form all over your body.

“Fuck, Charles!” Your moans got even louder, and Charles stuck two fingers into your mouth, muffling your sounds as he fucked you.

He was hitting the perfect spot inside you, and it was enough for you to know you would come that way. You slapped his cheek, taking out some of your anger and he groaned, going harder. He pulled his fingers from your mouth and held your neck, pressing your torso against the wall and choking you a little bit.

“I can’t hold much longer” he warned you between gritted teeth, relentlessly fucking you.

You pinched your own nipples and it didn’t take long for you to come, your cunt clenching so hard around him, it was enough to send him over the edge too.

Shaking, the two of you slid to the floor, breathlessly lying down, half naked and sweaty.

None of you said a word.

When he was ready to go again, he put you on your knees, your torso against the mattress, and he pounded into your cunt mercilessly from behind.

The third and last time was lazy, slow missionary and he held your wrists above your head with one hand, pressed your clit with the other, sucked a few hickeys around your tits and his cock pressed over and over your g-spot.

When you woke up the next morning, Charles was still asleep by your side. You went into the bathroom and showered, hoping he would catch the hint and leave. But as you came out showered and dressed, he was still out cold. So you quietly packed your bag and left for the airport.

[lighteyed]

it's no big surprise you turned out this way

steve harrington x fem mayfield!reader

[3.7k] steve comes over for family dinner. it is absolutely not your idea.

disclaimer- no mention of blood relation to max, no physical descriptors of reader, they are sisters in any way you want them to be. trigger warning for shitty parents and billy h*rgrove. this is not a billy safe space.

dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

thanks for reading if you do <3 enjoy teehee

You drop a kiss on Steve’s head in greeting, which he accepts with a thrilled, in-a-new-relationship, glowing smile, before dropping down beside him and subsequently dropping your news, or rather, your request that’s not really your request, on him. “Neil wants you to come over for dinner.” You tense at the utterance of your stepfather’s name, even if it’s your own mouth doing the uttering.

   His smile dissipates. Only a little, but enough for you to wring your hands together. You want to scoop all the words you’d just said back out from his ears and spoon them into your mouth again. Make him forget it’d ever happened. “Like, like family dinner?” He asks. He can’t fathom a world where he sits placid across the table from Billy Hargrove and passes him the salt respectably and doesn’t end the night with his fist colliding with his face (regardless of the outcome).

   “No, it’d just be you and him, he’s dying to take you out on a date,” you deadpan in response, shaking your head. Steve rolls his eyes, no malice intended. “Obviously family dinner, Steve. You, me, Max, my mom, Neil… Billy.” You force out the final name. He swears he hears your teeth grinding as you say it.

   “Don’t get grouchy on me.” He reaches over and smooths out the upset crease between your brows. Your shoulders relax in response. You’re always so wound up he’s made it his mission to give you that ease he knows you crave. He’s quite good at it, on days where he can steal you away and keep your mind occupied with the lovelier things in life. But there are some things he can’t spare you from, as much as he tries.

   Really, he can only keep you out of that house for so long before your family starts demanding their 17-year-old back.

   For the most part you keep away. Max roams the new mall all day with her friends now that June’s here and summer’s entered Hawkins in full swing, and you drive them there with your mom’s car if she doesn’t need it for the day, or Steve drives you all there and then home again if he’s not at work already that morning. If he has work you loiter in Scoops the entire day, lugging a stack of books acquired from the library and settling in a corner booth, popping your head up once in awhile to check on him and his misery in his new position in that ridiculous uniform. You brighten his days just as much as he brightens yours. And he really, really does. (And you like the uniform, as silly as it is, for the record).

   “’M not grumpy,” you deflate, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. He rubs your back in a nice, soothing way when you lean into him. Ever since he asked you out he’s been taking every excuse to touch you and you’re not complaining in the slightest. He has the softest hands you’ve ever held and they’re perpetually gentle and kind. All the love in the world encased in the hands of some boy from Hawkins, Indiana, a place you never expected to find a home in, let alone find a boy. The boy, if you thought about it long enough. Early days to be thinking about it but you did think about it. Often. For hours. You sigh quietly. “I can tell ‘em you’re busy, you don’t have to come.”  

   “Max knows I’m not busy,” he points out.

   “She doesn’t wanna be there, either. Look, I’ll just say you can’t come-“

   “But I can.”

    You lift back up, wary, but hopeful. A new flower poking its petals up from the earth, tilting right toward the sun.  “I don’t wanna make you miserable.”

   “That’s stupid,” he scoffs. He kisses your head this time, the perfumy scent of your shampoo fogging his brain up in a nice, lovey haze. “How could you make me miserable? You’re like, the best thing I’ve ever had, by a mile.”

   You smile in spite of your gloomy mood. “The fuckin’ Hargroves have an innate knack for misery.”

    “It’s a good thing you’re not a Hargrove then, hm, Mayfield?” He brushes your hair away from your face and  takes your chin in his hand, angling your face up properly to meet his, and he kisses you like he well and truly means it, firm and adoring. You can feel his grin seared into your mouth when you pull away, in spite of your reluctance and Steve’s attempts to pull you back in.

   . “You really wanna come? It won’t be fun. It’ll probably be shitty, actually.” You ask him in a tiny, hesitant voice, too overcompensating to someone who do anything you asked of him. Having Steve there sounds better than not having him there, and better than having to explain why he’s chosen not to come, but you know it’ll be weird. Worse than weird. After what happened back in November, him and Billy go out of their way to ignore one another, and it’s so deliberate it sucks the air out of a room. And even with that, Billy still makes it a point to direct snide remarks to you about Steve every chance he gets: alone, in front of Max, in front of your parents, in front of Steve himself while pretending he’s not there. And it’s gotten worse since you admitted to your mother in confidence that you and Steve were together now, and she told Neil, and Neil told Billy. But there’s no running from being at the same dinner table as him. You know you’re asking a lot. You wouldn’t be asking if Neil hadn’t insisted. In a loud, pointed voice, with a stare that unnerved you. You’d agreed to it hurriedly after that.

   “Well,” Steve leans back, playful, “want to is a bit of a stretch but I can make an exception for ya-“

   “Steve-“ you groan, pushing his chest, but he laughs, pushing himself back forward, smacking another loud kiss on your mouth.

   “Kidding, I’m kidding, c’mere,” his fingers grip your waist feather-light, tickling, as he laughs, and you can’t help but laugh too through your head shakes and faux-exasperated sighs.

  “I’m really asking you if you want to, I know it’s a lot asking you to make nice with Billy.” You interlace your fingers with his and he places them on your lap, all big brown eyes blinking up at you affectionately. You’re a sucker for his eyes. You can tell what he’s going to say before he says it.

   “Nothin’s too much for you,” he says in his sweet, low voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek, his stamp of agreeance left blazing there on your cheek.

   Late into the next day he arrives on 4819 Cherry Lane, as he has so many times before, but he parks right in front and gets out this time. He doesn’t sit by the wheel waiting for you to come running out, sometimes with Max in toe, usually by yourself, breathless and beaming, ready for him to whisk you away as fast as he can without breaking a million laws. He knows it’s not the gentlemanly thing to do, having a girl come to the car by herself instead of going up and ringing her bell, and normally he would, but you insisted he didn’t, not wanting to draw attention to yourself or him, and you were already waiting outside on the front steps when he got there most of the time, anyway.

   And this time, too, you get the door before he can ring the bell, almost ripping it off the hinges when you throw it open to greet him.

   “Thank God,” you mutter. You go to take his hand but remembers yours is sweaty and pull back. The sweater you’re wearing is pretty, complements your eyes and complexion and your everything, and your hair is down and soft-looking. He’d run his hands through it in other circumstances. “It’s not too late to make a break for it,” you lead him into the house quietly, throwing your head back and casting a dark look down the hallway. “Just say the words and we can flee, I won’t blame you.” He’s dressed so nicely, and you don’t even have the time to properly admire him. He did his hair all perfect (he always does but you can tell he put a little extra sparkle into it tonight), he’s in his nicest jeans that mold against his legs slim and fit, his sweater is a navy blue and it’s such a good color on him you might cry. You can see effort written in everything he does, tonight especially. His desire to make a good impression rings in your heart. You want to regard him warmly and turn your gaze on him with the utmost veneration but your skin buzzes with anxiety and it feels like one large, domineering fist is clamped around your intestines. 

   “It’ll be fine,” he says, squeezing your hand. He doesn’t even notice that it’s sweaty, though your anxiety is palpable and he amps up his happy exterior to balance you out. He’s probably just as nervous as you are, deep down. “Parents love me.” It’s an insistent sentence. “And I’m gonna turn on my charm.” He makes a clicking sound with his mouth and snaps his fingers around a little. You stare at him, blank. Neil is rumbling around somewhere in the distance and for the time being you are utterly immune to Steve’s banter.

   Not completely, but enough. “I don’t know if that’s the kinda charm we need here,” you pat his shoulder.

   “But it can’t hurt,” he points out with a raised eyebrow, pointing a finger gun at you.

   “Oh, it can hurt alright.” You steer him into the living room anyway. “Steve is here.”

   You announce it to the open air, waiting to see who comes when you call. Your mom, immediately, rushes out of the kitchen to greet him. She’s never met one of your boyfriends before. Her greeting is enthusiastic, to say the least. And she’s a hugger. It’s nice, actually, Steve thinks, no matter how embarrassed and nervous you are, to be embraced kindly by a mother. It’s familiar, like some distant dream from a faraway past. You have your qualms with Susan, he knows that, but he knows you love her hard, and that’s why you take so much issue with the way she lets herself be treated. It’s difficult to watch you grapple with all of this, all of the time.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Steve, or Steven? Whatever you want,” she rubs his back as she takes him into the kitchen alongside you.

   “Steve is great, thank you, Mrs. May-“ he clears his throat, “Mrs. Hargrove, I mean.“ It’s hard to reconcile this woman in front of him with the domineering men bearing that same last name. It’s hard to distinguish her as anything but another piece of you and Max. A good piece.

   “The girls talk about you all the time,” Susan says, still smiling.

   “I do not,” Max huffs as she comes out of her room, abashed. She’s in a nice outfit, too. Not as dressed down as she usually is. She tugs at her tied back hair like it hurts.

   “Ma, how tight did you do her hair?” You ask, beckoning Max over.

   “It pops out of every scrunchie!” Susan says, patting her on the head with such clear affection it makes Steve ache a little.

   “Maxie.” You open your arms for her. She stands in front of you obediently as you loosen the hold her hair ties have on her unruly locks, smoothing them out nicely as you tie it back up again, looser.

    Everything’s so nice and homey that the shift in the atmosphere is almost imperceptible when a door creaks open a bit away from you four. But it’s there. He sees you draw back into yourself, your smile, at him talking to your mom and being so sweet, at Max, at the normalcy of this moment, sliding right off your face as Neil walks into the room. You’d almost forgotten him. You could’ve stayed in a bubble with your mom and sister and beautiful boyfriend forever. But Neil comes out from the hallway, from Billy’s bedroom, and Billy follows behind, fully clothed for once, his shirt buttoned all the way up his chest, his expression dark and cloudy. His jaw is tight as his gaze fixes on Steve.

   But Steve, so gracious, sticks his hand out to shake Neil’s, smiling like Neil’s spawn isn’t the worst person Steve’s ever encountered as he introduces himself. “Nice to meet you, sir. Steve Harrington.” He keeps his mouth upturned sweet and polite even when Billy snorts in the background. He doesn’t even look in his direction.

    “Nice to meet you, too, Steven.” Neil’s handshake is more like a clenched fist. You stare at their clasped hands like you want to commit murder. Steven.

   “Steve, not Steven,” you mutter. Max touches your arm in warning before Steve can. You can’t help it. If there’s anyone you’re defensive over besides her, it’s him.

   “Steven’s fine,” he chimes in, keeping that same old good-natured Steve smile on his face. He’s too appeasing and Neil has never deserved it. He rolls his shoulders back and talks to himself in his head. Just one night. For her, for her, for her.

  “It’s the name your parents gave you, of course it’s fine,” Neil claps him on the back, and you know he doesn’t mean anything by it but you and Steve both flinch. From the words and the tap alike. Neil ignores your remark completely as he continues to talk to Steve in a way that makes your skin crawl. He brings Steve over to the dining room table and the rest of you follow suit, settling in around each other. You make sure you sit next to Steve, but you second-guess it when Billy takes the straight across from him. Neil drones on. “Y’know, it’s interesting how all this time, you’ve been driving the girls around for months now, but this is the first time we’re meeting.”

    Steve checks on you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw ticks. He squeezes your knee but before he can answer, you do it for him. “He’s been busy, that’s all.”

Neil looks toward you. For once. It is not a pleasant look. “For months?” He tucks his hands under his chin.

   “I know you don’t like having strangers in the house after you work,” you say, placating in a way that turns your stomach.

   “That’s true,” Neil says. “Billy doesn’t seem to get the memo on that, so I’m glad someone in this house is paying attention.” The degradation of Billy at the dinner table is nothing new. And you feel bad about it. You’d feel worse if he wasn’t so nasty and hateful to everyone because of it. Neil had run into Billy’s latest flavor, Miranda Brady from your Calculus class, while she was rummaging through the fridge the other night, and he hadn’t been happy. He was polite to her until she’d been hurried out the door by Billy, and then he’d reamed into him in colorful, awful ways. Max and Susan both hadn’t been home, but it was one of those nights where you had been, and you’d lingered by your bedroom door awkwardly, making sure it didn’t get too out of hand. You weren’t sure either of them even knew you were there. Accepting the praise seems wrong. You nod stiffly.

  Billy, however, turns his gaze on Steve, the first acknowledgement he’s gotten in months. “Say, Harrington, you used to be quite the ladies’ man yourself, yeah?” A sick grin creeps up on his face. Steve sees your hand tighten around your fork. You’ve barely shoveled your pasta into your mouth. Max gapes at her stepbrother, her mouth still full of food.

   Steve clears his throat. “I had a steady girlfriend for about a year, actually. I’m sure you remember that.”

   “Yeah, but I mean,” Billy rocks his chair back. “That’s not what they were calling you King Steve for, is it?”

   You lurch forward. Steve drops his hand over your knee again. “I think it was because of the whole captain of the basketball team thing. Or the captain of the swim team thing, I can’t remember when it started. Youngest captain the Tigers had seen in a decade, actually, when I got it sophomore year.” Steve grins again and the cocky charm he possesses but hardly uses much anymore comes out to play, just for a bit. You settle down again. You eat what’s in front of you, calmly. You hear Max gulp down her own food across the table. It’s almost cartoonish.

  “Max, chew first,” Susan admonishes gently.

   “I am,” she retorts, but she’s inhaling everything in front of her.

    Billy  cuts in. “See, that’s interesting, I thought it was because you hooked up with a lot of girls. Like half the class.”

   Steve doesn’t even blink. He takes a sip of his water. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “Are you trying to upset your sister?” Neil asks him with raised eyebrows.

  He goes quiet again, hardened. “No.”

  “It seems like you’re trying to.”

   His jaw ticks this time. “I’m not.”

   “Do you remember what I said to you? About a half hour ago?”

   His jaw ticks again. His eyes meet Steve’s over the table. Steve feels the merest twitch of embarrassment for him. He knows all too well what it’s like to have a dad who takes a weird sort of pleasure in berating his son. “Yes, I remember.”

   You stare down at your plate, pinching the skin of your palm.

   “If you remember so well, then you should stop talking.”

   Billy stops talking. Neil turns to Steve again. “So, captain of two athletic teams, that’s impressive. I’m sure your college plans are impressive as well.”

   Steve stutters in his answer and you hold your head aloft in your hands, suppressing a groan. Max finishes her food so fast, she’s excused from the table and gone within minutes of that conversation starting. You nearly fall out of your chair in your attempt to kick her shin under the table. She holds her hands up in her retreat while nobody’s looking, mouthing that she’s sorry at you and running away into your shared bedroom. You suppress a groan again.

   Outside, after another grueling hour of Neil dominating the conversation and making dinner unenjoyable for everyone, you walk Steve to his car, fiddling with your hands again. He props himself up against his window and wrestles you out of the knot you’re in.

  “That sucked, I’m sorry,” you say, knocking your foreheads together, your mouth drawn in a thin, perturbed line.

  “It was fine, you’re fine,” he whispers the last bit. That’s what you’re more worried about, after all. You’re worried he’s mad, planning to leave you for someone with a more normal family, people who are warmer, someone capable of being warmer. You’re plenty warm around him, but you suppose you could be better. You start running over all the things you could do better and all the ways he could do better in your head. “Stop thinkin’ so much. Everything’s okay.” He nudges your foot with his.

   “No, I know, it’s just, it’s awkward, it’s not fun, shitty way to spend your night, shitty way for anyone to spend a night.”

   “It’s okay. It was good. I was good, wasn’t I?” He kisses your palm where you’d pinched it earlier.

   “You were great, you’re always great.” You stroke his cheek, lingering on his lips for a second. “You look really nice, by the way.” You’d almost forgotten to tell him. “I like this color on you.” You smooth over and down his arms.

   “Yeah?” He grins, lopsided, tilting his head.

   “Looks good with your hair.” You reach up to tug on the strand that hangs down like an art form over his forehead. You’re the only one he lets play around about his hair.

   “You look beautiful, too, for the record.”

   “I was trying to make this about you.” You poke him.

   “I like when things are about you.” He pokes you back.

   “I hate when things are about me.”

   “Yeah, I’m trying to fix that.”

   You chuckle. “Good luck.”

   He gestures back to your house. “I’m makin’ progress here. I think I get you a little bit better now, after all that.”

  “And what exactly do you get?” You wrap your arms around his waist.

  “Why you’re always so tense and grumpy.” He cups your cheeks like he’s holding the most delicate thing ever to be held.

   “I’m not grumpy-“

   “Just tense, then.”

   You accept that, begrudgingly. “I’m pretty on edge most of the time, I guess.”

   “I try to talk you out of it,” he says softly, stroking your face.

   “You’re the best, I hope you know that.”

   “I try,” he says again, and you nod. “It’s not easy. Night after night.”

   “It’s not.” You bunch up his sweater.

   “I get it, you know? They’re not here as often as yours, but I get it.”

   “Dinner with yours next time?”  

   “Yeah fucking right.” He kisses you for it, though, because you mean it, you’d have dinner with them if he asked just like he did because you asked, a long and languid kiss that he hopes no one’s shifting around the curtains to be privy to. He withdraws first and says, “Your mom is sweet, I’d have dinner with her again.”

  “I’ll let you know when she’s free, take her out, show her a good time,” you tease.

    “If she’s anything like you I’m a goner,” he laments.

    “You’re a flirt, is what you are.”

     You kiss him again, beaming, heart swollen with affection.

    When you go back inside and Susan tells you how wonderful and handsome she thought Steve was, how good he seemed for you, that rush flows through you all over again. You even bring her in for a hug.

thank u for reading ur super hot n sexy n we're kissing rn

[love-toxin]

just read your latest billy fic and am now obsessed with the idea of billy babytrapping you and/or having a massive, unhinged breeding kink. in his mind you won't ever leave him if he gets you pregnant.

(please bear with my ramblings below)

billy obsessively tracking your cycle and going at it like rabbits when you're ovulating. sex that goes on for HOURS because he wants to get multiple loads inside of you, just to be sure. plugging you up afterward so all his cum stays inside. constantly telling you what a good parent you would be, and how beautiful your children would be because he's pretty, and you're pretty, so it just makes sense, right?

I really think he'd get so delusional about it. burying his face in your arousal and insisting he can tell you're fertile just by the smell/taste. bending down to whisper in your ear only to tell you how full and achey his balls are getting. leaving you little gifts but they're all pregnancy tests or baby clothes. forget whatever stage of a relationship or situationship you guys are in, he's starting a family with you. he'd get such an ecstatic glint in his eye when you finally tell him you're pregnant. don't get me started on the pregnant belly worship.

tl;dr if billy fucks me and I'm not sitting in a puddle of his cum afterwards, I don't want it‼️🗣

PRRRRRR!!!! yes. im into it. now u have to bear with MY ramblings

(cws: babytrapping, fem pronouns)

Feels like babytrapper Billy is an untapped gold mine--it's less that he wants a baby at first and mostly just that he wants control over you, but that switches up real fast when you actually get knocked up. When you actually wanna be sweet about it. Fussing about cribs and a nursery and having enough baby clothes, making him take you to the ultrasound appointments and actually getting a 'tude with him because he did this to you and now he's gonna have to deal with just as much as you have to carrying his baby.

But Billy ends up loving the shit out of it. He loves your attitude. He loves your mood swings. He loves your hormonal cravings and your tears when you throw up morning after morning. He loves holding your hair back and stuffing your bed full of pillows so you're comfortable, and he loves laying his head on your belly and hearing those little gurgles and feeling those little kicks from his baby.

At the same time, however, it makes him emotional. If this is how he feels before his baby is even here, then why would...how could his father ever treat him the way he does, and did? How could anybody do that to a kid? It makes him angry at himself for the way he was treated and the way he took that out on Max, too. He's got lots of apologies to make. Those experiences don't take up all his attention, though--he has a pretty partner to care for now, and having that to fill his time over bouncing from party to party and girl to girl just to feel something makes him unbelievably satisfied.

It honestly makes him glad that he never knocked anyone up accidentally leading up to when he met you. It had to be you, he knows that now. It had to be you that he coerced, begged, and fucked into submission to make you his, it had to be your womb that he wanted so badly to break and your pussy he wanted to risk going raw into. Wouldn't you just be the cutest with a baby, anyways? You're such a catch and you're so pretty. You'd make such adorable babies. It's obvious he never wanted to be one of those guys with a handful of baby mamas and kids he rarely sees; he wants you and your kids and that's it. It's official--you've hooked Hawkins' resident playboy into a dedicated partner and father, whether you wanted to or not.

If there's one thing he loves most about your pregnancy though, it's that he loves your neediness. He loves that something seems to click in you that makes you pine for the man whose seed you've sown, like there's an invisible connection between you two that pulls you both closer. It's like you're instinctually drawn to him and he hopes, god he hopes that continues after you've had the baby. He's ready to make love to a woman after she's had a child (after you've healed sufficiently, of course, he can wait) it's like that next stage of maturity for him. He can't wait to see how far you've come and how much you've sacrificed just to have his baby, and he can't wait to look you in the eyes and tell you he wants another. No, he doesn't want you to work off the baby weight first or fuss with your hair or your clothes to try and get back to looking like you were before. He wants you now. As you are. Raw. He's sick of those prissy party-girl snobs and their perfect bodies and their permed hair that they can't let get messed up. He wants the woman who stays up all night feeding his daughter and rolls her eyes at his flirting attempts in the morning. He's totally whipped, and even with those bags under your eyes and that tension headache behind his from the crying of his precious baby girl, he still wants another. And he's got ways of making sure that you do, too...after all, he got you into it the first time, right?

[cavinginhisfvce]

another snippet of a fic im working on!! this one is fem!billy x steve bc fem Billy brain rot ygm??

i like to think im funny but im not lmao

Update: finally posted the full fic!! Just click any of the fem!Billy tags (expect for the Max's cool older sister) and it should take you to it.

[soleminisanction]

I've always really liked DC's in-house choice of referring to their various superhero groupings as "families," but it has gotten a little frustrating recently with people both in canon and in fandom seeming to forget that families aren't just a parental-unit-and-kids formation. They're complicated, and a lot of the DC families are too messy to fit into that neat little nuclear family mode.

Which is to say... here's some scattered thoughts/summaries about how these families are actually structured in canon, because I think it's interesting:

Supers -- The smaller, more traditional Superfamily (Clark, Lois, Kara, Kon, etc.) is a pretty traditional Midwestern nuclear family, with Jimmy Olsen filling the role of close family friend/goofy neighbor sidekick (in the Silver Age, he was Kara's would-be suitor) and Steel feeling more like part of Clark's personal circle of friends. The recent line up, though, with Jon, the twins, Kong and Nat? Starts to feel more like some old dynasty or noble house, complete with fostered foundlings and the Steels acting almost like knights under a noble's banner, possibly reflective of what the House of El would have been on Krypton.

Arrows -- Might currently be the closet to a traditional nuclear family structure. You've got Ollie and Dinah, their younger sisters, Ollie's adopted and biological children, and Ollie's granddaughter through Roy, plus by some counts Roy's co-parent and her sister as "in-laws." Bonnie and Cissie King-Jones are adjacent to but not technically "part" of the family, though I believe it's implied at one point that Ollie might also be Cissie's bio-dad. Pretty straightforward, these guys are actually family and they act like it, for good and ill.

Shazam Family -- Also a literal, actual family. Not originally, the original golden age "Marvel Family" was considerably more complicated and only Billy and Mary were full siblings, but nowadays the whole point of the modern Shazam family is that they're foster siblings united by familial love and that's fantastic. Meanwhile your average Black Adam story is 75% angsty family drama, 25% Egyptian mythology references.

Flashes -- Technically closer to three nuclear families (the Allens, the Wests and the Garricks; four if you include the Quicks), two of whom are united by marriage and all of whom are bound by the Speedforce, which, given its semi-spiritual connections to things like Speedster afterlives, can act almost like a religious force that connects them to the additional members like Avery, Circuit Breaker and Max as Bart's foster-dad. They're a big, sprawling tree with more cousins than siblings, the kind of family that functionally has a reunion every Christmas and Thanksgiving.

Lanterns -- Now these guys are the exception that proves my point about the whole 'family' thing not being straightforward. The lanterns aren't a family, they're a corps. Soldiers. Space cops. Comrades-in-arms. They respect each other, have each other's backs, might even like or care about each other, but those last two are optional, and they don't have the same kind of assumed obligations towards each other that a family would have. They're friends and co-workers, not family, but that doesn't mean their relationships are less significant, they're just different.

Wonders -- Roughly half of them are either one of Hippolyta's daughters (Diana, Donna, Nubia pre-Crisis) or related to them through the gods (Cassie), and the other half (Artemis, Yara, modern-age Nubia) use sister as a term of endearment more in a utopian lesbian commune kind of way. I think they brought Steve Trevor back recently? He's basically the Ken in this equation and perfectly fine with that role. None of which should be surprising if you've seen Professor Marston and the Wonder Women.

Bats -- This is the one that people get really wrong when they try to force it into a traditional family structure. Don't let WFA fool you, the Bats are and have always been way more a snarled mess of tangled interpersonal relationships than they've ever been a cohesive family. Whether Dick is Bruce's son or his brother depends on what era you're talking about, and the former reading is much more recent than you think -- as in "started cropping up in the early 2000s" recent. Barbara is both Cassandra's sister and her mother. Duke and Steph both have living parents and neither of them want or would ever dream of treating Bruce like their dad; Tim was the same way until his dad died. None of the Robins ever lived in the mansion together, nor did Cass. Babs considered Jean-Paul Valley her brother and Huntress is so close to Tim she once hallucinated him calling her Big Sister. They're a beautiful mess of people finding places where their broken edges fit together into something that works for them and trying to reduce it down to a cozy nuclear family is just so goddamn reductive and lazy.

Blue Beetles -- Are only tangentially related to each other. Seriously, they never even get direct mentoring, each one just takes over when the previous one dies and works on completely different rules from the other two. They're complete strangers bound by a legacy and that's honestly pretty fun.

Zataras -- There's only three of them and they're literally a father, daughter and cousin.

Martians -- Not really a family because there's only the two of them, but an interesting case where the two survivors of what was functionally a war of mutually assured destruction came together in an attempt to find some peace in the aftermath of what they'd lost.

Titans -- The JLA and JSA aren't really in the "family" category, but the Titans lean into it hard, mostly because they're a textbook found family. They don't mirror a nuclear family structure, they're simply a group of people who came together to form a mutual support network. They're the idealized college friends you grew into your own with, some of them childhood companions and others you only met once you leave home for the first time, but all of them friends that you manage to maintain contact with for life, with everyone coming back together even as you scatter and do your own things.

Young Justice -- Meanwhile, this team is the chaotic group of misfits you hung out with when you were a teenager, especially when you were just starting to be allowed to act without adult supervision. You drive each other crazy, none of you know you're all queer as fuck, and you'd fight a bear for any of them even if they asked you not to. They'd probably be insulted if you tried to call them a family. They come out here to get away from their families, thank you very much.

[togrowoldinv]

Family Fun Day

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Since you met Wanda, you’ve been crushing on her but keeping a respectful distance. A fall family fun day might just finally bring you together

Note: Flufftober softness ahead. Enjoy!

Flufftober Masterlist, Main Masterlist

Wanda had never really dated anyone before who actually tried to form a relationship with her kids. Sure, her ex-husband has a connection with them, but no one she had seen since her divorce did. That is until she met you.

You met Wanda on a rainy afternoon at the park. It had been a beautiful day until the sky decided to weep over the little town. You saw a mother with two children running towards the canopy where you sat reading a book.

The woman didn’t have an umbrella, nor did her children. You had prepared for the possibility of a rainy day. With your umbrella in hand, you abandoned your book and ran to meet the family.

Wanda thanked you profusely for trying to keep her and her kids dry. With your own self being soaked from the rain, you told her it was no problem. She felt a connection to you. You felt it too.

After that day, Wanda kept in touch with you. You never asked her out, but you spent plenty of time with her. And with her kids. You knew that they didn’t have anything but the love they shared. And that was enough for them.

So, when the days turned colder, you decided to give them the best fall season you could imagine. You pull into Wanda’s driveway and walk to her front door.

“Hey, y/n,” Wanda greets you with a hug.

“Hey, Max. I was thinking I could take you and the boys on a secret mission,” you say so the young boys can hear you. They turn their attention towards you.

“Secret mission?” Tommy wonders.

“Yeah, buddy. It’ll be fun. What do you think?”

“Yes, please!” Billy says.

You all look at Wanda, and she nods. You step inside, and the family gets ready for the day. You tell them they need to be dressed to be outside, so they all end up in sweaters. They all pile into your car, and you drive them to the secret destination.

“Does that say pumpkin patch?” Billy asks excitedly as you pull into a parking lot.

“It does!” You confirm. “We’re going to get pumpkins and go back to the house and carve them.”

“That’s such a good idea,” Wanda says. She places her hand on your arm softly. Your heart flutters.

“Let’s go, Maximoffs,” you say.

You tell the boys and Wanda to pick pumpkins. As many as they want, of course. And the boys get two each.

“One to carve and one to leave for decoration,” Tommy explains.

“That’s a great idea, baby,” Wanda says, kissing his head.

You pick your own pumpkin and take all of them to the checkout. Wanda tries not to let you pay, but you insist. It was your idea, after all.

On the drive back to the house, you play a silly Halloween playlist. The kids laugh at your rendition of the Monster Mash. Wanda records you on her phone, not so secretly.

Back at the house, you carve the pumpkins. The boys do a great job, and so does Wanda.

“Let’s take a photo,” Wanda suggests.

“Yeah, get in there with your boys,” you say. You reach for her phone.

“I want you in one,” she says.

“I know, but you guys go first,” you reply.

Wanda relents. You take a photo of the family, and she notices you on the phone a little too long.

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“Certainly not deleting the video of me singing,” you say flatly.

“Stop. It’s cute!” Wanda shouts. She crosses the table and tries to take her phone back from you. You hold it close to you and don’t let go. Wanda tries and tries to take it.

You eventually pull her to the ground as she keeps trying to get the phone. She lands on top of you, and you feel her entire body pressing against you. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to her.

“Give it to me,” Wanda says.

“No,” you reply.

“Okay. How about we make a deal then?”

“I’m listening.”

“I kiss you, and then you give it back to me,” Wanda says. Her cheeks blush at her own words.

“Deal,” you say, trying to sound cool.

Wanda chuckles and leans down to kiss you. It’s brief, but you swear the whole world shifts. When she pulls away, you smile at her. She takes the phone and stands up. You let her help you up. 

The boys are grinning when you two look at them. They know their mama will be happy with you. And they know that you will always treat them as your own.

[dearramiel]

billy desperately trying to babytrap his girl after she tries to break up w him🤭

This is so good.

✧ - baby trapping, subconscious manipulation, verbal abuse, violent!billy, billy is overprotective, obsessive, and possessive, implied stalker! billy, mentions of billy beating up jason tommy h & some other guy, controlling behavior, toxic relationship, gaslighting, guiltriping, unprotected sex( piv), breeding, cockwarming, mentions of tampering with birth control but it doesn't actually happen, hint of fluff at the end,

Billy's infatuation with you starts the very first day he looks at you, a beautiful, shy, charismatic girl who he could bend at will. He knew he would have you, it wasn't even a matter of how but when.

He was good at orchestrating everything, from the very first time you talk, the heated kisses, and first time hooking up. Billy wasn't your first, but you sure as hell felt like a virgin the first time you took him. He made you feel good, loved, he was sweet, caring, and charming. Just two months in, everything had changed. From the very beginning he knew you were different than other girls he had been with, he never had a girlfriend, and it hit him like a shock. He started acknowledging how much depth his love went, at first it was just him messing around with another girl, but he had gone way off track.

It was hard not to, you had been the only girl to care for him, rather than his dick. You were different. You treated him different than any other person.

It wasn't all on him anyway, you weren't stupid, you knew what Billy's intentions were from the beginning, he'd never once talked to you, but it began to get hard to let go when he kept you around, not shoving you through his window after hooking up, not pretending like you didn't exist when he walked by you at school, offering rides after he proposed in exchange for him to be lenient on Max being late, or even how he had stopped going after other girls.

Everything was so sweet, until he let the intrusive thoughts in.

He started asking who the people you talked to were, walking you to classes you didn't have together during passing period, insisted on driving you to work after school, picking you up and dropping you off home.

Eventually his obsession turned violent, going after Jason Carver after finding you two together during a pep rally, a big misunderstanding that could have been avoided had he just asked what you were bringing to him.

Billy had become somewhat self aware of what he was doing, quickly becoming insecure, and hateful. But he couldn't help it, because he genuinely loved and cared for you, he wanted you all to himself, this sweet girl who let him in. He was good at guilt guiltriping you with that, telling you how much he loved you.

It made you feel restless, having to make sure you weren't talking to specific people he didn't like, making sure not to stare too long at some other guy, spending all your free time with him, letting him know that there was a test you had to make up before going to work. You felt like your life was being controlled, and inviting him over while no one was home was your biggest mistake.

Spring break had just started, it was a Saturday evening when Billy had received the call. Of course he'd pull up to his girlfriends house in under 10 minutes, especially when she gave the "It's important and serious.".

Billy was rapidly knocking on the door, yelling your name, and when you open to let him in, he can tell that something really is wrong.

You're spouting nonsense to him, being so annoying, talking about how he doesn't love you, and that he's obsessed with you. Part of which was really wrong, because Billy did love you. He just had this horrible way of showing it.

It doesn't take long for you to get him angry, he begins yelling back. Saying that Carver, Tommy H, and Smith deserved getting their asses flipped. To which you yell that he shouldn't go about fixing things with violence.

"I just can't do this."

And he snaps, eyes blurring, warm droplets falling to his neck, when he blinks he realizes that he's crying. And it has you shocked.

"What?" His voice is small and broken, it almost has you wanting to take back what you've said. But it's hard to do so, because he's scared you already.

"No, please no." He cries as he reached out to you, wrapping his arms tightly around your body, another act that shocks you, he's never been one to initiate affection. He's almost cradling you, "Can't lose you, please don't."

You're not sure if it's an act, one to lure you in, but you take the bait anyway. Because while the ideas of what he's capable of to the extent of his love terrify you, you also remember that you do love him too. That he's never once laid a hand, or ever been physically abusive to you.

"I'm sorry Billy, I didn't mean it. It's just, you scare me sometimes!"

Anguish breaks into his body, when the realizations kick in. It's a thought that's etched into his mind, the fact that you've thought about leaving him. The fact that you even said it.

"I'm sorry baby, let me make it up to you please.. I promise I'll take care of you." His tone sends shivers down your spine, it's the one he always uses, it messes with you subconsciously and you never picked up on it.

You nod your head rapidly, breathing in deeply when Billy's teeth gently sink into the flesh on the side of your neck. Your panting reels him in further, letting him take full control of your body.

You don't even know how you ended up on your back, in your room, and on your bed, both you and Billy fully nude. Both your bodies decorated with bites and love marks. You're crying into the air as Billy's cock is shoved into your aching tight hole. You can feel every inch of him, to the point where you swear you feel his tip hit up snuggly against your cervix, and Billy swears he feels it too, because he begins a brutal pace. Mouth stealing a heated kiss from you. Between the messy kiss, your stuttering moan fills his ears.

"Fuuuuckkk, Billyyy! M'gonna cum!" You whimper, arms and legs wrapping around his body, pulling him to you, almost inviting him further inside you. He's reaching the deepest he can, he's never been or even felt so feral during sex. Both his hands were clenching harshly onto the pillow your head was rested on, he's using it as stability to continue thrusting so hard and fast, he feels like he's also about to cum.

"Yeah? Then cum, need to feel you all over me." The thought alone is enough to send you spiraling, a gush of liquid seeps out, drenching and covering his abdomen and cock in your cum. A long moan rips through you, your walls clamp so tightly around Billy that it only takes a couple more thrusts before his cock plunges into the deepest part of you.

"Fuuck! Babe'm gonna cum, cunt is all mine, gonna breed you so they know you're mine. You want that, don't you?" He groans into your ear, burying his face into your neck, your response is nonverbal, it's just you frantically nodding your head up and down before you decide to speak up.

"Yes! Please, Billy, want you to make me yours!" You babble, then it happens cum begins filling up your insides until you feel full. Billy's weight drops on you then, cum still spurting a few more times before he is absolutely spent.

You can feel him soften inside you, little bits of cum threatening to spill out. The feeling has you whimpering, it's then that Billy remembers he's still inside you. When he goes to lift himself up, a whine is heard from you.

"Billy.. no, don't go.. please. Wanna stay with you like this." You beg, your tired eyes droopy, your arms still holding him tightly.

"Not going anywhere baby. Love you so much." He slurs, high of sex, leaving kisses all over your face.

"I love you too, Billy.. so much.."

He had you right where he wanted you.

Those condoms he planned to poke holes into weren't really necessary after all.

[radioactiveparker]

The Breakfast Club - Eddie Munson X F!Cheerleader!Reader

Part One - These Children That You Spit On

Chapter Summary - We meet five unlikely teenagers who have to spend the next eight hours in detention together. (A retelling of The Breakfast Club, written and directed by John Hughes.)

Chapter Warnings - Characters are all 18+ / Strong Language / Illusions to Abuse/ Abusive Relationship / Dysfunctional Families / Kleptomania / References to Demonianism and Satanism / References to Religious Beliefs / Sexual References / Stereotyping / Angst

Word Count - 6.6k

(Series Masterlist) (Masterlist)

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Saturday.

October 25th, 1984.

Hargrove Residence.

6:30am.

~~~~~

"Billy, c'mon, I have to go."

You reluctantly pulled away from the warm embrace of the covers, or at least attempted to. Billy kept the dead weight of his arm slung heavily around your waist, trapping you to the mattress. He released a groan of annoyance as he curled it around you and pulled you into him. You spared a few minutes to stay in his warmth and shed the sleep from your brain. The grey hues of wintry light cascaded onto the room through the gap in the curtain. The room was otherwise obscured from light, making it effortless to close your eyes and fall back asleep. You refrained, deciding to focus your ears instead. The familiar chirping of birds and the quiet hum of unfortunate morning commuters on their way to work on a Saturday morning had you sinking back into your pillow. The smell of brewing coffee reminded you to stay awake. Your eyes blinked open again, and you shuffled from underneath Billy's grasp. He groaned again, this time burying himself into your neck. You giggled, planted a kiss to his cheek, and rolled him off you.

You quickly jumped in the shower, saying good morning to Billy's little sister Max, who was making her way into the kitchen, along the way. You dressed in the bathroom, checking your watch before heading back into Billy's bedroom to say goodbye.

He lay on his front, eyes still closed, but his breathing told you that he was awake. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, leaning in to kiss his cheek again.

"Billy, I'm going now, but I'll see you on Monday, yeah?"

He said nothing. You couldn't suppress the disappointment that swept through you. You turned to leave when he softly grabbed your wrist. You smiled, thinking he was going to ask you to stay, or to give you a goodbye kiss, but his gripped tightened. Your heart dropped.

"Billy, you're hurting me."

"Where do you think you're going?" He stared you dead in the eyes.

You tried to pull away. "I told you yesterday, Billy. Mrs O'Donnell gave me a Saturday detention."

"No, where do you think you're going dressed like that."

You looked at your outfit. You wore the signature green and white of the Hawkins High cheerleading squad. A sleeveless modest style vest, worn with a turtleneck layer underneath, and a green pleated skirt with yellow striping around the hem. It rested just above your mid thigh, so you pulled your socks all the way up to your knees to keep warm. "I told my parents I had cheerleading practice, so they didn't think I had detention. You know this, Billy."

"Do I? Or are you going to see your precious King Steve again?" His grip tightened even further.

He had that crazy look in his eyes that made your entire body freeze. You stopped struggling. Your chest went tight, and suddenly, it was like trying to breathe in a sauna room.

Billy Hargrove was not fond of Steve Harrington, and last Thursday night, you had snook out to go to a party as his house. You had cancelled your plans with Billy last minute after Carol begged you to go with her (not that it took much convincing). It turned out that Billy had been invited to the party by one of his other friends, unbeknownst to you. And you made the mistake of lying to Billy and told him that you were sick. 

The biggest mistake of your life.

He saw you there and started an argument that had the entire rooms eyes on the two of you. He had the same wild look in his eyes as he had now. He ended up punching Steve when he had come over to ask if everything was alright. 

"I only went to that party for Carol. I didn't even speak to Steve."

"No? Because he seemed real friendly with you."

"He wasn't! Billy, please, I don't want anything to do with Steve. Just please let me go."

He released you harshly, and you immediately brought your wrist to your chest, rubbing the sore skin.

"Get out of my sight."

You scurried out the door with tears in your eyes. 

Your first steps outside felt as though you were walking into the worlds largest refrigerator, though you were thankful it wasn't raining. You could do without the frozen shrapnel soaking you to the bone this morning. It had already started bad enough.

The sun had only just begun to rise, not having a chance to warm up the earth yet. Not that it would do much good. The temperature had been dropping more and more as the days went on, this morning being the worst yet. It had turned tomb-like silent outside with the exception of the crunching salt under your feet that had been newly laid to stop people from slipping on the first of winter's ice. A storm had come and gone the previous night, but the sky still hung sadly as a woollen grey shawl, bringing threat of another. The cold, however, was enough to calm you down. It felt refreshing after feeling suffocated in Billy's room.

You checked your watch again. You had twenty minutes to sneak back home and pretend that you had just woken up and got dressed for cheerleading practice.

You started running.

~~~~~

Saturday.

October 25th, 1984.

Hawkins High.

7:55am.

~~~~~

You had made it home just in time before your parents woke up. You explained you were doing stretches in your room, which was why you were red-faced and slightly out of breath. They didn't seem to buy it, but the alternative presumption was far too embarrassing for them not to take your word for it.

Your father offered you a ride to school, but after that rather awkward first encounter with them this morning, you thought it best to walk. And you were glad you did because it didn't take long before they were arguing. Your mother red-faced and clutched onto the cross around her neck while your father rolled his eyes. To the outside world, it would seem that you had the perfect family, but that couldn't be father from the truth.  A lot of the times when they argued, it would be over something petty, but all of a sudden, your name would be roped in, and the entire point of the argument seemed to vanish. You see, to them, you were leverage. As soon as you got a mention, they got the upper hand. They used you to get back at each other: a means to an end. Not intentionally, of course, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. It was nothing uncommon in your household, but that didn't mean you could stand to listen to it. You grabbed your coat and left as quickly as you could, neither of your parents noticing that you were gone as they continued to scream in each others faces.

By the time you made it to the schools entrance, you wished you had brought a change of clothes as ice shot through your veins and goose-pimpled your skin. You drew your coat closer to your chest, clenching and unclenching your gloveless fingers to keep the feeling in their tips.

As you bound up the schools steps like a heat-seeking rocket, the rubber tyres of a coffee brown BMW screeched to a stop. The sudden sound echoing across the empty school premises caused you to turn quickly. Through the windshield, you saw a man in a business suit at the wheel. Beside him was his eighteen-year-old son, Steve Harrington. Your heart raced when you saw him. You weren't expecting to see him here. 

Billy isn't here. You told yourself in an attempt to calm your jangled nerves.

His hands gestured animatedly as he argued with his father. Their words were suppressed by the metal walls of the car, but you could surmise their level of volume by the thick vein protruding from Steve's neck. Then, their words exploded like a bullet from the barrel of a gun, piercing through the stillness of the morning as the door opened and Steve stomped out. Something along the lines of "No school's gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case!". And just like that, their poor version of a conversation seized to exist by the single slam of a car door. Almost immediately, the car sped off, swerving around the parking lot like a maniac before disappearing. You stood in shock as Steve held his two middle fingers up at the abandoning vehicle. It was not a home life you would have pictured for King Steve. It was a rather unexpected display you had witnessed, but to Steve, it seemed like any other day. He jogged up the stairs, hands in his jacket pockets and sporting a healing split lip, looking so unaffected by the argument that you almost convinced yourself that you had imagined it.

He paused on the step behind you, finally noticing that you were there, but only for a split second, barely sparing you a glance before moving straight past you and through the doors. You felt heaviness in your chest. No "hello." Even a simple smile would have done. But you supposed they were reserved for his real friends. Sure, you and Steve knew each other - you had friends from the same group, and you had been to a few of his parties, but you hadn't even held a proper conversation with the guy - just dribs and drabs of small talk here and there, but he was nice.

Thoughts of Billy flashed through your mind. It seems as though Billy's appearance at his party the other day had left him wanting nothing to do with you. You understood why, Billy had caused quite the scene over nothing. But there was no reason why you should be punished for his actions. You shook the thoughts out of your head. It was nothing that you should dwell on, so you continued on into the school.

The halls looked strange without their usual morning bustle. The squeak of your sneakers against the freshly waxed floor echoed as you made your way to the school library. You could hear Steve's fast pace ahead of you. His blue, straight-legged jeans and pristine Nike sneakers strode out of your sight until you were left in silence. The silence felt so loud that it rumbled from the high ceiling. You were so sure it was the cause of the last light flickering at the end of the hall. Continuing forward, you took the first left and proceeded straight until you reached the double doors at the end. A flimsy banner hung from the tiled ceiling, "HAWKINS TIGERS ALL THE WAY," with a decent enough illustration of the school mascot, threatened to fall. You treaded lightly as you moved beneath it, holding your breath in fear that any sudden movement would cause it to fall down on you. You released it when you made it safely to the other side.

Your fingers traced along the lockers as you walked, reading the bits and pieces of graffiti as you went; 'Fuck this shit, I'm out' in scrawled handwriting, 'I hate Mondays' with drips of black paint streaking down some of the letters, and a cartoonish depiction of a weed leaf smoking a blunt which made you chuckle. You walked past a trophy case, eyeing the splendid totems of athletic and academic prestige alike. A picture of the basketball team in all their glory on the top shelf, another of the cheerleading squad, yourself included, and a grainy image of the physics club haphazardly chucked on the bottom. Your white sneakers squeaked once more as you pivoted to the right before making a final left to the pine doors of the library.

Before you were six tables placed into two rows of three, with three chairs sitting snugly behind each one. You were surprised to see Nancy 'goodie two shoes' wheeler sat at the front table, with her perfectly permed hair and fur-lined jacket still on her shoulders. You didn't think it was possible for Nancy Wheeler to get detention, but then again, the same could've been said about you. Steve had strangely enough sat on the same table as her, despite every other seat being completely free, leaving an empty chair between them so as not to make it weird. Neither of them spoke to each other and instead opted to sit in silence, fiddling with their finger nails or a loose thread on their jumper. As you took your first foot in, a tall, lanky girl with short, dirty blonde hair sped past you, mumbling a quick sorry when she nearly knocked you off your feet. This unorthodox first impression of the girl, who you had only ever seen around the school halls, had commenced quite the distaste for her already. She was red-faced and sweaty, carrying her thick winter coat over her elbow, undeterred by the chilly weather. The whites of her eyes almost blended with her rosy cheeks, bloodshot like she was holding back tears. She had been in a rush to get here and away from whatever had made her upset. You imagined that's what you must have looked like this morning, and you almost started to feel a little sorry for her. She took the middle table on the left side, dumping her coat on one chair before hiding her face in her arms. If you hadn't known any better, it looked as though she was trying to fall asleep on the table.

You made your way to the table to the right of hers, taking the seat on the furthest side. You kept your coat on for now but dumped your bag on the chair beside you. With a huff, you rested your head in the palm of your hands, watching the back of Nancy and Steve's heads.

The heavy weight of the library door forced its hinges to fold and close impulsively, and Eddie slipped through the crack before it closed all the way, because god forbid he wasted his energy on something as measly as opening a door. The pride in his face when he reached the other side was as if beating the door was life or death. Like he was Indiana Jones rolling under a trap door to avoid being impaled by spikes. All he needed was a wide-brimmed fedora.

You tensed at the sight of him. You had heard rumours that he was a Satan worshiper and that he would do casual rituals on the weekends. You didn't believe it, of course, Eddie was all bark and no bite, but that didn't make you feel any easier around him. Eddie was not a good person. He had been caught one too many times trying to sell weed to freshman because they were 'naïve and easy to upsell' or trying to get them to join his little Hellfire Cult. He would spit and hiss at the teachers, setting up traps in unsuspecting students' lockers, or even straight up stealing their locks so their personal belongings were out for anyone to see. He was like a snake. Once he caught his prey, he was coiling around it, pulling himself into it. Constricting, suffocating, waiting to ascertain it was truly dead before taking a bite. His scales came in the form of clinking enamel badges, and his words were the venom dripping from his tongue. To put it lightly, he was one big bully - a miscreant.

His kleptomaniac fingers touched practically everything he walked by: picking up flyers and not even bothering to read them before dropping them to the floor, unhooking the phone from the receiver so it dangled limply from the checkout desk, and pocketing a few pencils that are no doubt going to end up missing because Eddie Munson has never brought a pencil to school a day in his life. He walked slowly, confidently, giving everyone in the room time to become aware of his presence. You could feel him eyeing you up when he walked by. You met his stare like an owl, following until you couldn't turn your head any further. You weren't going to let him intimidate you and you wanted him to know it. It was the first time you had seen him wearing something other than his usual hellfire shirt and leather jacket. He had the same dark, denim jeans with the holes in the knees and once white reeboks, only this time he wore a black t-shirt with a thick winter coat in a matching colour. Red, plaid fabric peaked out from the confines of his coat. Sensibly, he had worn a shirt over top as an extra layer to keep warm. His footsteps were wide and languid as he moved to his seat, dumping himself on the table behind you and untangling his scarf from around his neck.

Just as everyone settled in, Principal Richard Higgins strode in, stopping dead centre in the mouth of the passageway between the two rows of tables. You tried not to laugh. Principal Higgins was a sight to behold, swapping his usual grey suit and tie for flamboyantly bright pink t-shirt a size too small for his pot belly, a casual white blazer, a pair of jeans and bold coloured sneakers. You didn't notice until now that he had the figure of a lollipop, round on top, but stick thin on the bottom. You understood now why he always wore a suit; it evened him out a bit. Though he did confirm the rumour that teachers were definitely not normal.

He glanced at his fancy watch. "I would first like to congratulate you all for being on time." Though it sounded more sarcastic than sincere.

He seemed to be looking straight at Eddie as he said that. Eddie only responded by kicking his feet up on the desk.

"Now, it is 8:02am. You have exactly eight uneventful hours to spend in each others company." He began pacing up and down the aisle with his chest puffed out in intimidation (well, as intimidating as a lollipop shaped man could be), slapping Eddies feet down as he did.

"You many not talk, you may not move from your seats -" He stopped at the weird girl who had nearly knocked you over and slapped a hand on the desk. She shot up with a gasp. "And you may not sleep."

"Today," He continued, marching to the front, "we're going to try something different. I want all of you to - uh?"

Principal Higgins dropped a stack of notebook paper on the nearest table and then made his way for the pot of pencils on the checkout desk. He paused in confusion when he saw the pot was empty; every pencil hiding snuggly in Eddie's pocket. You rolled your eyes as Eddie snickered behind you. There was a long pause of awkward silence as Principal Higgins made his way around the desk in search of more pencils. There were a few quiet grunts of effort and then a "Ah ha" before he appeared back in front.

"Right, I want all of you to write me an essay of no less than one thousand words describing to me who you think you are." He began handing out paper and pencils to everyone. "And when I say essay, I mean essay. Not a single word repeated a thousand times. Do you understand, Mr. Munson?"

"Mr. Munson understands, Principal Higgins." Eddie said.

Higgins ignored him. "Maybe you'll learn something about why you're here, and perhaps you'll decide whether or not you care to return."

Silence.

"I'll be across the hall in my office. Any monkey business is ill-advised. Questions?"

You saw Steve shake his head and catch Nancy shaking hers like she couldn't believe this was happening to her.

Principal Higgins gave one solid nod to confirm that question and answer time was over before making his way towards the library doors.

"Yeah, I got a question."

He took a pause, hand clenched firmly on the door handle as he twisted around. He raised his brow at Eddie, already sick and tired of his antics.

"Does Don Johnson know that you raided his wardrobe?"

There were a few snickers, including you, trying to discreetly cover your mouth to hide your smile. Principal Higgins was undisturbed. There wasn't a thing Eddie could do or say that would insult him. At least, that's what he wanted him to think.

"You'll find out the answer to that next Saturday. Mr. Munson. Do you have anything else you'd like to say to impress these people?"

Eddie smirked, leaning across the table and clasping his hands. He accepted the challenge, staring the Principal dead in the eye. "You got any naked pictures of your wife?"

The Principal's face turned red, and he referred to him with a hateful look in his eyes. "You've just earned yourself another Saturday detention, Mister." He pointed.

His eyes scoured the room, looking for anybody else who would challenge him. "Does anybody else want to join him?

The laughing stopped.

"Didn't think so."

And with that, he left, leaving the door wide open to give him a straight view of the library through his office window. Eddie chuckled, resting his feet back on the table, clearly proud of the reaction he had gotten.

Then silence.

A lot of silence.

Eddie placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes like he was going to sleep. Nancy began fiddling with her pencil, thinking about how she was going to start her essay. Steve cracked his knuckles, and the other girl (who you had yet to learn the name of) just stared at her paper. You simply sighed, took off your coat, and began daydreaming about all the other ways you could've chosen to spend your Saturday.

The library was by no means modern, but the faculty seemed to have no appreciation for the sort of library they've been given and ungraciously added touches of their own. There was an ugly mix of deep mahogany and grey sheet-metal bookcases, a couple of fake plants collecting dust, and old academic trophies that probably haven't been touched since the sixties. There were posters, some painted, some printed, but most were horrifically Halloween themed, and a rather provocative David Hasselhoff calendar behind the front desk, which the librarian thought no one could see. 

Those few times that you had actually stepped foot in the library, you noticed it was never truly quiet. There were always whisperings of students, the whirring of printers, and the clicking of keyboards and typewriters.

But today, a Saturday, with only five students bored out of their minds, it was��truly silent.

The library was so quiet that you could practically hear the books ageing. The books consumed the noise, leaving you all in a suffocatingly awkward space of ineloquent glances. Broad daylight struggled to reach the room. Not that the sun was trying to, but the blinds sought out to fight against it anyway. Instead, it was the hanging lights above that lit the maze of a room. The soft lights were enough to put you to sleep. Your eyes were fluttering softly, your head drooping--

"Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings

Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams

Blinded by me, you can't see a thing

Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream

Master, master!"

Your peaceful almost-slumber was rudely interrupted when Eddie opened his big mouth to sing that god-awful song. You had never listened to it in your life, but would gladly never listen to it again if it meant that Eddie would shut the hell up. You turned around to give him a glare of annoyance, and when you turned back, you noticed that the others had done the same. He peeked out through one eye, smirking at the look on everyone's faces, before continuing, only this time he was humming instead. Thank god.

"Shit!" Eddie sprang up, feet down, sitting up straight and alert. He startled you, and you turned again. "What are we supposed to do if we gotta take a leak?"

He pretended to undo his zipper, the childish act making you roll your eyes. "If you gotta go, you gotta go."

"Oh my god." Nancy looked like she was going to throw up. She turned and shielded her eyes.

"Try it, and you're dead before the first drop hits the floor." Steve threatened.

Eddie laughed, accomplishing his mission of upsetting the others. "You know, you're pretty sexy when you're angry, big boy."

He turned his attention to the quiet girl sat adjacent to him. She shifted under his gaze.

"Hey Buckley," She turned with a look of boredom, like she was used to his antics, "why don't you go and close that door so I can get our little cheerleader here naked?"

You almost gave yourself whiplash with how quickly you turned to glare at him. "Don't even think about it asshole."

"Why you a virgin?"

"Fuck you."

"You're disgusting." Nancy added.

"Awe, I'm sorry, you feeling left out, Princess? There's plenty of me to go around. But I suppose if you don't want to wait your turn, I wouldn't say no to a three-way."

"Ugh, you're such a creep!"

"Listen, man, if you piss me off, you're totalled." Steve defended the two of you, though you felt it was more for Nancy's sake than yours.

"Totalled?"

"Totally."

"Just ignore him, Steve. Maybe he'll go away." Nancy suggested, placing a hand on his shoulder to turn him to face the front.

There was a pause. Their shoulders relaxed when they had thought Eddie had given up.

"Oh, so are you two like boyfriend/girlfriend?" Eddie teased.

No reply.

"Steady dates?"

Silence.

"Lovers?"

Nancy continued to ignore him, but Steve smouldered with anger.

"Tell me, Princess, have you two played hide the sausage yet?"

"GO TO HELL!"

"Hey, keep it down in there!" Higgins called from across the hall.

He rolled backwards on his office chair until the five of them came into view. They were all seated exactly how he left them. He rolled back out of sight.

Everybody visibly relaxed.

Eddie hid the shock of Nancy's outburst behind another annoying smirk.

"Just ignore him, guys." You advised. "He's only doing it to get a rise out of you."

"Sweetheart, you couldn't ignore me if you tried." He gave you a confident wink.

You hated that it made your cheeks flush with heat. You quickly turned before you gave him something else to tease you over.

"We gotta close them doors. How are we supposed to party with the old pinhead checking us out every two seconds?" Eddie stood from his seat and moved towards the doors.

"I don't think that's a good idea. The doors are supposed to stay open." This 'Buckley' opened her mouth for the first time since she's got here. Everybody looked at her bewildered.

It was only Eddie who didn't seem phased by this, but he still paused. "What do you mean 'supposed to'?"

"Vernon said, Dingus, and I really don't want to get on his bad side. I mean, Mrs. Clickety Clackety is already threatening me with suspension, and I can't afford that. How am I supposed to get accepted into any sort of college if I get suspended. They'll think I'm a horrible student, and I'll be one big massive reject and--"

"Whoa, Robin, slow down." Steve interrupted her breathless rambling. You were struggling to keep up with each word. She was talking so fast. Just total word vomit, like she'd been trying to keep it down since she got here and suddenly just projectiled everywhere. It didn't even occur to you then that Steve knew her name.

"So?" Was Eddie's only blunt reply.

"So, why don't you just shut up." Steve scowled. "There's four other people in here, you know? Stop thinking about yourself for once."

"Wow, you're a math wiz, Sporto. I bet you know your ABCs, too. See, I knew you were smart. You hide it well, Harrington." Steve grimaced at that. "I mean, let's face it, you gotta be smart to play basketball."

"Who are you to judge?" Steve challenged. "You don't even count. If you disappeared forever, it wouldn't make any difference. You may as well not even exist at this school."

There was a twitch in Eddie's eye. He hated how that got to him, but he recovered swiftly. "Oh? Well, maybe I'll join the basketball team or the wrestling team? Or better yet, the student council, I think you'd like some of the ideas I have in mind for this place."

He moved slowly, intimidatingly to Steve's table, stopping in front of it before leaning down so he towered over Steve. He reminded you of an adult reprimanding a little boy. But Steve wasn't a little boy. He could hold his own.

"You could try, but they'd never take you."

"Damn, I'm hurt. truly." Eddie was definitely not hurt.

"Will you just stop? If you keep this up, Higgins is gonna come storming in here. I've got a game next Saturday, and I'm not gonna miss it because of you."

"Wouldn't that be a bite? Missing a whole game." Eddie feigned sympathy.

"You wouldn't know anything about it, Freak. You've never competed in your life."

"I know, and I feel all empty inside because of it." Eddie puffed his chest as if his heart was swelling with pride. "I have such a deep admiration for guys who toss balls into laundry baskets."

"Whatever, man. You don't have any goals."

"See, that's where you're wrong, I do have goals." Eddie paused in suspense, and Steve perked up a little in his seat. "My goal is to be exactly like you."

Steve slumped back and rolled his eyes. "You're worthless."

"I compete." Robin added after a beat. All eyes turned to her. You could tell she didn't like that much, but she continued anyway. "I'm in band, and I'm on the debate team, and I'm in the Latin club and chess team. This one time, with the debate team, we had this big banquet at the Hilton and we had to get dressed up. And, uh, I didn't have any shoes so I had to wear my mom's shoes. It was kind of weird because my Nana doesn't like when I wear other people's shoes. But, yeah. It's not athletic, but I compete in a lot of stuff."

"That's not the same, Rob." Steve sighed.

"You have to be a jock to compete?" Eddie confronted.

"I was talking about athletic competition."

"What's the difference?" You questioned. Everyone turned to you this time, but you kept your attention on Steve. You could see the proud smile on Eddie's face out of the corner of your eye.

"What do you mean?"

"What I said."

Eddie's eyebrow raised in amusement, enjoying someone else putting Steve in his place for a change. If he was being totally honest, Eddie didn't really have anything against Steve. Steve's friends, on the other hand, were a different story. Eddie found himself being hounded by Steve's friends more often than not, but Steve didn't actually do anything. But he didn't stop it either. Of all of them, he was the easiest to rile up, and Eddie couldn't help but cease the moment whenever he could.

Steve scoffed but bowed out of the conversation. "You're all fucked."

"Hey man, watch your mouth. There's ladies here remember? They don't appreciate you using a word like FUCK! in front of them." Eddie gestured to you. "I don't know if you know this, big boy, but her mother is a nun!"

It was true that your mother was a religious person, but she was certainly not a nun. "No she isn't."

"Sorry," He turned back to Steve. "Her father is a nun!"

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped your lips. The sound caused a mischievous glint in Eddie's eyes. You hated it.

"Higgins is leaving." Nancy proclaimed suddenly.

Eddie paused with wide eyes like a deer in headlights, not wanting to get caught out of his seat. Everyone looked down the hall in time to see Principle Higgins exit his office, not even sparing them a glance. Eddie proceeded to the doors, peeking his head out to watch Higgins drink from the water fountain at the other end of the hall. 

Eddie came back in the room. "We gotta move fast, the scumbag's just filling his tank."

Steve sent Nancy an annoyed look that said 'why did you have to tell him that?', causing her to shy away. She was already thinking the same thing herself. Eddie pulled a chair to the door, stood on it and took a guitar pick out of his pocket. With the guitar pick, he removed a screw from the door spring assembly. He jumped off the chair and the door closed behind him. 

"That's not funny, man. Fix it."

"Please fix it." Robin pleaded.

"Am I a genius?" Eddie asked, though it was more of a brag than a question, as he quickly pushed the chair back to its rightful spot.

"No, you're an asshole." 

There was a muffled "Hey!" from behind the door and everyone rushed to act as casual as possible. Eddie quickly took his seat, only this time he sat next to you. You tensed uncomfortably, smelling the faint cigarette smoke on his coat. You wanted to smack him for being so stupid. You just prayed that Higgins wouldn't notice he swapped seats. 

The door busted open. 

"Why is this door closed?" There was fury in his eyes.

Everyone remained silent, avoiding meeting his eyes. Steve turned to look at Eddie as if deciding the best way to rat him out. 

Eddie jumped in before he could say anything. "How should we know, we're not supposed to move, right?"

Higgins singled out Steve, obviously noticing how he had looked at Eddie. "Why is that door closed?"

Steve looked to Eddie once again. You were cringing at how obvious he made it. You could feel Eddie shaking his leg under the desk. A nervous habit? Perhaps Eddie was afraid to get caught. Or he was just furious at Steve for even thinking about being a snitch. He lowered his eyes at Steve, a glare that said, 'Go on, I dare you'. Steve backed down.

"We were just sitting here. Like we're supposed to." Nancy answered for Steve, who was taking a suspicious amount of time to reply.

"The wind must've blew it." Robin added.

"It just... closed, Sir." Steve reluctantly agreed.

Principal Higgins eyed Eddie anyway and pointed a thick sausage finger. "This looks like the mindless sort of crap you'd find amusing, Munson."

"I think a screw fell out of it. I heard something that sounded like a screw falling out." Eddie tried to persuade.

"Yeah, right. Give me the screw."

"I don't have it."

"Am I going to have to turn you upside down and shake you?"

"I don't have it, Sir. Screws fall out all the time. The world is an imperfect place."

"Give it to me, Munson."

He smiled suggestively. "Where do you want it?" 

"With all due respect, Principal Higgins," you interrupted before he made things worse for himself. "Why would somebody steal a screw?"

Eddie looked at you in surprise, but you made it clear to him that you didn't do it because you liked him. Higgins walked back to the door.

"How do your parents put up with you, Munson?"

"They gave up on me a long time ago, Sir." He said it with such sincerity that your heart actually ached for him.

Higgins opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. He realised how pointless it was to go after him. Instead, he went to the door, trying his luck at opening it and hoping it stayed that way. It didn't. He tried again, this time grabbing a chair to hold it open. 

"That won't work. The door is way too heavy."

Higgins ignored Eddie. He pushed the chair against the door and let go. It threw the chair across the room, and the door slammed with an echoing bang. There were a few gasps of surprise and snorts of laughter. 

Higgins fumed, eyeing the room for a solution. "Harrington, get up."

Steve unwillingly got up from his seat as the Principal directed him to grab one end of a bookcase.

"How come he gets to get up? If he gets up, we'll all get up. It'll be anarchy!"

You elbowed Eddie's side to shut him up. He wasn't making this better for himself, which would no doubt end up with all of you getting punished. The two of them heaved together, and Steve actually ended up doing most of the work. The odd book fell to the floor, nearly tripping them up as they hefted it along slowly. They struggled for a few more minutes to slide the bookcase over to the door. Only when they finally got it in place did Eddie open his mouth again. 

"That's very clever, Sir. But what if there's a fire?"

Higgins hadn't thought of that, but he didn't let it show.

"I think violating fire codes and endangering the lives of children is unwise at this juncture in your career, Sir." Robin chimed in and then sunk back in her seat under the Principal's stare.

Higgins turned back to Steve. "Alright, what are you doing with this? Get this outta here, for God's sake! What's the matter with you? Come on!"

Steve wanted to kill Eddie for opening his big mouth and then Robin for supporting him. The two of them struggled again to move it back to its original place. Once done, Steve sat back down with bated breaths. 

Principal Higgins started towards Eddie, sweat dripping from his forehead, despite barely lifting a finger. "You're not fooling anybody, Munson. The next screw that falls out will be you."

Eddie muttered under his breath. "Eat my shorts."

"What was that?" Higgins barked.

"Eat. My. Shorts."

"You've just bought yourself another detention, Mister."

"Ugh, I'm crushed." Eddie faked a wince.

"You just bought yourself another."

"Well, I'm free the Saturday after that."

"Another."

"Hmm, beyond that, I'm gonna have to check my calendar."

"Another."

You looked at Eddie fearfully. He was getting absolutely slaughtered by Principal Higgins. Although, no matter how much you dislike him, you couldn't help but be moved by his defiance. 

"Cut it out." You whispered to him.

He ignored your plea, keeping up his front. He wasn't going to let this scumbag of a Principal break him. Not in front of the others, and, for reasons Eddie didn't quite understand yet, certainly not in front of you. He dared Higgins to give him another. 

"Okay, Munson, your ass is mine for the next two months."

"I'm thrilled." 

"You sure would like everybody to think that, wouldn't you? Maybe if you spent more time trying to do something with yourself and less time trying to impress people, you might be better off." Higgins brought his attention back to everyone else. "I'm not gonna put up with any more crap from any of you. Next time I have to come in here, I'll be coming to crack skulls." 

He set his threat with a hard, angry glare and finally left the room. 

The silence set in once again.

~~~~~

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